Hello,

I am halfway through writing my first novel called "Too Soon for Flowers", and I have started to write a collection of short stories. Here is one I wrote last night. Have a read and let me know what you think?

------------------------------------------------------

The Dying Flight of Mabel - By Thos Henley

The car crashed at three in the afternoon. The road was covered in thick leaves, white with endless ice. William drove slow but in love. Turning to his right he smiled at Mabel with a loosely wrapped cigarette, unlit and messy, hanging from the corner of his mouth. The front tyres span out and with the rocking of the weak tin that made up the car, tobacco spilt into his lap.

The tree was wet and ugly. She saw it coming towards her in a hurry and tensed her toes to breaking point. The collision was abrupt and straight to the point and the lovers held each other's hands one last time. Williams nose broke in two and Mabel flew up high. She was elevating to endless ecstasy. Up she went, through the sun roof, her dress spun beside her like the sail of a boat on a stormy sea.

It was not that she had taken life for granted, only, she never really pondered on pondering. The idea of reflection of memories, of cherishing nostalgia and the love that she had gained, had not come to her before. This was not a display of ungrateful behaviour, just an innocent performance of blasé.

This is all changed however with the height that she was reaching. Time slowed down and her vision became three hundred and sixty degrees with the spinning of her body. Bird songs became murmurs and the devastated engine below roared as though it were some dying wild animal. The patchwork countryside of Hampshire lay before her and with this cherished moment of penultimate realisation; Mabel saw her memories played out in front of her damned eyes.

To her right and the right of the tree – her assassin – was the old train station, bare and empty for the Christmas holidays. It stood out of the green surroundings with its brown and medieval look. It was there that she and William had met. Under a summer sun, she skipped into the shade of the stations entrance with her sisters Flora and Harriet. She hovered in the air like a kestrel, watching herself years before in an orange floral dress. Years before her death and years before the stapling impact of childbirth. Her dress was damp with summer and she laughed with her sisters at their glorious freedom. They turned around, linked arm in arm and saw three young men all in a row with pipes steaming in symmetry. This was William and his brother George and their friend, the orphan; Tom. Her lips pulsated and Mabel smiled from the air as she smelt the fragrance of immediate lust. Below her, with his nose in two, she could smell the aroma of concrete love from William. The two mixed together in a wicked fashion and she wept.

Her tears recoiled off the tin car and propelled her further around her cycle, so that the wrecked vehicle was behind her. The scent of her love was replaced by the smell of the early morning bakers in front of her. The warm smell of yeast and the sight of the inflamed stomachs reminded her of how William had bought the thickest loaf of bread she had ever seen. Punching a hole in the top with his rough thumb, William stuffed an engagement ring in the middle of the loaf for Mabel to find at breakfast.

Mabel smiled as she saw the memory of William buying the bread and realised fully, the extent of his thoughtfulness in their relationship.

Behind the bakers was the county hospital where in the afternoon of the day that William bought the bread, Mabel, with a bloody mouth and a gap in her teeth, mumbled 'I do'. The ring had been more of a surprise to her than William had imagined and biting down on a cold piece of bread, Mabel's front teeth accepted the proposal.

Her bloody mouth dissolved and was replaced by three different images of herself leaving the hospital with the three children that she had given birth to over the years. Mabel was starting her descent back to the car now and she could feel the life being pulled away from her, smooth like the drawers in her bedroom. As she fell, she could see their house, beaming with the excitement of electric light. She could see William carrying her in his thin arms; she was dressed in her wedding dress, which was as white as the ice that killed her. With Williams next step they  were walking back with their first son Raymond and thus the others came. As they reached the front door, Mabel finally saw a glimpse of them leaving the house that very morning. They left the children with Flora and were off to shop for the beckoning Christmas. It struck her that throughout all these visual memories; William had been there, from every angle, in every instance, with every step.

Her body fell limp and dismantled on the weak roof of the car. William looked up at Mabel's broken neck. Her eyes fell down on him like dominoes and she whispered; "I am forever outspokenly grateful my love."