This short story was entered into a writing competition. It didn’t win, but here it is for you. The topic was ‘The Elephant in the Room,’ and I had to use specific words throughout. The winning entries were wonderful! Here you go.
“I can’t believe I’m finally here,” Anna said, turning slowly on the spot, craning her neck back to take in the splendor of the Castle. Despite not knowing anything about this country or how to speak the language she just knew she had to be here today.
“I need a favour.” That is all that was written on the embossed card. Her business details on one side and her elegant filigree script on the other. It even smelled like her, rich roses and vanilla wrapped in cinnamon.
The rain fell in heavy sheets, soaking Lizzie to the bone until she couldn’t remember what it felt like to be dry. Her gum boots filled with the icy water, driving needles into her skin. The trapped water didn’t warm as she paced around, it just sloshed until her toes were numb and she was sure they had turned black.
“We shouldn’t be here.”
“Nonsense, we belong here.”
“Yes, of course. How stupid of me. We definitely belong in a dark alley that reeks of urine.”
“Do you think that trees have feelings?” Gloria said, stretching her long legs up the trunk of a weeping willow. The stark paleness against the tree made them look like they were painted with clown make up, but that was just Gloria, as pale as the day was long.
This small piece is a little different from what I usually write. Hope you enjoy it.
‘You have an incoming communication’ his phone rasped for the third time in an hour. If only he could reach it, his fingers strained to grip the phone, but the bindings only let him move so far. The cloth cut into his wrists as he stretched his body over to the bed side table. The grotty mattress beneath him squeaked as he strained.
A little snippet of family fiction. Enjoy.
The incandescent sheen on the bubbles always reminded her that life was fragile, precious, just like the delicate surface on each tiny globe winking back at her from the sink. A task she had done hundred of times, washing up. Doing the dishes, scrubbing a stray fork or cup, and the repetitive but important job of cleaning and sterilising the baby bottles every day.
“What’s that smell?” She crinkled her nose and wiped her hands down the front of her jeans, she could feel the itch already, thank God she packed her antihistamine. There were so many bugs and who knows how many pollen spores out here.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I am now a fully professional published author. That’s right, someone paid me to write something. Odd, strange and unexpected, I know.