Tiny Post

Just a quick beginning of a romance story.


Tim Harvey


'Oh God!' Kaylee's fiery whisper hit Annie's ear through the moulded plastic of her iPod headphones. 'Check it out!'
Annie already knew the drill. Dipping her head slightly and flashing her eyes to the left she spotted him. Tall, dark and handsome? Not really. Tall, not-so-dark and hot? Definitely.
'He's back!' Kaylee hissed with potent excitement.
He had never left, Annie thought. Despite Kaylee's keen eye for cute guys, this time Annie had outdone her. Several quick glances, easily disguised as stretching or fishing for something elusive in her bag, had led Annie to finally beat Kaylee at her own game. But best not to gloat.
'So he is,' Annie muttered through pursed smirking lips. Her eyes fixed dead ahead. Apparently she was insanely interested in the goings-on across the crowded, rush-hour food court.
Kaylee moaned. 'God! Check the suit!'
Annie had already “checked the suit.” She liked. She liked a lot. If only all men could have the decency to wear a suit like that. No off-the-rack suit tapers in from broad shoulder to slender waist like that. It was a modern suit, grey, but not shiny. Actually quite muted. The shirt was white, and for the first time Annie had to agree, lavender might be too much.
'I know, right?' Annie leaned in to her friend. Mr. Tall, Not-so-dark and Hot was safely way across the food court, by Annie felt much more comfortable confiding with Kaylee in hushed tones.
'Uhh,' Kaylee let out another moan and rested her elbows on the table around her salad. 'Imagine the possibilities.' Her sleepy-eyed stare caused Annie to giggle.
'Go talk to him then,' she nudged her friend on the arm.
'Maybe I will,' Kaylee closed her eyes, her mouth forming into a wide Cheshire-cat grin. 'Maybe I will,' she repeated dreamily.
'Maybe not,' Annie broke Kaylee's lustful daze. The look of desertion on her face was priceless, Annie thought as Kaylee spied Mr. Tall and whatnot greeting his girlfriend. 'Sorry, he's taken.'
'Allegedly,' Kaylee retorted before returning to her daydream. 'Why do I have to talk to him?' She lifted her head and slapped her palms on the table, rattling her salad, and several nearby patrons. 'He should come talk to me,' she said with a bitter mix of sarcasm and nostalgia.
'You're so old-fashioned,' Annie dismissed her friend's cry for attention. Feeling bad about her hard tone, she added, 'You can approach to a guy if you want to.'
'That's just it,' Kaylee said with a sly grin, 'I don't want to approach them.'
Annie smiled at this. She knew exactly what Kaylee meant.

Big Update

Have done some more on my last story. This is turning into a bigger thing than I first imagined. Still don't have a title though.


Untitled Story (More from the last post)
Tim Harvey


Waiting rooms always seem to be cold. I don't know why they seem this way. It is probably because of the white walls. The absolute lack of decoration on the walls. I look above the curly purple-rinsed hair of several rows of elderly women to the stark walls. The walls go up and up forever. The ceiling is white and the seam between it and the walls is almost invisible.
I absent-mindedly reach out and grasp for Jeff's hand. My eyes are fixed to the cold sterile abyss above me, but Jeff's hand warms mine. My eyes drift to his face. I wonder how he can be so warm. He looks as white as the walls. I squeeze his hand tightly.
Three days have passed since the morning of the book launch. Since the morning I found out. I still can't say it properly. Not until we find out for sure. I reach out to hold my stomach with my other hand, but it glides straight over. Drawn to Jeff's hand like a magnet.
Our flights are booked. That's something else to warm my freezing body. We leave for Tahiti in two weeks. We have two weeks booked at a resort. It's a good one, Jeff says. His brother and sister-in-law went there for their honeymoon. I want to recharge.
We didn't get return flights. We're going to Singapore after and moving through Asia. We have a few things booked. Some things we're going to take as they come. We are going to Europe after that. We haven't booked anything for Europe yet. Take it as it comes. This is our adventure. Our honeymoon will be at home. Whatever that means.
'Ms... Harwood?' She wears a white coat. I can barely make her out standing there in front of the wall.
'Yes?' I reply. Jeff squeezes my hand and stifles a cough as he shifts his body in the chair.
'Sarah? You can come through now.' I smile and nod. I pull Jeff with me. He moves slowly, but he follows along. His bug hasn't gone away. We are sure it was the chicken dinner. I didn't have any. Jeff's Dad said he felt crook the next morning too. He had the chicken.
I'm groggy. I haven't had much sleep lately. These last few days have been horrible. The last of the nicotine is gone from my system, but I still crave it. Jeff has been sleeping well though. We have been keeping each other up, but he is exhausted, and I can't sleep. I watch him roll over, panting heavily. He is out like a light.
'Okay.' The doctor has me in the chair.
I wander the apartment at night. I have made up a scrap book already. There is nothing to put in it. I've never made a scrapbook before. I don't know why I made this one. It opens with photos from Jeff's launch. There is a copy of the invite there.
On the next page I have stuck printed pictures of the travel websites. The book is large, huge. It has a red leather cover. It's fake leather. I like the feel of running my fingers across the cover. The texture is captivating in some way.
'Congratulations,' she says.
I forget where I got that book from. I've had it for ages, I know that. Where did I get that book from? I ask Jeff, but he is focussed on something else. I think it might have been a gift. I feel my face warm, finally.
Yes, it was a gift. My Aunt gave it to me after my High-School graduation. I remember now. She told me; “Sarah, you'll know when to use this.” I don't know when to use it. I think it should be used for our adventure.
Jeff holds something in front of my eyes. I can't see it. It is blurred and out of focus. I think we should make sure to get lots of photos for the scrapbook. Everything is digital these days. I wish we had an old-style film camera. I should ask Jeff if he can get us one. Where would we get the photos developed?
'It is developed Sarah.' He holds the thing closer.
I wipe my eyes.
'We can put this in the scrapbook,' Jeff smiles. His eyes are red, but his face is still grey. I see sweat on his brow.
'I guess.' I turn my head away. The scrapbook if for us.

I sit in the waiting room. It is still cold. Jeff isn't here, the doctor wanted to have a word with him about his cough. I think they are talking about me. I don't care. We're both healthy. I don't think we'll be coming back here, when we have to get our shots.
I think we need to get a malaria shot. I'm not sure. We need some shots though, I'm certain of it. Maybe not for Tahiti, but definitely for Asia. We're not supposed to drink the local water either. I know that. We'll have to get bottled water.
There is so much to plan. I wonder if we should have thought it through a bit more. No, this is good. Jeff says it is good. He is taking his time with the doctor though. I feel my face redden. What must she think of me? I pull the small black-and-white photograph from my bag.
There is a tiny shape in the blurry sonar lines. Pressing my hand to my stomach, I try to feel it. For the last few days I was certain there was nothing there. I can feel something now. Wiping tears from my eyes, I check the time again.
They have been in there for twenty minutes. I am about to stand when I see Jeff walk out from the office. He smiles at me weakly. I move to him and place my hand on his chest.
There is a bandage on his arm. 'Just some blood tests.'
Jeff takes me by the hand and we leave the doctor's.

Days pass by quickly. I flick through the scrapbook. There are a few more travel pictures. I have dedicated a page to the photo. I can say it now.
There is a page dedicated to the baby.
Jeff is feeling better. The doctor will ring us with his results soon. But he is doing much better. Jeff doesn't tell me what he spoke to the doctor about. I don't ask. If they were talking about me I don't want to know. I feel much better.
During the day we sit on the sofa that Jeff has pulled across the living room to the balcony door. We open the door and let the warm winds blow through the room, washing us clean. I lie in his arms and we watch the sun move across the sky. Everything has stopped. We watch the sun for days and it feels like it doesn't move.
He kisses my neck and I know something is wrong. We are waiting for something. Jeff doesn't do anything. He wants to hold me. I feel that time will remain still until we get that phone call. I don't want to ask what they spoke about. It feels like Jeff is trying to have our adventure now.
I don't like it.

'Yes. No, I will. Yep... As soon as possible. Monday... Okay. Thank you.' Jeff takes the call. He looks so much better. He is eating, and we are staying up very late. We are both sleeping afterwards. I look at the photo of our baby daily. My fingers glide across the image and I try to trace the same pattern on my bare stomach.
'What's the verdict?' There is a knot in my stomach.
Jeff wanders around the living room, drifting towards the sofa where I sit. 'More tests.'
I have to ask now. 'What did the doctor say Jeff?'
He slumps down next to me and places his arm around my shoulder. I watch as he traces his finger around the photograph, pasted into the scrapbook on my lap. His eyes are distant and foggy. We are so close, but there is something holding him back. Something is stopping him from speaking. I watch his finger move in circles around the small grey blob in the photo.
He flicks his eyes up to mine and inhales. He tries his best to be casual, but he fails when his voice cracks. 'She said I might have cancer.'
I laugh, instantly throwing my hand to my mouth. He smiles and brushes hair from my eyes. He waits patiently.
'Wait,' I say. 'Cancer?' I repeat.
'She said my sickness was unusual and could be the symptoms of something worse.' He strokes my cheek. 'I didn't tell you, but there was blood in my uh... In my sick.' He looks away.
'Are you serious?' The giggles are gone.
'Well, she wants to do more tests. It's a worst-case-scenario.' He looks so much better. The colour has returned to his face.
I feel angry. I don't know why. Because he didn't tell me he was throwing up blood? Because he picked the worst time – I stop myself. The anger is so strong. I feel a strange pressure, just behind my nose, and tears begin to well up. This week has been all tears.
'Sarah,' he strokes my cheek so gently it's as if he isn't touching me at all. His voice is so quiet and calm. 'It's okay.'
I feel my eyebrows pull tightly together. My face is burning. I cannot look at him.
'It's going to be okay.'
I fall into his chest and he clasps his arms tightly around me. I feel him rocking gently and stroking my hair.
'What cancer? How?' I mumble into his chest.
'She thinks bowel. I've got a family history. I'm going to a specialist on Monday.' He didn't mention this to me before. I feel the anger burning up inside me again. Would I have let him into my life with a history like that? No, I don't think so. Everything isn't going to be okay. I can feel it so deeply and so surely in my gut. Nothing is going to be okay.
'Hey,' he whispers. 'If this happens. If this is going to happen –' His voice cracks. 'I'm not giving up on you.'
The icy shards of pain that had stabbed holes in my stomach begin to melt slowly.
'I'm not going anywhere.' His voice warms me. There is no hint of deception in his tone. He really believes that. And now so do I.
My eyes droop as Jeff rocks me gently back and forth. The warm sun on my face pulls layers of warmth over me like a fluffy quilt.

A young man stands before me. He has short cropped dark hair. His shirt is slightly baggy and I notice a small scratch on his razor-burnt face. I cannot help but smile at his awkwardness.
He raises a clammy hand to me, 'Miss Harwood?'
I take it, despite the sweat, 'Sarah, please.'
'Sorry,' his face is so red. I thought the razor-burn was bad, but now his face is redder than I could have imagined.
'Jeff, right?' I say, releasing his hand.
'Yeah,' so awkward. He's not bad looking though. I catch myself. So soon Sarah?
'Jeff can I ask you something?' I have to know.
'Sure,' he is confused.
'Do you have a driver's licence, Jeff?'
'Sure,' still confused.
'Can I see it?' I know what I'll see.
He fumbles with the wallet in his back pocket. He even drops it on the floor. I can't believe that he actually dropped it. When he stands, offering me the card, I am trying my best not to laugh.
I take the card and nod, 'I knew it.' His face is bright red. 'You look better with the beard Jeff.' I hand him his licence back.
He smiles and returns the licence to his wallet. Rubbing his cheek, that looks like it is on fire, he cocks an eyebrow at me. 'Got a thing for beards, Sarah?'
I am taken completely off guard. This guy that was so awkward only a few seconds ago had managed to stop me in my tracks. I stand there watching him. His smile widens. He knows that he got me.
'You look better without the razor-burn,' I smile and watch his cheeks flush again. You won't get me that easy, Jeff. 'Follow me.'
I lead him through the offices to a small meeting room. He follows along eagerly. I cast a quick glance over my shoulder to check that he is still there. His eyes are darting around the office. His tie is adorable. Nobody here wears a tie.
When we reach the meeting room, he quickly pulls his tie over his head and puts it into his bag. He flicks his eyes up to me, 'I just thought – You know?'
'It's no problem,' I assure him. 'So you know what we're all about here?'
'No idea,' he smiles as he takes a seat at the table. I feel myself frown. I have only been here for a few months myself. I barely know what was going on. And, I have more important things to worry about than taking care of the new-guy. Namely, taking care of myself.
'Well, you'll be working with me. Basically it's phone sales. What experience do you have?'
'I have an Arts degree.'
I cannot contain my laughter at the way he says “Arts degree.” He knows what that means in the real world. He knows exactly what that means.
'Yeah, me too.' I say it with the same lack of pride that he showed. He smiles at this. 'It's not all bad. Did you just graduate?'
'Yeah, last semester.' He is warm and confident now. I notice his body is relaxed. Besides the razor-burn his face is a normal colour.
'I graduated mid-year,' I say freely. We can get to work later.
'Oh cool. So you're... What? Twenty-two?' He leans on the table, moving towards me.
'Close, twenty-three. You?' I feel myself leaning in slightly too.
'Same.' He says it easily, and I know I am frowning slightly because he looks much younger. But, I feel at ease around him. I haven't had a normal conversation with anyone here since I started. Everyone else working here is much older and it feels good to be sitting across the table from someone my own age.
Something in my stomach moves. I inhale deeply as I feel a strange stabbing pain in my abdomen. I look down and see nothing. When I look up, Jeff looks different. He has a pained expression on his face. He looks older. His hair is longer, and there are slight lines on his face. His razor-burn is gone, replaced by a light dusting of stubble.
He seems familiar but I don't recognise him. He tilts his head to the side, and his eyes become glazed and distant. I notice his skin has a yellow tint to it.
'Jeff?' What is wrong with him? He doesn't answer. His eyes are lifeless and hollow. His hair is longer, but it is thinning on the top. His skin looks rough. I watch as he takes in a deep breath, not conscious that I am even in the room.
His cheeks are drawn in and shallow. His face, so round only moments ago, is hollow and skeletal. I cannot help but hold my hand to my mouth. Jeff's jaw drops slightly and I see that he is missing several teeth. His gums are a horrible yellowish grey.
He looks around the room distantly. Strands of hair fall from his head. As he looks at the door, I notice he is bald on the back. When he looks back to me his eyes are sunken and dead. Grey and terrible. I feel sick.
Out of nowhere I feel an immense pressure in my stomach. Something is growing in there. Pain rips through my torso. Horrible searing pain. I look down and see that my stomach has expanded with the pressure.
'Jeff! Help me!' I look up and hear a terrible scream when I see the rotten corpse slumped on the table across from me.

'I'm here.' The words are distant. 'Sarah, wake up.'
I have to blink several times to clear the image from my mind. I look out of the balcony door and see the moon full and high in the sky. I look up and Jeff is cradling me in his arms. He looks healthy. He looks so much better.
'You were having a bad dream,' he whispers gently. I feel that strange pressure behind my nose again and wait for the tears.
'It's okay. I'm not going anywhere.'
His words make the pressure build and the tears flow feely down my cheeks. 'Promise me Jeff. Promise me,' I whisper groggily into his chest.
He hesitates and I feel a rush of pain in my chest. I hold my breath until he finally speaks, 'I promise.'
I don't know. I don't know what is going to happen. I just don't know.
Jeff takes my hand and we go into the bedroom. We slide under the satin sheets and he kisses me gently on the lips. I have a terrible taste in my mouth, but I kiss him back. I roll over and he holds me tight until the morning. He eventually falls asleep, but I can't.

**

I slide out of bed, leaving Jeff to sleep. The early morning sun seeps in through a crack in the curtains and I feel a strange energy coming from the light. As I move around the bed and through the streaming sunlight it is as if I have moved through some kind of forcefield. The carpet is soft and my feet sink into it's comforting embrace. I take a step back into the forcefield. It is so warm.
Jeff rolls over on the bed and I want him to feel what I feel. My hand reaches out and swings the curtain open so that the light and warmth bathes the whole room. I blink and hear Jeff groan on the bed. The curtain gently swings back as I release it, causing the room to dim again.
When my feet hit the bathroom tiles they miss the carpet. I step into the shower and turn the chrome tap. Droplets of crystal clear water erupt from the shower head. They expand and glide towards my face, caught in gravity's trap. I feel my eyelids become heavy and they close before the droplets can hit me.
Waiting rooms are always so cold. I wait for the warm water. When my eyes open I can see the droplets moving slowly towards me. They are intricate sculptures and beads of glass. Their movement is frozen, but they look as if they are warm. I want the warmth to wash over me.
When they finally hit my face I inhale sharply. The breath has caused time to resume its usual course and the water flows quickly over me. I get the feeling that all the clocks in the apartment have just sprung into life. Hands moving freely after the slightest moment of peace. It feels good to take a break.
My head drops, and I let the water rush down onto me. I let the breath out and inhale warm cleansing steam. Hair falls into my face, and through the twisting dripping mass of blonde I watch my body. It will change, I think. But time has returned to normal now. The last week has been a blur, but I feel as if time will no longer get away from me. It is a good feeling.
The stomach before me is flat and as I let my hands glide smoothly over the wet skin, I can clearly see the months ahead being long. I inhale again and feel myself smiling. The rush, the urgency, the fears of blowing up seem to have faded. The months ahead are, for the first time, in perspective.
I turn around, letting the water run down my back. The smile will not go away. My hand rests over my mouth and I allow myself a few tears. They are good tears. Something finally feels good. I can't quite understand it. Last night I felt terrible, so terrible that I didn't sleep at all. But now I feel as if everything is in perspective. I can't skip ahead, nothing is blurry anymore. I hope this lasts. I lather up soap and shampoo and enjoy a long, long shower.

Jeff steps into the bathroom. I can see him through the foggy glass. He pops his head around the screen to find me sitting on the floor of the shower. I give him a wide smile and he smiles back.
'What are you doing down there?' He looks confused but calm.
'Wasting water,' I reply. My hands are held up in front of me and I watch as my cupped fingers fill with the crystal liquid.
'Will there be any left for me?' His smile is so childish, I cannot help but feel my face flush.
I hold my hand out for him and watch as he slides his underwear off before taking it. I smile as he slips a little and groans as he sits down next to me.
'How are you doing?' He asks. His arms are wrapped around me. The words are just whispers but we are so close I can hear him perfectly.
'I'm good,' I say back.
'Good,' he repeats. We sit in silence for a while and he strokes my back with his soft hand, pushing the flowing water around.
I look up at him and gently brush his hair from his face, slicking it back over his head. 'How are you doing?'
Jeff looks down at me and I can see activity behind his eyes. I can tell he doesn't want to upset me. There is a look he gets when he wants to say something, but can't. His eyes begin to glaze over and he looks down. Our legs are intertwined and spread out on the floor of the shower.
I lean in, cup my hand around his jaw and lightly kiss his cheek. 'Talk to me Jeff.'
His eyes blink furiously and I watch as his face contorts. I can see, and feel, him let out an enormous breath. His head swings down and I wrap my arms around his body, pulling him tightly to me. I stroke his back and give him time.
It feels like overnight our roles had reversed. Last night he was comforting me as a wave of pain forced me down under the ocean. A wave of uncertainty. Now I hold onto him as the wave finally hits. It worries me that a good night's sleep did nothing for him, and staying up has caused me to feel so fresh and alive. It doesn't make sense, but then again, not much has been making sense recently.
'What if it is cancer?' He says finally. I think over his question. It seems simple to me now, but I know the question will become more complex the longer I spend trying to work it out. I feel it is better to give Jeff the simple answer right now. It is what he needs.
'Then we'll deal with it.' The simple answer.
'But the baby, and you?' Jeff chokes. 'What will you do if –'
I cut him off right there, 'Shh.' That is another wave that I can see growing on the horizon. I put no thought into that ending, and I don't need that wave hitting me right now. Not while Jeff is feeling the first one.
I offer simple optimisms, 'It might not even be cancer. Besides,' I stroke his face, which is now resting on my shoulder, 'We can do it.'
I hear him do that strange laugh that people manage when they are crying. My mind drifts back to Jeff's book launch. We did that. We can do this. I feel the wave getting closer. The book was easy. This won't be so easy.
'Got a name yet?' I hear Jeff mutter as he strokes my stomach. There is a hint of humour in his tone, but I let him continue. 'We should call her “Hope”.'
I laugh and slap him on the back. 'That is awful,' I say between giggles.
'No, no,' he looks up and smiles. 'It's completely appropriate.'
I feel my smile fade. It's the first joke that I have heard Jeff make since the morning after the launch. 'We're not calling her “Hope”,' I say. 'Anyway, we don't know if it's a girl or a boy.'
'True,' Jeff says, deep in thought. 'What about Ingrid?'
I slap him on the back again.
'Astrid?'
'Do you want our little girl growing up thinking she's a witch?' I say after containing my giggles.
'Our little girl,' Jeff repeats. I place my hand over his on my stomach and we sit in silence for a while.
'Daddy wants you to be a witch,' I whisper down at my stomach with a smile.

We eat breakfast in silence, but I feel we are still communicating. I watch Jeff as I spoon cereal into my mouth. When he looks up at me he smiles and I nudge him on the arm. I watch his face go red and he returns to reading the paper. He is such a big kid, I think. He acts like a teenager going out on his first date.
I lean over and brush his hair out of his eyes and he looks up at me with a grin. I raise my eyebrows and smile, chewing on the cereal. His mouth is full of cereal too. I watch him point to the paper and he slides it across the counter to me.
I shrug, not knowing what article he was pointing to. He nudges my arm with a smile and points to a travel article. The headline reads; “Flights cancelled?” I look to him and he shrugs as if he is asking me the question.
A political headline on the next page reads; “Will the Government pull through on their election promises? We'll see.” I lay my arm over the headline and tell Jeff that “We'll see.”
He laughs and almost chokes on his cereal. I pat him on the back as he coughs.
He raises his hand and gives me the thumbs-up, coughing slightly. 'Good work,' he says once his throat is clear. I laugh.

We spend most of the day lounging around on the sofa, watching the sun move across the sky. Boredom builds up quickly and we have spent the last few days indoors. I suggest that we go for a walk and Jeff agrees. He normally likes hanging around the apartment, but he can see that I need some fresh air. I need to get outside and feel that warm sun.
We wander through the city, hand in hand. As the sun begins to set through the buildings I try to keep us in its warming glow. Taking different streets according to where the most light is shining, we wander aimlessly through the town. In one fateful turning we come across a restaurant that we had never been to.
I always pride myself on knowing the best eating spots in the city. I'm not really a social nut, always knowing what's going on in the social scene, but I do like to eat at nice places. Jeff always loves when I take him to a new restaurant. I think it's because he hates cooking so much. I do too.
The place has a small front that opens up when you get inside. Modern black and white décor and furniture are arranged neatly throughout the open space. I cannot tell what type of restaurant it is. It could easily be both Japanese and French. Everything is squares. The tables are square, the chairs are square. There is a water feature made of layers of black ceramic. They are all squares.
One thing catches my eye though. There is a large piece of art hanging on the far wall. It appears to be some sort of centrepiece to the whole place. It sticks out of the wall a few inches and is the shape of an enormous kidney bean. The thing is painted with bright greens and blues, and the rough thick paint gives the impression that it is made of water. There is a heavy glaze over the paint that reflects the light and makes the thing shimmer.
I decide that the colours really aren't that bright as we take a seat near the centrepiece. It only looks so bright because of the glaze and the fact that any colour at all is such a contrast to the rest of the décor. I make sure to take the seat facing the piece.
'What do you think of that?' I ask Jeff, my eyes fixed on the establishment.
'Well now,' Jeff begins with his best fake British accent. 'Rather droll, wouldn't you say?'
I laugh quietly. I feel anything more would ruin the evening for the sparse diners.
'I don't know,' Jeff adds seriously. 'It's nice.'
I smile, it is nice.

It turns out the restaurant was actually both Japanese and French. Some sort of post-modern fusion the chef tried to explain after our meals. It was quite incredible. I nudge Jeff and tell him that I knew it was Japanese and French. He smiles and jokes that he thought it was a burger joint.
On our way home I notice that Jeff is no longer at my side. I turn to see what he is looking at and watch as he stares longingly into the window of a liquor store. Jeff has always enjoyed a social drink, for as long as I have know him. I've seen him completely drunk on a few occasions and it never really bothered me. He always drank when he was enjoying himself, or to celebrate something or other. Watching him stare so melancholic through the window makes me feel uncomfortable.
He could have had his face pressed against the glass like a kid at a toy store, by the way he was looking. I make my way back to him, hands pressed into the pockets of my coat.
'Go on,' I say, nudging him with my elbow.
'No,' he begins, his eyes turning to me. 'No, I was just...' He trails off and his eyes turn back to the window.
'Hey,' I nudge him again. 'It's okay.'
He smiles at me and goes into the store. I wait outside and look at all the wine I won't be able to taste for the better part of the rest of the year. I sigh. I will miss a good glass of red on a quiet rainy night.
Jeff returns with a bottle wrapped in a paper bag.
'What'd you get?' I inquire. The bag looks like it is pressed against the shape of a square bottle. Definitely not wine.
He sheepishly pulls the bag down to reveal a bottle of scotch. I never really liked scotch, but Jeff loves the stuff. It wasn't bad with lemonade, I remember.
'I won't go through all of this,' Jeff assures me. I'm still worried that he is drinking out of depression for the first time since I have known him. Come to think of it, I haven't known Jeff to ever be depressed. I went through a rough patch when my Grandpa died, and Jeff was very supportive. But I was looking at the brighter side of life within a few weeks. This whole thing will take much longer than that.
'Should've got some rum,' I say as we are walking back towards home.
'Why?'
'I don't know if we'll be lounging around on the beach any time soon.' My answer seems to halt Jeff for a moment. He loses his step and hurries to correct his mistake. Was there something in the way I said it? I hope he doesn't think I was blaming him for ruining our adventure.
Ruining our adventure? But, it is ruined now, isn't it? My head swims with unanswerable questions all the way back to the apartment.

Jeff fills has glass with ice from the ice-maker in the fridge, and I watch very carefully as he measures out the scotch in his shot glass before pouring it over the ice. The is a nice cracking sound as the ice breaks in the glass.
Jeff smiles at me, reading my mind, 'Love that sound.'
He reaches up into the cupboard above the sink and pulls out an old crystal decanter. Carefully he pours the bottle in and rests the decanter on the counter. I sit on a stool, elbows planted on the counter top.
'What's with the decanter?' I ask.
'Gotta be fancy with a scotch like this,' Jeff glides around the bench and sits next to me on a stool. 'Gotta be a little bit posh with the expensive stuff.' He takes a sip and holds his head back pretending as if he is in heaven.
'How much was it?' It doesn't matter.
'A hundred and fifty bucks,' Jeff says casually.
'Give me a sip of that.' I have to know what one hundred and fifty dollar scotch tastes like.
Jeff hesitates before handing me the glass,'Just a sip, okay?'
'Sure,' I nod before letting the warm liquid hit my lips.
I roll the dribble of scotch around in my mouth before swallowing. 'Tastes just like the thirty dollar stuff,' I say truthfully.
Jeff mocks an expression of shock,' That, my dear, is because you are not as cultured as me.'
I laugh and poke him in the ribs. 'Not cultured? Hey, I was the one who knew it was a French/Japanese fusion restaurant, or whatever.'
'True, true,' Jeff smiles at me and takes another sip.
After a moment of silence I ask, 'Can I have a smoke?'
Jeff turns his head to me with a look of concern. 'Why are you asking me?' He knows why. He knows that I won't do anything to upset him.
I lean up against him and tell him, 'Because I love you.'
'Well in that case, you may have one.' Jeff smiles and rests his head on my shoulder. I like the way he says that I “may” have one. I go to my bag and get a cigarette. The packet sits heavily in my hand and I walk over to the bin to throw the rest away.
'Wait,' Jeff says. 'Give me one too.'
I hand him a cigarette and throw the rest away. 'Jeff you don't even smoke.'
'One won't kill me,' he says with a weak smile. We both don't want to think about it.
I go and pull the balcony door open and slump down in the sofa. Jeff comes and wraps his arm around my shoulders.
He already looks drunk and I wonder if this is going to be a long night.



I have a whole pile of ideas for where this will go and at present I'm thinking of making it into a novel. But we'll have to see. I'm having great fun writing the characters, and the roller-coaster ride of emotions they are going through. When I write a particularly depressing part I feel like I must give them a happy part. So the story is being fuelled by that at the moment. The next bit will have to be depressing however, to keep the pace and tone in balance.

New Story

This began as a draft of a short that I was working on for a competition, but it seems to have taken on a life of its own. I'm not sure where it'll end but I already have plenty of ideas. I'm also not really sure what this is, it just came out of nowhere really, so I don't have a title as of yet. Got a little inspiration for setting from a book launch that I went to recently. It was Amy T Matthew's book; End of the Night Girl. Read some already and it's pretty much incredible.

Totally listening to this while writing it. Such a classic; Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. So good for writing to.




Untitled Story (Sorry I don't have anything better at the moment)
Tim Harvey


'Hi, hello. Okay. I'd just like to thank Jack here for that great introduction.'
Applause.
'This has – This has been such a great experience. Just a – Uh. Yeah just a great, the most incredible experience. So, you all know about the book. I'd just like to take a few moments to say some thank you's. First off, thank you to my wonderful parents. Where are you? There they are. Thanks, Mum and Dad.'
Applause.
'Uh, without their support none of this would have happened. Thank you to Jill my agent, and editor. Again, a great support. Plenty of countless nights, and countless bottles of wine –'
Laughs.
'Yeah, plenty of bottles of wine went into this book.'
More laughs.
'But seriously, I couldn't have done it without your expertise, and your, your uh... Eye for detail. Things I would never have picked up. So, thank you Jill.'
Applause.
'But the one person in this room who I owe the most to. The one person who really made this possible, and she's right here –'
He flicks through the book in his hand.
'Right here at the start, it says; “To Sarah. Without you none of this would be possible.”'
Me.
'Sarah. My lovely fiancé. Right here –'
Applause. I blush, and wave.
'I met Sarah, after graduating uni. I had my Arts degree in my hand, and the sky was the limit. I wanted to write, full-time. But what I wanted more than that was to move out of my parent's house.'
Laughs. His Dad nods at the crowd, 'We wanted him out too.' More laughs.
'Yes, yes. So anyway, I hung up my writing boots, as it were.'
Laughs.
'I got a job. A real-life, nine-to-five. Working in an office. And, on my first day I was introduced to the most gorgeous girl I had ever met.'
Someone cheers. I blush.
'I didn't know what to say, I was so nervous. They told me I'd be working with Sarah here, and I froze. I just froze. Anyway we eventually got to know each other and, uh. Yeah, so we got together.'
Applause.
'The next year was pretty much all about work. But we managed to make time for each other. At Christmas I finally had the savings to move out, and I asked Sarah to move in with me. She said yes. So –'
Applause.
'So, we got our little apartment in town. Some of you might know it well. Anyway, so I stayed on at work and by the end of the next year, I popped the question. Well actually, I popped two questions. First thing I said was, I said; “Sarah, will you marry me?” And she said yes –'
Applause.
'That was the easy question –'
Laughs.
'Yeah, so after that one was out of the way, I asked her. I said; “What would you say, if I quit my job and wrote full-time?” And she said. Well you had to think about that one, didn't you?'
Laughs. I smile and nod. It was a big step.
'Anyway, she got back to me after about a week –'
Laughs.
'And she said. You said; “yes.”'
Applause.
'But, but. You also said; “On one condition.” And I asked; “What's the condition?” And you said, and I'll never forget this, you said; “If you do this Jeff. If you quit your job and write full-time, I'll support you. But you have to go all the way. You have to give it everything you have.” And I'll never forget that.'
He looks at me. His eyes are shining in the light.
'I normally. Well, before that, I'd always never really had any motivation. I never felt compelled to really do anything. I would always make big ambitious plans for my life, but I would always just give up. I'd say; “Oh, it's too hard,” or “It's not for me.” But, and this is how I knew that Sarah really was the one for me. I looked into her eyes.'
He looks into my eyes.
'I looked into her eyes, and I knew that if I gave up on this. If I gave up, I wouldn't just be giving up on myself anymore. I never really cared about giving up on myself. But, as I looked into her eyes I knew that if I gave up, I would be giving up on her. And from there, it was the easiest decision I'd ever made. I knew that no matter what. No matter what happened, I wouldn't give up on this woman.'
Applause. I feel a tear roll warm down my cheek.
'I love you Sarah.'
Applause, for us. 'I love you Jeff.'
'And, the rest is history. She's supported me through everything. Financially, emotionally, mentally. Everything –'
Someone shouts; 'Physically?' Laughs.
'Ha, yes. Yes, but we'll save that for another time. We've put off our wedding. She has sacrificed so much for me and, well –'
He chokes up. He holds up the book.
'Here it is. We did it.'
I step over to him. Applause. He can't speak. I wrap my arms around his waist. He kisses me. We did it. I brush hair from his eyes and whisper, just for him; 'We did it.' Applause.
'So, please. Thank you. Thank you for being here. Thank you for buying a copy of the book. I'll be hovering around somewhere. Preferably near the bar –'
Laughs.
'So come and have a chat. Thank you all. Enjoy your night.'
Applause.

The crowd begins to shuffle around, a hum of chatter washes over us from all directions. I can't make out what any of them are saying, but I don't care as Jeff slips his hand around my waist.
'Thank you,' he says it again. He says it just for me.
I place my hand on his chest, his heart races through his shirt. Speeches were never Jeff's strong suite. That's what he would say. I always love watching him stumble through the opening lines. The determination in his eyes to continue. He builds up a flow and I can see the comfort growing in him. I like watching him when he's comfortable.
'Well, you did it.' I say, patting his chest.
'We did it,' he repeats.
I look down and feel my face warm. I don't know how much of it was me. I let him do his own thing. Working long hours, nights, weekends. Coming home, he would have a stack of papers for me to read with an eager smile. I did my best.
His eyes tell me how much I mean to him. His gentle caress of my cheek as he leans in to kiss me. I feel his soft lips brush against mine. I need him too. I push against him. The kiss is short, sweet. It's what we both need.
'Where to now? I'm thinking bar.' He says it with raised eyebrows, humour in his tone. He makes me smile.
'After you.' He takes my hand and guides us through the crowd. He turns his head and nods at the little pats on the back that he receives on the way. His smile in profile leaves me warm. And happy.
'Two whites, thanks.' It has been on my mind all day. I forgot this would happen.
'Water,' I say into his ear.
He turns around, 'Not drinking?'
I look around. It is so crowded here, so crowded. Air is forced into my lungs and I should tell him. But not here. Looking down, I shake my head.
'But it's free,' he chuckles.
I take his hand with both of mine. I run my fingers over his smooth skin. He watches. Our fingers intertwine, connect. I place his hand on my stomach, and look up into his eyes. His face is blurred through tears. The smile on my face hurts. I am happy.
Strong fingers stroke my belly. He turns to the bartender, 'Water.' He turns back and I see his eyes are shiny again. He wears a smile that I have never seen.
'And a scotch,' he adds to the bartender.
I laugh, and he laughs.
'Really?' He leans in. His voice caught in his throat.
I nod, 'Yep.'
'When?'
'This morning. I was going to wait –'
'No, no. This is good.' He nods. 'Come here.' He pulls me close. I hear him sniff over my shoulder. 'This is good.'
We get our drinks and he takes me out onto the balcony. The view of the city at night is haunting. And beautiful. I stand against the barrier, pressing my stomach onto the glass. My vision is filled with only the city. I see nothing but darkness and twinkling lights. Life behind each light. Life behind this glass barrier.
His hand strokes my back. I feel his arms wrap around my waist and I pull back from the barrier. He holds onto my stomach. He is between us and the city.
'What now?' I say into the wind.
'We'll have to get married. That's for sure.' He chuckles, and he knows I don't care about that. I think about the future. Everything that will happen to me now, the ideas, the images wash over me. It hits me. He holds on tight as tears stream down my face.
'We have to go away,' I say.
'Where?' He is calm.
'Everywhere,' I choke out. 'We have to go everywhere. See everything.'
'You're right.'
I exhale. 'We have to do it now.' I cannot stop crying.
'We will. Hey –' He turns me around. 'We can. We can see everything.'
I wrap my arms around his shoulders and cry into his chest.
'Whatever you need now Sarah.' He holds me tight, until it begins to rain. I can hear the light droplets pattering onto his back. I am happy. My eyes shift to the sky. I view the full moon, over Jeff's shoulder. The pale amber light and the tiny droplets of rain wash me clean.
The rest of the evening is a blur. I watch Jeff sign copies of his book, at a small circular table. He sits on a barstool that has been dragged over for the occasion. He looks up at the people and smiles. There is a break in the crowd and Jeff smiles at me. He looks tired, and his hand is cramping. He smiles at me, and I smile back.
We sit in the taxi, and I watch the water slide gently down the outside of the window. Shop fronts and traffic lights blend together seamlessly in a blur of hazy light and fog. Jeff rests his hand on my thigh and I place my hand on top of his. We look out of our windows. My head is light and I rest it against the cool glass. Jeff's hand doesn't leave my thigh. Something bothers me. Something unnameable.
Jeff fumbles with the key to our apartment. He realigns it and slides it gently into the lock. I watch as his hands tremble with alcohol and excitement. I place my hand on his chest and feel him inhale sharply. I breathe deeply, heavily, and we enter. His coat is discarded as we glide across the living room. My shoes.
Light brushes of our lips as we pass into the bedroom. I float to the bed. Jeff is gone. White satin sheets wrap around me. Soft against my skin. Jeff is next to me. I feel his breathing, heavy and warm. His hands trace familiar patterns across my body. Warmth.
My eyes droop and I let Jeff kiss my neck. He devours me with gentle passion. I feel elegant. The air between us disappears and we are engulfed in satin.

I wake early. Jeff is still asleep as I make my way to the kitchen. I set up the coffee machine and pull out my laptop. Sitting naked on a stool I wait for the internet to load. Between pouring coffee and checking my email, I browse travel agent's websites.
Round-the-World trips. A cruise? Backpacking? We have the money for everything.
Jeff stirs and I call out to him, 'Morning.'
I hear a groan and the quick shuffling of feet. There is silence and then I hear it. Jeff is sick. He didn't have much to drink last night. But he is still sick.
'You alright in there?' I call as I head back to the bedroom. Modesty takes over and I throw on a dressing gown.
I hear a long low groan and something in my stomach doesn't feel quite right. 'I feel like shit,' he says after spitting into the toilet bowl.
I make my way into the bathroom and see him. He is naked and curled up on the floor, hugging the bowl. His face is grey.
'Jesus Jeff!' I rush to him and place my hand against his forehead. I don't know if it is hot or not.
'Must've been the wine,' Jeff chuckles weakly.
'Must be,' I answer. I don't feel right. 'Wait here.'
'I'm not going anywhere,' his smile is weak and it hurts me.
I head back to the kitchen and find a large bowl in one of the cupboards above the sink. When I return he is still lying on the floor. Some colour has returned to his face and his smile, while still weak, has life behind it.
'Take this,' I hand him the bowl. Leaning down, I wrap my arm around his waist and help him to stand. He is bent over, but he smiles. We head back to the bedroom and he slides awkwardly under the sheets.
'I thought you were supposed to get this,' he says, clutching the bowl.
'What?' I can't think.
'Morning sickness,' he answers.
I laugh and he manages a weak chuckle. 'How are you feeling?'
'Sick,' he says plainly. 'My head is killing me.' He sounds hungover, but he didn't drink that much. I swear he couldn't have been that drunk. I fetch him some Panadol and a glass of water. He thanks me and I sit on the edge of the bed, my hand resting on his leg, above the satin sheets. Soon enough, he falls asleep.
In the kitchen I sit on the stool, browsing travel websites and sipping coffee. I drink both cups, just because Jeff never likes anything to go to waste. I ride the buzz and check that Jeff is asleep before sliding a cigarette out of my bag. He knows that I smoke occasionally, but under the circumstances he wouldn't be too happy.
I shouldn't be too happy about it I realise as I sit on the balcony inhaling the tobacco. I place my hand on my stomach and promise it'll be the last one. My mind drifts and I close my eyes. I see gaudy advertising for “foreign adventure,” and “oriental excitement.” The advertising images are full of dollar signs and exclamation marks.
As I let the nicotine hit me the images soften. The words and bright flashy logos become subdued. The images behind them float forward and become the main focus. I see crystal beaches and sand so white. Impossibly white. Long gangly limbs of tropical trees. I can hear the waves. And the silence. I have always wanted to go.
I see us sitting on the back of a bus loaded with people. I can hear the gaggle of foreign accents and languages and we sit coated in sweat. I look out the window and see the dusty mountains and our spiralling road. I see white goats and ancient people leading them up the mountain.
The top of the mountain is snowy and the bus is now a van. We are wrapped in woollen coats and I watch the frosty breath coming through Jeff's smiling lips. I wear a knitted beanie with long braided tassels. The colours are vibrant and earthy.
I see a rug that looks like it is made of the same colours. It hangs in an open market, amongst so many rugs just like it. The vendor sits on a tiny wooden stool. The stool is older than him but they are both majestic and timeless. He sucks on a pipe and I clutch my stomach. It is big.
It is bigger when we step off the train. The cold chill is back and we view royalty and imperialism through tinted windows. Red and blue flags and red men standing guard. Twisting and turning, the wrought-iron moves freely under their careful gaze.
The wrought-iron is big and powerful. No, it is steel. Steel so high, so tall. We kiss, long and passionate. Giggling as we touch our tongues together, how very appropriate.
We break our kiss. Something is in the way, stopping us from being closer. We cross oceans and time. Something is holding us back.
I look down to see what has come between us. It is me. It is inside me.

I jerk my head up, feeling droplets of sweat fly off of my brow. My hands tremble and I notice the cigarette is almost out. A long stick of ash hangs loosely from the butt. I inhale deeply and put it out with my foot.
I hold it. I hold it long, needing it to calm my trembling hands. Then I finally let it out. Last one. I promise. Quickly, I move back to the computer. We have to go now. I have to go now.
Footsteps stir me and I realise I have been sitting at the laptop for over an hour.
'Morning,' I hear Jeff say from the bedroom door.
He looks incredibly tired. 'How are you feeling?'
'Better,' he says weakly. There is a croak in his throat. 'I smelt coffee.'
'I drank it. Didn't know when you'd be up.' I watch as he smiles easily. The movement of his mouth and the vibrant flicker in his eyes instantly warm me. He makes his way over to where I sit, perched on my stool.
'That looks good,' he says, pointing at the screen over my shoulder. I rub my temple on his arm. He points at an image of a tropical beach. 'I could use a holiday.'
I lean back and tilt my head up to look at him. 'When can we go?'
'How fast can you pack?' He answers sincerely, his eyes fixed on the beach. I turn my head around and kiss his bare stomach. He strokes my hair. 'Do it Sarah,' his voice is calm.
I turn back to the screen and start looking for flights. His hand brushes my hair as he walks around the counter and over to the sink. I smile at him, but he has a strange expression on his face. I feel my smile fade. He looks strangely at me.
I close my eyes as he lurches violently over and throws up in the sink. I can hear him coughing. I can't watch.




There will be more to this. As usual I wish the Tabs worked on Blogger. It's so much easier to read with the indents, but I don't know how to get them to work.

More Editorial Blogging

Hello. It seems I've been at it again, writing while drunk that is. I have no problem with that, but at the same time it shouldn't be posted here.

If you managed to read last night's efforts I'd like to know what you thought. If you missed it (as it is now removed) then I apologise for not getting a replacement story up today. I'm still working my way through two essays for uni so I won't be doing much creative writing for the next few days.

After that however, I look forward to populating this blog with some good old-fashioned fiction so please stay tuned.

Writing comp redraft!

A new redraft of this morning's writing comp entry. I'll take a moment here to explain that I'm trying to comment on differing views that society has regarding gender roles, especially young adults and the views on unwanted sexual attention and harrassment. I'm tired of the idea that most men are seen as being sexually driven and that most women are depicted as victims. I do get that sometimes this is the case and I think that this version addresses what I was really trying to get at with the situation. It is more of a comparison piece and I think it works quite well, but I'll leave that up to any readers.

On a side note; not sure about the title, but that will evolve with the story. Two Out seems pretty sharp, but we'll see.


Two Out
Tim Harvey



'This club is a hole.' The words were barely audible to Angie. Jane stood at the bar swaying slightly, waiting for Angie to respond.
'Did you hear me?' Jane adjusted her tone, and it sliced through the music and hit Angie's ear.
'What? Sorry,' Angie said, twirling towards her friend.
'I said this club is a hole!'
Angie's eyes scanned the thinning crowd of people on the dance floor, 'Sure is.'
'Wanna go upstairs, to the balcony?' Jane's words were slow and carefully planned, but she hadn't quite mastered where to adjust her pitch. The question came out as more of a statement with the emphasis on “upstairs.”
'Okay,' Angie answered.

The two girls made their way up the stairs. Angie walked behind Jane just in case she slipped on the stairs. To Angie's surprise, Jane made it up with grace and confidence. She did stumble once she reached solid ground though, falling into Angie.
'Sorry,' Jane said casually over her shoulder.
'It's okay.'
Angie didn't normally go out with the girls much, and tonight was no exception. She had arrived to the party late, deliberately avoiding the main gaggle. Jane however had stuck around. She was a proper party girl.
'I'm – I have to.' Angie heard Jane slur something and turned to see that she had disappeared into the ladies'. The balcony bar was relatively quiet, and besides a few groups of people there wasn't much going on. Angie decided to go and order a water for Jane.
As she stood at the bar a guy caught her eye. He was standing alone, further down the bar. Angie noticed that he looked quite good in his tight fitting shirt and trousers. When he turned to face her she looked towards the bar. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him stumbling along the bar towards her, dragging his pint of beer across the surface.
'Hi,' he said. His eyes were a vibrant blue and they pierced through Angie. He could have been looking at the wall behind her.
'Hey,' she replied, and managed to order the water.
'Having fun tonight?' He asked the question in a series of disjointed slurring. His breathing was heavy and irregular.
'Just a few quiet ones with my friend,' Angie said as she took the glass of water.
'Where is your friend?' The emphasis on “friend” sounded accusatory, as if he thought Angie was lying.
'She's in the toilet,' Angie answered. His stare was violent and burnt a hole in the side of Angie's head. She held her gaze on the rows of bottles behind the bar.
'Sure.' The guy took a sip of his beer. 'Looking for some fun tonight?'
Angie turned towards him and noticed that he was dancing awkwardly next to her. He was cute, but she realised he would be a whole lot cuter if he wasn't so drunk. Angie knew he didn't realise how uncomfortable he was making her, but she let him dance anyway.
'Sorry, I'm just here for a quiet one.' Her words made the guy freeze in his dance.
He opened his eyes wide and leered at her, before offering a cheeky grin. 'What? Something wrong with me?' He continued his dancing.
'No. Not at all.' Angie watched him closely. He began to dance closer and closer to her. 'You are a bit drunk though.'
He paused again, 'Nothing wrong with that.'
'I guess not,' Angie replied, turning back to the bar and ending the conversation.
'Come on, you look like you want to party.'
Angie felt something terrible and it was her turn to freeze. The guy had planted his hand on her bottom. Angie gulped hard and felt her previous drink rising up into her chest. The guy squeezed, and Angie flinched.
'Please don't,' she managed to squeak and moved away, out of his grip.
'Come on, what's wrong with me?' He took his hand off of her dress, and she silently thanked whoever was listening.
'Nothing. I'm just not interested, okay?'
'Are you gay?' The question didn't make sense to Angie. She was clearly not interested in being groped by a drunken stranger.
'What? No.'
'Got a boyfriend? Is that it?'
'No.'
'You need to loosen up, baby.' He slid his arm across the bar and rested his hand on her chest. Angie froze. She felt cold and numb. The guy began to stroke her breast, through her dress. Angie couldn't move. She felt something draining from her body. Her self worth was slowly draining out of her. It was replaced by nothing. She was empty.
The guy let out a horrible chuckle. His stroking, gentle at first, was now rough and fierce. Angie stood in shock. She couldn't move. She could barely think. Tears began to well up behind her eyes as she watched him do as he pleased. She stood there and let him finish.
'You like that?' He was horrible. His fingers slid out from the top of her dress and Angie finally let out a breath. Her eyes shifted to gaze around the bar. The dizziness in her head left the rest of the bar in a blur. Nobody noticed. Angie instinctively blinked away tears.
'Loosen up baby!' He grunted into her ear. She could smell the alcohol on his breath, choking her senses. At first she didn't feel it. Her body was shaking and numb from what had just happened. She blinked and finally felt his cold horrible hand sliding down her stomach and towards her hips.
The tears became too powerful to hold back. 'Please,' she choked out.
'Shut up and enjoy it you bitch.' His fingers slid between her legs. She felt as if he wanted to poke a hole through her dress.
Angie couldn't breathe. Her chest felt tight and she managed to inhale, but the air wouldn't come back out. Something snapped inside her. She felt a sense of power bubbling in her stomach. This would not happen to her.
'Stop.' She whispered into his ear. 'Stop, now.' Her power had returned. This would not happen to her.
'Shut up,' his eyes were greedily fixed on her dress.
It was now or never, and Angie felt a kick of empowerment spark her senses. The adrenaline pumped through her veins and she lost all feeling of doubt and emptiness.
'Get the fuck off me! You fucking bastard!' Her scream rang out through the bar, turning heads as it echoed across the walls. He gave one last poke before a solid form appeared behind him. Angie could barely make out the bouncer through her tears.
'You're done here.' The commanding voice echoed around Angie and the pressure on her body instantly vanished. The guy turned to confront the bouncer, but was held back by his solid arms.
The bouncer and the guy disappeared down the stairs.
'Are you okay?' The bartender's weak and shaky voice sounded next to Angie.
'I'll be fine.' She managed a weak smile and he returned it.

'What happened?' Jane screamed, stomping across the room.
'Some guy,' Angie broke off, tears streamed down her cheeks as she weakly pointed towards the stairs.
'What did he do?' Jane asked, throwing her arm around Angie.
'He grabbed me,' Angie said between sobs.
'Fucking bastard!' Jane yelled at the empty stairwell. 'What did you do?'
'I screamed. The bouncer took him away.'
'Don't worry. He'll get what's coming to him.' Jane pulled Angie closer. 'You're okay girl.'
Jane stroked Angie's hair as she hid her face in her hands.
After a few moments, and with a proud sniff, Angie revealed her face. 'I'll be okay.'

**

'The word pub is short for public house,' Pete's mate informed him, beer dribbling down his chin. Pete smiled and nodded, swishing beer around in his mouth before swallowing hard. Public house. A place for everyone.
'I gotta take a slash.' John patted Pete on the shoulder and twirled around, disappearing through the crowd. Pete was never really comfortable standing at the bar by himself. He never really knew why, but he just wasn't. He finished his beer in one long gulp. It was getting warm anyway and he knew the bitter after taste would only get worse, the warmer the drink got.
A young woman slid along the bar up to where Pete was standing, her elbow polishing the veneer as she glided towards him.
'Hi,' she said. Her eyes were a vibrant blue and they pierced through him. She could easily have been looking at the wall behind Pete.
'Hey,' He replied and ordered another beer.
'Having fun tonight?' She asked, her voice trailed in a fit of awkward slurring. Pete noticed that her breathing was heavy and irregular.
'Just a few quiet ones with my mate,' Pete told her as he paid for the beer that had been placed in front of him.
'Where is your mate?' The emphasis on “mate” felt almost accusatory to Pete, as if she though he was lying.
'He's in the toilet,' Pete replied. Her stare was violent, and Pete leant on the bar avoiding her gaze.
'Sure.' She sipped her drink, the one that she dragged across the bar with her. 'Looking for some fun tonight?'
Pete looked over and noticed that she was dancing, close to him. She was pretty, but she would have been a whole lot more attractive if she wasn't so drunk. He realised that she probably didn't know how uncomfortable she was making him, and he let her dance in her ignorance.
'Sorry, I'm just here for a quiet one.' Pete's words made her freeze. Her eyes opened wide and she leered at him before attempting a sultry bat of the lashes.
'What? Something wrong with me?' She started dancing again.
'No, not at all.' Pete watched her closely as she began to dance closer, and closer. 'You are a bit drunk though.'
She paused again. 'Nothing wrong with that.'
'I guess not,' Pete said and turned back to the bar, ending the conversation.
'Come on, you look like you want to party.' Pete felt something terrible, and it was his turn to freeze. Her hand rested on Pete's arse. He gulped down hard, feeling the beer rising up in his chest. She squeezed and he flinched.
'Please don't,' Pete said hastily, moving away from her grip.
'Come on, what's wrong with me?' She took her hand off of his jeans, thankfully.
'Nothing. I'm just not interested, okay?'
'Are you gay?' Her question came out of nowhere. He was just not interested in being groped in a pub by a drunken stranger.
'What? No.'
'Got a girlfriend? Is that it?'
'No.'
'You need to loosen up, babe.' She slid her arm over and placed it on his chest. Pete felt cold and numb. Her fingers began to eagerly stroke his chest, through his shirt. Pete started to feel something draining from his body. His value as a person was slowly being rinsed away. She bit her lip, and he saw that her eyes were fixed to his chest. Her stroking, gentle at first, became hard and terrible.
Pete stood there in shock. He couldn't move or think. How was this happening? Pete felt all self worth washed clean. It wasn't replaced by anything. He felt empty. Tears began to well up behind his eyes, and he let her finish.
'You like that?' She was terrible. Her hand slid out from underneath his shirt, and Pete finally breathed. It was over. He looked around the pub, breathing heavily. His eyes instinctively blinked away tears, and the room became a blur. Nobody noticed. Nobody here cared what was happening to him.
'Loosen up baby!' She whispered into his ear. Pete could smell the booze on her breath.
She did something. At first Pete couldn't tell what was happening. He was still recovering from what she has just done. He couldn't feel. He didn't exist.
She grabbed at Pete's crotch. Her fingers glided over his jeans. He feel them wrap around him. Pete felt his chest constrict. He couldn't breathe. He inhaled, but couldn't get any air out. Pete's mouth hung open, and he couldn't breathe. The tears were too painful to hold back. How could she do this? Why would she think this was okay?
'Please,' Pete choked out.
'Shut up and enjoy it you pussy.' Her fingers grabbed harshly at him. Pete felt as if she wanted to rip through his jeans. Something had to be done. He couldn't take it. Pete glanced around the room again. Nobody cared. Nobody.
Pete felt something building up inside of him. Something powerful. With each tug and violent stroke at his pants, the pressure built up inside of him. It made him feel warm and safe. He felt it begin to bubble to the surface.
'Stop,' Pete whispered harshly into her ear. 'Stop, now.' Something had returned to him, some value.
'Shut up,' her eyes were fixed on Pete's groin.
He wouldn't not allow this to happen to him.
'Get the fuck off me! You fucking bitch!' He yelled into her face. Her fingers tightened.
Pete felt a heavy grip on his shoulder.
'You're done here.'

The bouncer led him through the pub and out into the street. Pete turned around, and through his tears he could see the solid shape of the bouncer throwing his fist. The blow caught Pete in the eye and he stumbled back into the gutter.
'If I see you harassing the girls in here again you'll get it much worse. Now fuck off, you creep!' The bouncer's voice echoed through Pete's thumping head.
Slinking away, Pete slumped down in the gutter near the pub.

'Are you okay?' John's voice sounded next to him.
'I'll be fine.' He managed a weak smile and John returned it.
'What happened?' John asked.
'Some girl,' Pete broke off. Tears streamed from his eyes, and he weakly pointed towards the pub. His eye was killing him, and he could tell it was beginning to swell up.
'What did she do?' John asked, placing a hand on Pete's shoulder as he sat slumped in the gutter.
'She grabbed me,' Pete said up to his mate.
'Fucking bitch,' John said with a sarcastic sigh. 'What did you do?'
'I yelled at her and they kicked me out.'
'What the fuck is wrong with you?' John said, removing his hand from Pete's shoulder.
'I don't want some drunk girl grabbing me.' Pete wrapped his arms around his legs and rested his chin on his arm.
'Fuck that. Is she still in there?' John asked.
'I guess,' Pete sighed.
'Well. I'm going to leave your fag-arse out here while I get lucky.' Pete turned his head to see that John had already left.
'I'll be okay,' Pete lied to the night.

Competition draft

Here is a first draft of a story I am working on for a comp. I should be doing homework not blogging.

Gender Equality?
Tim Harvey

'The word pub is short for public house,' my mate informs me, beer dribbling down his chin. I smile and nod, swishing beer around in my mouth before swallowing hard. Public house. A place for everyone.
'I gotta take a slash.' He pats me on the shoulder and twirls around, disappearing through the crowd. I never was really comfortable standing at the bar by myself. I never really knew why, but I just wasn't. I finish my beer in one long gulp. It was getting warm anyway and I knew the bitter after taste would only get worse, the warmer the drink got.
A young woman slides along the bar up to where I am standing, her elbow polishing the veneer as she glides towards me.
'Hi,' she says. Her eyes are a vibrant blue and they pierce through me. She could easily be looking at the wall behind me.
'Hey,' I reply and order another beer.
'Having fun tonight?' She asks the question in a series of disjointed slurring. Her breathing is heavy and irregular.
'Just a few quiet ones with my mate,' I tell her as I pay for the beer that has been placed in front of me.
'Where is your mate?' The emphasis on “mate” is almost accusatory, as if she thinks I'm lying.
'He's in the toilet,' I reply. Her stare is violent, and I lean on the bar avoiding her gaze.
'Sure.' She sips her drink, the one that she dragged across the bar with her. 'Looking for some fun tonight?'
I look over and notice that she is dancing awkwardly, close to me. She is pretty, but she would be a whole lot more attractive if she wasn't so drunk. I realised that she probably didn't know how uncomfortable she was making me, and I let her dance in her ignorance.
'Sorry, I'm just here for a quiet one.' My words make her freeze. Her eyes open wide and she leers at me before attempting a sultry bat of the lashes.
'What? Something wrong with me?' She starts dancing again.
'No, not at all.' I watch her closely as she begins to dance closer and closer. 'You are a bit drunk though.'
She pauses again. 'Nothing wrong with that.'
'I guess not,' I say and turn back to the bar, ending the conversation.
'Come on, you look like you want to party.' I feel something terrible, and it is my turn to freeze. Her hand rests on my arse. I gulp down hard, feeling the beer rising up in my chest. She squeezes and I flinch.
'Please don't,' I say hastily, moving away from her grip.
'Come on, what's wrong with me?' She takes her hand off my jeans thankfully.
'Nothing. I'm just not interested, okay?'
'Are you gay?' Her question doesn't make sense to me. I'm just not interested in being groped in a pub by a drunken stranger.
'What? No.'
'Got a girlfriend? Is that it?'
'No.'
'You need to loosen up, baby.' She slides her arm over and places it on my chest. I feel cold and numb. Her fingers begin to eagerly stroke my chest, through my shirt. I start to feel something draining from my body. My value as a person slowly being rinsed away. She bites her lip, her eyes fixed to my chest. Her stroking, gentle at first, is now hard and terrible.
I stand there in shock. I cannot move, I can barely think. How is this happening? I feel all self worth washed clean. It isn't replaced by anything. I am empty. Tears begin to well up behind my eyes, and I let her finish.
'You like that?' She is horrible. Her hand slides out from underneath my shirt and I finally breathe. It is over. I look around the pub, breathing heavily. My eyes instinctively blinking away tears as the room becomes a blur. Nobody noticed. Nobody here cared what was happening to me. Am I invisible? Why would nobody care about me?
'Loosen up baby!' She grunts at me, into my ear. I can smell the booze on her breath.
She does something. At first I cannot tell what is happening. I am still recovering from what she has just done. I cannot feel. I don't exist.
She grabs at my crotch. Her fingers glide over my jeans. I feel them wrap around me. My chest constricts. I can't breathe. I inhale, but cannot get any air out. My mouth hangs open, and I cannot breathe. The tears are too powerful to hold back. How can she do this? Why does she think this is okay?
'Please,' I choke out.
'Shut up and enjoy it you pussy.' Her fingers grab harshly at me. I feel as if she wants to rip through my jeans.
Something must be done. I can't take it. I glance around the room again. Nobody cares. Nobody.
I feel something building up inside me. Something powerful. With each tug and violent stroke at my pants, the pressure builds up inside me. It makes me feel warm and safe. I feel it begin to bubble to the surface.
'Stop.' I whisper it harshly in her ear. 'Stop, now.' Something has returned to me, some value.
'Shut up,' her eyes are fixed on my groin.
I will not allow this to happen to me.
'Get the fuck off me, you pervert!' I yell it into her face. Her fingers tighten and I cannot stop myself.
I raise my fist and throw it through her face.
She falls back and stumbles into a table. Her nose begins to shoot blood and she screams.
I feel a hand on my shoulder.
'We don't do that here, mate!'
I go limp and accept what will happen. As my face is slammed against the bar I close my eyes and try to forget everything. I feel sharp stabbing pains in my cheek and curl into a ball on the floor as my body is destroyed by hard boots and pool cues.

I wake up in the hospital, there is a tube in my mouth. I cannot see out of one eye. When I ask the doctor if he can remove the bandage over my eye he gives me a stern look. The look is frightening and I feel my stomach twist and contort. He informs me that my eye has been removed.
Two police officers come to see me. They tell me that the people who assaulted me will be tried. They also inform me that my assault trial will begin when I am out of the hospital. I ask if the woman is okay. They tell me that stayed at the pub and had a few more drinks. The story sounds distant and I have to ask.
I have been here for three weeks.

My trial is quick and justice is done. I am sentenced to six months imprisonment for assault with intent to cause grievous bodily harm.
In jail a man touches me on the arse. I do nothing.
After one month I untie the shoelaces from my shoes. The knot I create is weak and feeble. It breaks, like me.
I stay away from people now. I am an object, not a person.


I plan to extend this to get to 3000 words, just a first draft at the moment.

Editorial Blogging

Some of you may have noticed a story that I posted last night is now missing. While I enjoyed writing the story, and after re-reading it I feel that it was fairly good compared to some of my others, I have removed it. I suppose that I should offer an explaination for this.
This blog isn't meant to be a place where I post my own personal thoughts, even if they are in the form of creative fiction. It is a blog for me to experiment with writing styles and try new things relating to writing. I have no issues with the ideas presented in the story, but I am slightly uncomfortable posting them on the blog.
While I will continue to write stories like the one posted, as they are great to write, I won't be posting them online.

Anyway, I will probably be taking a break from blogging for the next month or so, due to uni work and a few writing competitions coming up.

For anybody who might have missed last night's story, I've written another one now to replace it. I look forward to more writing experiments after uni is done. Stay tuned!


A Good Read
Tim Harvey


Fred stared long and hard at his bookcase. His eyes drifted over the spine of each novel, his head cocked at an uncomfortable angle to read the titles. Each book had been lovingly consumed countless times, and Fred was ready to pick up another one, falling easily through the pages and into somebody else's story.
There was a dull agony growing in Fred's stomach as he re-read the titles of his books again and again. He felt himself frowning at the realisation that he had no happy books. Sure, his collection of horror novels had a few funny moments. His range of detective thrillers always made him smile. He even got most of the jokes in the few classics that he displayed proudly on his shelf. But there were no happy novels.
'Shit,' Fred muttered as he scanned the rows of books one last time.
After finally being laid off from a job that he hated, and collecting his redundancy cheque, Fred was looking forward to a few weeks of pure nothingness. He had paid all his bills for the month, stocked his fridge with food, and even made arrangements for a new job that he would start next month.
It literally was the holiday that Fred had been looking forward to for the last three years. But now he couldn't find a damned book that he wanted to read.
'Shit, shit, shit,' Fred muttered. He was crouched on his hands and knees, blowing dust off of the books on the bottom shelf of the case.
Fred stood and sighed. His plan to remain in the house until at least Friday was already out of the question. There was no alternative, Fred was going shopping.

The mall was always crowded, and Fred hated crowds. He shuffled through the groups of young mothers pushing their babies around aimlessly. The greasy flocks of school kids that seemed to congregate on any available perch eyed him with apathy. Fred walked faster, making his way to the book store.
Once inside, Fred felt a lot calmer. He placed his hands in the pockets of his jacket and strutted through the aisles, perusing the countless books for sale. Surely he would be able to find a happy book here, or all places. On his third lap of the store, Fred noticed a falter in his strut. He felt his shoulders had drooped slightly. He didn't know where the happy books were kept.
'Shit,' Fred muttered. He heard a gasp from behind him and saw one of the young mothers with her baby. The tiny baby eyed him with a smirk as the mother stood shocked.
'Sorry,' Fred mumbled back to the mother. She turned to leave and Fred smirked back at the baby.
'I don't know what you're laughing at, you can't even read,' Fred addressed the baby, once he was safely a few aisles out of earshot.
Fred decided that he would never know which of these books were the sort of happy, feel-good reads that he wanted just by staring at the titles. He had to to ask someone. A young woman stood stacking books just an aisle over from where Fred was browsing and he made his way around to ask.
'Excuse me, I was wondering if you could help me out,' Fred said in his most polite tone.
'Sure,' the woman said with a smile, 'What are you after?'
'I was wondering where you kept the happy books,' Fred said with a smile.
The girl frowned, 'What's a “happy book”?'
'I was hoping you could tell me,' Fred said awkwardly.
'Like a book with a happy ending?' The woman asked with a smile.
'Something like that. Or, a book that's happy all the way through.'
The girl let out a quiet laugh, 'Okay well I can suggest a few titles. Follow me.' She led Fred through the aisles and pointed out books that sounded like they would fit with what he was looking for. Fred took a few off the shelf and thanked the woman, who went back to her work.
The blurbs of the books all sounded cheery, but they were not the types of books that Fred would normally read. There were no detectives, no ghosts, and no action. Fred felt himself frown with disappointment. He sighed and picked the best sounding book, placing the rest back on the shelves.
Fred paid for his book and made his way back through the mall.

Once he was home, Fred made himself a sandwich and sat in his chair. He flicked through the book, and while it was certainly a happy story, it just didn't spark his imagination. Each page took longer and longer to read, and when Fred finally got up to get himself a drink, and clean his plate, he didn't feel like sitting down again.
Fred stood in his lounge, sipping his lemonade and looking out of the front window. There was nothing wrong with the book. It made him smile, but it was just so boring. It needed more action, more suspense. When the main character got into an argument with his wife, they instantly kissed and everything was better.
If the main character was a detective, it would be much better. Fred realised that it would also help the plot if perhaps the house was haunted. Catching himself daydreaming with a lazy smile on his face, Fred knew what he had to do.
He pulled out his old laptop computer and blew a sheet of dust off of the lid. The thing booted up with an unspectacular slowness and Fred waited patiently. He had never written anything before in his life, but he had read enough to know what made him happy.
When the document writer finally opened up, Fred began to type. After each sentence, he would read back what he had written and smile. It was slow going, each good sentence was followed by a terrible one.
'Shit,' Fred would mutter as he pressed the backspace key, erasing his lousy prose. He found himself letting out short chuckles with each sentence that had a good sound to it. His pace seemed to be two steps forward and one step back. But it was still progress.
'Shit, shit, shit,' Fred muttered as he erased a particularly horrible sentence.

By the end of his impromptu holiday, Fred had written one chapter of the book that he wanted to read. It wasn't at all what he had thought a happy book should be. It had blood and gore, and back-stabbing villains. His main character, a detective, battled evil corporations and supernatural demons. He also battled alcoholism, an addiction to smoking, a rough divorce, and a cranky by-the-book boss who was always on his case. Fred laughed at the absurdity of his overly-clichéd hero and found himself reading his chapter over and over again.
He wanted to know more, he wanted to see where his hero would go next. Fred had to know how his lead would break out of the latest cliffhanger and save the day.
When he started his new job, Fred eagerly counted the hours until he could go home and write more. He found his bookshelf had a light layer of dust over every book, but he didn't mind. Fred had found something more interesting than those old stories. Something much more exciting. He had finally found a book that he wanted to read.