Long Listed

I was recently Long Listed for a writing competition, called The Writing Competition.

I was one of the final 20 to be put before the judge.

Despite not winning, getting in the top 3 or even having my story commented on by the judge, I am happy to have been able to get through. I must be doing something right.

You can find the Long List here.

The winning entries were interesting to read, although my favourite was the 3rd Prize winner.

Stay - MWBB

It seems my winning streak on the Mid-Week Blues-Buster challenge is over for the time being. I like to think that it is because there are more writers entering, all of whom have fabulous talent, than to consider that my entry might not be up to scratch. Particularly this week, as my entry was so emotive.

But then this song prompt would do that to me, as it is from my favourite band at present - Hurts, and the song Stay is one of the best off their first album - the voice of the lead singer, Theo Hutchcraft is just exquisite, and this song shows it off brilliantly.

Grab your box of tissues! 

*** 

He watched her move round the lounge, collecting, packing; he hated it…but he just sat there.

He wanted to speak; he so wanted to express how he felt, but how could he? How could he form the words she wanted to hear? He’d tried so many times - and several times he thought he’d managed it, but she still kept doing this, still kept insisting that she was going.

But this time it was different; this time she wasn’t screaming, she wasn’t ranting, this time she was silent, quiet – methodical. And she’d never packed this much before.

The children sat and watched too. They wondered if mummy was serious, if this time she would actually go, but their silence – and their presence - said that they believed that this time she just might.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? He hadn’t believed her when she said she’d had enough, when she said she couldn’t do it anymore, that she couldn’t live in this emotional silence; that it was killing her, and her love for him. He hadn’t really listened - thought she was just having another of her tantrums; that it would blow over like they always did, and she’d be fine in a few hours, and all would be right with the world again. She’d attempted to leave before, three times in fact; walked out. But she’d come back, and to be honest he found it irritating now; he’d grown tired of it.

But today she wasn’t doing any of that; she wasn’t telling him what she needed, she wasn’t screaming at him, telling him where he’d gone wrong and how he’d failed her. She wasn’t doing any of that – and actually hadn’t for months. She’d been studying her self-help books, seeing her therapist and things were looking up. She’d started to return to the woman he’d met, the loving, warm, caring individual he’d fallen in love with.

So why was she packing?

He desperately wanted to know, but he daren’t speak. Whenever he spoke it always went wrong, somehow his words would be misinterpreted, and she’d start screaming, or crying. His words never seemed to work, she complained that they didn’t really say anything. And today, if it went wrong, that would be that, she wouldn’t be coming back. He knew it; he knew it in his soul.

She zipped up the last bag and stopped. She went over to the children, not speaking – not able to with the tears pouring down her face, and grabbed them off the sofa, squeezing them as tight as she could. The little one implored her with his eyes, and when that didn’t work, he wouldn’t let her go. She had to peel him off. That’s when his tears started and he ran to his Papa for comfort and support.

She turned to him, and again he tried to speak, he tried to form the words that would make all this stop, but he fumbled when she looked into his eyes, and only said, ‘So, this is it then?’

She blinked, the disappointment in her eyes palpable, and looked at her cases. ‘Yes.’ She walked over to them and gathered them around her. He knew she was stalling, waiting for him to say or do something, but he felt paralysed, frozen inside, not able to form anything. She picked them up and took them to the front door, managing to fumble it open and push herself out.

She faltered on the doorstep, turning again. And he stood there at the door holding the little one, while the eldest stood by his side, still trying to get the words out, still trying to form anything that would work, that would stop this horror unfold. But part of his mind was waiting, waiting to see if she would really go.

She turned. She walked to the car and loaded the cases in the boot. The children were crying loudly now. He had to do something.

‘STAY! Please stay!’ He shouted.

She stopped; pausing for a moment as she opened the car door.

‘I can’t.’

As her car pulled out, his tears started too.

Visual Dare - Implore

I haven't entered a Visual Dare for some time either - but then the school holidays keep me busy. It was nice to get back in the swing, and this photo prompt couldn't have been missed. Although the prompt word didn't get a chance - the main character didn't allow it! Enjoy. 

Elisa had been waiting all evening, but finally she heard the keys rattle in the lock. She was glad she’d practised the pose otherwise she’d never have lasted so long. She hoped she could keep it just a fraction longer.

She heard the key turn in the lock and his shoes clicking on the parquet floor. She heard them falter then stop – not daring to move her eyes from the focal point she’d found above the front door.

She heard him gasp in amazement.

“Elisa, come out and see this! Elisa, where are you? This is amazing, the likeness is uncanny. I know you said he was good, but… Elisa?”

Thinking about the next step was the only way she could keep a straight face.

His head turned sharply at the ‘thwang’, but he didn’t utter a sound as he fell backwards, dead before he hit the ground. 

Five Sentence Fiction - Beauty

It's been a while since I've written a piece for Five Sentence Fiction, but I loved this photo, it said so much, I just had to. 

 

She didn’t mind that the mirror reflected her out of focus; it’s how she felt most days.

She saw the beauty in the frame and felt ashamed that her reflection didn’t match it, but then a maudlin face didn’t match much.

She felt cut off and isolated, even when she was standing in a crowd of people she knew.

They all talked to her and interacted with her, but inside she felt she wasn’t really coming through and showing her true self, like trying to break through a transparent plastic bubble; she pushed against it, but it kept flinging her back.

She touched her fuzzy hand, to her fuzzy face, and knew she did exist, but pondered how she could really make herself feel heard and seen – longing to be defined and crystal clear, so no-one misunderstood her.

Daily Picspiration No.8 - Connections

My fortnightly Daily Picspiration piece is up.

I struggled with the pictures this time, and wondered if I would continue my serialisation of The Jester, or just write a random piece of flash, but suddenly inspiration hit me as to how I could continue, and I even managed to include both photos in this weeks piece.

You can read 'Connections' here.

Mob - MWBB

My latest entry for the Mid-Week Blues Buster didn't get anywhere - there are a lot more other entrants and some incredible writers out there, so the competition is hotting up. I think my winning days are over, and to be honest, I'm just fine with that.

Again a soundtrack to a movie was the prompt and I really liked the piece that came out, although it didn't come out as dark as I had initially planned. Enjoy!

The prompt was a song from a soundtrack this week

The song is; “Tu Vuo’ Fa L’Americano”, sand by Italian crooner Fiorello, with Jude Law and Matt Damon riding shotgun, from, “The Talented Mr. Ripley”.

Silvia was late. If she rushed it might not be noticed. As she neared the entrance to the club she slowed from a flat out run to a fast walk, straightening her skirt and primping her hair as she approached the door.

The club was in full swing, the music blaring out onto the street, and as she skirted the queue, Don opened the door for her whispering, ‘Hurry’ as she passed. This made her stomach clench; if Don knew she was late then everyone did, which meant he’d been looking for her.

She pushed through all the bodies hanging around the cloakrooms and went into the club, circling the edge where there were less people and scanning the tables facing the stage. She spotted him, sitting proud, arm over an empty chair next to him, foot taping to the band, but not as enraptured as those around him, instead looking round – looking for her.

When Johnny spotted her, she smiled, but he didn’t. She squeezed passed the other tables and finally reached the chair he’d kept for her, sinking into it.

“Hi Honey.”

“Where have you been?”

“I was getting ready, but lost track of time. I’m so sorry.”

He eyed her without smiling, and then leaned over. She thought he was going to kiss her, but his nose went to her neck and sniffed. She shifted in her seat, resisting the urge to pull away.

“You’ve bathed to cover the smell, haven’t you?”

Her eyes shifted to the band for a second before she replied, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“If I find out you’ve been with him, I’ll kill you both. You know that, don’t you?”

Silva didn’t speak, only looked at him wide eyed. His glare didn’t falter. She held it, refusing to back down, until a waiter interrupted with a bottle of champagne.

Once their glasses were filled they were joined by the rest of his entourage, and Johnny behaved like all was fine with the world; laughing, joking, and pretending he was one hell of a guy. Silvia knew it was far from over, but his vengeful plans wouldn’t come to fruition tonight.

When Marcus came in and joined them at the table Johnny was all smiles. Silva paid little attention to Marcus, sipping her drink and focusing on the band, not wanting to spark any more suspicion in Johnny’s paranoid mind. But when the cue came and Marcus dropped his wallet on the floor, she practised what they’d rehearsed and swiftly slid under the table.

The gun fire came from more than one direction and she covered her ears until it stopped. As they’d agreed, she waited for a hand to come under the table and fetch her out to give her the all clear. The band started up with something fast and furious to quell the customer’s nerves, as people returned to their tables, and sure enough a hand appeared.

Silva grasped it and her smile grew as she looked forward to finally embracing the man she truly loved. But it died on her lips when she came face to face with her husband. Johnny’s wasn’t smiling.

“You thought I didn’t know? You thought the two of you would get away with it? Not tonight doll, not ever. He touched what wasn’t his, he paid the price.”

Silva’s eyes flitted to Johnny’s right, the crumpled body on the floor still seeping blood. A single tear fell from her left eye and rolled down her cheek. Johnny caught it with his thumb.

She whispered, “And me?”

Johnny smiled then, but only with his lips.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, you’ll be paying too, but not until later.”

 

Bar Brawl - MWBB

I'm a bit delayed posting my Mid-Week Blues Buster entry. There never seems to be enough hours in the day! This didn't reach the top three, and I do feel I tried to cram too much story into this flash piece, having to cut more than 100 words from it. I do like it though, and maybe I'll expand on it at some point.

The prompt was a song from a soundtrack this week

   Samuel L. Jackson’s rendition of, “Stack-o-Lee” from the Black Snake Moan soundtrack.

Steve was looking forward to tonight. It had been a while since he’d been out; she didn’t like him going, but he wasn’t going to miss out, not on seeing his favourite band.

He asked her to come, but she refused, claiming she didn’t feel well, another ploy to try and keep him home. He would’ve liked her there with him though, maybe then she’d see there was nothing going on behind her back. He loved Sam, why else would he put up with all her abuse? But he’d be damned if he was gonna stop living just because of her petty jealousies.

He pulled up in the parking lot and scanned the other trucks, seeing that Jake and Wes had already arrived. He sauntered over to the main doors and marvelled at how a simple barn conversion in the middle of nowhere had become so popular; the blinking pink and blue neon like a beacon into the night, calling them all to come and party.

Much to the chagrin of those waiting, Steve walked straight in, the bouncer giving him a smile and a nod. Inside cheers went up when they saw him and several beers were lined up on the bar waiting. He handed his keys to Vince at the bar. It was going to be a big night.

By midnight Steve was steaming, oblivious to everything around him except the band. Propped up against a bar stool he thrashed his head about to the beat, ignoring all the women hovering around him. It had been too long since he’s heard Harvey’s band play. But when a glass smashed on the bar and warm blood spattered his face he was suddenly sober, and seeing it was Wes, leapt to his feet.

It only took two swings and the guy with the bottle was on the floor. He foolishly hadn’t noticed Steve – his mistake. The bouncers cleaned the guy up, but Wes was bleeding badly, so he and Jake rallied, along with the two girls who’d been standing with them.

They all headed to the door carrying Wes, until a scream stopped them. When they turned, Steve saw Sam had one of the girls by the hair and was pulling her to the ground, punching and kicking her as hard as she could.

Steve let go of Wes and rushed her; grabbing her by the waist and pushing up against wall, restraining her with an arm across her chest.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

“I’ll teach that fucking floozy to mess with my man!”

“What? Are you crazy? She’s got nothing to do with me; she’s helping us take Wes outside. Can’t you see his head? It’s been cut open!”

“Yeah right, good cover.”

Steve was speechless. He stood staring at this crazed woman while she struggled to break free, still focused on the girl who was being helped up off the floor.

“Let me go!” She screamed, but Steve just pushed up against her, making it clear that wasn’t going to happen.

“What the hell are you doing here anyway, you said you were sick?”

Sam stopped struggling, although anger still blazed in her eyes. “How the hell else was I gonna to find out who you were screwing?”

Steve nostrils flared, and he abruptly stepped back, the sudden release causing her to stumble and fall to her knees.

“You really don’t fucking get it, do you Sam? I put up with all your shit and I still come home every fucking night.”

From her prone position she sneered up at him. “What? You trying to make me believe that you love me? Ha, don’t make me laugh.”

“No Sam, I DID love you, but I think I just stopped.”

Steve turned to leave, but Sam grabbed his leg. “Don’t you try to make me out to be the crazy one!”

“Oh no, don’t worry, your not the crazy one, I am; crazy to think that loving you would be enough.”

Steve yanked his foot out of her grasp and walked to the door, taking one last glance back at the crumpled woman on the floor. She looked broken - just like his heart.