Rachel Deeming
Bio
Mum, blogger, crafter, reviewer, writer, traveller: I love to write and I am not limited by form. Here, you will find stories, articles, opinion pieces, poems, all of which reflect me: who I am, what I love, what I feel, how I view things.
Stories (315/0)
The Foster Parents
Eddie was sat on his own, waiting. He didn't like living here. He didn't want to go back where he came from either. When he watched TV, he saw families and they were always really smiley, eating tasty food and their houses looked nice. It was a fantasy world. He dreamed of being part of that some day. He'd never known a life like that.
By Rachel Deemingabout 15 hours ago in Fiction
Surrounded by Love
It had been weeks now since they had split and Milly was feeling the pain of it still. She had felt like this was it: The One. She had allowed her imagination to drift into shared space, weddings, family dinners. She had finally thought that she was part of a collective: Milly and Mark. The alliteration even had a nice feel, like they belonged together.
By Rachel Deemingabout 15 hours ago in Fiction
The Mother Buffer
"Mum, can I stay in town after school? Me and my mates are going to play football on the field for a bit." Jo thought about this. They were going away the next day which meant that she had packing to do and she really ought to make sure that all of the washing was done. Dinner, of course, needed to be cooked and then the washing up and the loading of the dishwasher. They had run out of milk so she had get that. She could really do with going home and getting on with things. She would leave work for school pick up and then it wouldn't be worth her going home because by the time she'd got home, she'd need to leave again. She'd be best to just hang around town and kill some time. Time that she didn't have. She supposed at least she would be able to get the milk from the supermarket on the main street. If she remembered. It might be nice to have a moment to herself although as she was thinking it, she knew that she would rather have that moment after everything that needed to be done was done. It would just be delaying the inevitable hurried rushing that awaited her.
By Rachel Deemingabout 15 hours ago in Fiction
I am Robin
In order to enjoy this fully, you may want to read the following, or not, as the mood takes you: And: He put Carys down on the pallet in the corner. He hadn't slept on it in weeks. He set about lighting a fire, all the time conscious of Carys' fear and wariness. He understood. She would learn soon enough who he was and why he had rescued her.
By Rachel Deemingabout 15 hours ago in Fiction
The Oval Door
Before starting this one, you may want to read this, which is the precursor to what happens here: *** Carys regained consciousness, after dreaming of bobbing about on a clear, blue water. It was serene, the sun warming her. She was happy to let it take her.
By Rachel Deemingabout 15 hours ago in Fiction
The Dark Threat
"And so our quest begins! And what a jolly troupe we are!" Argan's delight was not transmitting to the other two. Baffor was packing his horse and trying to resist the temptation to knock out the annoying little arse. Argan the arse! He smiled satisfyingly to himself at his nickname, which he would keep secret. For now. But if Argan kept on being so fucking cheerful, Baffor might have to do something. For his own sanity. The only thing that would redeem Argan was if he had some good stories for the fireside.
By Rachel Deemingabout 15 hours ago in Fiction
Gary's Break
"Gary, as a gentle story to break you in, can find something with an animal? A nice story. Of a rescue, or something." Gary listened to his editor and felt a bit disappointed. He wanted to be a gritty hard-nosed news reporter, investigating crime in the sleepy town of Hatford, not finding out about ducklings down drains or cats up trees.
By Rachel Deemingabout 15 hours ago in Fiction
The Oldest Oak
"I don't like these woods," Dafydd muttered. They had a presence that unnerved him. It wasn't the darkness; it wasn't the smell of them nor was it the unidentifiable shufflings, rustlings and creakings. It was something more and his instinct was twitching spasmodically in response and transmitting its vibrations to his gut. The air felt thicker and more hesitant to part and whilst his movement was unhindered, he felt enclosed on all sides.
By Rachel Deeminga day ago in Fiction
The Review
Lance was going to confront her. Moments like these presented themselves so rarely that he knew he had to take advantage of it. He'd been longing to confront his critic ever since the review of his book had appeared. And now, here she was, the reviewer herself, at his local bookshop, hosting an evening to promote her own book! What was worse, it was having more success than his.
By Rachel Deeming4 days ago in Fiction