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Thanks for choosing my entry as winner for the February competition i enjoyed writing it and also reading everyone else’s offerings.
As this year is a leap year I decided a good title for this months competition would be ‘The Leap’.
The only limit is your imagination so interpret it as you like, prose or poem if that takes your fancy but keep to a word limit of not more than 500.
Good luck.Cheeky leap into an attempt of an opener for ‘Snap is not a children’s game’
Vic Duncan. Did Lucy but know it, the first of three Duncan men she’d sleep with before she died, a possibly dangerous, but especially satisfying addition to her habitual maintenance of a quartet of alphabetically consecutively-named lovers.
It began in the final year of her business degree when, having earned enough to buy a house, she invited four fellow students to move in with her, on the understanding that, for a much-reduced rent they’d be guinea pigs, i.e. lovers for her to practice on, to analyse and thereby hone her skills, before setting herself up in business as a provider of discreetly delivered, top quality sex, for those who could afford it. The first she asked, the already well-trained, well-trusted, sensitive, good friend Baz. He, comprehending the breadth of what she required, suggested Andrew Bishop, more frequently addressed as Arch.
‘As you’ve no doubt sussed, when it comes to sex his experience thus far has been… damaging. I trust you to treat him with good care.’
She had done so. To the point of letting him go, when he needed to, despite being well on the way to falling in love with him.
B and A in place, Chris the next invited housemate. Older than the others, harder and less kind, she anticipated he would teach her maybe difficult lessons. He it was who introduced the disruptive Del, thus completing an ABCD foursome which, remembering another childhood rhyme, she code-named ‘Gol’fish and continued to always choose clients via that method.
But. But the last two additions had come via third party introductions Fearing to lose autonomy, asking Vic had been a deliberate leap into the unknown.
His day had begun with a driver phoning in sick and no replacement. He’d turned out with a couple of Duncan cousins to deliver a super-king-size bed to her second-floor, no lift, apartment. She’d watched him add rumours of her reputation to the furnishings of the room and confirm the use the bed would be put to. Silently commended his lack of comment and enjoyed their efficient camaraderie and lack of complaint. Admired how easily he carried his authority. On overhearing him addressed by name, she lost no time in telling him of her need for a ‘V’ in her client list.
He’d been amused.
‘My Dad had the same idea. I’ve brothers beginning with T and W, but Ursula’s a sister —’
‘I’ve got a “U”. A gift.’
Vic’s sudden scrutiny told Lucy her face had given her away. ‘Gift? You know what they say about gift horses?’
‘Don’t look them in the mouth? He’s an introduction from a friend.’
‘Still horse-trading. Ask yourself why they’re being given away. He good to you, this “U”?’
‘He, he was …’
‘But is no longer, Get rid, you don’t need to be made unhappy.’
‘Easier said than done, I’m afraid.’
‘You should never be afraid.’
But within the year it turned out she was right to be so.
[493 words]
The Leap
Before I knew what The Leap was, I thought it was magic. Like I thought magic was a real thing. Me and Cob and Dez and Piggy were all under ten years old. I mean, I didn’t know what a year was. That was an Earth thing. Piggy was nine, and he said that a year was like four and a bit turns of the stars. Turns were an asteroid thing, a Kapri thing. Here on Kapri, we knew about turns. Forty-seven point five turns and we had to join our parents doing their sentences if they were still alive. If they weren’t we had to serve the sentence in their place, digging the lithium and gold out of Kapri’s rocky insides. Until then we could just run about in charge of our own time. Nobody cared about kids until they were old enough to make a profit.
Everybody knew about The Leap, but we kids were fascinated. Kapri has like two big blobs and a skinny middle. Piggy said that somebody could jump from one part to the other, but only from the big ledge called The Leap. Oh Boy! It was something to see. I mean, all the people in our whole lives lived on the blob we were on. I mean, that was Kapri. That was where all the good stuff was: the stuff we had to mine to send back to Earth. To finish our sentences. I mean Kapri was enormous, like vast. It must be bigger than Earth even, I think.
So, we’d go to The Leap and you could see the other blob. Oh boy! That other blob was big, We all lay there on the ledge and stared at it. And we knew what The Leap was, we thought. We’d dropped rocks and seen them race away and then tried to follow as they slowed and approached the other blob. But it was so far away we couldn’t tell what happened to them. We tried bigger stuff. Once we pushed an old packing case over, bigger than Piggy. No good. We still lost sight of it.
Piggy said it was freedom on the other blob. We all nodded.
When he was forty-seven turns old, Piggy leaped. He stepped right off. He fell with his arms and legs wide like a star. He slowed down. We lost sight of him.
Then Cob jumped. After that, Dez got very quiet. He stopped hanging around with me.
And now? Now, here I am on the other blob, or Kapri-A as it’s called. Yeah, I jumped too. I fell faster and faster until I hit the null-field of the grav-generator that keeps us all clamped onto this rock. Then I slowed down and landed here. And found the Prison Service annexe. Now we mine for the Prison Service to pay for our voluntary emigration here. Two hundred and eleven point six more turns and we can return to Earth.
492 words
As I drove home on Wednesday morning after a nightshift, I had the most amazing idea for the monthly comp. A sort of fantasy, supernatural, sci-fi thing that I was excited to start working on. I got home, made myself a cup of tea and promptly fell asleep on the sofa. By the time I woke, the idea was long gone, picked up and carried away – like so many, many others – to that deep, dark part of my mind accessible only by happenstance and never by design. I despaired of finding anything else to write about and, even now, as I coax this new idea onto the page, I’m not sure it applies.
The Leap
I never describe myself as a writer, I always say ‘I write, occasionally,’ in that uniquely embarrassed way people do when they’re scared they might be called out as an imposter. Doesn’t it mean anything that I have knitted and kneaded and created words since Miss Mackenzie in P5 corrected all my backhanded, sloping words with her red pen? But last night – very late, last night – as I walked the dog with my daughter, she talked about the cultural exhibits in Perth’s new museum, and the fact that a contingent of experts had flown in from New Zealand to ensure that their precious items were not displayed in glass cases, but in a manner in which they were ‘free to tell their stories in their own way.’ I loved that. It made me emotional, and it set those slow-moving cerebral cogs of mine in motion.
We are all storytellers, aren’t we? It’s how we communicate. We pass on our truths and insights in the stories we tell and learn about life and history, where we came from and where we’re going, in the stories from other people. Our identity is shaped by our story. There are those elements of our story that we’re proud of and happy to share and those that we will never tell another living soul. We may be mocked or misunderstood for our story, generally by those whose own story falls short, but our identity will be strong and inspirational.
That’s not really what I want to say. What I want to say is that last night, and again this morning, I thought about the relevance in the way we present our story. Not from behind a glass screen, but openly and with a willingness to share or invite interaction.
My own glass screens are many – fear, duty, discipline – to name a few, and sometimes the story I present belongs to more than just me. I can identify myself as a wife, mother, daughter, sister, aunt, nurse, or council employee, but these identities are from the stories I share with other people. What if, just once, I came out from behind the glass screen and had the courage to present me? Who would I be? What shape would my story take?
This then is my leap – out of the frying pan and into the unknown. The next time someone asks me who I am or what I do, I shall present myself with courage and say ‘I am vibrant, in shades of blue and purple and fuchsia. I am honest and loyal.’
‘And I am a writer.’
This was a good prompt. Unfortunately, this month was really busy, and I didn’t get a chance to come up with a story. I enjoyed the stories entered.
Thank you Sandra, Ath, and Sea for such excellent entries.
1. Sandra, what a ‘jump right in’ really thought-provoking opening statement then backtracking to give a well-crafted back story to the piece before we actually meet Vic Duncan. I especially liked the small almost throw away sentences that gives good insight into the main character.
Great ending hook – will it actually be Vic who’s dangerous or someone else? A riveting read Sandra.2. Ath, Such a great sense of adventure, excitement and magical quality conveyed in the main character’s child’s eye view of everything around them. The descriptions of them jumping from the Leap, for me, embodied the point at which they grew up
Really great entry Ath.3. Sea, A really sympathetic and perceptive view of how writers often feel and view themselves.
Now to decide who to choose to carry the competition into April…
Sandra’s, dangerously intimated and gritty opening and ending hooks.
Ath’s child’s-eye view of something they perceive as magical yet quietly gathers such serious undertones, or Sea’s carefully crafted and openly honest view from a writer’s perspective.
All three brilliantly written with such different qualities. Well it’s a toughie, and so well written everyone, but I have eventually settled on Seagreens quietly insightful musings .
So, Sea, it’s over to you to start April’s competition thread.Thank you for this challenge Terrie, and your kind comments; I was glad of the opportunity to make best use of it. Well done Sea – and never doubt those who have read you KNOW full well you are indeed a talented and sparkling writer, and thank you Ath for evoking. albeit dimly, the challenges of childhood.
Thank you for the prompt, Terrie, which served to oil those mental cogs I was beginning to think had seized.
@Ath and Sandra – both great stories 🙂 and I hope you’ll be equally inspired by April’s comp.
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