This is a response to a Flash Fiction prompt from ‘Putting My Feet In the Dirt’, Writing Prompts hosted by ‘M’.
Which can be found by following the link below..



by John Yeo

  My child has left and gone to work, I lie here alone with my thoughts. I will not stir, I will not move, I am in pain. My little girl Anya is twelve years old. She takes care of everything for us both since her mother left us when the sadness descended on me. Anya gets up at dawn to prepare our meal and fetches water to wash our clothes. She cleans our room and takes good care of me. Anya hides when visitors come to the door. We both need her here to take care of me. Anya works in a sweatshop for twelve hours a day. With homespun fabric, she labours all day making clothes, for the fat people over the sea. 

 As I lie here alone the rats appear, they scuffle around, then leave, we never drop any crumbs here. 

 When the landlord calls to collect the rent; I’ve noticed the way he looks at my Anya when she pays him from her paltry earnings, mischievous, malevolent, lascivious looks that bode no good for my child.

 School for Anya was a couple of years In a shack for a classroom until her mother left us and she started to work. Anya always returns feeling weary, the dull repetitive drudgery is taking a terrible toll on her wellbeing.

  Anya has no time for friends or parties, new clothes or games and playing sports. No time for laughter or enjoying a book. Anya is always too busy working to stop and notice the children around her.

   Selfishly I lie here and let things be, I know I can never let Anya leave me to face my sadness alone. We are tied to each other irrecoverably. It’s far too late for me to offer her anything but my sympathy. I know I’m a thief and I can clearly see I have stolen a precious commodity. The innocent freedom of her childhood.

© Written by John Yeo ~ All rights reserved.

JUNE 16th 2014~Writing 101~Day Eleven: Size Matters

Tell us about the home where you lived when you were twelve. Which town, city, or country? Was it a house or an apartment? A boarding school or foster home?  Who lived there with you?

Today’s twist: pay attention to your sentence lengths and use short, medium, and long sentences as you compose your response about the home you lived in when you were twelve.


By John Yeo

 Twelve years of age! To me that is a very long time ago. Yet, I can vividly remember the boarding school, my brother and I attended. I was eighteen months older than brother, Pip.

We were very close, both in age and in our mutual interests.

The school was situated in a small coastal town in England, Clacton-on-sea. The accommodation was divided into houses. We were both assigned to Essex house, under the guidance of a house-master, Mr Goodman, who looked after us, with the help of his kindly lady wife.

A sports field was attached to the school, where we took part in a wide range of sports. Football and cricket predominated with athletics also a  very popular choice. I was scorer for the school cricket team and a batsman, when I was selected. I also enjoyed running. My brother Pip also enjoyed taking part in a variety of sports.

I can almost touch the wooden desks in  the classroom. A blackboard, with chalk and a dusty cloth that the teacher used to clean off the illustrations from the previous lesson. I remember the homework I would work on in the evening, before joining the rest of the boys on the playing field.

Twelve years of age, I was just beginning to notice girls. There was a girls section of the school that was situated across a busy main road. Segregated and separated. Except for the occasional glimpse and a wave, the unattainable girls became very desirable as time passed.

Although our school was near the seaside, I don’t ever remember walking down to the beach which was on the other side of town. We were taken out regularly in school parties to various places, supervised quite closely, then returned to the school in our groups.

I have vivid memories of the food we consumed and the least said the better. Suffice to say I rarely eat rice pudding, porridge, bread pudding or stodgy foods.

A short sentence. A medium sentence composed of a few more words. A lifetime sentence of likes and dislikes brought on by consuming mass catered food at boarding school that was a surprisingly interesting time in my life.

Copyright © Written by John Yeo All rights reservedwriting-101-june-2014-class-badge-2