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.
“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.
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.
I’m back. Mr 10 weeks is sleeping all night, the dreaded pregnancy ‘morning sickness’ went as soon as he entered the World. Now I can focus on getting the stories in my head out.
“How many times do I have to tell you? It’s three, six-minute eggs. Not six, three-minute eggs.” He pushed the silver tray away. “Who in their right might would eat six, three-minute eggs? They wouldn’t even be bloody cooked.”
“I’m sorry, Sir.” She gathered up the tray in shaking hands. “The cook…”
“I don’t want to hear your excuses, girl. Just get me my breakfast.”
With a snap he flipped open the newspaper and started reading the business section, as she walked backwards out of the room.
“He wouldn’t eat them,” she said in a low voice to her husband, the cook. “He wants three six-minute eggs, but if you cook them that long will it affect the cyanide in the water?”
He shrugged and tipped some more of the poison into the boiling water.
“Only one way to find out.”