We had some great stories this round! And we have two winners!
Ellender by @ThePencilNeck
and
From the Terrace by @Grace GG
I am so sorry!!! I was OOO last week and things got a bit confused in the handoff.

Woot woot!!!
I will move the stories over tonight and you will learn more about these two wonderful authors in the Savvy Weekly News this Wednesday!

Congrats to the winners and to all the participants as well!!

The house phone was ringing as Sofija walked into the flat, frost clinging to her heavy winter coat. Tossing her keys on the foyer table she quickly picked up on the third ring.

"Yes, hello," she answered in a soft Eastern European accent as she pulled her mobile from a pocket. Two missed calls.

"Sofija, it's Henry Morton, I've got a listing I want to show you, a last-minute cancellation. Are you available tomorrow morning?" Sofija sighed; it had been a long day and her train was delayed coming out of the city. She was also growing weary of the property hunt; the affordable ones were gone almost as soon as they were listed and the rest were rubbish.
"Please to send listing first?" she asked in somewhat broken English.

"Yes, I can certainly do that although the photos won't do the flat justice. It's also in a rather, urm, unique location. But the views are lovely and the area quite peaceful. Lots of tranquility. You wrote that on your wish list, remember? "A quiet and tranquil setting to shut the world away." Sofija thought for a moment, instantly intrigued, although characteristically reticent.
"Okay, will let you know," she replied, kicking off her heels and grabbing a bottle of Saint-Émilion from the kitchen. As she settled into the sofa her email pinged and a link appeared: mortonandsonsestateagents.co.uk/geraldsway. Sofija shuddered; Gerald had been her late father's Christian name. Taking a sip of wine, she clicked on the link and instantly found herself immersed in a landscape dotted with familiar structures rising like serpents from a misty sea. There were few property details other than one photo showing a block of unfinished flats and prices. Sofija rang Henry's mobile.

"There are not many photos, Henry and just a bit of, how you say, jargon? I see the view, it is nice. The building is called, "Gerald's Way"? But why so inexpensive?"

"The property is actually still being renovated and it faces an abandoned cemetery, or rather a decommissioned one, if that's the correct term. No more room at the inn, so-to-speak. That's why the developers were able to buy the adjacent property for pennies on the pound. Some people might find that a bit off-putting but the price makes up for any superstition in my opinion; I assume that was the reason for the last-minute cancellation." Sofija sat thinking for a moment and then clicked another link from the menu.

"Okay, Google says is near to Hartford station and motorway, very close to town." She set a time to meet Henry the next morning just as she heard a key threading into the lock and her husband walked in, equally chilled to the bone.

"Hello, darling, filthy weather and the bloody trains were delayed again." The normally sanguine Robert was annoyed at British Rail, the awful English weather and his Majesty's government, not particularly in that order. Dropping his coat and brolly in the entry way, Robert walked into the small kitchen and picked up a wine glass and the bottle.

"Top up?" he asked, tilting the bottle towards her. She nodded, holding out her glass.
"Please to sit, there is news. Henry has flat for us to see." Sofija, wasting no time, turned the laptop to face Robert.

"What am I looking at?" he asked, blinking as if there was something hidden within the screen."

"Peace and tranquility," Sofija answered rather sarcastically, "is actually block of flats near Hartford station." Robert glanced over at the cost of the last available flat.

"What's the catch?"

"Is near to cemetery," she answered, knowing what he would say next.
"I thought you hated cemeteries, that they reminded you of the war." Robert leant closer to the screen and squinted at the property name. "Gerald's Way? This is either a blessing or a curse."

"I know, but think is blessing, is Papa looking after me." Sofija's hand hovered over the keyboard as she thought about her late father. "We must look; is sign." Sofija grasped the gold locket that hung from her neck, the one he had given her that last morning. She looked into Robert's eyes, trying to gage his sentiment; he could be overly protective at times. Sofija silently prayed Gerald's Way was a sign; she had to know.

___________________________________________


"Just look at that killer view, no pun intended," Henry asked as they stood on a second floor terrace overlooking "Gerald's Way Cemetery".

"Does anyone actually know who this Gerald chap was? I mean, who names a cemetery after just one person? If that's the case he should've had the whole place to himself." Sofija shot Robert a look. He possessed a rather macabre sense of humour whose filter often failed him.

"I've no idea about Gerald but what do you both think about the property? There isn't much time; there are people dying to live here," Henry joked but was completely serious.

"Henry, please, stop with dead jokes." Sofija was beginning to think this wasn't such a good idea, buying a flat across from an abandoned cemetery, the price notwithstanding. And what about her memories of the war? They were tugging at her, fighting with her overwhelming urge to move on with her life.

"I'm beginning to wonder the same thing," agreed Robert, "this could be one long trigger for your mental health, darling. We need to think seriously about this." He took her hand in his and squeezed it. She had been through so much and had worked too hard to risk regressing for the sake of a silly flat. Sofija took a deep breath and slowly exhaled before looking down at her locket. She read the inscription aloud in Serbian, "Ako sa žaljenjem gledate unazad, nikada ne možete gledati napred sa nadom."

"If you look backward with sorrow, you will never look forward with hope." She turned to face Robert.

"My darling, is time for me to start living again."

An old man in a dark suit hobbled up a gravel path through a rural graveyard. Twisted old oak trees with bark darkened with age lined the meandering path, reaching across like steepled fingers with Spanish moss hanging down. Golden sunlight trickled through the leaves as the sun descended beneath the horizon.

The old man carried three bouquets of flowers cradled in his left arm. He read the names on each of the headstones as he passed by, but he turned from the path and walked through the graves until he came to a group of three, two large and one painfully small: Douglas Ellender, loving father and husband, Caroline Ellender, loving mother and wife, and Marni Ellender, beautiful daughter, ages thirty-five, thirty-one, and six. Caroline and Marni passed on the same day, with Douglas joining them less than a year later.

With a groan, the old man knelt beside each one, clearing away the leaves and removing the older, desiccated flowers, replacing them with his new bouquets.

“Oh, hey, what the hell?” said a young man, unkempt and drunk, holding a bottle in one hand. “You scared me! I didn’t see you there.”

The old man placed his hand on a gravestone, using it to help himself up to his feet. He brushed at the leaves and damp spots on his knees. “I was just paying my respects.”

“Good thing I saw you when I did,” the young man said, smiling, swaying to keep his balance. “I was just looking for a place to take a piss. I was about to whip it out.”

A bright light shined on the young man’s face, and he squinted. He raised his arm to shield his eyes and spilled liquor on his chest.

“Damn it!” he cursed, wiping at the stain on his jacket. He glared at the parking lot. “Hey! Shut your damned lights off!”

“Have some respect,” the old man said.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the young man sneered. “Have you lost somebody?”

“No,” the old man said. “I’ve lost everybody.”

“Yeah?” the young man scoffed. “You think that makes you special? Everybody has. I’ve lost people too. You don’t see me whining about it.”

The old man nodded. “It’s time to go.”

“Go then,” the young man said. “I’m not stopping you.” He looked toward the parking lot once more. “And shut your damned lights off already! Are you listening to me?”

The old man reached beneath his jacket and pulled out an old handgun, a revolver, and he stared at it.

“Hey, now.” The young man backed away, raising his free hand. “I’ve just had a little too much to drink. I didn’t mean any offense.”

“I’m not threatening you,” the old man said. He held the gun up, pointing it away from the man so he could take a better look at it. “Don’t you recognize this?”

“An antique Colt Peacemaker?” the young man asked. “Yeah, of course. I’ve got a collection of handguns, myself. I’ve got one just like that.”

“Just like this?”

The young man stepped closer, frowning. “That’s not my gun, is it?”

“It’s time for you to leave,” the old man said.

“Not until you give me my goddamned gun.”

“It’s time for you to leave.”

“Stop saying that,” the young man said. “I’m looking for my wife and kid. They’re around here somewhere. And can y’all shut off those damned lights?”

“Douglas Ellender, beloved husband and father. They died in a car wreck a long time ago. And so did you. By this gun.”

“That’s a lie.” Douglas staggered back, shaking his head, dropping the bottle. “What is this? Is this a scam? A trick? Who the hell are you?”

The old man dropped the gun on the grave. “It’s time for you to go. You just have to walk toward the light.”

“Wait?” Douglas looked at the gravestones, reading the names. He fell to his knees before them, pressing his palms against the sides of his head. “Wait.”

The old man put his hand on Douglas’ shoulder and squeezed. “Go on.”

Tears streamed down Douglas’ cheeks. “I just miss them so much.”

“I know,” the old man said, his voice soft and gentle. “They’ve been waiting for you. It’s time to go. Just walk toward the light.”

Douglas staggered to his feet, squinting as he stared into the light. He whispered, “Is that them?”

“Yes.”

Douglas turned to the old man. “What about you?”

“It’s not my time,” the old man said. He turned away with stooped shoulders and shuffled toward the darkness. “I still can’t see the light.”

Hello there! I have actually a very interesting question for you! I am doing my PhD about erotic literature and one of the things i want to do is to research forum environment cause we all know where the cool writers are hanging out I would be happy if you would help me to identify which are the trends today at Savvy, about what people write (i got lost in numerous forums and threads) and also is there any official statistics about readers. Would be happy by any insight!
I found some stats and data about the website but maybe constant forum-people could help me with the direction at least
Hugs!
Love !
Let's help the science, i need you!

P.S. if there are any opinions also about AI and how it helps or doesn't help !

Hey, gang.

I'm a newbie, I guess, but not a newbie. I was a regular here... 10-15 years ago maybe. (I can't find my old class work and community posts here anymore, though.)

I'm a fantasy/science fiction author. I've got a few books on Amazon and I've sold a few of them. I haven't released a new book since 2019, The Lich's Heart. I had a science fiction book almost ready to go out in 2020... but it was 2020. Since then, my day job has totally taken over my life and I've been having problems getting everything together and finishing my projects.

It's not that I haven't written since then. I've written multiple first drafts of books, including 4 books that are part of the fantasy series I was working on, and two books starting new fantasy series. I've also done several rewrites on one of those books, The Butcher's Bill.

But I've also kinda lost focus. I used to be a semi-professional musician and I've gotten more and more into composing. When working in one of the year-long group classes (with Devon Ellington back in the day), I got deeply into 3D Art while trying to design book covers. I've realized that I'm spending more time and more money on those two interests instead of my writing.

When I was here back in Ye Olden Days, I took lots of classes and learned lots of things. I'm hoping I can get refocused and that spending my money HERE instead of on music classes will help with that.

Our winner for our first Flash Fiction contest of 2024 is.....
@T.E. Bradford for Celestial Beach!

Congratulations @T.E. Bradford

I'll be in contact for your prompt for our next contest. We are skipping a week to get back in our sync with alternating weeks between Flash and Crit Partner match.

Celestial Beach
The sound of the trunk closing, enveloping my single suitcase, rang with an odd finality. I stared at my warped reflection in the rear window. “I shouldn’t go.”

Sandra, my best friend since high school, put an arm around my shoulders. “You need this, Dee.” Her smile managed to look both hopeful and concerned. “You deserve a vacation.”

I couldn’t shake the strange sense of wrongness looking at my car gave me. I’d always loved driving… before. “Something isn’t right.”

Sandra’s smile faded. The concern in her eyes deepened. “David’s been gone two years, Dee. You can’t hide in this house forever.”

Was that what I’d been doing? Hiding? It felt more like waiting. Waiting for my life to make sense again. Waiting for the world to stop spinning along without me.

Waiting for David to come home.

At some point I should have realized none of those things were ever going to happen.

“Okay.” I gave Sandra the best smile I could muster. “Okay, I’m going.”

Her squeeze tightened. “Good. Call me when you get there.” She smiled at our joint reflections. “I’ll see you in a couple weeks.”

If loading my suitcase had felt strange, driving away was ten times worse. The road spooled away from home like a funhouse floor, propelling me while tipping out of kilter with the world, leaving me on a precarious, moving ledge.

It’s only a couple weeks, I told myself. You can do this.

When had I become such a recluse?

The sun was warm through the car windows. It’d be nice to see the ocean. To hear the whoosh of the waves, and smell the brine and sea air. David and I had always loved going to the coast. Booking a dinner cruise, or a whale-watching excursion. Shopping in lazy little towns for things we didn’t need and would never use.

God, I miss you, Darling.

The tears came as they always did—unbidden, but familiar. Like the pain, I thought they’d let up eventually. They never did.

WELCOME TO CELESTIAL BEACH.

The sign surprised me. Had I driven three hours already? I grabbed a tissue to wipe my face, checking myself in the rearview, as though it mattered to anyone.

I rolled down the window, taking a deep breath. Not visible yet, I still sensed the closeness of the ocean, drawing me in like the tide. Something white on the road caught my attention.

2024.

Someone had painted the numbers on the pavement.

“Okay…?”

It might have made sense, if 2024 wasn’t already three years in the past.

Maybe the number meant something else to someone. An address, or the year they’d graduated. A mile later the road curved west, away from the distant mountains. Sand crept into the grass and in spots along the shoulder, telltale signs. Screeching gulls provided beach music as weathered houses came closer together, leading into the small New England town.

I smiled at the familiar sights. Dell Dairy and Ice Cream stand was crowded with people like always.

Farmer’s in the Dell! How many times had we quipped the same joke?

I slowed as I passed the 7-11 where we always stopped for slurpies.

Maybe I should have gone somewhere else. Somewhere not so filled with memories of David. Of us. But the small town had always felt like a second home.

I found the side-street, amazed as always at the sight of the ocean only a few hundred feet from the small wood fence at the end of the road, skirted with sawgrass and nearly swallowed by sand. I pulled into one of the Skylark’s eight parking spots.

I frowned at the sky blue car beside mine.

Looks just like David’s.

The intense feeling of strangeness crashed down, pinning me to my seat. For a moment it was difficult to breathe. Then a woman walked by, headed for the beach with a towel and a small cooler, and the oddness lifted like a cloud. I grabbed my purse before I could chicken out.

“There you are!”

My breath caught, and I nearly tripped.

“Whoa! Whoa. You okay?” A hand caught my arm.

I knew the touch as well as the voice, but looking up, seeing his face, his blue-gray eyes, was like peeking past forever and into the beyond.

“David?” How could this be happening?

His smile, the single dimple on the left side of his mouth… I could even smell his cologne. Maybe I’d had a stroke and was dead, my body left behind somewhere.

“I thought you’d never get here.” He popped the trunk, pulling out my suitcase. “Driving good?” He stopped beside me, his brows twitching downward. “Everything okay?”

I reached out a hand, unable to help but touch his face. His lips.

He kissed my fingers. “You’re scaring me, sweetheart.” He dropped my things and took my hand in both of his, pulling me into an embrace.

I melted against him.

How had I survived without him for even one day?

“Honey? What is it?” He pulled me away to wipe tears from my cheeks, worry etched into his face.

“N-Nothing. I’m okay. I just… I missed you.”

His face cleared and he grinned. “I missed you, too!” He buried his face in my neck, breath and whiskers tickling the spot behind my ear he knew so well.

If I was dead, my body had no idea.

Tingling, I followed him across the ground-floor balcony of the room we always asked for, unsure how any of this could be happening, but too overwhelmingly happy to question. A flash of white paint flitted through my mind’s eye.

2024.

Could the road have somehow taken me to the past?

As the husband I thought I’d lost forever set my suitcase down and turned to face me, I knew it didn’t matter. Wherever… whenever I was, I’d never leave.

My cell rang.

Sandra.

With trembling fingers I turned the phone off. This was a vacation, after all.

. . . and looking forward to learning from the community and what SavvyAuthors has to offer. I am not new to writing. However, I am new to taking myself seriously as a writer and learning as much as I can about the craft by immersing myself in drafting, editing, and publishing my work as an author. It's intimidating but I am at a point in my life where I'm ready to commit.