Coffee/tea break read - The Society For The Protection Of Unwanted Objects


some of you may have read the blog I wrote recently for MacMIllan. It dawned on me the other day that I hadn't actually shared any of my own creative efforts with this group for a while.

About a year ago I bought a journal in Paperchase called Continue The Story. There are word prompts at the start of every few pages to prompt the story to flow so these are the words in bold at the start of the story below. A photo of an old run down shop that I saw on Facebook also acted as a story prompt. The story is a piece of flash fiction so is only 400 words long.

So, grab a coffee/tea and treat yourself to a few moments of "Me Time" with The Society For The Protection Of Unwanted Objects 

Taking a deep breath, she put the old-fashioned key in the lock and turned it. She’d half expected it to stick, given the age of both, but the mechanism moved with ease and the of the shop door swung open before her.

What on earth was she supposed to do with the place?

The shop smelled stale and musty and slightly unclean – a bit like its previous owner, her late great-uncle. It had been over twenty years since she had last visited “The Society For The Protection Of Unwanted Objects.”  She’d been shocked to learn that she had inherited the place when her uncle had passed away three months beforehand. Growing up, she’d been passed around the family after the death of her parents, spending most of her childhood with her aunt. The shop had always been a bit of a sanctuary for her, seeing herself as the “unwanted object” in the family. As a child, she’d imagined the shop as a “real life” episode of Bagpuss; as an adult, she was at a loss as to what to make of it.

What did she know about running a shop?

Glancing round, all she could see before her was clutter and junk. A thick layer of dust covered everything in sight. Most of the items on the shelves and in the display cabinets looked as though they’d been there since her last visit.

Leaving the door open, she ventured further inside. A letter addressed to her, in her uncle’s shaking writing, lay amongst the dust bunnies on the glass counter. Leaving it unopened for now, she explored the rest of the shop. Both storerooms were piled high with yet more junk. The small kitchen cum sitting room right at the back of the building looked completely unchanged from her childhood and was desperately in need of a good clean.

“Oh, why, Uncle Samuel?” she sighed as she walked back through to the main shop.

A cough from the doorway startled her.

“Hi. Are you the new owner?” asked a tall guy with long dark hair, pulled back into a ponytail, his bare arms covered in tattoos. “I’m Sam. I’m your neighbour. I own the art gallery next door.”

A ray of sunlight broke through the clouds at that moment. With a cloud of dust motes creating an aura around him, he smiled.

Maybe he was the reason she was here….

love n hugs 

Wee Me xx

  • Hi ,

    Your story was great and I didn’t want it end. You should submit it to a magazine and sign up to a creative writing course.

     I hadn’t heard about the journal you mentioned and I have just bought one for myself. Happy creative writing.

    With love,

    Lisa xxx



  • Glad you enjoyed it, Lisa.

    It was first published on my own blog a few weeks ago. I've taken a few writing courses over the years but nothing beats actually just sitting down and writing to hone those skills. Six novels into my indie author journey and its working so far Slight smile

    Have fun with journal. Please share some of your tales on here. Look forward to reading them.

    love n hugs

    Wee Me xx

    Macmillan Support Line - 0808 808 00 00, 7 days a week between 8am-8pm

  • Thanks for posting, I enjoyed the read you had me hooked 

    Isnt  it wonderful to be creative and take oneself away from the now? 
    I haven’t been able to get myself away like that for such a long time.

    I read your piece and I didn’t scan it like I do most of the time these days 

    Thank you 

    Best Wishes

    Artsie Ann