Flash Fiction (100 word story): Finding Joyfulness

Somebody commented yesterday how nice it was to find out a little bit about me on my Saint Bees Man post, that they enjoyed reading about the inspiration for my flash fiction story. Maybe I should blog about this? Maybe I do not want to chase any of my valued readers away, those following me through WordPress (thank you to you all for your encouragement) and those following silently through email subscriptions (thank you for your support).

I am conscious I am rambling. So without further ado, let me tell you how the following flash story came about. I don’t know. There, that was easy. 😊

What I can tell you is, I woke up as always. Crack of dawn, birds singing in my ears. I  took my dogs out for their ablutions, fed them, played with them while the kettle boiled.  I made my wife her morning mug of tea, took it to her, kissed her, drank mine while she dozed and listened to my ramble jambling (yes that is totally a word, so no more red squiggles Mr Spellchecker) then I toodled downstairs to the lounge, sat in my favourite chair, opened my laptop and read all the WordPress posts of those I am following. Oh, oh, then I was moved to write a longer than usual, more revealing than usual, comment to a post of one of my followers. You know who you are. She has so many interesting things to say, in such a lovely way, you should check her blog out, but before you do, before you leave me, I hope you can spare another minute of your time to read this morning’s offering of mine…

~~~

Finding Joyfulness

You enter through the lichgate. Immediately you inhale sadness. It doesn’t matter if you plod thoughtfully or stride carefreely, that same feeling squeezes your eyes as you approach this church. Even the birdsong doesn’t lift you. You want the birdsong to give your mood wings. That’s the problem.

The problem is inside you.

The West door opens. You are greeted with a smile. Another door opens. More smiles, an ocean of smiles, upon which float cheery, Good mornings! Something takes hold of you as you ignore the offered hymnbook and service booklet. When you sit in the pew, you know.

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