My Words, My World
First drafts – A few pages in the large wilderness of the world of writing
No words
He opened his notebook and stared at the empty page,
his mind as blank as the sheet before him
the room was quiet, his mind was still,
and now the page he needed to fill
with words and sentences
verbs and tenses
prepositions and possessives
articles and adjectives
conditionals and comparatives
(Oh, and the very best superlatives)
But the page remained blank, his trusty pen wouldn’t run
So he wrote this little verse, and hoped the words would come
Uncertain Horizon
I ambled, unsteady,
towards an uncertain horizon,
hands sunk deep into pockets
that held nothing for company,
while the rain soaked through the hole in my shoe,
where the last of my hope had seeped out.
Don’t Turn Your Back (on Jack-o’-Lantern)
Here’s a little something to get you into the spirit of Halloween…
Tommy tied the shirt and trouser cuffs, filled the clothes with straw, and shaped the hands and feet. He placed the figure in the chair at the table.
Next, he took the pumpkin and carved the eyes, nose, and a horror mouth of pointed teeth. As he cut the last one, the knife slipped, slashing across his hand. Blood ran onto the teeth.
He placed a candle inside the head and set the head on the shoulders of the straw man, then went to the kitchen to wash the blood from his hands.
At the table, the candle flickered into life behind a mouth that began to move.
The head tilted down. The carved eyes glowed brighter.
Slowly, the straw figure rose from the chair, and a straw hand reached for the knife.
Stop sign
The rain beat against the car roof and she gazed through the sweeping wipers. She hated the short, dark winter days. Traffic was heavy and the cars moved at walking pace.
She couldn’t remember getting in the car and her stomach rolled and tumbled when she thought about it. She had grabbed her keys, her bag and her phone but, despite the weather, she had left home with no coat.
She arrived at the stop sign. Ahead; under the low, grey, evening sky, everything was dark.
She looked at herself in the mirror.
Behind her, everything was even darker.
99-word fiction: Return Ticket
The last of the boxes had been taken away – except one, sitting on the table in front of her.
A box full of items of no value: old letters, grandad’s cigarette case, a chipped cup, mum’s funeral service card.
One by one she laid them out on the table.
She pulled out an old purse and looked inside, not expecting to find money.
An old train ticket fell out, its edges worn between finger and thumb.
Her eyes widened and her chest felt heavy. She thought she’d thrown it away.
She stared at the words, “Return Ticket”. What if?
99-word story: Things that go bang in the night
‘What was that?’
‘Mmm?’
‘That bang.’
Dragged from a dream involving Kier Starmers on bicycles dressed as clowns, I groaned.
‘Go and look,’ she said, kneeing me off the bed.
I stumbled to the door, listening. Silence. Then, bravely, I Chuck-Norrised my way through every room, lights ablaze.
Nothing.
Only the kitchen left.
A smell.
Light on.
Fear.
‘What is it?’ she yelled.
My doom, I thought.
Her pristine floor drowned beneath a wine puddle seeping from the fridge door — the one I’d promised to fix.
From the bottle she’d told me not to force the cork back into.
The postcard
The first shock was receiving the postcard, in the day of Whatsapp messages and where even emails were considered old-tech.
Then she looked at the picture: Florence.
Frowning, she turned it over.
Her eyes widened and she put her hand over her mouth.
Him. The holiday, Florence, art, culture. Him.
It was addressed to her with only a signature. His.
So many years had passed. The drive, the argument, the blue, flashing lights. The doctors unwilling to break the news.
The funeral. They had told her there had been a funeral.
She looked at the date.
It was impossible.
Sunset
Flames streak across the oil-still sea, and wavelets sigh. A fish jumps.
A couple watches.
The silhouette of a gull glides across the sky; its passing silent.
A molten orange globe slips below the horizon, the sky bursts into a palette of colour and the clouds turn pink, red, then purple.
The sky deepens from blue to black and, with the coming night, the streetlights flare.
Then the sirens begin to wail.
People run for the shelters, but the couple remain.
She reasts her head on his shoulder and they stand, and watch the moonlight shimmer on the sea.
99-word fiction: The Lighthouse
Another week, another 99-worder and another one for you to work out the what and why.
The lighthouse shakes as spray hurls against the window.
Jake sits with the room dark, save for the great lamp above and a single candle. A low horn moans into the night. Another wave crashes against the wall and booms in the darkness.
A photo lies on the table, its image dances in the flickering candlelight.
Two faces look out from the photo; one is his, the other a memory
Jake gives a thin smile, watching the smoke from his pipe coil up to the ceiling.
Now alone, he thinks about secrets hidden by the cruel and beautiful ocean.
99-word story: The Empty Chair
This week’s 99-word story is called The Empty Chair. Why? Well, that’s for you to decide.
___________________________________________________________________________________________
You know the worst thing about an empty chair? It rhymes with “no one there”, or worse, “where?”.
There’s a place at the table where normally there’s a place mat, napkin, cutlery. Maybe a glass for the wine.
Instead, just a piece of table cloth with nothing on it.
No sitting down to grace, not that we ever did. No talk about the day, the weekend or whatever.
The habit of turning my head, forkful of food in mid-air and talking. Now I just stare, straight ahead. And wonder.
You see, it’s not the empty chair. It’s the waiting.
99-word story: The Last Train
The iceberg-theory: sometimes, what matters most is left unsaid.
This week’s 99-word story, The Last Train, is about a man, silent contemplation, a secret, and a suitcase.
What lies inside is for you to imagine.
The rain, diagonal in the light, drums on the station roof.
One man sits apart from the others, suitcase on his lap. The station clock ticks off another minute. He checks his watch and taps his foot.
A distant horn sounds and a light appears.
Looking around, he opens the case again, stroking his hand over the contents. He closes his eyes, then the case.
The tracks hum to the approaching train and the people get up, ignoring him.
When it departs, only a child looks back. The man sits alone, suitcase still on his lap. Another minute passes.
99-word story: The book
He closed the door and stood with his back against it. His head thumped as the voices on the other side became muffled, as had so much recently. He crossed to the table and sat down.
The book lay flat on the table, its thick binding rising off the surface like a construction. His trembling hands paused before they stroked the cover. He took a deep breath before his fingers gripped the cover and turned.
His fingers hovered over the photograph on the first page. His head dropped as he sat, staring, and the silence pressed closer around him.
Another attempt at minimal, using Hemingway’s iceberg-theory.
99-word story: The path ahead
I stand and wait, breathe in the wood, the damp soil and the moss on trees. The path is straight, like the paths I should have taken. Sometimes we have to meander. The trees change colour with the day’s fading light, just as we change and fade. I hear the wind in the branches but it passes me by unseen; and my hand grabs only air. I look up at the grey sky and follow the fall of the brown leaves as they pitch in the air, to and fro. I look up to see another season watching me.
This story was a challenge, laid before me by Esther Chilton (https://estherchilton.co.uk/). I couldn’t say no, even without an initial idea. The original photo was in colour, I just brought it down to the dark side. Thanks Esther, I hope you enjoy it! I’m still playing with Hemingway’s iceberg-theory.
99-word story: Leaving
The two men sat at the bar. From the other room came the rattle of a fruit machine and the clink of dishes.
Their beers stood mostly full.
The older man stared at his hands. The younger one watched the traffic pass and shrink into the distance.
“You sure you’re ready?” the older man said.
The younger man rubbed his eyes with both hands.
“It’s not me that decides. The decision’s been made. Guess I’d better get used to taking orders.”
He paused.
“I just hope I make it back.”
The older man nodded.
“Me too. Your mother especially.”
With this story, I wanted to try what Hemingway called the ‘Iceberg theory”, to see how much can be conveyed with as few words as possible. I hope I succeeded, to some degree.
Dry
Low black clouds gather
and tower one upon the other
lightning flashes flicker on the edge of sight
the wind rises to a banshee’s scream
and tears the leaves and limbs from trees
the deluge begins
a biblical alluvion
to wash away all sins.
And yet I stand here dry
in this arid, torrid air
with heat-cracked lips
and parched-dry throat
alone, on this sun-scorched knoll
and look with lust and longing
at rain that will never dampen
the desolate desert of my soul.
99-word story: The Stranger – episode 15: the final episode
‘They’ll find you eventually,’ she said.
Headlights flooded the car’s interior.
‘I think you mean now.’
The woman turned. The car behind them accelerated.
‘Floor it, she said. ‘We can still make it.’
The Stranger shook his head.
Another car blocked the road ahead.
‘Or maybe we should stop running,’ he said. “You wanted everything.’
She handed him a gun.
‘After seven years of marriage to you, I deserved everything.’
She lit the envelope and left it on the seat. They stood back-to-back in the street.
‘We’ve never been so close,’ he said.
She smiled, then the shooting started.
The end.
If you haven’t read the previous episodes, you can find them here:
99-word story: The Stranger – episode 14
The lights of the all-night petrol station flashed by.
Her car was no longer following. He thought she’d stopped for gas.
The cops drove on.
His days of collecting for The Mob were over. So were hers. And now she wanted his cut.
He parked outside his apartment, raced in and took the envelope. And the ammunition.
Back outside, he scanned the street. Nothing. Relieved, he slid into the driver’s seat, key in hand. Cold steel touched the back of his head.
The woman’s voice was low.
‘Just take it slowly. Give me the gun, the envelope. And drive.’
If you haven’t read the previous episodes, you can find them here:
99-word fiction: The Stranger – episode 13
The Stranger looked in the rearview mirror. She was still there, two cars back, holding her place. Biding her time.
He wondered when—or if—she’d make her move.
The car behind him passed under the streetlights. His stomach knotted.
Two silhouettes, two hats, two lit cigarettes. Cops.
He understood why she was holding back.
The cops were laughing. Relaxed. They weren’t tailing him. At least, he didn’t think so. But maybe she did.
If he stayed here, he couldn’t get the money. If he made a move, so would she.
Did she know these streets like he did?
If you haven’t read the previous episodes, you can find them here:
99-word fiction: The Stranger – part XII
The woman’s hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white in the dark.
She had wanted to catch up and overtake, her focus on the man two cars ahead — until she noticed the one in between.
Her skin prickled. Something wasn’t right. Hats. Cops. In an unmarked car.
Either they were just out doing the rounds or they were also following him.
She looked down at the gun on the passenger seat. Keeping her eyes on the road, she slipped it into her bag.
She had no choice but to stay where she was, for now.
And watch.
And wait.
If you haven’t read the previous episodes, you can find them here:
99-word fiction: The Stranger – part XI
The Stranger had to cross town. Ten minutes — ten minutes to wonder how he’d ended up like this.
Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, he thought. That’s why. There’s always a bigger shark up the food chain.
He’d seen what happened to the ones who crossed them. Fish food. Now he was the one they’d fit for concrete boots — unless he got out first.
He glanced in the mirror. She was still there. Strange. She was making no attempt to catch him. She just waited.
He wondered how much she knew.
And whether she’d pull the trigger.
Or take a deal.
If you haven’t read the previous stories, you can find them here:
99-word fiction: The Stranger – part X
99-word fiction: The Stranger – part IX
99-word fiction: The Stranger – part VIII
99-word fiction: The Stranger – part VII
99-word fiction: The Stranger – part VI
99-word fiction: The stranger – part V
99-word fiction: The stranger – part IV | My Words, My World
99-word fiction: The stranger – part III | My Words, My World
99-word fiction: The stranger – part II | My Words, My World
99-word fiction: The Stranger – part X
The Stranger didn’t need the mirror to know she was following. The rain beat a rhythm on the roof of the car that the windscreen wipers joined.
Only an old man in an older car stood between them — no obstacle for her at all.
Back at the bar, he’d called her bluff. His gun had been empty. He knew hers wasn’t.
After the curve, he floored it. A quick look behind showed him she hadn’t moved.
Half the money was hidden. Enough to vanish — but not for long.
Still, disappearing would be enough. For now.
He just needed time
If you haven’t read the previous stories, you can find them here:
99-word fiction: The Stranger – part IX
99-word fiction: The Stranger – part VIII
99-word fiction: The Stranger – part VII
99-word fiction: The Stranger – part VI
99-word fiction: The stranger – part V
99-word fiction: The stranger – part IV | My Words, My World
99-word fiction: The stranger – part III | My Words, My World
99-word fiction: The stranger – part II | My Words, My World
99-word fiction: The Stranger – part IX
The woman slammed her hands on the steering wheel as she watched the taillights grow smaller. She cursed her stupidity. And the man’s desperate cunning.
Her orders had been clear; all of the money or the story of his dead body in the newspapers.
She knew the consequences if she failed.
She looked at the bag on the seat next to her. Half of what he owed – and enough for her to disappear.
The engine roared as she accelerated out of the car park, the car fishtailing as she struggled to keep it under control.
She had decided.
If you haven’t read the previous stories, you can find them here:
99-word fiction: The Stranger – part VIII
99-word fiction: The Stranger – part VII
99-word fiction: The Stranger – part VI
99-word fiction: The stranger – part V
99-word fiction: The stranger – part IV | My Words, My World
99-word fiction: The stranger – part III | My Words, My World
99-word fiction: The stranger – part II | My Words, My World
99-word fiction: The Stranger – part VIII
In the light of the open door, two men shook hands, turned up their collars, and ran for their cars. The rain was unforgiving, but the opportunity wasn’t.
The Stranger waited, then slipped between the two cars, lights off. Now she would have to move.
Brakelights flashed as the first car sounded its horn. Her engine idled, smoke curling from the exhaust.
Then the third car blared — longer, impatient. For the moment, he was hidden.
With a screech of tyres, she reversed back into the car park — just as the three cars peeled away into the dark wet night.
If you haven’t read the previous stories, you can find them here:
99-word fiction: The Stranger – part VII
99-word fiction: The Stranger – part VI
99-word fiction: The stranger – part V
99-word fiction: The stranger – part IV | My Words, My World
99-word fiction: The stranger – part III | My Words, My World
99-word fiction: The stranger – part II | My Words, My World
99-word fiction: The Stranger – part VII
The Stranger took shelter in his car, and listened to the rain pound the roof; he could barely hear himself think. For now, the way out was blocked.
She wouldn’t be able to stay there all night, someone had to leave. His only chance was to switch cars.
Out in the street the cops rolled by and he slid lower in his seat. She was bad — the cops were worse. One meant death, and liberation; the other a lifetime behind bars.
I just need to get that money, he thought, just as light spilled from the open bar door.
If you haven’t read the previous stories, you can find them here:
99-word fiction: The Stranger – part VI
99-word fiction: The stranger – part V
99-word fiction: The stranger – part IV | My Words, My World
99-word fiction: The stranger – part III | My Words, My World
99-word fiction: The stranger – part II | My Words, My World
99-word fiction: The Stranger – part VI
Raindrops hit the pavement like pennies from heaven. A neon sign shimmered in the puddles. The Stranger pulled up his collar, stepped off the curb, and walked into hell.
Headlights pinned him. He raised a hand to his face. Behind the beams, an engine roared and tyres screeched.
He ducked his head and ran for the row of parked cars but the woman was fast. He dived behind his car just as she tore past, wind rushing over him.
Brake lights flared. The exit was blocked.
He still had half the money. He just needed to get to it.
If you haven’t read the previous stories, you can find them here:
99-word fiction: The stranger – part V
99-word fiction: The stranger – part IV | My Words, My World
99-word fiction: The stranger – part III | My Words, My World
99-word fiction: The stranger – part II | My Words, My World
99-word fiction: The stranger – part V
With one last look at the barman, the Stranger nodded and opened the door. His eyes adjusted. He scanned the car park — just darkness. He knew she hadn’t left. He knew she was waiting for him, out there.
She had his money and a gun. He had a hire car from a company that had all his details. Bad odds. Bad night. His sweat mixed with rain.
In her car, the woman watched, waiting to see which car he took, her telephone in hand. They had half already. They could do without the rest. They could do without him.
If you haven’t read the previous stories, you can find them here:
99-word fiction: The stranger – part IV | My Words, My World
99-word fiction: The stranger – part III | My Words, My World
99-word fiction: The stranger – part II | My Words, My World
Whereabouts
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My Words, My World 