Free Writing
By Ines Manning
She said it might put things in perspective, as she quietly told me she had been having an affair with my husband for the past fourteen years. I smiled sweetly as I told her she was welcome to him. Her reply was no thank you, I have a husband of my own who drops his dirty clothes on the floor and leaves all sorts of debris around the house for me to find. I have quite enough of my own problems!
What would I want your husband for apart from the subterfuge and sex?
Now you know, all the fun has gone and I will have to find someone else.
Yes, you have put it in perspective, but it makes me want to put you both in Perspex that white cloudy substance which hardens in oxygen.
A plan was forming in her mind, she enrolled in local art and engineering classes, she was going to find out how to put them both in Perspex she knew she needed large vats of the stuff, and it had to be kept warm, or it would harden, so she had to have a plan. She thought of the loft above her bedroom, if she could position the vat there, so the Perspex could be poured over them, then they could be kept in it for time in memorial, or as an exhibit in the love disasters or relationships gone wrong museum, she had once visited with her husband in Croatia.
Here there were old love letters, gifts that spoke of broken hearts and all kinds of other items which indicated disastrous relationships. She had visited it ten years ago, as far as she could remember there were not any lovers incarcerated in Perspex, it would be a first, never mind the manslaughter or murder charges, it would be well worth it to get rid of him and her.
Then she thought it would be more fun to write about it instead.
Eggs
By Hema Nadiadhara
What was the strangest thing you ever ate and how did you react?
The strangest thing I ever ate in my life was eggs!!!
Yes, indeed, I said EGGS!
Why would one need to eat eggs, I thought.
It seemed funny to me as they do not look like a grain of rice or a pea in a pod.
Round as it seemed, (that is, the egg) it or I had no means of getting into the object. Stranger still, it had a hard shell cover.
I wondered how could one get into or inside to eat whatever it had.
Looking at it from all angles, I still could not figure it out, until, I tossed the egg in the air (hoping it will have wings and start flying).
I tried to catch it thinking it would open up itself and fly away, but, alas, it fell on the floor with a great crack and splat!!!
All the white and yellow liquid came out, what a delightful and colourful sight I thought.
To my confusion, there was meant to be a small bird inside, but no, nothing except liquid.
It wasn’t until my friend showed me what really goes on in the world of eggs and how to make a meal out of it.
This bought about a variety of ways to cook an egg, scrambled, boiled, sunny side-up or poached, to make a wonderful and nutritious meal every day.
And, yes, it certainly changed me forever from being a total vegetarian!
Adverts
By Hema Nadiadhara
I have joined the Creative writing group and had a task to do. This is a short story about UK TV adverts. Can you work out what the five adverts are in the text below?
Good things come to those who wait
Dawn has just broken
Birds have just woken
The plants have just snapped, crackled and popped
Say it with flowers, because
Once you pop, you can’t stop
For now it is time to taste the Rainbow
The answers are as follows
Guinness, Rice Krispies, Interflora, Pringles, Skittles
The Chase
By Kev Neylon
It’s still there. The beast isn’t giving up. I’ve been chased endlessly. I’ve run over roads with no regard for traffic. The screech of brakes and honking of horns don’t stop my progress as I flee. I run through shops, office building, even houses. Bursting out of fire escapes, scrambling over walls and fences where there are no gates.
I’ve run into the woods. It’s dark enough to hide from prying eyes, but the sound of the beast is always there, just behind me. I can feel the hot breath. I can smell the fetid stench of its innards. Occasionally I feel its touch, a glancing sensation on my legs or arms or head. Yet no matter how hard I try I can never see the beast. It always manages to be lurking outside the field of my vision. Suddenly stopping and spinning on the spot doesn’t help.
I emerge from the woods into the light. Rushing across uneven fields of grass and crops I can’t identify. I get to the river and plunge headfirst into it. Ducking myself under the water to mask my own smell, to throw the beast off the scent. The river isn’t deep. It had been hot and dry for too long now. When I stand up the water only comes up to my thighs. I wade diagonally downstream to come out on the bank below a bridge.
A train rumbles over it as I do, and I run up the side of the bridge and climb over the fence. I run along the tracks going at a steady pace, each stride hitting a concrete sleeper. I run in the opposite direction on the track the departing train had gone by on. I will see the next train coming. I run, I haven’t thrown off the beast yet. It still comes, its sound filling my ears. The horn of the passing train blocks it out for a few seconds.
The horn was for me. Get off the tracks it screamed. So I did, down the embankment and over the fence into the back garden of the house at the bottom. I run through the garden, hurdling the bicycles strewn on the patio. I go through the open patio doors and through the house to the front door. Ignoring the cries of the house’s occupants.
I increase my speed; I don’t look as I run across the main road. More horns, more screeching and then the metallic clang of a crash. I’m not to blame; it is the beast who echoes my every step.
And then I’m home, bursting though the communal door of the block I live in. Up the four flights of stairs and into my flat, slamming the door behind me. Turning the key and locking it before slotting home the additional bolts.
I go to the bathroom. I need to wash myself. I look in the mirror and suddenly I see the beast for the first time. It is there staring back at me.
I am the beast.
The Manchester Meet
By Kev Neylon
I was early. I was always early. I had a mortal fear of being late. I would rather be an hour early than one minute late. I’m nervous about this. I pace up and down outside Oxford Road station, I can’t stand still. I could do with a cigarette, just for something to do, but I gave up a few years ago, and I’m not sure being caught smoking would give the right impression after all these years.
I hadn’t smoked when I was younger, so my parents would have never seen me with a cigarette. Seven years down the line, when I’m due to see them for the first time since I disappeared off the face of the Earth as far as anyone I knew from my old life was aware. Such was the shambles my married live had become; I was prepared to cut myself off from everyone one I knew and loved and run away and hide in Manchester.
And now I’m back in Manchester to meet my parents. I’m back in Manchester two years after moving down to Crawley due to work. I’ve come for a weekend away with some colleagues from work. It was a heavy first night last night, Thursdays were always messy in Manchester, and as I left the apartment we are renting for the weekend, everyone else is still in bed.
My parents had moved to Morecambe whilst I still lived in Manchester. I just didn’t know it until after I’d moved to Crawley, so Manchester is now a neutral ground for us. I don’t know what to expect. How will they look? My brother – who tracked me down – says my dad has prostate cancer, and although he is living OK at the moment, it’s not curable. I don’t expect any issues with meeting my dad. My mum is a different kettle of fish entirely. She was always highly strung and unpredictable. Larry says she has calmed down a lot in the last few years, almost as if she has had to to be able to deal with dad’s condition.
As I pace around, going back and forth wearing out a line in the pavement around the crescent of the taxi rank, there is a sense of trepidation, and I look at my watch for the umpteenth time since I got here. Their train should have been in a couple of minutes ago, but as is the way of things it is late. More nervous minutes for my mind to run away with me.
And then the train arrives and I start to scan those getting off and making their way towards me at the exit. My heart is racing as I see an old couple who may be my parents, but they aren’t. I see two more possibilities before the platform completely empties and no more passengers make their way to the exit. I wander into the station and look around and there is no sign of anyone else. I rush back out of the station and look around somewhat frantically for anyone who looks like the image I have in my head of my parents. The taxi queue is gone; no one is at the bus stop for the free city centre shuttle buses. They haven’t turned up.
Do I blame them? I made no attempt to contact them over the years. Not even to let them know I was safe and alive. No cards for Christmas or birthdays. No phone call. Have they written me off as the bad job I had been? Then I think has something happened to them. Has my dad had to go to hospital? It’s only two days since we finalised the meetup, but has he taken a turn for the worst. It’s not as if they have a mobile I can ring. Not that I can ring anyone without going back to the apartment to pick my phone up.
I didn’t think I’d need it. Damn, I’m shaking. No cigarettes, I could do with a drink, but it’s not even 10am yet. A fry up at the corner house will have to do. I could do with more stodge to soak up last night’s over indulgences. Walking around the club swigging from a bottle of champagne seemed such a great idea at the time. On top of the whiskey, beers and vodka / red roosters it wasn’t my finest idea ever.
And so I eat one breakfast and order another. The waitress looks at me with barely concealed loathing and disgust. I know she is taking one look at me and thinking one breakfast is more than enough for you, you fat bastard. I should probably agree with her assessment, but don’t give a shit.
I’m shovelling the last of the sausages into my mouth whilst staring off into the distance when I see them. My parents are walking out of the station. I leave twenty quid on the table and rush for the door. Perhaps the fifty percent tip will cheer the judgemental bitch of a waitress up.
I catch up with my parents. They had missed their train and caught the next one anyway. They had come to Manchester, not expecting to find me there, just hoping they were lucky.
I think we all were.
The Earrings
By Ruth Hogg
I saw the earrings in a small gift shop on the sea front and thought they would be perfect for you. I could almost envision you wearing them. Hair in your face as the wind blew across but the earrings would shimmer in the sunlight. They would bring out the blue in your eyes which would sparkle like the sun hitting the sea on a hot summers’ day.
Your laugh was always so infectious and reminded me of a wind chime singing in the wind.
I picked them up imagining you unwrapping them and looking up at me, those blue eyes shining along with your smile. They would of reminded us of the holiday where I asked you to be my wife on the bridge overlooking the city.
I never imagined that I would miss my chance to ask you that life changing question. If only we had stayed in that day, if only I had offered to go to the shops then you would still be here with me. If only that driver hadn’t run through the run light. If only you had crossed at a different set of traffic lights then you would still be here with me.
The Creature
I couldn’t breathe and my heart was fluttering in my chest. I crouched down and waited. I didn’t know what it was but I had seen it drag George away. His cries and screams still echoing in my head.
A branch cracked and I held my breathe. My legs had begun to ache from the awkward position but I would need to be able to move quickly.
The light in the woodland was disappearing fast, soon I would be left in the darkness. I hoped Sarah and Mike were okay. The four of us had run in different directions when the attack happened.
A flutter of wings made me jump and I saw the crow leap into the air.
More cracking could be heard, although there was more of a pattern to it like someone or something was stepping on to twigs. I couldn’t judge how close and in what direction and I wouldn’t be able to outrun it anyway.
I looked up and saw a branch overhead. I rose slowly so not to make any sound. I reached up to try and lift myself off the ground to start climbing the tree.
I heard a growl. I could feel the heat of its breathe on the back of my neck.
It was too late.
Ruth Hogg
Frogs Crossing – Trevor Aird
Before everyone had cars, frogs got on just fine!
They would hop and jump and frolic
Whilst in the pond they bask with no worries
Roads are busier now, fraught with danger
And so we gather to help our green legged friends cross the road
Whether amphibian or toad
To stop them getting splatted, By big nasty lorries
Visit to the coast – Trevor Aird
See ya sea
You reflect me
Everchanging currents, deeply
See ya sea
Should be mandatory
To spend time with your serenity
See ya sea
Back I go to the grimy city
Cramped spaces and misery
See ya sea
Just opposite the pier
Maybe one day I’ll move here
Scenes from the boardwalk – Trevor Aird
A blind man led by his wife
Wishing he could see the ocean
Three middle aged ladies chin wagging
An Asian beauty on her phone
Too busy to notice real admirers
No cycling! Ignored!
Smooth glide of rollerskates
Carving wide arcs, Gone in a flash
A path extremely well trodden
Quaint coloured huts des res
Rain approaching from the sea
Like swarms of bees
Portable thermos with a cup of tea
School visit hoping to see a crab
Even better a starfish
Homeless man returns
To his shiny blue billowing tent
The best porch view in town
Teleporter
I wish I had a teleporter
Golden super bright
I’d whisk you off to a sunny place
And dine beneath the cool moonlight
I wish I had a teleporter
I’d go far back in time
I’d show you a dinosaur egg hatching
We’d have a real swell time
I wish I had a teleporter
I’d pop up to the moon
We’d take giant leaps over craters
Round and Round the world we’d zoom
I wish I had teleporter
I’d tell you how I feel
I’d pop up from your garden hedge
No more hiding
Love that’s real
I wish I had a teleporter
I’d play and have more fun
Run around and jump
Eat greener foods
Enjoy my thinner bum
Tagged – Trevor Aird
Feed my needy monkey
Distract my feeble mind
Perhaps today I might find
A ton of likes
A bunch of pokes
Or Those cute caption picture jokes
Zuckerberg don’t care about you
It’s just another addiction
Most peoples lives are fiction
Never had to deal before with
This modern day affliction
Your just a pay check
More profit til you die
Compare yourself to others lives and cry
Get another dopamine hit
From your mobile phone crack habit.
Masters of the internet
Self appointed
You must be notified
Depressed and discontent
Overwhelmed and disappointed
wasn’t like this in my day
We had papers that said
What my neighbour do and say
They recanted after their holiday
Not selfies during to my dismay
What am I supposed to say
I’d rather be there anyday!
Arguments develop within a few lines
I’ve seen the battle unfold a thousand times.
So many rules now that pull and force
Victims and cheats seek divorce
say this or that
Self harming kids who can’t match up
Compare with the Jones can’t keep up.
Intrusive Rants and raves most Blindly inappropriate
Likes and pokes
New Societies opiate
Let’s remonstrate
Then demonstrate
Our minds and souls
Let’s extricate
From those fat cats
Rich twats
Billionaire aristocrats
Take back lives
Amnesty for
Zombie knives
Human spirit survives
No one reads encyclopaedias
You and your kids whole lives unfold
tagged to death on Social media
Life Recovery – Trevor Aird
Feels odd and strange
Though I need to change
Too many new people
Too crazy for me
Shall I get involved?
Share my story or keep quiet
Tell them about my new special diet
Go on! Let others have a go
Here You’re not the star of the show
Makes me sad, bad, jack the lad
Cracks appear, leaking fear
Why am I here ?
Where’s the flow?
What’s to know?
The exit clearly marked
I just want to go
I wonder does it show
My paranoid discovery
And snobbery
In this journey of
Recovery
Down on Jollity Farm
By Ana Maria Achucarro
John had been living in his converted bus for several years now. He had made it very comfortable with a kitchen area, a toilet and a bedroom too. He really enjoyed living on the farm and he had built himself an outside workshop and a rather cool skate ramp.
He had cleared a decent sized patch of grass in the field, just next to his bus so that he could sit outside in the evenings and relax. However it was not to be, as Damien (who also lived on the farm with his wife and children) had now decided to take advantage of the recently cleared space. He parked his dishevelled car right next to John’s bus. Every single morning at 7am, Damien shouted at his children to get into the car so that he could take them to school. Every morning he over revved his car, sending plumes of exhaust fumes circling around John’s bus.
John tactfully approached Damien and asked him to drop his parking space back a few feet. This had made Damien very angry and he had sworn loudly at John.
John felt very sad thinking about the hours he had spent clearing away bits of old tractors, machinery and vegetation. None of his hard work had brought him any benefits at all. It had just been to Damien’s advantage, and John worried that the argument might escalate and become a physical fight.
The farm was out in the countryside, far from civilisation. One night John noticed that Damien’s caravan and car had disappeared and he never saw them again.
John saw his landlady and asked
“Whatever happened to Damien and his family?”
“Oh they’ve moved to another place far from here. As I understand it, Damien crossed swords with some rather unpleasant chaps from round here.”
Couldn’t have happened to a nicer man thought John with a wry smile. Happily now his mornings were now tranquil, and only birdsong pierced the peaceful area. All that remained now was for him to find a nice girl to share his rural idyll!