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.
Consider it a creative fiction online notebook of first draft material experimenting with genres, styles and whatever else.
Monday, June 13, 2011
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
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.
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.
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.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Quick Late Night Short
Just a quick short after a good night, 3am means intoxicated fiction!
Tony
Tim Harvey
Crisp, clean air whipped against Tony's ears as he walked from the counsellor's office. Painful gusts of wind slashed at his face, each burst causing him to cringe. He pulled his scarf over his mouth, dragging it up over his ears. But the staggering bolts of cold air had already done their damage. Tony lowered his scarf in defeat.
He had finally quit Uni. Giving up everything that his parents had wanted for him was not as difficult as he thought it would be. Smiling as he informed the counsellor that he would no longer be attending classes was easy. Easier than Tony had imagined.
But, as he walked away from the life he was born into, Tony felt the pain that would be inflicted on his parents, the pain that his girlfriend, Amber, would feel. Each gust of ripping wind tore holes in his flesh, tore holes in the flesh of everybody that he loved. They would understand, they must, Tony thought. It was too soon for reason though, and Tony felt each bolt of wind, as they would feel the searing pain when they found out he wasn't going to be the man that they had hoped he would be.
For his parents, Tony felt little remorse. They had pushed him into Law, as a bully pushes a kid into the dirt, face first. He had never had a choice. When he asked for a football, for his sixth birthday, his Father had handed him a dictionary. When he applied for Drama in High School, his Mother had his courses changed to include Business Studies. There was no way to tell them that Law was just wrong. The pain of the whipping winds felt comforting, when Tony realised he had felt the lashings of duty across his back for his entire life.
Amber was the real issue. Tony met her in first year, and they got along quite well. It was shaky at first, she wasn't quite ready for a real relationship. Tony pushed her into being with him. He needed someone to confide in, someone to finally talk to. She pulled away from his over eager advances. In second year, Tony had pulled back, giving her the space that she needed. The two of them went about their studies as if they didn't even know each other.
By the time third year came around, Amber had had her fair share of disappointing engagements with guys. Tony acted as a friend, giving her the support she needed through the latest breakup. One night, at her house, Amber had kissed Tony. At first he thought it was just a gesture of their closeness. Despite his friendly demeanour, Tony had wanted Amber since he laid eyes on her. He could, however, never enter a relationship where the other party wasn't fully committed. The kiss was all he needed.
They both soared through third year Law, consuming the curriculum, and each other. It was only near the end of the year that Tony had decided to make his stand. It was entirely out of principle, and even he thought it naïve and stupid. He would quit Uni, right before he graduated. There was no reason to do it, for the regular person. Everybody would just get the degree, they had gone this far, after all. But Tony knew that this was the message that he wanted to send.
For the last four years, Tony had been taking forbidden Dance classes. For his entire life, all he wanted to do was move. His body was his life, his tool, his art. When he applied for Dance, his Father had called the school and had his courses changed. But Tony was resilient, he took night classes at a Dance studio that he knew his parents couldn't trace. They had no idea of his extra-curricular activities, but now was the time to show them.
For years he had been perfecting his ballroom dancing. Even Amber had no idea. The whole thing was Tony's little secret. His life's ambition, his only dream was to glide across the hardwood floors of the great ballrooms of the world. Spinning and twirling in a suit, too tight for his body, pressed against his partner, was the only escape from the oppression he felt at home.
Quitting Uni was the message he wanted to send his parents. It would symbolise his attitude towards his own destiny. They could wait to hear about the dancing. At first, just quitting was all he needed to tell them.
Amber was the issue. She was the reason that the winds scorched his face so. They had formed a bond so strong. The years of mutual friendship had led them to know every inch of each other's psyche. When they finally took the plunge that Tony had been waiting for, they was so ready that it hit them with the force of a moving train.
Their first night together was indescribable. They both knew exactly what the other wanted, and there was no hesitation, no faltering movements. Each gesture to the other was fuelled by passion and accepted with empathy and compassion. There was no judgement as they explored each other, guided by knowledge only attainable through years of mutual acceptance.
From that point on, they both knew they were thoroughly connected. There was no denial, and they never even spoke of it. This was why it was so hard for Tony to quit Uni. He had lied to Amber. The future they had planned as lawyers was a lie. He never believed it would happen, but he indulged her wildest fantasies of the perfect life together. She would, and could accept that he was to be a dancer, but she would be destroyed when he admitted to lying to her.
The pain that she would feel would tear at her skin, as the powerful winds ripped at Tony's face, as he left the counsellor's office.
Don't know if this is going to go anywhere. I'm fairly drunk, so I can't really tell if it's any good. Hope you've enjoyed it. I'm going to assume the typos are thick and plenty. Thanks to all the readers that have put up with the recent couple of terrible drunk stories.
Tony
Tim Harvey
Crisp, clean air whipped against Tony's ears as he walked from the counsellor's office. Painful gusts of wind slashed at his face, each burst causing him to cringe. He pulled his scarf over his mouth, dragging it up over his ears. But the staggering bolts of cold air had already done their damage. Tony lowered his scarf in defeat.
He had finally quit Uni. Giving up everything that his parents had wanted for him was not as difficult as he thought it would be. Smiling as he informed the counsellor that he would no longer be attending classes was easy. Easier than Tony had imagined.
But, as he walked away from the life he was born into, Tony felt the pain that would be inflicted on his parents, the pain that his girlfriend, Amber, would feel. Each gust of ripping wind tore holes in his flesh, tore holes in the flesh of everybody that he loved. They would understand, they must, Tony thought. It was too soon for reason though, and Tony felt each bolt of wind, as they would feel the searing pain when they found out he wasn't going to be the man that they had hoped he would be.
For his parents, Tony felt little remorse. They had pushed him into Law, as a bully pushes a kid into the dirt, face first. He had never had a choice. When he asked for a football, for his sixth birthday, his Father had handed him a dictionary. When he applied for Drama in High School, his Mother had his courses changed to include Business Studies. There was no way to tell them that Law was just wrong. The pain of the whipping winds felt comforting, when Tony realised he had felt the lashings of duty across his back for his entire life.
Amber was the real issue. Tony met her in first year, and they got along quite well. It was shaky at first, she wasn't quite ready for a real relationship. Tony pushed her into being with him. He needed someone to confide in, someone to finally talk to. She pulled away from his over eager advances. In second year, Tony had pulled back, giving her the space that she needed. The two of them went about their studies as if they didn't even know each other.
By the time third year came around, Amber had had her fair share of disappointing engagements with guys. Tony acted as a friend, giving her the support she needed through the latest breakup. One night, at her house, Amber had kissed Tony. At first he thought it was just a gesture of their closeness. Despite his friendly demeanour, Tony had wanted Amber since he laid eyes on her. He could, however, never enter a relationship where the other party wasn't fully committed. The kiss was all he needed.
They both soared through third year Law, consuming the curriculum, and each other. It was only near the end of the year that Tony had decided to make his stand. It was entirely out of principle, and even he thought it naïve and stupid. He would quit Uni, right before he graduated. There was no reason to do it, for the regular person. Everybody would just get the degree, they had gone this far, after all. But Tony knew that this was the message that he wanted to send.
For the last four years, Tony had been taking forbidden Dance classes. For his entire life, all he wanted to do was move. His body was his life, his tool, his art. When he applied for Dance, his Father had called the school and had his courses changed. But Tony was resilient, he took night classes at a Dance studio that he knew his parents couldn't trace. They had no idea of his extra-curricular activities, but now was the time to show them.
For years he had been perfecting his ballroom dancing. Even Amber had no idea. The whole thing was Tony's little secret. His life's ambition, his only dream was to glide across the hardwood floors of the great ballrooms of the world. Spinning and twirling in a suit, too tight for his body, pressed against his partner, was the only escape from the oppression he felt at home.
Quitting Uni was the message he wanted to send his parents. It would symbolise his attitude towards his own destiny. They could wait to hear about the dancing. At first, just quitting was all he needed to tell them.
Amber was the issue. She was the reason that the winds scorched his face so. They had formed a bond so strong. The years of mutual friendship had led them to know every inch of each other's psyche. When they finally took the plunge that Tony had been waiting for, they was so ready that it hit them with the force of a moving train.
Their first night together was indescribable. They both knew exactly what the other wanted, and there was no hesitation, no faltering movements. Each gesture to the other was fuelled by passion and accepted with empathy and compassion. There was no judgement as they explored each other, guided by knowledge only attainable through years of mutual acceptance.
From that point on, they both knew they were thoroughly connected. There was no denial, and they never even spoke of it. This was why it was so hard for Tony to quit Uni. He had lied to Amber. The future they had planned as lawyers was a lie. He never believed it would happen, but he indulged her wildest fantasies of the perfect life together. She would, and could accept that he was to be a dancer, but she would be destroyed when he admitted to lying to her.
The pain that she would feel would tear at her skin, as the powerful winds ripped at Tony's face, as he left the counsellor's office.
Don't know if this is going to go anywhere. I'm fairly drunk, so I can't really tell if it's any good. Hope you've enjoyed it. I'm going to assume the typos are thick and plenty. Thanks to all the readers that have put up with the recent couple of terrible drunk stories.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
New Short
Here is a new short, inspired by some gothic reading I've been doing lately for uni. This one is particularly inspired by John Harwood's "The Ghost Writer," quite a good read once you get into it. I'm only half-way through, but had to stop and write this.
A bit of a gothic romance, just experimenting with blending the two and using the theme of obsession. It's pretty prominent in the Harwood novel.
Her Scent
Tim Harvey
John had first noticed the scent when they sat quietly to lunch, just over a year ago. It was a sweet floral scent, but subtle and not at all overpowering. There were hints of citrus and mild spices in the aroma, and John inhaled deeply through his nose when he first caught a whiff. She appeared not to notice, quietly eating her sandwich, gentle little bites.
He had inquired into her interests and they both shared a passion for the theatre. John bit back his nerves and suggested they see a show, 'On the weekend, if you're free.'
She nodded and smiled.
During the play John sat quietly, watching the actors. His mind was elsewhere, however, indulging in the beautiful aroma that swirled around his head and left him intoxicated. After the play, he had walked her back to her apartment and kissed her on the cheek. She blushed and thanked him, 'For a wonderful evening.'
As John walked to the train station, through the city creaking of steel and crumbling concrete he noticed that the scent had followed him. Pausing in his walk, John turned his nose to the air, closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The scent was there, drifting lazily through the night's cool breeze.
He turned to see if she had followed him, but only her scent was present. She would be tucked away in bed at this hour. John continued his walk and the scent traipsed along beside him, always present.
It was just a scent. There were no pink mists of floral elegance swirling listlessly through the air. There were no visible signs of the sweet aroma that hovered around John's head. It was, after all, just a scent.
John spent most of his time tending the small book store that his uncle owned in the heart of the city. It was wedged in a tiny alleyway between two enormous, overbearing skyscrapers. John sometimes felt pangs of vertigo as he searched for the sky on his smoke breaks. He tilted his head up at an angle, making sure he kept sight of the cobbles beneath his feet to avoid the dizzying head spins that would occur whenever his eyes traced his smoke through the air.
As he stacked books in the shelves in the back of the store he was overcome by her scent. He flicked through the pages of the last volume he had placed, trying to find the source of the aroma. The book held no evidence of her, and he hurriedly took another off the shelf. Her scent became stronger with each book he flicked through until he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder.
Spinning around in a rush of embarrassment, John saw her standing behind him, suppressing a giggle. He felt his face go red and put the book down on the shelf. Her smile was vibrant and alive, and her scent was powerful in the way that it took over his thoughts.
She gave him a gentle hug, and John nestled his head against her shoulder, allowing his nose to rest near her neck, the source of the scent.
They arranged to have dinner and John found it painfully hard to watch her go. The scent fading as she left the store.
John ordered a salad, no pepper, no spices, just salad. She thought this strange and John wondered if she would take it as a compliment if he said he wanted to savour the aroma that she so casually emitted.
The salad was amazing, thanks to the sweet taste already infused in his senses. They spoke of their favourite books and she suggested that John read a volume of poetry that she adored. She told him that she had read it constantly since she was sixteen, and John felt his senses aroused to levels he had never experienced.
After dinner, when they had made the short walk to her building, John leant in to kiss her on the lips. She held him back with a reassuring smile, and instead invited him up for coffee. He gladly accepted and followed her up the flights of stairs to her apartment. With each step, John felt weaker and weaker, as her scent wafted down over him.
Her apartment dripped with the smell. Each item that she lovingly handled became infused with her aroma. John sat on her couch and was engulfed by a cloud of sensuous floral bliss.
She made them some coffee and brought out the book of poetry. John attempted to grab the book, but she held it back with a seductive glance, instead, curling up on the couch opposite him, reading aloud.
Her voice was sweet and soft, but her scent was raw and passionate. With each line, the poetry became dim, and eventually John couldn't hear at all. He rested his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes, bathing in the fiery aroma.
It was just a scent. There were no vivid explosions of neon orange fireworks bursting above his head. There were no trails of shooting stars rolling towards him across the sky. There was no visible sign of the passion in his heart. It was after all, just a scent.
John awoke the next morning in his own bed. The copy of poetry sat on his bedside table. John picked it up and hesitated before holding it to his nose and flicking through the pages. The crisp breeze on his face and the rush of spicy floral passion left him drunk. He spent the entire morning doing this, each time feeling happier and stupider all at once.
After that night, she didn't visit him at work again. He saw her occasionally in the streets, but she seemed not to notice him. Her scent appeared in strange places, causing John to look around his to see if she was there, but she never was.
He would smell her in his bathroom, as he prepared to shave. Once he smelt her as he walked past a department store. He had to walk down every aisle to confirm that she wasn't casually spreading her scent around the store.
Eventually, at the beginning of winter, they met again. She smiled and kissed him gently on the cheek. Holding her warm hands against his cold cheeks, she stared uncertainly into his eyes. He reached into the pocket of his coat and wrapped his fingers around the edges of her book of poetry.
Her eyes filled with sadness as she took it in her hands. The cover was crumpled and bent, the pages loose and curled. She wiped a tear from her eye and offered John a weak smile. He leant in to kiss her on the cheek, but she shied away. The hand that she rested gently against his chest was enough to let him know that it was over.
She turned to leave, and a wave of her scent rolled over John, rocking him where he stood.
John saw her again during the worst of the winter, at a coffee shop near to his book store. She sat far away, and John sat near the door reading a newspaper. He didn't need to see to know that it was her. At first he could only smell her faintly from across the room, but with each passing day her scent became stronger.
It was only a scent. There were no instances where she sprayed some elegant perfume casually over her shoulder to attract him. There were no green particles of her scent gliding restlessly across the coffee shop, catching the light as they flew towards him, unnoticed by the other patrons. The mist of her allure didn't gather at his ankles and suffocate him in intoxicating bliss. It was after all, just a scent.
She left after the winter. Through the spring her scent remained in odd places. John smelt her on the train, and hiding behind parked cars. He smelt her when he opened his mailbox. Disappointment washed over him as he flicked through the letters, holding them to his nose. She wasn't there.
Her scent eventually faded in the summer, and John began to live his life once more. He became the manager of the book store when his uncle had retired. With the extra money that he had John bought himself a nice suit and a used car.
During the summer John began to socialise more. He introduced himself to a girl who had been a regular customer at the store for years. They got along well, and John eventually asked her out to dinner.
She had a scent of her own, but it was nothing like what John had experienced before. Despite his initial reservations, John asked the girl on another date. Eventually, by the end of the summer they were a couple. John was happy, and she shared his joy. They went out dancing together, and John took her for long drives to the beach in his car.
For John, there was something missing in their relationship, but she seemed truly happy and John didn't have the heart to tell her what was bothering him.
On Valentine's Day she told him that she loved him and John kissed her gently on the lips, saying, 'I know.'
He had scoured every department store and boutique on the weekend before the day, trying to find a perfume that matched the scent in his head. For hours, he sprayed all sorts of expensive smells onto testing paper provided by the salespeople. Each one failing to recapture the beauty and grace of the sweet floral aroma that he had once known.
After this, John had visited every florist trying to find the right bouquet, the right combination of flowers that equalled the passion he had felt. The bunch that he had eventually picked was a poor substitute, despite his girlfriend claiming she loved them with excitement. This excitement faded when he couldn't tell her that he loved her back.
It was just a scent. No perfume, or flowers could ever make up for what was lost. There was no way of trapping that magic in a bottle, no way that it grew from the ground. It was, after all, her scent.
She returned in the winter. He smelt her as he was walking and hastened his pace to see if she was around the next corner. She was indeed back, from wherever she had vanished to. John watched as she passionately kissed a young man, pressing him up against the wall of a building.
Her scent wafted around the two of them, and John watched on as their embrace lasted. Once they were done, the young man pulled a small parcel from his pocket. She eagerly unwrapped the brown paper and held her hands to her face when she saw what it was. John could see from the spine, that it was a freshly printed copy of her favourite volume of poetry.
She leant in and kissed him again.
John went straight home after this. He imagined the types of endings that would fit his story. He could kill himself, or murder the happy couple. He could marry his girlfriend out of spite. He could do all three in an unholy trinity of horror. But each possible ending exhausted him.
John spent a few days at home claiming he was sick. He apologised to his girlfriend and asked her out for a date on the weekend. She reluctantly accepted. He smoked heavily to mask the scent, but eventually quit.
The date went well and afterwards, in a moment of weakness, John explained the whole situation to his girlfriend in detail. He was surprised when she accepted his story with a smile and offered him a hug.
Eventually they did get married, and John sold the book store, making a considerable profit due to its prime location. The couple moved to the suburbs and after a few years, had a daughter.
Their marriage wasn't incredible, but it was, John thought, what a regular marriage should be. John worked from home, as a literary critic, and his wife worked as a teacher.
John felt safe that he was finally free of her scent, but he still smelt it occasionally. It hovered around when he went for a walk to the park. It followed him home as he came back from the supermarket. He smelt her sweet floral aroma when he tucked his daughter in at night.
It was just a scent. It wasn't following him around, it didn't lurk in the shadows waiting to strike. There was no visible signs of it hovering in the air, poisoning his house and everyone in it. It didn't choke the life out of John, until he couldn't think or breathe. It was, after all, just a scent.
A bit of a gothic romance, just experimenting with blending the two and using the theme of obsession. It's pretty prominent in the Harwood novel.
Her Scent
Tim Harvey
John had first noticed the scent when they sat quietly to lunch, just over a year ago. It was a sweet floral scent, but subtle and not at all overpowering. There were hints of citrus and mild spices in the aroma, and John inhaled deeply through his nose when he first caught a whiff. She appeared not to notice, quietly eating her sandwich, gentle little bites.
He had inquired into her interests and they both shared a passion for the theatre. John bit back his nerves and suggested they see a show, 'On the weekend, if you're free.'
She nodded and smiled.
During the play John sat quietly, watching the actors. His mind was elsewhere, however, indulging in the beautiful aroma that swirled around his head and left him intoxicated. After the play, he had walked her back to her apartment and kissed her on the cheek. She blushed and thanked him, 'For a wonderful evening.'
As John walked to the train station, through the city creaking of steel and crumbling concrete he noticed that the scent had followed him. Pausing in his walk, John turned his nose to the air, closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The scent was there, drifting lazily through the night's cool breeze.
He turned to see if she had followed him, but only her scent was present. She would be tucked away in bed at this hour. John continued his walk and the scent traipsed along beside him, always present.
It was just a scent. There were no pink mists of floral elegance swirling listlessly through the air. There were no visible signs of the sweet aroma that hovered around John's head. It was, after all, just a scent.
John spent most of his time tending the small book store that his uncle owned in the heart of the city. It was wedged in a tiny alleyway between two enormous, overbearing skyscrapers. John sometimes felt pangs of vertigo as he searched for the sky on his smoke breaks. He tilted his head up at an angle, making sure he kept sight of the cobbles beneath his feet to avoid the dizzying head spins that would occur whenever his eyes traced his smoke through the air.
As he stacked books in the shelves in the back of the store he was overcome by her scent. He flicked through the pages of the last volume he had placed, trying to find the source of the aroma. The book held no evidence of her, and he hurriedly took another off the shelf. Her scent became stronger with each book he flicked through until he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder.
Spinning around in a rush of embarrassment, John saw her standing behind him, suppressing a giggle. He felt his face go red and put the book down on the shelf. Her smile was vibrant and alive, and her scent was powerful in the way that it took over his thoughts.
She gave him a gentle hug, and John nestled his head against her shoulder, allowing his nose to rest near her neck, the source of the scent.
They arranged to have dinner and John found it painfully hard to watch her go. The scent fading as she left the store.
John ordered a salad, no pepper, no spices, just salad. She thought this strange and John wondered if she would take it as a compliment if he said he wanted to savour the aroma that she so casually emitted.
The salad was amazing, thanks to the sweet taste already infused in his senses. They spoke of their favourite books and she suggested that John read a volume of poetry that she adored. She told him that she had read it constantly since she was sixteen, and John felt his senses aroused to levels he had never experienced.
After dinner, when they had made the short walk to her building, John leant in to kiss her on the lips. She held him back with a reassuring smile, and instead invited him up for coffee. He gladly accepted and followed her up the flights of stairs to her apartment. With each step, John felt weaker and weaker, as her scent wafted down over him.
Her apartment dripped with the smell. Each item that she lovingly handled became infused with her aroma. John sat on her couch and was engulfed by a cloud of sensuous floral bliss.
She made them some coffee and brought out the book of poetry. John attempted to grab the book, but she held it back with a seductive glance, instead, curling up on the couch opposite him, reading aloud.
Her voice was sweet and soft, but her scent was raw and passionate. With each line, the poetry became dim, and eventually John couldn't hear at all. He rested his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes, bathing in the fiery aroma.
It was just a scent. There were no vivid explosions of neon orange fireworks bursting above his head. There were no trails of shooting stars rolling towards him across the sky. There was no visible sign of the passion in his heart. It was after all, just a scent.
John awoke the next morning in his own bed. The copy of poetry sat on his bedside table. John picked it up and hesitated before holding it to his nose and flicking through the pages. The crisp breeze on his face and the rush of spicy floral passion left him drunk. He spent the entire morning doing this, each time feeling happier and stupider all at once.
After that night, she didn't visit him at work again. He saw her occasionally in the streets, but she seemed not to notice him. Her scent appeared in strange places, causing John to look around his to see if she was there, but she never was.
He would smell her in his bathroom, as he prepared to shave. Once he smelt her as he walked past a department store. He had to walk down every aisle to confirm that she wasn't casually spreading her scent around the store.
Eventually, at the beginning of winter, they met again. She smiled and kissed him gently on the cheek. Holding her warm hands against his cold cheeks, she stared uncertainly into his eyes. He reached into the pocket of his coat and wrapped his fingers around the edges of her book of poetry.
Her eyes filled with sadness as she took it in her hands. The cover was crumpled and bent, the pages loose and curled. She wiped a tear from her eye and offered John a weak smile. He leant in to kiss her on the cheek, but she shied away. The hand that she rested gently against his chest was enough to let him know that it was over.
She turned to leave, and a wave of her scent rolled over John, rocking him where he stood.
John saw her again during the worst of the winter, at a coffee shop near to his book store. She sat far away, and John sat near the door reading a newspaper. He didn't need to see to know that it was her. At first he could only smell her faintly from across the room, but with each passing day her scent became stronger.
It was only a scent. There were no instances where she sprayed some elegant perfume casually over her shoulder to attract him. There were no green particles of her scent gliding restlessly across the coffee shop, catching the light as they flew towards him, unnoticed by the other patrons. The mist of her allure didn't gather at his ankles and suffocate him in intoxicating bliss. It was after all, just a scent.
She left after the winter. Through the spring her scent remained in odd places. John smelt her on the train, and hiding behind parked cars. He smelt her when he opened his mailbox. Disappointment washed over him as he flicked through the letters, holding them to his nose. She wasn't there.
Her scent eventually faded in the summer, and John began to live his life once more. He became the manager of the book store when his uncle had retired. With the extra money that he had John bought himself a nice suit and a used car.
During the summer John began to socialise more. He introduced himself to a girl who had been a regular customer at the store for years. They got along well, and John eventually asked her out to dinner.
She had a scent of her own, but it was nothing like what John had experienced before. Despite his initial reservations, John asked the girl on another date. Eventually, by the end of the summer they were a couple. John was happy, and she shared his joy. They went out dancing together, and John took her for long drives to the beach in his car.
For John, there was something missing in their relationship, but she seemed truly happy and John didn't have the heart to tell her what was bothering him.
On Valentine's Day she told him that she loved him and John kissed her gently on the lips, saying, 'I know.'
He had scoured every department store and boutique on the weekend before the day, trying to find a perfume that matched the scent in his head. For hours, he sprayed all sorts of expensive smells onto testing paper provided by the salespeople. Each one failing to recapture the beauty and grace of the sweet floral aroma that he had once known.
After this, John had visited every florist trying to find the right bouquet, the right combination of flowers that equalled the passion he had felt. The bunch that he had eventually picked was a poor substitute, despite his girlfriend claiming she loved them with excitement. This excitement faded when he couldn't tell her that he loved her back.
It was just a scent. No perfume, or flowers could ever make up for what was lost. There was no way of trapping that magic in a bottle, no way that it grew from the ground. It was, after all, her scent.
She returned in the winter. He smelt her as he was walking and hastened his pace to see if she was around the next corner. She was indeed back, from wherever she had vanished to. John watched as she passionately kissed a young man, pressing him up against the wall of a building.
Her scent wafted around the two of them, and John watched on as their embrace lasted. Once they were done, the young man pulled a small parcel from his pocket. She eagerly unwrapped the brown paper and held her hands to her face when she saw what it was. John could see from the spine, that it was a freshly printed copy of her favourite volume of poetry.
She leant in and kissed him again.
John went straight home after this. He imagined the types of endings that would fit his story. He could kill himself, or murder the happy couple. He could marry his girlfriend out of spite. He could do all three in an unholy trinity of horror. But each possible ending exhausted him.
John spent a few days at home claiming he was sick. He apologised to his girlfriend and asked her out for a date on the weekend. She reluctantly accepted. He smoked heavily to mask the scent, but eventually quit.
The date went well and afterwards, in a moment of weakness, John explained the whole situation to his girlfriend in detail. He was surprised when she accepted his story with a smile and offered him a hug.
Eventually they did get married, and John sold the book store, making a considerable profit due to its prime location. The couple moved to the suburbs and after a few years, had a daughter.
Their marriage wasn't incredible, but it was, John thought, what a regular marriage should be. John worked from home, as a literary critic, and his wife worked as a teacher.
John felt safe that he was finally free of her scent, but he still smelt it occasionally. It hovered around when he went for a walk to the park. It followed him home as he came back from the supermarket. He smelt her sweet floral aroma when he tucked his daughter in at night.
It was just a scent. It wasn't following him around, it didn't lurk in the shadows waiting to strike. There was no visible signs of it hovering in the air, poisoning his house and everyone in it. It didn't choke the life out of John, until he couldn't think or breathe. It was, after all, just a scent.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Rob & Maddy Final!
Final installment of the Rob and Maddy experiment. It's been a lot of fun, and weighing in at a whopping 17,701 words, I'm fairly happy with the result. Enjoy.
Epilogue: Rob and Maddy
Tim Harvey
A crisp breeze drifted over Maddy's exposed shoulders, causing her to grab her arms. The weather at this year's festival was not great, but she slowly let go of her arms and felt the breeze wash over her. It was humid and sticky, and the thick air had caused her red hair to explode into a mass of frizzy curls.
She raised her can of pre-mixed vodka to her lips and took a long sip as she surveyed the crowds around her through the lenses of her red wayfarers. It was a smaller turnout than normal, and Maddy was one to know. She recalled the dry heat of last year's festival and frowned. It was a better day for drinking and dancing last year, but a horrible point in her life.
The memories of James and his relationship antics were not raw anymore. Maddy could look back and although she had barely thought about him for over a year, she felt comfortable that that chapter of her life was finally closed. She took another sip from the can and the sweet orange tang made her cringe.
She hadn't had a pre-mixed vodka since last year, and thinking about it, she had barely even had a drink. There was too much work to do in her first year as a full-time teacher. She didn't even think that she would be going to another festival like this. She felt so grown up, especially since she was addressed as “Miss” all day.
Maddy found herself smiling at the thought of her kids, at home enjoying the last few days of the summer holidays. They would all be going back in a week. Back to books and pencils, grade one Math and English. Art was her favourite subject to teach though, and she got an incredible feeling of appreciation for all the drawings and messy paintings that her kids presented at the end of a good day.
Why was she here? The weather was bad, the line-up this year wasn't much better. She knew the answer to her question before she had even thought it. There was one reason for wandering around the fairgrounds this year, and his name was Rob. There was no way of knowing if he was here, and frankly she didn't really mind. Her life was so full at the moment, yet for the entire year, she had felt that something was missing.
Rob and his mate Jeff rushed through the security gate, only fifteen minutes until the band that Jeff had been dying to see all summer hit the stage.
'You get the drinks, I'll get us a spot,' Jeff called when he was clear of the security. Rob nodded while the security guard inspected his ticket. When Rob got the ticket back and made his way past the final checkpoint, Jeff was nowhere in sight.
Rob sighed. He knew where to go, but Jeff hadn't given him any money for beers.
'My shout, I guess,' Rob said to himself with a smile and headed towards the bar.
Rob stood at the bar, waiting for his drinks when a wave of deja-vu washed over him. He had spotted a girl standing at the bar that looked too familiar. Rob took his drinks and slyly walked around the girl. She was the right height, right build. It couldn't be, could it? She began to turn and Rob saw that it was her.
It was his ex girlfriend. The short cropped blonde hair should have been a dead give away, but Rob just wasn't sure. They had only broken up a few months ago and had only been seeing each other for a few months before that.
Rob spun around on his heel and marched towards the exit, beers in hand. He cast a glance over his shoulder to make sure she didn't notice when he walked straight into someone, feeling both of their drinks splash all over the place.
Swinging his head around, Rob started to apologise when he saw who he had recklessly crashed into.
'Maddy?' Rob said, his voice cracking.
'Rob?' She sounded equally surprised. Rob spun his head around and saw his ex walking in their direction. Grabbing Maddy by the arm, Rob led her out of the bar area.
'Don't ask, I'll get you another drink,' Rob said as he guided Maddy through the crowd.
'Rob?' Maddy repeated. He kept pulling her through the people, when he felt her break out of his grasp.
'Rob, what is going on?' Maddy demanded.
He turned and looked at her. She looked just as he remembered, her hair was a little longer, and, bigger, he thought. She wore a white tank top and what looked like the same shorts that he remembered from last year. Her converse shoes were green this year.
'Maddy, my ex is in there,' Rob said, pointing towards the bar, feeling his face contort into a look of what must have been worry.
She paused before nodding and taking his hand.
Maddy knew exactly where to go, she guided Rob through the crowd and into a nearby pavilion. There was a band setting up and the crowds were fairly thin. Maddy pulled Rob right up to the front of the stage, before turning him around.
She thought he looked much the same as he did last year, except he was clean shaven this time. His white tee was replaced by a white polo shirt and his khaki shorts were now bright red board shorts. Somehow, she thought he looked bigger than she remembered. He appeared taller and maybe more solidly built.
'Maddy,' Rob began.
'It's good to see you,' Maddy said, cutting him off. She was slightly out of breath and she saw that he was too.
'Good to see you too,' Rob said eventually, his mouth turning up into a smile.
Maddy couldn't hold it in, she had wanted to see Rob for a year and she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his body.
He instantly returned the hug, pulling her tight and gently stroking her back.
'How have you been?' Rob said, over her shoulder.
She held him tightly and spoke into his chest, 'Good, what about you?'
'Not too bad,' he said with a hint of hesitation, 'Not too bad,' he repeated.
When they eventually let go of each other Rob looked deeply into Maddy's eyes. She felt a mix of safety and excitement that had been absent from her life over the past year.
Rob placed his hand on Maddy's shoulder, stroking gently with his thumb, 'I'm sorry about the ex thing,' he said, pointing towards the exit to the pavilion.
Maddy laughed knowingly and gently slapped him on the chest, 'We've all been there.'
Rob shared her laugh and nodded, 'Yeah that's true.' He added with a laugh, 'You don't have to punch my ex though.'
Maddy wrapped her arm around his waist and they stood side by side, 'That's good to know.'
Rob and Maddy eventually caught up with Jeff, who was still waiting for his beer. They spent most of the day wandering around and catching up on the last year. Rob bought Maddy a drink and she returned the favour, buying him a beer.
For lunch they had pizza and Rob guarded Maddy when she had to use men's room. Despite the humidity and the smaller turnout, the line for the girls' was still painfully long. The three of them sat up in the stands to watch the headlining acts and when Jeff had to leave, Rob and Maddy stayed put.
Rob gently caressed Maddy's leg with his hand and she stroked his back as they watched the live music. After the final song, Rob and Maddy shared a kiss underneath the bright lights of the stands. It was every bit as passionate and loving as they had both expected. The kiss, held for what felt like hours, was made all the more sweet by their mutual understanding of each other.
After the festival Rob walked Maddy to her car, hand in hand. They kissed again and Maddy put her number in Rob's phone. He did the same, and found it hard to let go of her hand when they said goodnight.
When he eventually did let go, Rob felt safe that he and Maddy would be seeing a lot more of each other in the future. For the first time in a while, the year ahead looked very bright to Rob, very bright indeed.
Epilogue: Rob and Maddy
Tim Harvey
A crisp breeze drifted over Maddy's exposed shoulders, causing her to grab her arms. The weather at this year's festival was not great, but she slowly let go of her arms and felt the breeze wash over her. It was humid and sticky, and the thick air had caused her red hair to explode into a mass of frizzy curls.
She raised her can of pre-mixed vodka to her lips and took a long sip as she surveyed the crowds around her through the lenses of her red wayfarers. It was a smaller turnout than normal, and Maddy was one to know. She recalled the dry heat of last year's festival and frowned. It was a better day for drinking and dancing last year, but a horrible point in her life.
The memories of James and his relationship antics were not raw anymore. Maddy could look back and although she had barely thought about him for over a year, she felt comfortable that that chapter of her life was finally closed. She took another sip from the can and the sweet orange tang made her cringe.
She hadn't had a pre-mixed vodka since last year, and thinking about it, she had barely even had a drink. There was too much work to do in her first year as a full-time teacher. She didn't even think that she would be going to another festival like this. She felt so grown up, especially since she was addressed as “Miss” all day.
Maddy found herself smiling at the thought of her kids, at home enjoying the last few days of the summer holidays. They would all be going back in a week. Back to books and pencils, grade one Math and English. Art was her favourite subject to teach though, and she got an incredible feeling of appreciation for all the drawings and messy paintings that her kids presented at the end of a good day.
Why was she here? The weather was bad, the line-up this year wasn't much better. She knew the answer to her question before she had even thought it. There was one reason for wandering around the fairgrounds this year, and his name was Rob. There was no way of knowing if he was here, and frankly she didn't really mind. Her life was so full at the moment, yet for the entire year, she had felt that something was missing.
Rob and his mate Jeff rushed through the security gate, only fifteen minutes until the band that Jeff had been dying to see all summer hit the stage.
'You get the drinks, I'll get us a spot,' Jeff called when he was clear of the security. Rob nodded while the security guard inspected his ticket. When Rob got the ticket back and made his way past the final checkpoint, Jeff was nowhere in sight.
Rob sighed. He knew where to go, but Jeff hadn't given him any money for beers.
'My shout, I guess,' Rob said to himself with a smile and headed towards the bar.
Rob stood at the bar, waiting for his drinks when a wave of deja-vu washed over him. He had spotted a girl standing at the bar that looked too familiar. Rob took his drinks and slyly walked around the girl. She was the right height, right build. It couldn't be, could it? She began to turn and Rob saw that it was her.
It was his ex girlfriend. The short cropped blonde hair should have been a dead give away, but Rob just wasn't sure. They had only broken up a few months ago and had only been seeing each other for a few months before that.
Rob spun around on his heel and marched towards the exit, beers in hand. He cast a glance over his shoulder to make sure she didn't notice when he walked straight into someone, feeling both of their drinks splash all over the place.
Swinging his head around, Rob started to apologise when he saw who he had recklessly crashed into.
'Maddy?' Rob said, his voice cracking.
'Rob?' She sounded equally surprised. Rob spun his head around and saw his ex walking in their direction. Grabbing Maddy by the arm, Rob led her out of the bar area.
'Don't ask, I'll get you another drink,' Rob said as he guided Maddy through the crowd.
'Rob?' Maddy repeated. He kept pulling her through the people, when he felt her break out of his grasp.
'Rob, what is going on?' Maddy demanded.
He turned and looked at her. She looked just as he remembered, her hair was a little longer, and, bigger, he thought. She wore a white tank top and what looked like the same shorts that he remembered from last year. Her converse shoes were green this year.
'Maddy, my ex is in there,' Rob said, pointing towards the bar, feeling his face contort into a look of what must have been worry.
She paused before nodding and taking his hand.
Maddy knew exactly where to go, she guided Rob through the crowd and into a nearby pavilion. There was a band setting up and the crowds were fairly thin. Maddy pulled Rob right up to the front of the stage, before turning him around.
She thought he looked much the same as he did last year, except he was clean shaven this time. His white tee was replaced by a white polo shirt and his khaki shorts were now bright red board shorts. Somehow, she thought he looked bigger than she remembered. He appeared taller and maybe more solidly built.
'Maddy,' Rob began.
'It's good to see you,' Maddy said, cutting him off. She was slightly out of breath and she saw that he was too.
'Good to see you too,' Rob said eventually, his mouth turning up into a smile.
Maddy couldn't hold it in, she had wanted to see Rob for a year and she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his body.
He instantly returned the hug, pulling her tight and gently stroking her back.
'How have you been?' Rob said, over her shoulder.
She held him tightly and spoke into his chest, 'Good, what about you?'
'Not too bad,' he said with a hint of hesitation, 'Not too bad,' he repeated.
When they eventually let go of each other Rob looked deeply into Maddy's eyes. She felt a mix of safety and excitement that had been absent from her life over the past year.
Rob placed his hand on Maddy's shoulder, stroking gently with his thumb, 'I'm sorry about the ex thing,' he said, pointing towards the exit to the pavilion.
Maddy laughed knowingly and gently slapped him on the chest, 'We've all been there.'
Rob shared her laugh and nodded, 'Yeah that's true.' He added with a laugh, 'You don't have to punch my ex though.'
Maddy wrapped her arm around his waist and they stood side by side, 'That's good to know.'
Rob and Maddy eventually caught up with Jeff, who was still waiting for his beer. They spent most of the day wandering around and catching up on the last year. Rob bought Maddy a drink and she returned the favour, buying him a beer.
For lunch they had pizza and Rob guarded Maddy when she had to use men's room. Despite the humidity and the smaller turnout, the line for the girls' was still painfully long. The three of them sat up in the stands to watch the headlining acts and when Jeff had to leave, Rob and Maddy stayed put.
Rob gently caressed Maddy's leg with his hand and she stroked his back as they watched the live music. After the final song, Rob and Maddy shared a kiss underneath the bright lights of the stands. It was every bit as passionate and loving as they had both expected. The kiss, held for what felt like hours, was made all the more sweet by their mutual understanding of each other.
After the festival Rob walked Maddy to her car, hand in hand. They kissed again and Maddy put her number in Rob's phone. He did the same, and found it hard to let go of her hand when they said goodnight.
When he eventually did let go, Rob felt safe that he and Maddy would be seeing a lot more of each other in the future. For the first time in a while, the year ahead looked very bright to Rob, very bright indeed.
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