Like many psychoanalysts the nature of human beings makes us interested in the genre of fiction and exploring human experience through fiction
Below a sample of flash fiction:
Gardening
When Yvonne left me again, it was for good this time. It was after a short spell of couple therapy. We married twenty-five years ago – no children, just us; just as I’d wanted. Every so often, Yvonne would kiss my cheek and tell me, “Don’t worry, I’ll be back.” And then turn out of the front door – friendly… but devastating!
I’d wait a weekend, a week, longer. And once for as long as three months. I think – in the early years. Then she’d be back with a kiss on my cheek.
But this time, I knew she’d gone. I’ll tell you how I knew.
Lucy came.
I didn’t know Lucy, towards the end of her teens and experimenting with life; “I lived in this house as a kid. I met your wife sometimes.”
Lucy was pretty, and young; like a precocious daughter. She admired my tee-shirt which said ‘Hug Me’ on it. She did. Lucy decided to stay. I was alone, and in no state to resist. So, she stayed. A lodger, who, one day, could be more?
The house, and garden, were chaos. She put me in order and would dig the garden. She liked gardening. I’d never done much. I offered my credit card for thanks. In a week, it maxed at ten grand. Thank you, Lucy!
One Saturday afternoon, after a few months I was watching her from the window, digging the vegetable patch. For weeds? Suddenly, her movement changed. She bent, and tensed, something in her hand but hard to see what. I hurried out as she was patting the earth flat again. In reply, “Just a dog bone,” but we’d never had a dog!
That afternoon, she decided she’d stayed long enough and made a phone call. Later, two serious policemen arrived – with a warrant to dig up my garden.
They dug up my ex-wife.
Lucy watched. As I left, in handcuffs, “I’m that kid you never wanted, Dad.” She returned my credit card. “Mum kept me secret.”