Thank you to the lovely Charmalot, who kindly gave it to me. It's always wonderful to have the hard work you're doing appreciated.
The rules state you have to share seven facts about you:
1. I don't own a telly nor a stereo.
2. I'm not a morning person.
3. I've got different coloured eyes.
4. I hate balloons. Can't stand it when they burst.
5. I get rather weak in the knees when I meet Chinese men.
6. I usually miss my calls because my mobile is always on silent.
7. I have a knack for tanks. I'm weird, I know.
I will seek out ten people in future, to give the award to. Be prepared, I might just pop by your blog next :-)
And here some flash fiction I wrote for a contest last year:
It was as if it had been yesterday. I remember every little detail. His expression pure sadness, warm brown eyes on me, filled with moisture. He fought for dignity, though I could see a small twitch of his lips and knew he'd not be able to hold it much longer. That's when I turned and left.
I didn't want to, but my tears built a steady stream, gathering on my neck and eventually ended in my scarf. Heavy sobs made it difficult to breathe. But I ran. If I didn't get away as quickly as possible, I might not have been strong enough. Though I wanted to go back, I knew I couldn't.
From the second I had given him the last kiss, I missed him. Missed him so much, that it hurt. So much it was unbearable. My lips still burned from his passion. The sweetness of it never left my memory and night after night I replayed the moment in my dreams.
I felt his arms around me forever. It was so real, I said I loved him aloud, hoping he would answer. We were so happy, his voice seemed so real each time we spoke. Soft, calm and youthful. I could listen to him for hours.
His humour made me laugh so much. Sometimes, I wondered why we were so happy, so full of life, blessed with love. I didn't find an answer. I guessed it was fate that meant well for us. That's what he used to say when he took my hand into his, then gently blew a stray lock out of my face.
Beautiful hands that still caressed my body, familiar with every inch of it. I would sigh and run my fingers through his thick dark hair. It smelled wonderful; he smelled wonderful. With one swift move he'd take me into his arms and I would press myself against his body. My safe place.
How much I longed for him. Every single feature stored in my mind. I clung on to it like a baby monkey on its mother's back. Not willing to let go, in an attempt to keep each detail as real as possible. I lift my head and smile. After a year, it feels as if I never left.
And I laugh, and I cry, and I run – into his open arms.