@clebs
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<p style=”text-align: center;”><b>Behind Closed Curtains</b></p>
‘Jimmy look, that rude electrician is back!’ Marjorie adjusted her glasses and squinted towards the bungalow. ‘And he’s wearing that t-shirt again, you know, the orange one with large red letters saying Bog Off You Nosy Neighbour!’ She poked her tongue out in the general direction of the bungalow. Jimmy snorted and scratched his nose.‘Look. He’s pointing at me!’ Marjorie grabbed the navy blue curtains and pulled them across the window. A cloud of dust fell onto the faded red and gold carpet. She sniffed but didn’t smell the staleness which hung in the air from the curtains.
The shrill of the telephone made her jump. ‘Oh my goodness. Not again’
‘Shirford 792413, hello. Who is this?’ The line was silent, ‘Are you actually my bank?’ Her heart thumped. ‘Just leave me alone!’ she shouted. ‘I’ve had enough.’
Her hands shook as she pulled out her hearing aids. ‘I’ll show you I’m not a nosy neighbour and I won’t answer that phone agan.
She stomped to the kitchen. ‘Jimmy breakfast.’ Marjorie poured some pellets into his bowl then picked up yesterday’s bottle of sherry from the drainer. ‘As my Jack would have said, it’s never too early.’
Jimmy wagged his tail as he stuck his nose into the stale pellets in his bowl.
She took a swig from the bottle and then wobbled. ‘Goodness, the sherry’s already working.’ She giggled, ‘Bottoms up to the electrician!’
Safe behind her navy curtains and deaf to the world, Marjorie poured herself another sherry.
‘Here’s to nosy neighbours.’ She raised her glass.
Later that day the headline of the Shirford News read:
Local electrician dies in a horror fire when a bungalow being renovated is burnt to the ground.
Marjorie, slumped across her kitchen table slept through the sirens.
After a hectic few hours, it was lovely to sit down and read these entries. Thank you all for taking the time to enter.
Athelstone – I felt very close to your character. When I finished reading I felt very sad.
Seagreen – I thoroughly enjoyed this. The final paragraph was lovely to read. Who is Ameilia I wonder?
Sandra – I found this very interesting and with so many possibilities. I hope if you write the drawing room scene perhaps you can share it.
Alex –I really enjoyed the way you set the hope and anticipation of freedom, the delight at being chosen then the realisation that the future was in fact bleak. A good read.
And the winner is Athelstone. Congratulations.
Upwards and Downwards
An unexpected ray of light pierced the blanket of cloud which hung over the otherwise dull cemetery. A plot empty of earth with planks and ropes ready to lower a coffin screamed yet another death.
Had the reaper taken someone too soon? I’d say definitely not but those around me would disagree.
‘Northern Hannah’ had been fun. Always the first to receive an invitation, she would choose carefully which social events we attended and she didn’t care who she offended in the process. A social climber and definitely my type of person. In some ways I was sad at the loss.
After the short service the gravedigger shovelled a pile of earth onto the coffin. In the movies there would be a hollow thud as the soil hit the mahogany. It would reverberate between the mourners, maybe some autumn leaves would spiral as they fell on sodden grass. Women in black stilettos would cling to men in dark overcoats.
For Hannah I’d chosen a light wicker basket which sifted the soil as it landed.
I jumped as her sister Alice touched my shoulder.
‘Hey you, it’s time to leave.’
I nodded.
‘Mum and I were just talking about the day Hannah brought you home and announced she was going to become Mrs Liam Marshall. She was so in love with you.’ She squeezed my arm. ‘You’ve been the perfect addition to our family and we love you very much.’
I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and wiped my already dry eyes.
A few hours later I was driving down the M1. I fiddled with the windscreen wipers turning them on then off. I’d have preferred heavy rain to clear the air, or maybe just to cleanse my thoughts.
I’ll need to keep in touch with northern Hannah’s family. At least until the life insurance payout had been settled. I liked Alice. Maybe I’d give her a few quid.
I pulled into the services and exchanged the wallet in the centre console of my car for the one in the tool compartment in the boot. Pulling back onto the M1 I repeated my southern name. ‘Liam Marston, Liam Marston..’
Now to turn my attention to southern Hannah who would be planning our meal. She”ll be wearing a low cut top and a short skirt. After dinner we’ll have a smooch on the settee then run up the stairs to bed. Just what I need! I tapped my thumb against the steering wheel. Maybe later tonight I should give southern Hannah a few sleeping tablets. Just to disorientate her.
In a few months I can look for two women whose names begin with I. Perhaps Ingrid, India or maybe Isabelle.
I glanced down as my phone rang. A second later I careered into the car in front of me.
The sky above was blue…
‘Come with me.’ Northern Hannah smiled. Her hand reached upwards through the fierce flames and dragged me downwards.
Congratulations Knicky! A well deserved win. Thanks Seagreen for the comp. I thoroughly enjoyed entering.
Apologies if the formatting is bad. I’m posting from my iPad.
The Conductor Plays a Tune
Anastasia straightened the crown of daisies on her head then pulled the bronze slippers from her feet. As soon as she’d placed one on each pathway a hard gust of wind announced the start of proceedings.
She shut her eyes and clenched her fists, there was a choice to make. The wind swept her almond coloured hair towards the velvet pathway. A dark cushioned surface would be soft underfoot. A comfort as she sought the entrance to the promised bigger world.
Or perhaps she should take the pitted gravel path with its rain filled holes interwoven with lines of fresh daisies? Harsh underfoot but a more interesting route.
Anastasia gasped. ‘Did you hear that?’ She took a step backwards. ‘The clouds have clashed. They’re getting closer.’
In the middle of the crowd a conductor in his black tuxedo waved a baton. A confusion of notes filled the copse.
‘Where is the band?’ Her right hand pressed against her chest, her middle finger tapped to the rhythm of the music. With her left hand she wiped beads of sweat from her neck.
‘Go left, go right, go left.’ her middle finger shouted as it tapped.
‘Go left.’ shouted Idris, ‘I took the right and it didn’t lead anywhere.’
‘But Florence took the right pathway and she’s not returned.’ Ambleweed called from the back of the crowd.
Day became night, the band continued to play, Anastasia’s finger continued to tap. Grey mist settled as night became day.
Anastasia shivered as the clouds lowered. A small flutter in her chest grew to a thump. The weight of the clouds pressed down on her shoulders increasing the heaviness of her mood. A choice had to be made. Her body shouted left, the velvet path was the nearest, her mind shouted right. She walked towards the pitted gravel pathway where the grey mist moved to form a hand. Her fingertips froze as she reached forward. There was a cold hand. She was pulled closer.
‘Thank you my lovely.’ Florence stepped out of the mist and pushed Anastasia onto the pathway. ‘There is no way out my lovely. Just a never ending circle of freezing pathways. Left or right, it doesn’t matter. Keep walking so the clouds will stay away from the copse.
Hi All
As many of you know I’m a nervous (and a very basic) writer. Having read many of your stories I appreciate the talent of you all!
Anyway I logged on for the first time in ages to dip my toe into the monthly comp. Thanks to Barny I’ve managed to find this thread – I’m not that good at navigating websites. I wonder if anyone else is having that problem. TBH it could just be me.
Anyway I’d love any type of competition – saying that I’ve been put me off in the past (not just on this site) as I felt some of the competitions have been aimed at the experienced and talented writers – it was great to read those entries though.
I have no problem with the competitions being aimed at the talented audience but would anyone help start a ‘not so talented’ – not in those word though – competition. Selfishly I would really like to join in.
I would have held my opinion back but having read this thread I’m hoping those who know me and have read the few things I’ve written can understand where I’m coming from. It’s very important to me that I’m not the selfish person who holds others back though.
I’d like to keep the momentum of the comp going. A positive comment on each entry from the competition setter – we all spend our lives learning and as JB said to me at the very beginning of my writing journey – AAR. That has stayed with me.
To anyone who is nervous about winning/running the comp (and this is how I’ve always felt) the advice I’d give to myself is go with your gut feeling. There are so many styles of writing just show your appreciation for the topic/writing style you like. No one can criticise that.
I’m sat back on a settee thinking why every two months? Perhaps let’s jump in with every month with a topic which is easily attainable and keep the momentum going.
