We recognise it is a terrible tease to offer up a meagre 750 words from each story. For the majority of our writers, this is their first publishing adventure, though certainly not their first venture into the wonderful yet terrible world of fiction writing. Many of the writers here have considerable back-catalogues of stories, seen and unseen.

To support our writers – and to ease your frustration – each Sunday we will post a full length piece of writing from the featured author of the week.

This week Jasmine Gallant presents a moment of reflection…

A Moment

My eyes slowly flutter open and I hear the cat purring nearby. My first thought is that is a beautiful day outside, the autumn sunlight is peaking through the blinds. Lazy dust dances in the golden light in a breeze from the open window.

I shift in the bed, luxuriating in the heat of the duvet and the softness of the sheets against my skin. If I could purr myself I would; this delicious moment of silence and warmth, part way between sleeping and waking.

Now the cat has realized I’m partly awake and has come to where my face is just peaking out of the blankets, staring down at me in amusement. ‘C’mon,’ he seems to say with his knowing eyes. ‘You’ve got things to do.’

The procrastinator in me just wants to roll over and ignore those smug eyes and doze for awhile longer. But we’ve lived together long enough to know each other’s habits; he’ll just keep harassing me until I get up and fill his bowl.

Sighing, I throw off the duvet and sit up. There’s a slight chill in the air that bites at the skin on my legs and I crave the warmth of the bed again. I look around the room and feel that familiar lump in my throat again.

My friends couldn’t believe I was selling this place. ‘A one bedroom flat in zone 1 for a bargain and you want to give it up now, before the Olympics cash cow?’ They shook their heads in disbelief at my stupidity. Even the ones that understood still thought I was crazy to sell it now and suggested renting it out.

I can’t though, it’s just too much. I don’t care if the housing market is starting to dip and I won’t get as much for it as I may have in another year’s time. I don’t care that the obscenely low mortgage would be more than covered by the rent, probably doubled. I just have to move on.

Most of my things are packed up and ready to move over to the new place. It was hard but I couldn’t let anyone help me, it was something I had to do by myself. A few glasses of wine to fortify myself, a little slow music on in the background, and I did my best not to let the memories overwhelm me as I wrapped things and boxed them.

It’s weird to see the place I called home without all of the little loved things that made it more than just a flat. The carpets are rolled up and ready by the door so when I finally stand and walk to the kitchen, the cold wooden floors numb the soles of my feet.

After feeding the cat and making a cup of coffee, I sit on the couch and look around the room. Almost everything is ready to go and it’s strange that in a few days time, someone else will be living here. Cooking in my kitchen, sleeping in my bedroom. I hope they find out if they sit on the fire escape at just the right angle, they can watch the most amazing sunsets over the city. I wonder if they’ll notice the little bit of cornicing that doesn’t match up in the corner of the living room. I hope they’ll be happy here, as I was.

Back in the bedroom, I throw on a pair of jeans and start moving the boxes into the living room. Some of my friends kindly offered to help me some of the smaller stuff over to the new place before the hired movers come in on Monday. I know the real reason they’ve offered and appreciate it all the more.

Just as I’m lifting the last box of clothes up, I notice a few pairs of shoes and things on the top of the dresser. Grimacing to myself, I take the final box to the living room. I was sure I had packed up everything and now I either had to find a box for these bits or bag them up for charity.

In a grump with myself, I step on a chair to see what’s up there. A few shoes, a broken lamp and some blankets. A small package from the photo store.

My breath catches in my throat and I can feel a thin cold sweat break out on my body. Blood rushes through my ears and the light from the window grows dim.

I grab the photos and get down from the chair quickly, afraid that I’ll faint at any moment. Shakily, I sit on the bed and stare at the package for what feels like ages. The cat comes and meows quietly, rubbing against my legs. I feel a presence in the room, not a heavy one, but one that fills me with a quiet peace.

Finally taking a deep breath, I open the package and take out the photos. Slowly, gazing a long time at each one, I remember. I remember how happy we were. I remember how we always had fun together, doing the silliest things like making pasta and having a dinner party for friends. Lying in bed on a Sunday morning, coffee and papers strewn about. I remember when I took him to meet my parents, and how he called my dad ‘sir’ with so much respect.

I remember how much I loved him.

And for the life of me, I can’t remember why I’ve been so angry with him. I have been so angry for what feels like a long time for him leaving me without him. For not being stronger, not fighting harder. I remember him in the hospital, looking frail and weak with all those tubes attached to him.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t cry when he was fighting for his life, I just held his hand and whispered to him that he couldn’t go, he couldn’t leave me here. Just try my love. I didn’t cry at his funeral either; while his sisters and mother’s tears streamed down their faces, I stood in a numb shock watching his body being lowered into the cold ground. I returned to work and picked up the broken pieces of my life, trying to tell everyone that I was just fine.

I didn’t cry.

I sit and look those photos for the longest time, thinking about all the moments we had and how we should’ve cherished them more. If we had known then how little time we had left, I know we would’ve made every moment full of love and laughter. But then, how can we ever know? Life can sometimes be unfair and take things away before we’re ready but would I go back and change it because of the pain? Never.

My friends find me there, a few hours later, photos strewn across the bed. I look up at them and the tears are still running down my cheeks. But I’m also smiling.