Out of the Chocolate Box (6)

He turned and beckoned, ‘Come on, Holly.’
I stood, my knees wobbled as the rubber boat bounced up and down on the waves.
Fritz held out his hand. ‘Come on, Holly, you can do it.’
I watched the waters, deep green and laced with froth rise and fall beneath me. ‘Yep, I can do this,’ I squeaked. My knees rose and fell at different times.
‘Grab my hand,’ Fritz urged, hooked his elbow through a rung of the ladder, and reached out to me.
‘Go for it,’ Nathan said.

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The T-Team with Mr B (9)

The creek narrowed, and I scrambled over rocks, pushed through reeds to the spring. Anticipating a pretty pond, with waterlilies, ducks and a kangaroo or two drinking the fresh clear water, I was disappointed. The spring, if you could call it a spring was little more than a pit of slime. A puddle at the end of our driveway at home was more photogenic than this hole filled with muddy water.

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Out of the Chocolate Box (5)

As the Captain cried all aboard and the ferry’s horn reverberated throughout the cove, I scampered over to the ticket office. ‘One fare to Sarah Island.’ I offered my credit card.
‘Sorry, love.’ The stout man with jolly red cheeks shook his head. ‘We’re all sold out.’
‘But I lost my ticket.’ I clasped my hands together in begging pose. ‘I need to get on that boat—I must get to Sarah Island—isn’t there…?’
The man swayed his head full of grey curls. ‘I’m afraid you’ve missed the boat.’

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Out of the Chocolate Box (4)

Chirp! Chirp! My mobile phone vibrated sounding like a cricket. I flopped over the mattress to the bedside and grabbed the phone. An envelope on screen symbolised a text message. From him? How kind! An explanation perhaps. I fumbled with the miniscule keys on screen. You’re late! Ferry leaves in 15 minutes. No indication who sent the message. Just a very unhappy emoji, was all.

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Out of the Chocolate Box (3)

Then darkness, corrupt and potent entered like a waft of rotting cabbage blowing through the mechanical sliding doors.
An alarm ringing in my mind drowned out the cheerful hum. What? I leant over and poked my head around the booth. My face turned cold as the blood drained from my cheeks. Johann. Still in fine form but balding, taking on a striking resemblance to a certain Star Trek captain.

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Out of the Chocolate Box (2)

I nursed a tall glass of lemonade chock full of ice. More ice than lemonade. Lemonade on the rocks. Did I mention the shot of whisky? Months spent as prisoner to the hospital system, I needed a break. Just one night before the mission. One last whiff of a real log fire. What am I doing here?

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Monday Missive on Feedback

Feedback love it or hate it, you can’t live without it. We all have blind spots, some secrets in our psyche that not even we are aware of. This is especially true with our writing; most of the time we are way too close to our work to see the spelling and grammar errors or gaping holes in our story’s plot.

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