The Princess without the Pea
Camping with ancestors you call it: corridors, attics, cellars; god knows how many bedrooms.
Mornings Gavel carries scalding tea up creaking flights to the bedroom, where we lie buried under heaps of eiderdowns. Through ice-frosted glass I look out over snow-blanketed fields to the far horizon. Not a soul.
Each afternoon I neglect to pack my suitcase.
Dinner is sardines with champagne in front of the fire, scent of mothballs rising from my stole, once owned, you claim, by a duchess who ran away with the under-groomsman.
Far away in a suburban cul-de-sac, a phone rings into the silence of my spotless house.
Miranda Lewis 2018
Welcome to Friday Flash Fiction!
We have not had real snow this year in London, for which I feel both grateful and jealous. Thanks to Dale Rogerson for the lovely photo and to our host Rochelle who travels the world of Friday Fiction through all seasons, all weathers.
Thanks to all who stop by to read and most especially to those who stay to comment.
For anyone interested this is a companion piece to this Friday Fiction, written almost a year ago. I’m not a quick worker!
MJL Stories 
Absolutely lovely. A magical and captivating maze
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Thanks Neil! For some reason your comment went into spam…Wordpress is having a few techy problems this week – perhaps it’s the weather.
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Every single one of my comments went into spam yesterday. WordPress and Akismet support both claimed nothing was wrong and suggested the blogs I was posting on had all suddenly started using moderation lists…
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I saw that Ali… Actually, I found 4 FF writer comments in my spam yesterday.. 😦
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Lovely story. Sometimes old and imperfect are much better than new and sterile. 🙂
BTW; hot tea would be “scalding” .
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Scolding tea is kind of the opposite of a complimentary coffee – ‘Get up now Miranda, it’s half-past eight already!’ Ah, those homophones of ignorance! Thanks for the wide-awake edit.
Glad also that you liked the story!
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Beautiful hidden pathos!
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Thank you!
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I get a real sense of isolation here. It sounds beautiful, but…
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Interesting comment! Beautiful but…I think this world is both magical and unreal in many ways. I’ve been getting into writing plays/dramas and might pursue this story. This is both intriguing but oddly slightly sad itself – you have to fill in lots of gaps and sometimes I just enjoy the ambiguity of 100 words and the huge number of paths the story could follow.
PS With regard to comments going astray why does nobody (ie Wordpess) ever own up that it’s their fault? We haven’t changed any settings!
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That’s exactly what I told them. I even said it wasn’t just me but they said that every blog I comment on must have decided to switch on moderated comments all at once.
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I love this… mothball-scented stoles and all… Though I already live in a winter wonderland – under the brown gross snow that is ploughed on top – I would love to find myself in a cabin far away with my loved one for just a week…
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Thank you Dale. Being snowed in has a certain appeal – with the right person of course!
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Of course 😊
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You’ve written a fascinating story! Every day she should leave. Every day she fails to leave – by choice. She’s seduced by him; by the glamour; by the adventure; the exotic has, perhaps, become the erotic. And somebody, somewhere wants to contact the suburban woman that she once was, but who’s nature she is sloughing off day by day as something she has outgrown. Lovely writing, Miranda!
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Thank you Penny for your perceptive read! Sloughing off – what a lovely phrase that is! (Or is she running away and burying herself in a slough of fantastical delights that will melt away in the sunlight?)
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Heck! Everyone has already said it all about your piece. I’ll just add lovely. It makes me want to be there, wrapped in a mothball-scented stole (which would remind me of my Grandmother.)
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Thanks Alicia!
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Fascinating portrait and raises so many questions. Who is she and what makes her stay, neglecting her neat suburban house? Lovely writing.
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I fear I don’t have those answers either! Thanks for the read.
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Why go back to a spotless suburban house and give up that comfort and cosiness? What a delightful scene you created with your handful of words.Fingers crossed this comment will arrive on your blog – one…two…three…click!
Click to read my 100 Word Story!
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Thanks Keith! No problems with this comment – lovely comment, arrived safely. Made my spouse come into the room to witness the button clicking in case it went wrong again. He blames this week’s comment anxieties on the Russians. Now I will try to visit your story …
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Quite exquisite.
The writing is as wonderfully stylish as the setting.
A story of love, infatuation, abandonment, betrayal, future heartbreak, and so much more.
Or perhaps none of the above.
I don’t care, I love it.
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Could be all of the above! Thanks for your lovely comment. It is so encouraging and gratifying to have an insight into the journey my little 100 words has taken you on. The magic of flash fiction!
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Dear Miranda,
I love image of cuddling under eiderdowns. Vivid descriptions made this a magical read
Shalom
Rochelle
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Thanks Rochelle for your magical comment! Much appreciated.
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I’d neglect to pack my suitcase, too, in her position. What a fairy tale of a getaway 🙂
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I think the appeal of forgetting real life, for a while at least, runs deep. Thanks for braving the snowy weather to visit.
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…and also the title…wonderful!
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Thanks Dawn!
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I love the phrase ‘camping with ancestors’!
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Thank you! Love the title of your blog! Will come over and visit soon.
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Thank you so much!
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[…] It can also be read as the third in a series, the first episode written in February 2017 and the second in February 2018. If I’m planning on turning this into a novel I probably won’t live long […]
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