Come Into the Light

I’ve been toying with the idea of writing a story in dialogue-only for a while. Ireland is in my mind a lot lately, as I research my next novel. This came to me in the middle of a sleepless night and I remembered enough to write it down.

“I know you’re there.”

“Ears like a hawk, you.”

“Come into the light, where I can see you.”

“Not yet.”

“Will you join me in a dram?”

“It’ll kill you, that stuff.”

“Ah well, we all have to go sometime.”

“That’s for sure.”

“Come into the light, my heart’s sore to see you.”

“In a while.”

“How did it go? Everybody safe?”

“We hit some trouble.”

“I was afraid of that, it’s a dirty old night.”

“Not the rain. They were at the bridge.”

“B Specials?”

“Them, and a few boys from the RUC.”

“Ah, Christ, Is anybody lost?”

“Murphy, Donovan, the Fitz brothers.”

“God rest their souls.”

“We never stood a chance, Da.”

“But you came back, thanks be to God.”

“Aye, I promised, come hell or high water.”

“Come into the light, son.”

“For only a minute. I can’t stay.”

“Oh, sweet Mary, Mother of God! Your face …”

“Listen, they’re at the door. I must go.”

“Stay, son … you need help. Wait …”

“I kept my promise, Da …”

“… while I open the door.”

“Mr McParland, it’s about your son. You’d better sit down.”

My Inspiration

A small piece of Flash Fiction (less than 100 words) written for a competition. The prompt was to incorporate a Bic lighter.

I didn’t mean to hurt her

It was easy to fall into the habit of shouting at her after a rough day at work, to criticise the meals she cooked, to take her confidence.

It was all useful material for my novel, about a woman who subjugated herself to a domineering man. She was such great inspiration.

Maybe I overdid it. I don’t know.

Today, they found a pile of ashes on a clifftop with a small blue lighter dropped beside them. She burned my novel before making the leap.

Damn. It’ll take weeks to rewrite. But what a great ending.