To Young to Die!

swale-at-sunset

“Someone help him, it’s Michael. He’s drowning.”

Without hesitation two cops rushed forward and jumped into the river. Lindsay tried to stand, ready to jump in the water herself, but Barbara pulled her back.

“Look, they’ve got him, what could you do?”

“Is he alive? He has to be alive.”

In a matter of minutes Michael was pulled onto the riverbank. The nurse went to work on him immediately, “Give us some space.” She yelled. “Back off.”

The crowd stood back giving Lindsay a clear view. She watched in fear praying Michael would open his eyes.  Did his eyelids flicker? Lindsay held her breath willing him to live. The crowd watched silently and when the nurse finally gave up, tears in her eyes. She looked back at Lindsay defeated.

“I’m sorry, there’s nothing else I can do. It’s too late.”

The sound of distant sirens broke the heavy silence; people drifted away, nothing more to see. Lindsay shuffled weakly across to where Michael lay and looked down at his lifeless body, tears dripping from her chin.

“No, this can’t be. Everyone around me is dying.” She laid her head on his chest and cried. No one spoke. No one moved. The sirens grew closer, but they were too late. Barbara put her hand gently on Lindsay’s back.

“Come on, leave him, you can’t do anything now.”

Lindsay didn’t move. “I should be dead, why am I still alive?”

“Hey! Stop where you are!”

Lindsay looked up when she heard Barbara shout sternly at someone. She couldn’t see who approached, but the other policemen ran towards him urgently. When Barbara stood aside she recognized the grief-stricken face.

“John, I’m so sorry.” She began to cry again.

John fell on his knees by his brother’s body.

“No, no! Dear God NO!”

Lindsay put her arms around him and they cried together, tears mingling.

John spoke, maybe to his brother, maybe to Lindsay, maybe to God. “It’s all my fault, I brought him to to bloody country. I should have left him in Ireland with the kids. I shouldn’t have tried to interfere with Patrick. It did no good. Now your friends are dead. It cost me my brother. ”

Lindsay held him tight. “You know Patrick was planning to kill again, who knows how many this time. Michael’s dead, but who knows how many people he saved. It could have been hundreds. How many more bombs was Patrick going to make?”

They clung to each other a little longer before Barbara helped Lindsay to her feet. A couple of paramedics approached. “Come on, let’s make sure you’re okay,” she said as she guided Lindsay to them.

“John had nothing to do with this. He was trying to stop Patrick.”

“We still need to talk to him, but not now.”

As she walked away Lindsay looked back over her shoulder and saw Barbara kneeling on the ground next to John, her arm around him soothing him. Oh dear God why Michael? 

She take no more, her legs gave way and she sunk to the ground.

Yes, another short story almost over, sorry its so sad. Life doesn’t always have a happy ending so make the most of every day. If you enjoy my writing, check out my first Dead of July on Amazon http://amzn.to/1aXh4Md.

Dead of July by Sandra Thompson

A Novel takes time!

Anyone who has been following my progress as a writer will know that over the past year I have produced two novellas, of which I am very proud. The first was ‘Girl on the Beach’ and the second was ‘Guy at the Bar’.

Writing and publishing these books was a learning process which I enjoyed. I met a lot of very helpful, talented and interesting people. I was, and still am, following my dreams and having fun.  That said, I think I maybe rushed these first two novella’s a little. I think the stories are good, but I should have taken more care with the editing.

Where do I go from here? A novel of course. A novel I have almost finished. I have been working on my novel for almost a year, but that is OK because I am learning ‘more haste, less speed’. I really did rush out these novella’s. Everyone tells me they are a good read and very enjoyable, but I want my books to be a ‘Great Read’ and more than just enjoyable.

My novel has no name yet, but Sheila is the main character and in trouble again. In this story, which is set in Germany in 1982, she is married to a British Soldier and loving the experience of living in Germany, until she crosses paths with an evil Russian. I don’t want to give too much away so follow my blogs and follow my story.
I am not going to rush this story. If it takes me another year to finish, so be it. I need the detail to be right and the ending perfected. I also need a title. ‘Escape!’, ‘The run away’, ‘Anna’ and ‘Evil Cossack’ are all under consideration.
This is the story that may decide upon my future as a writer so I want to get it right.
This is novel is going to be worth waiting for.
I am posting unedited clips of this novel on my blog. Comments and title suggestions welcome and encouraged. Help me out and I promise you, you will not regret it.

Guy at the Bar

Wow, its been almost a year since I plucked up courage to post this story on my blog, a chapter at a time. I also published it on Amazon. I was very brave. Much to my amazement, I have sold several copies.

Next step?

My new book ‘Girl on the Beach’ is almost ready to be launched on Amazon.

In March ‘Guy at the Bar’ will be re-launched. It will be much more ‘reader friendly’ and have a flashy new cover. If you want the original, purchase it now. If you want the flashy new version……wait until March, it will cost more, but will be in print as well as an ebook.

Can’t believe so much is happening. I love it.

Questions, comments suggestions?

A Walk in the Park – Chapter Four

Songs (Luther Vandross album)

Image via Wikipedia

  My German tale continues in short chapters as I am still writing this story, and I don’t want you to reach the end before I do.  I remember 1982 very well, I was 25 years old, enjoying disco music and loving Michael Jackson, Earth Wind and Fire, Luther Vandross.  Sadly Michael Jackson and Luther Vandross are no longer with us, but in 1982, they were larger than life.  Enjoy then next chapter.

  

Who else could he trust?

   I was tempted to order another beer and bratwurst, but I could do without the extra calories.  It just tasted so delicious; it was hard not to over indulge. I paid for my food and drink, put my book away and headed back to the park.  I thought it would be the easiest way home would be to retrace my steps.  I wanted to stay away from the main drag as I felt sticky from sun tan oil, had a little buzz from the beers, and really didn’t feel like mingling with the locals. It was approaching six o clock as I walked through the park, and being July, it was still light, but the trees cast longer shadows than before. I must remember this spot as it was a little haven in the middle of the city. I headed across to the gate I had first used. The park was still empty and very quiet, wait, what was that?    I stood still and listened, it sounded like someone was crying.  I looked around, but couldn’t see anyone at all. I carried on walking, and got as far as the gate, but before I opened it, I heard the noise again. I stood perfectly still, yes someone was sobbing quietly.  At first I thought it was a child, but a child usually cried much louder.  I looked around trying to locate where the sobbing was coming from. It seemed to be coming from a small group of weeping willow trees.  

I could hear sobbing

I walked in that direction, but saw no one. I continued to walk through the hanging branches, which opened onto a little paved area, with a small bubbling fountain and a sweet-smelling rose garden. There was a little bench by the fountain and sitting on the bench was a girl with her head in her hands, sobbing softly. I knew she would be German or Italian as there were not many English-speaking people in this area.  I felt like I was invading her privacy, but she sounded so upset and looked so alone that I felt I had to do something to help.      

 I must have approached too quietly because I scared her.  I tried out my German again and softly said “Guten Tag Fräulein, was ist los?” I startled her and she jumped, startling me and making me scream.  I was always pretty highly strung.  We just stood there looking at each other. Her eyes were pretty red and her face very pale.  She wasn’t very old, maybe a couple of years younger than me, in her early twenties I thought.  Neither of us said anything, until I laughed. It was a nervous laugh because I didn’t know what to say to her. She spoke first, quickly and at length, but in German, I had no idea what she was saying and just stood looking at her, feeling pretty helpless and stupid. She stopped speaking too and just looked at me.  “Ich spreken nur eine bisien Deutsche” I told her. I hoped I was saying I spoke very little German, but I wasn’t so sure.     

The tears started rolling down her cheeks again and she sat back down on the bench.