Ann Martin

“Lost” by Ann Martin

Submitted to Contest #170

LOST Ann Martin My Dearest Lost Love, It’s been six weeks and they’ve stopped looking. I don’t want to stop, but I don’t know how to go on. Where are you, Jack? Why can’t I find you? Always, always I have known where you are. If not beside me, you were five minutes away, a phone call, a text, an email away. But I can’t reach you now, you don’t answer me and I don’t know where you’ve gone. That’s why I’m writing this letter. I can’t remember ever writing one to you before, but at least I know it will last. Paper and ink do last, long after...

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“The Lamplighter” by Ann Martin

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #166

The Lamplighter Carol Ann Martin “Well, that was very nice, I must say.” Ethel Hardy pulled the pins out of her best velour hat and laid it gently as a baby on the parlour table. “I think they did Dad proud.” “Bloody think so,” grunted Arthur. “How many years has he given ‘em? Sixty, is it?” “Well, he seems happy anyway,” Ethel smiled fondly at the old man who shuffled into the room behind them.    It was only the second time that any of them had seen Albie in his suit, the first time being at his wife’s funeral twenty yea...

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“Like a Fish” by Ann Martin

LIKE A FISH ANN MARTIN You know I’m here, don’t you, Nanette? You know which one is me. Just a dim, green glow in the darkness; just the faintest ripple and plop. Shadows gliding, vague forms sliding. And you know which one is me.  They’ve turned out the lights and you’ve turned your head away from me. But you know I’m still here. And you know there’s nobody you can tell; nobody who will believe you. That’s the trouble with this place. It’s like one of those foreign art movies where you can’t tell the truth from the dreams a...

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“I'm Not Wearing That!” by Ann Martin

Submitted to Contest #145

I’m Not Wearing That! Ann Martin There were a couple of things about Francesca Fudgewick that everybody needed to know.     One: she never answered to anything but Frankie. Two: she was very fussy about what she wore. For somebody only eleven years old, Frankie had an amazing sense of style. Everything she wore was not so much pre-loved as completely had-it. Charity shop throw-outs, ragbag rejects, total tat, or not interested. Frankie’s jeans were gone at the knees and threadbare in the behind. Cat hairs, dog slobbe...

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“Lytton Blood” by Ann Martin

⭐️ Shortlisted for Contest #130

LYTTON BLOOD Ann Martin My publisher told me it would only be a small print run and she wasn’t kidding. But at last I found it. Are Those Skeletons in My Closet? Written and illustrated by Pansy Lytton-Fosse. Not one, but six copies, in a tiny bookshop attached to a café just a couple of streets back from the seafront. It was under Humour and I’d been looking in Biography. When I thought about it, that made sense. I gazed with a motherly pride at my own cartoon cover of assorted eccentrics, con-artists and fruit loops peering out from ...

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“Home Help” by Ann Martin

Submitted to Contest #128

HOME HELP Ann Martin Trigger Warning: Self-harm By the time Ellie went to make them a cup of tea, Marian knew she would get the job. Interview? Hardly. Two strangers talking through tears. It was hardly a job either. Ssix hours a week light housework. But it would serve its purpose, which was to give her something to think about, something to pour into the emptiness. A quick scan of the room while Ellie Roberts was in the kitchen told Marian a lot. Furniture good, but shabby. Carpet ditto and with the kind of indelible stains that come wi...

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“Like A River” by Ann Martin

Submitted to Contest #124

Like a River Ann Martin A story from down-under. Tasmania to be precise. I hope some of the references aren’t too obscure, but I can’t be the only Australian Reedsy Prompt author. …………………………………………………… She arrived at his door in a rainstorm, soaked and shivering. Turquoise dye from her shoes was oozing across her feet and mascara was dribbling her cheeks. The sleeves of her coat slid down over her fingertips and she had a sodden scarf tied over the dome atop her head. “Is it you what wants a model?” she asked. This was nineteen sixty-five....

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“Sleeping Girl With Peaches” by Ann Martin

Submitted to Contest #121

SLEEPING GIRL WITH PEACHES A Story in Voice by Ann Martin Johanna I could feel it that afternoon. Could you feel it, Gabrielle, the brewing storm? That’s what they do, is it not? They brew, they brood and they break. So, no forgetting that afternoon. July, eighteen ninety eight. No forgetting for me, nor, I think, for you. I could feel it in the heat. In the hush. In my baby’s bubbling snore. I was afraid for my baby. He’d been so ill. Afraid for him and for so much more. This storm that was coming, I wasn’t sure when, but soon. It had ...

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“The New Day” by Ann Martin

This is my first attempt at Reedsy. Sort of folksy? Somebody said New Age? Is that me? Not sure, but here goes! THE NEW DAY By Ann Martin Listen! And you will have to listen hard. Listen with your heart, your hopes and your firmest belief.  You’ll feel it rather than hear it, yet you can be sure it’s there. It is life returning, returning to life. Slowly, faintly, I promise you, a whisper, a waking, a stir. Listen, can you hear? There’s something we want to tell you. Something you need to know. It’s about the Plunderers, Blunder...

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