Category Archives: based on real life

Shared Feelings – Flash Fiction

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They’d been working together in silence. A comfortable silence. They each got on with their own work, doing what they had to do with no chatter, no laughter. It certainly wasn’t unusual for them to do so, but it was definitely not the norm to be so quiet, so engrossed in their own work.
“You ok?” he asked, looking up from his desk and breaking the silence.
She glanced up from what she was doing and looked him straight in the eye. Spending a second considering what to say, she took a deep breath;
“I feel stuck” she stated, her voice taking on a tone of realism rather than her usual bright vocals. “I feel like I’m having a quarter life crisis or something. I’m in a state of flux – I don’t like everything about my life, but I don’t know how to fix those bad bits. I don’t know what to do for the best. I just don’t feel like I’m living – barely existing really. I get all these ideas about what I could do, but I’m too lazy to pursue them – too tired! I’ve got no real passion anymore. Nothing that will satisfy my creativity and be an income. I want the money, but without the work. I don’t want this 9 – 5 existence, going home exhausted and only living for the weekend – why is that even a way of life? It’s soul destroying. But it’s the norm, and the easy way out I guess.”
She trailed off; thinking about everything she just released, she turned to him, wondering if she had freaked him out with her verbal unloading.
“I feel exactly the same way” he half-smiled

 

[277 words]

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Filed under based on real life, flash fiction, writing exercises

A Writer’s World

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The stark white and brightness of the café melted away the more she wrote. Leaving behind the real world, she entered her own of peace and solitude; her pen dutifully scribbling down the realms and worlds of her imagination, desperately trying to keep up.

Her soul had taken a leap, and even though the pages were white, streaked with black marks it was swimming amongst vivd backdrops and creations. Worlds of colour and imagination engulfed her – a high contrast to the realities that surround her physical being.

Whilst everybody around her was carrying on with their mundane routines, an hour for a boring sandwich and a scroll through Facebook, she was amongst heroes and villains, surreal creatures and topsy turvy paradises. Her senses, her mind, her heart were alive!

She travelled through time and space; to far off countries and amongst the stars; all from an uncomfortable plastic seat in a kind of ok café.

She orchestrated melodies; directed her company of characters; bringing life or destroying it.

The only thing to distract her, to bring her worlds to a grinding halt, was a young man who clumsily sat down at the table next to her. She felt aggrieved – hated being disturbed but instantly tried to get back into the flow. She took a deep breath, ready to dive back in, when she glanced over and noticed that this man was pulling a book from his oversized bag.

She watched as he became engulfed in this work of literature. In her mind’s eye a stream of golden light glowed up from the pages he was reading; a new world radiating from leaves of a tree long gone, absorbing him, attaching itself to his soul.

She couldn’t stay silently mad at this person who had disturbed her. She felt an affinity with him, a shared interest in words, in getting lost, of forgetting the real world.

She smiled at him when he glanced up and then went back to the world of her notebook, content in the knowledge that there were people in the world similar to her; that she was never truly alone.

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Filed under based on real life, creative writing, fantasy, flash fiction, Uncategorized

Trying to get home

“Can anyone spare one pound please?”

Silence fell. A small percentage of the passengers on the bus looked up whilst the majority were on their phones, reading books and magazines, or simply pretending not to hear anything.

“Please – I’m trying to get home. I just need one pound coin.”

A few more people stirred from their minds to witness the dishevelled man before them begging for change; the bus driver sighing with impatience.

“Just one pound. Please?” the man’s voice began to break; desperation seeping out of his being.

He looked at every single passenger as they sat before him, some of them looking around to see if anyone else was going to answer his pleas.

More passengers stepped onto the bus, skirting around him to get a seat.

“I’m just trying to get home. I don’t have enough to get home to my wife.” His voice broke again.

A woman sitting towards the back finally broke the tension and walked toward him whilst digging around in her bag for her purse.

“Here” she said gently, placing a shiny pound coin into his cold shaky hand.

The man thanked her profusely, almost weeping with joy at the prospect of being able to get the bus home.

The lady returned to her seat at the back of the bus feeling satisfied with her good deed, as the man went forward toward the driver to pay his bus fare. He looked at the driver and smiled. It was a smile that had just a hint of an evil in it.

He skipped off the bus happily, not going home at all. He ran to the next bus that had pulled up behind, his smile fading now…

“Can anyone spare one pound please?”

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Untitled

This piece is inspired by real life, but given a little bit of exaggeration just to spice things up a bit and make it more interesting. I hope you like it, and I am open to any title sugesstions, S.K …

They stared at each other across the bar. Male ego and testosterone filled the air. Lilly instantly regretted pointing out to new boyfriend Jonny that her ex-boyfriend Dave was in the same bar. She waved and smiled at Dave when he noticed her looking but she didn’t want to go over and say hello; he was with his friends, who she never really liked, but what really held her back was that she could sense Jonny felt threatened. To counteract this, Lilly fawned all over him, hugging, kissing, distracting. Her charms didn’t work though as Jonny continued to give an evil eye. She thought about saying something, but she had only known Jonny for 4 weeks, they were still discovering things about each other and had yet to have a proper talk about exes.  She didn’t want to say anything that might make him more agitated, but she didn’t know what would calm him down either. So she just tried to ignore it in the hope that Jonny would too.

Fed up of the staring though, one of Dave’s friends approached,

“Have you got a problem?”

Dave had followed, trying to keep things calm, but Jonny squared up to him.

Lilly screamed out Dave’s name as he reached his right arm back, and brought it forward, full force, making contact with Jonny’s lip. Jonny, eyes raging, fought back as Lilly watched on, scared. Unknown men jumped in, breaking them apart.

Everyone focused on Jonny, whose lip was bleeding, but Lilly was focused on Dave, who was now walking out. She stormed out after him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“He squared up to me Lilly”

“I don’t care…”

Jonny burst through the doors of the bar, interrupting Lilly and going for round 2 with Dave. He was like an animal. Right there on the street they went at it again. And again, unknown men came to split up the fight. One of them even got Dave around the neck and dared him to make one more move.

Lilly’s eyes filled with tears; she felt scared and angry. Whilst the commotion carried on, she slipped back inside. She could feel eyes staring at her but she didn’t care, she just sat on a lonely bar stall. One of the bar staff, someone she knew, offered to get her a drink.

“Jack Daniel’s, straight up” she replied

Lilly hated her drinks neat but right then, she wanted the warming sensation of alcohol on her oesophagus. She had been falling in love with this man, and everything she thought she knew about him had fallen apart in seconds. This sweet, sensitive guy she had been dating had instantaneously turned into a madman. From Jekyll, to Hyde.

Jonny came in to find her, but she avoided eye contact with him. She didn’t want to speak him, didn’t have anything to say even if she did. Didn’t know what to think; what to make of what had just occurred.

He pleaded his case, saying that Dave had threw the first punch, but she knew Dave, he would not have done so if Jonny hadn’t squared up to him.

He kept asking her questions but Lilly didn’t answer. Fed-up of trying to illicit a response, Jonny finally gave up,

“Fine. Have a nice life”

And with that he walked away.

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Filed under based on real life, chick lit, emotional

I Don’t Want to Talk

This piece was inspired by the first line of Abba’s “the winner takes it all”. I have used it as my starting off point but unlike the song, about seeing someone who has hurt you, my main character is the one who did the hurting. I hope you like it, and please feel free to comment weather you can relate, have praise or have constructive criticism 🙂  …

I don’t wanna talk about things we’ve gone through. I thought I did. I would rehearse with the version of you in my mind what I would say. I wanted to tell you everything; explain why I did what I did; apologize.

And now here I am face to face with you after so long. A chance encounter. My chance to talk and I’m struck dumb. Too chicken shit to finally have my say and ask for forgiveness. Caught off-guard, thinking you were out of my life, never to come back; the ghost of my mind out in the world for everybody to see. When our eyes meet, all I can do is smile sheepishly. I’m scared to confront our past. Everything I thought about saying, I don’t want to say anymore. I want you to know how sorry I am; that I’m ok and hope you are too, but I can’t bring myself to speak out loud. My rapidly beating heart turning my body weak as I stand and look at you. It’s all I can do.

I feel my present, dragging me away from you, my past. I walk away so freely but constantly looking back. It’s too easy to say nothing. And as I walk away, I secretly hope you will come after me, force me to confront you.

Maybe it is for the best that I walk away though, that the past stays in the past. I don’t want to relive it; I don’t want to talk about the things we have gone through.

 

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Filed under based on real life, emotional, inspired by lyrics

Enjoying a bit of Drama

This piece of flash fiction is inspired by life. At university when I experimented with flash fiction for my dissertation, I found that a lot of this kind of writing are snapshots of life which is what I have specifically tried to create here. A snapshot in the lives of several people that also acts as a commentary on human behaviour…

 

The crowd gathered quickly. The sounds of a helicopter brought them away from their Sunday dinners and across to the local park. The stream that bisected the grass acted as a barrier holding the increasing crowd back from the scene unfolding before them.

The helicopter landed, throwing dust into the air. The red colour indicated it was an air ambulance. The on-board paramedics jumped off and ran about 20 metres to the reason they were there, averting everybody’s attention to the fact someone was seriously ill or injured. They stayed to watch the drama. They wanted to know what was happening; who it was and what was wrong with them. Had they been found in the nearby bushes?

Some stood silently watching; others exclaimed their excitement at seeing a helicopter so close-up, not a regular occurrence at all. Most seemed to question everything and draw their own conclusions about the situation; when police arrived on the scene they wondered, was it murder? Suicide? A drunk or a druggie?

The crowd continued to stare, question and wonder. They caught up with their neighbours and enjoyed the afternoon sun. They watched until the unknown patient was stretchered into the nearby ambulance. They questioned why the air ambulance wasn’t taking the patient and then waited for the helicopter to depart. People watched in anticipation as the blades spun into life. The roar of the engine got louder and louder. Slowly the pads left the earth, throwing up more dust and grass. Some recorded the moment on their smart phones, a reminder of the day they saw a helicopter land and take-off.

With the helicopter flying off into the distance, the crowd quickly dispersed, instantly forgetting the soul who needed medical assistance, going back to their day of rest.

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I am Writer!

I have often heard the phrase, “write what you know” and currently, I know blank white pages, so here is an exaggerated version of someone’s attempt to write something. Happy Reading …

I am staring into the abyss that is every writer’s worst nightmare… The blank white page.

Whether it’s actual paper or the representation of one on a computer screen, the blank white page will mock you, taunt you as the words fail to materialize in your mind and through your fingertips.

I know of many writers who have died this way, refusing to move until that page has some little black markings on it; but the words never came for them. They simply wasted away, not eating, not drinking, not showering, just rotting away until they were skeletons, festering amongst dust and rodent droppings. Scratch marks on their desks where they dug out their frustration. The stench of decay and failure occupying the stale air.

I know I should move away, avoid that fate, but I can’t. I am immovable; stuck here until I overcome that blank white page. I can’t let it win. It’s not writer’s block… I don’t believe in it. The words are in me, they are just intimidated, refusing to come out, to put the blank white page in its place; refusing to master the white demon before me. I manage to look away sometimes but I can feel it watching me, drawing me back into its game. The desperation for words overtakes me; I can feel it rising up, making me more aggravated. I start shaking my legs, trying to release this bad energy from my body without lashing out at the blank white page; because the minute I show it my frustrations, I will lose.

I think of George Orwell, when he described the act of writing “like a long bout of some painful illness”. I wonder how he overcame it; how he tamed the blank white page before him? He was obviously a better writer than me. Maybe I’m not talented enough to overcome it? That only the real writers can push through and cover that blank white page with their dribble. That’s it! The blank white page is a test. If you don’t fill it then you are not a writer. Hard luck, find another hobby, don’t give up the day job, thank you and goodnight.

That thought of never writing again scares me to the soul though, tears my heart apart. I must force a positive attitude upon myself. I will ruin this blank white page. It will not defeat me!

I continue the struggle to find the story within me when I finally get my eureka moment. I finally start writing. Ferociously putting my mark on that page; it is no longer blank; no longer pure virginal white. My words start to cover that page, telling it exactly what I think about it. How dare that page mock me! Who does that page think he is? I am writer, hear me roar!

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