Thanks to my Twitter pal Ree for asking me to take part in this small challenge. This particular piece may (or may not) grow as the challenge passes. Here goes:
Waiting for the words
And so it begins
Prompt Words: cheese, perks, dead end, bell, passion
Fred threw the cheese sandwich with curled edges onto the table.
“Bored, bored, bored” he said, “Bloody dead end job, no flaming perks, nothing to get me teeth into!”
“Yeah” Harry said, “me too.”
“What you saying? You ‘ad enough? You only just started.” another voice chimed in.
“I been here 4 weeks now” Fred continued, “promised the high life… a bit of travel, wine, women, song. Bit of passion, hanky panky, you know?”
“Yeah” Harry said, “me….”
“Shut yer gob before I knock five bells out of yer!”
Fred’s fist landed with a wallop: he wasn’t bored now.
All I can say is never trust little old ladies.
There I was, sat in a room with this old dear who looked as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Tiny thing, wouldn’t reach my waist if I stood up. Thick white hair, blue eyes and makeup that wasn’t really put on that well. Looked proper innocent she did, peering over the top of those half glasses, what are they called? Oh yeah, half-moon glasses. Proper dowdy, all twin set and pearls, frumpy old lady. Know what I mean?
Well, she was asking me about my life and stuff. Didn’t matter what I said, she weren’t bothered. I swore, used words I’d not use to my own family and she ignored them. The questions seemed really random, nothing to do with what had happened, the reason that I was there.
As if we was just old friends chatting over times past. Think she must have been planning it all along. Family, friends, football. You name it, we nattered about it. Turns out she’s a Chelsea fan as well and knew all the teams going back to when I was born. The craic of talking footie with some old dear really took me by surprise. If only my brother had been as knowledgeable. He was too thick to even notice when the Blues had won the Championship.
We had tea and biscuits too. Sometimes we stopped so I could go outside to have a ciggie, didn’t matter really. Funny how time goes past when you really are enjoying yourself. It’s only afterwards I understood where she was leading me, the clever cow.
We was sitting there discussing next season’s prospects when she leaned forward and her voice dropped to a whisper.
“What was…..” she said, coughing over the last bit.
I couldn’t hear her so asked her to speak up.
“I was just idly wondering,” she said a little louder this time, “I’ve always wanted to know. What’s it like…?”
She sat there, waving her hands around vaguely, looking up at the ceiling and then at me.
“What’s it like… you know? What does it feel like to k….” she stopped mid-word.
So comfortable was I by then, I filled in the bloody blank didn’t I? Stupid, stupid mistake!
“Kill! Oh it’s amazing. The power… the…”
No vague look now. She gazed at me. No, she looked like a hawk that’s just grabbed its prey. Keen and satisfied. Gotcha!
The door opened and they took me away.
This morning I had my last meal. Anything I wanted they said. Big Mac, fries and a glass of champagne. It was great.
Shame she couldn’t have joined me: we could have talked about football again. It would have taken away the fear of what’s to come.
(Originally featured on http://200wordtuesdays.blogspot.com.au)
There are some things that never change and one of these is the sound of siblings squabbling. The language may be different, but the gist of the conversation is always the same.
“You dropped that on purpose!”
“Did so not…”
“Go on then… baby…”
How tiresome it is to sit here listening to my two beloved children having this argument. My problem is that I can’t interfere. It’s part of their growing up. I am fading, just slightly, blurring at the edges quietly (and I hope with dignity) so nobody really notices, but I know the truth. One of them will have to take over, and soon. And I know that neither of them is yet ready which makes me sad.
I look down at the floor. Water. Earth. Small wriggly objects, smaller than most eyes can see thrash around and stop suddenly, like ants realising their time is up. I would speak, but I’ve lost my voice now, lost the will. I have to leave them to it, let them tough it out. Eyes closing, I pass over.
“Dad… he broke my world again.
“I did not”
Even gods must die.
I am very pleased to announce that the judges have come to a decision, 5 independently selecting the same winner and the 6th awarding it 2nd place!
I can now reveal The Winner of The Liar’s Key Writing Contest to be:
E.F. Russellfor the entry The Electric Heart Cannot Bleed.
With the overall high standard of the entries I would also like to give a special mention to the runners up:
First runner up:Peter,The Liar in the Cellar
Second runner up: A. S. Moser, Shadows
Once again thank you very much for taking the time to enter and submitting so many excellent works.
Special thanks to the brilliant judges panel: Mark Lawrence, David Jackson, T. Frohock, Myke Cole, T.o. Munro and Marc Aplin, for considering the entries and providing much appreciated feedback on the shortlisted pieces, that you…
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She sat in the cafe listening to the buzz of conversations droning on around her. It was like sitting in a garden listening to bee hives. Picking out one or two words or phrases every now and then, most people discussed what they’d bought. The rain splattered the window, reminding her that summer was quickly passing away, being shredded by the cool mists of autumn.
The mobile phone on her table buzzed quietly, slyly informing her of another tweet that had come in. No, it wasn’t from him directly. Never was. He didn’t know she existed. Despite her attempts to grab his attention, jumping up and down in the way you do, she knew he would never come to her.
But she loved him all the same. She just knew it was love. When she saw his name light up the phone, her heart soared. Every word he uttered would transform her day into something light and fluffy, other times would leave her in the depths of despair. She missed him when he didn’t tweet, when there were silences. In her head, she had said goodbye so many times and yet… And yet each day she was pulled back in, his subtle phrases beguiling her, teasing her, drawing her back into his world.
There were others he dallied with. She knew about them and hated him for it. Brazenly, he talked about them and it irritated her so much. He was hers and only hers. In her head, her heart and dreams.
Just as he was in the dreams of the other 44,758,153 followers.
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“She’s catatonic. We’re not quite sure why.” Disembodied words drift into my mind.
For those around me, I am to all intents and (medical) purposes locked into a vegetative state, brain-dead. Inside I live. And listen.
Music plays in the background. Someone has brought in my iPod and speakers, thinking to soothe me. But I listen for something – to something else – just beyond the music. I listen to the cue. Click.
“There’s no response. We’ve done so many tests. No response from her whatsoever. I’m so sorry, there’s nothing more that we can do. Perhaps we should consider switching…”
Eyes flicker behind shadows, belying the diagnoses of doctors. I am condemned by those who will soon know better.
“Should we consider moving her to another hospital? We can afford to pay. We have insurance that will cover it.”
My father’s strained words reach me. I hear him breathe heavily, trying to control himself, to hold back the tears.
“Well there is a place, I’m just not sure they’d take her. I’ll make a call and try. If you’d like to wait here, I won’t be long.”
Click. A door closes.
Again I hear the subliminal sound. Minutes pass as it bores its way into my brain until I hear the final note completing the sequence. The call to battle.
Click. A door opens.
“Yes, you’re in luck… they said they’d take……”
The words falter and stop.
In the room there is silence. The eerie silence you get when the monster within finally explodes out and kills. The silence of shock and horror that is unable to utter a word or scream.