Tag Archive: creative writing


The Confirmation


His scream echoed and gave him hope. There was something in the featureless landscape he’d trudged for many sightless weeks, without a response, to confirm his existence.

He screamed again turning his head from side to side. To his left the echo came back hard and fast. He ran at it. The loving echo, the confirmation.

AAh, AAh, AAh, AAh he screamed in time with his rapid footsteps, on and on until his voice faded, his energy was spent and he fell down.

Face down his mouth opened and closed seeking the echo until his death.

Advertisements

He woke with the same spiralling anxious thoughts that he would die today, he would have a terrible accident of some sort and he would die. The fact that he’d had this series of thoughts for many years and each day proved it wrong seemed to make no difference. He still had the thoughts. Sometimes they were accompanied by mental images of his death. The severing of his head seemed to feature quite often, as did being crushed by a speeding truck. More unusual recent examples were being catapulted into the air and landing on a spike, being electrocuted by pissing on a power supply and, his least favourite, nailed down to a wooden floor and eaten alive slowly, by crows and rats. This morning was the second time he’d had this thought in the past few months and an additional worrying thought that now joined the others circulating around his overworked brain, was that maybe this would become a new regular. Generally the thoughts came as he awoke, they followed him from the bedroom to the bathroom to the kitchen, paused for a moment when he drank his coffee, then resumed at full intensity for the rest of the day until he went to sleep. Sleep for him was a beautiful wondrous thing. In his sleep he dreamt of not dying, of living a happy easy normal life, occasionally even doing amazing things: eating in fine restaurants, talking to girls and once, touching a breast. This fantasy world was available to him whenever he slept so obviously, he tried to sleep as much as possible. He had every brand of sleeping tablet known to man and he drank enormous quantities of alcohol every day of the week. It was getting harder to get to sleep though and he had started waking earlier and earlier. His cunning plan this morning was to start a new exercise regime. He was incredibly unhealthy having spent most of his life indoors and most of the last 20 years drinking excessively. The advantage of being so unfit, he figured, was that exercise would exhaust him and he would sleep more – it couldn’t fail.

Terrible two’s


Barbie dolls are almost exclusively considered...
Image via Wikipedia


Name: Craig Arthur Tennenbaum

Eye Colour: Blue

Hair Colour: Sandy

Favourite food: Strawberry yogurt

Siblings names/ages: Felicia Gertude Tennenbaum age 6

 

 

Here I am stuck in my crib as usual. I can hear them downstairs, trying to be quiet so they don’t wake the baby. Do they think I’m stupid? Sometimes I think they get mixed up with young and dumb. Its not the same thing. I wish I could say what’s going n in my head so I could make them understand. Unfortunately my body, well my mouth and tongue and the other parts that contribute to speech, throat and larynx and vocal chords I guess, they’re not fully developed yet. When they are I am gonna give them the shock of their lives. They have no idea what I am capable of. Maybe though and this something that keeps me awake at night, not the crying for Mummy type of awake but the oh my god which option shall I choose kind of lying awake. I wonder about letting on, maybe if I keep my cleverness to myself for now at least I will be able to take advantage. They’ll never suspect an innocent little two or even three or four-year old, would they. I could gather some decent savings for start. I know where Daddy keeps his wallet and I’ve seen the stash of bills he throws down several nights a week. God knows where he gets it from, can’t be legal I’m sure, why on earth would he need to have all that cash. Its something dodgy and that’s both unsettling and useful. Its unsettling as it’s a poor environment to grow up in, morally and ethically of course but also it very insecure. Maybe he’ll get found out and arrested for Christ’s sake! However, it does mean he’s likely to be pretty lax about money and wont notice a few £10’s going missing from time to time. By the time I’m 18 I want to have amassed enough to get the hell out of here and get a place of my own. I may be a  baby but I know from the time I’ve spent here, and two years is a long time particularly at my age, it’s a goddamned lifetime! Two years with these bozos is enough to know that as soon as possible I will be out of here. Obviously I don’t have a clue what I’ll do for money or work, something exciting and magnificent no doubt but just in case I want a bit put away.

Imagine the bliss of getting away from the dreaded whiney Felicia, or Fliss as she insists on being called by her ghastly friends, flid more like it. She make’s me wanna puke and she is such a stereotype. She plays with dolls and make up and talks with her friends about clothes and boys and wears mummy’s shoes as soon as she’s out of the house. I have to be careful though with her. She’s not entirely dumb, obviously way below my level but I guess some of this genius might be genetic though you wouldn’t think it in a million years looking at our thicky parents. She’s a bit sharper than they know though and I’m sure she clocked me the other day when I rolled my eyes at her stupid comment about Barbie. Maybe she’s pulling the wool over someone s eyes too. Maybe the typical little girl thing is just an act and maybe she’s got some plans of her own. I need to keep an eye on her I guess, don’t want her getting in the way.

 

I read in the Times last week about the child who divorced his parents at the age of 14, something to consider, although it would attract a hell of  a lot of attention and it would be much harder to do what I want then. I think, with many many distractions and devious ways of keeping out of the way and bearing it, I will manage to stay until I’m of age to avoid the least fuss and the least interference from Social services or anyone like that.

Sounds like a plan my man, sometimes I wish I was a twin and we could high-five each other, still you have to live with what you’ve got. That mobile is making me drowsy…

Enhanced by Zemanta

Severed head


His head was severed from his body and he felt the agony of that, but he was still alive. His head rolled down the enlarged gullet of the Mummy-thing. Its throat was lined with a sticky red shiny liquid that burnt on contact. Already one of his eyes had been burnt out and he could barely see out of the other one. As he was squeezed downwards he heard a gurgling churning noise which grew louder as he rounded each of the many corners of the foul monstrous gut.

At each push his head was turned in a different direction so he couldn’t always see where he was going. He tried  to bite the side of the gut to stop himself going forward. It tasted foul but the muscular motions were far too strong and he couldn’t hold on.

For a moment he was stuck on what seemed like a fold in the gut which was contracting and pushing him slowly forward towards a small opening.

By coincidence he was turned to face his fate, right at the very edge of the precipice.  Below him was a boiling vat of liquid which must be the stomach of this creature. As the muscles gathered themselves ready to contract he had one last stream of

“…he’ll get by without his rabbit pie…”

running through his mind before his head was ejected like a cork from a bottle out and down into the foul-smelling cauldron below. He registered the searing pain of the stomach acid briefly before his life finally flickered out and his head melted to join the morass.

Extract from my NANOWRIMO work in progress

Enhanced by Zemanta

Rare


Exquisite sample of urine produced after a lon...
Image via Wikipedia

She thought it would be rare, maybe even before she died, which frankly wouldn’t be too long. It was, on the face of it, just another old-lady painting. She’d seen them lined up by the seafront with their easels and new packs of watercolours many years before she retired and followed suit. This was different though, this was a slight variation on the water colour theme. She’d collected her husbands urine for the last 3 years and mixed it with a whole variety of local delicacies, dog turds, vomit collected outside the pub on a Sunday morning, a big jar of her own spit she’d kept specially, and of course that pigs blood she’d got from the butchers.

Enhanced by Zemanta

The Mayor, the hat man and his wife


Sovereign meeting the people

‘Let’s get this straight, you think you’re wife here should have my job?’ said the Mayor.

‘Yeah I do,’ said the man with the hat. ‘Thing is, she may not look it, but she’s a dynamo.’

‘A dynamo?’

‘Yeah.’

‘D’you mind not talking about me as if I wasn’t here,’ said the wife of the man with the hat.

‘See, I told ya,’ said the hat man.

‘I’m sorry,’ said the Mayor. ‘I’m just taken aback here. I feel insulted to be honest with you.’

‘Insulted?’ said the hat man.

‘Insulted?’ said the hat man’s wife.

‘Yeah.’

‘Why ?’ said the hat man’s wife.

‘Well come on. I mean, here I am trying to be nice. I’m walking around, chatting with people, trying to find out what they want…’

‘Well, yeah but…’ said the hat man’s wife.

‘I’ve only been in the job for 5 days…’

‘I know but…’ said the hat man’s wife.

‘And this schmuck…’

‘Hey!’ said the hat man.

‘How dare you!’ said the hat man’s wife.

‘I don’t think he meant anything by that,’ said the Mayor’s aide.

‘Didn’t mean anything,’ said the hat man’s wife.

‘Just be a man,’ said the hat man.

‘Be a man? Be a goddamn man!’ said the Mayor.

‘I’m glad I didn’t vote for you…’ said the hat man’s wife.

‘Well, thank you but I didn’t need your vote and frankly…’

‘Mr Mayor…’

‘If anyone’s a schmuck…’ said the hat man brandishing his umbrella.

‘Sir, move away,’ said the Mayor’s security man grasping the umbrella.

‘You make me wanna puke,’ said the hat man’s wife. ‘Come on dear, we didn’t come here to be insulted. ‘

Powered by Plinky

Enhanced by Zemanta

Grounded


Lone Cloud
Image by craigmdennis via Flickr

In the sky he could see his target. The fat fluffy cloud to the left, in fact, at that moment it was the only cloud in the sky. He wanted to reach the cloud quickly before it changed shape. He couldn’t believe it wouldn’t be as solid and comfortable and armchair-like as it appeared from the ground.

He stood up and stared at it some more before simply lifting from the ground, slowly at first and straight up, head first. He stopped at a few feet and came straight back down. He couldn’t work out how to change direction and landing was still a huge problem; last time he’d sprained his ankle and had to ring his Dad to pick him up, making some excuse about being attacked.

‘Who by, do you know them? You do don’t you I can tell?’

‘No Dad, I don’t know them, I’ve never seen them before.’

‘What did they take?’

‘Nothing, a police car drove by and they ran away.’

He’d not flown since. If only he had someone he could talk to about it, someone who could teach him. He had to keep it all to himself but he was dying to tell Harry, his best friend. Harry loved science fiction and superheroes. He’d know what to do. If he found out though Jack knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it to himself, no way.

Imagine if people found out, what would happen to him. He’d probably be hounded out of town or burnt for being a witch or his house would be surrounded by cameras and paparazzi and his Dad would be really cross and he would stop his pocket money.

Bu then, surely if he could fly, properly, once he’d got the hang of it and could land and change direction and swoop and all that, then it wouldn’t matter would it? If they came after him he’d just fly away. If his Dad stopped his pocket money he’d fly into the bank and steal some money and they wouldn’t be able to stop him.

But it wouldn’t end well. He imagined flying round and round being chased and shot at by helicopters and RAF jets and ground to air missiles and the whole of the army would be after him and he’d be hit high above the city and fall to the ground like a stone.

Enhanced by Zemanta

Where did I put those parents?


Family Room BEFORE
Image by Mandajuice via Flickr

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand so much as that he just couldn’t think about it. Whenever he tried his mind became either completely blank or a mass of noise and scribble and chaos. Either way, the whole subject of housework was always problematic for him. Not that he expected anyone else to do it, well maybe he wouldn’t have minded, to be honest, but as he’d been on his own since hiding his parents, he had no one else who could do it. Theoretically, he could have hired someone but that would have meant earning some money and he hadn’t really worked that out yet either.

His parents’ money was running out fast, unless they had more hidden away somewhere, but if they did he couldn’t think of a way to find it. Asking them was out of the question of course as he’d forgotten where he’d hidden them. All he knew was that he’d hidden them ‘somewhere safe’, that old chestnut.

He’d tried the obvious places, behind the sofa, under the bed, in the shed, in the garage, in the kitchen drawer. He tried places that weren’t at all obvious, like the bathroom cabinet, his pencil case, his jacket pocket, the sugar bowl, the hamster cage and his old shoes under the bed.

All of this had got him nowhere. It had been 9 months now since he’d hidden them. He was a little bit worried about them, obviously, but mainly, he was worried about himself. How was he going to pay the mortgage when the cash ran out?  How was he going to get the house clean, get himself clean, his clothes washed? How was he going to clean up his act so that he could invite someone round or have a chance of meeting someone? He had no clue.

Although his parents were miniature parents, it didn’t mean he relied on them any less. He said to himself that he’d hidden them but in reality they were perfectly able to unhide themselves and find him, they were just choosing not to.

They were letting him use his initiative, something they’d banged on about for years. They may have been miniature but as far as he could tell they seemed to be just as big a pain in the arse as normal sized parents.

Enhanced by Zemanta

There was this little guy, with a huge left hand. Most of his life he’d made every effort to keep it hidden. Oversized left pockets in all his trousers played a significant role.

He was actually left handed so it led to considerable difficulties. At school or in any public place he used his right hand, so his writing was appalling and he had to avoid any kind of manual work, like carpentry for fear of injuring himself.

His parents helped him to hide, supplying regular notes and excuses on demand. His Dad had a giant left ear and his Mum a tiny left thumb, so they knew what he was going through.

When he was 25 he left home and moved into his own little flat. That day, he decided to come out. He waved that hand around like a huge shovel wherever he went. He always wrote with it in public and he discovered that if he ever got any backchat or abuse from the neighbourhood kids, he could muster an almighty cuff round the ear.

Within a year he had his first girlfriend, an enormous breasted woman with buttocks the size of beach balls. They lived a happy life together.

Powered by Plinky

Enhanced by Zemanta

Grizzworst


Photographs of several "Final Fantasy XII...
Image via Wikipedia

Sick of the castle keep, Grizzworst decided to work out in the open today. He’d forgotten though, how hideous he appeared to mere mortals, so much so that in the last few minutes he’d had two screamers, an attempted assault and a suspected self-fouling.

He remembered why he’d remained hidden for the last 50 odd years now.

Still, it was a bit of a laugh, he had to admit, a bit distracting from his real work, magic and associated potions and lotions, but he figured he deserved a bit of a break.

He wondered if he could actually kill  anyone simply by being hideously ugly. He hid behind a tree and decided to try it out on passers-by for the next hour or so  before resuming his work.

Enhanced by Zemanta
%d bloggers like this: