My Words, My World
First drafts – A few pages in the large wilderness of the world of writing
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
99-word fiction: The stranger – part IV
Outside, the woman hunched her shoulders against the rain and crossed the car park. She started the car and left it idling, the lights off. She looked at her bag on the passenger seat.
A half of something is better than of whole of nothing; for now, she thought.
In the darkness she revved the car and watched the entrance. And waited.
Inside, the barman shook his head and pointed towards the door. The stranger felt his stomach twist and his blood chill. He hadn’t seen her car leave and she had a gun. She also had a motive.
If you haven’t read the previous stories, you can find them here:
99-word fiction: The stranger – part III
Thanks to Sharon, now I want to know what's going to happen every week...
The stranger sat with his hands in his coat pockets. The woman leaned forward, and felt inside his coat. She removed an envelope.
‘That feels about half of what was agreed.’
‘Half now, the other half …’
‘You’re in no position to negotiate.’
His eyes flickered down to his right hand, under the table.
‘I didn’t come empty-handed either. We can both get out of this if you finish your drink, and leave.’
Seeing no bluff, she drained her glass. With a smile, she stood, and left.
He asked for the bill.
‘Is there another way out of here?’
99-word fiction: Animal instinct – part II
Following last week’s story, someone (Come on Jacqui and Esther, hands up…) asked me what happened next. I found myself in a South American hellhole to see for myself…
I watched the tail disappear in to the hole. The rat carried a message with my embassy’s number. It was my only chance. Corrupt leaders of failing South American countries are not inclined to treat foreign journalists kindly.
I was known in the town and I had my sympathisers. If the message found its way to one of them, then I had a chance. I laughed at my predicament.
Outside, the rat scurried between stalls, wary of feet and cats. It stopped and sniffed the air, just as a sack slammed over it and left it in the dark.
99-word fiction: Hunted
The trees stand black and skeletal and the only sounds are the dripping branches and my heart hammering in my chest. My breath leaves a fog as my lungs seek oxygen in the chill air. I rest my head on a damp, moss-covered tree trunk and try to cool my brain but my options are narrowing.
I’ve been running for hours. Down the hill the distant voices are getting louder, filling my ears with the sounds of fear and hate. I can’t go forward and I can’t go back.
I’m a hunted man. And now they’ve released the dogs.
99-word fiction: A day of rest
“What do you mean you have no words? You’re a writer. Find some. 99 to be exact.”
I’d made it difficult for myself. A week of 99-word stories and now the muse demanded more.
He sat there tapping his fingers on the desk, his face and neck red. It was Sunday. I said I wanted a day off.
“A … day … off?”
He slammed his hand on the desk and his fountain pen jumped. I grabbed it and stabbed down on his hand. He screamed.
“Ouch! Ouch!”
“I’m going for a drink,” I said. “99 words on Monday.”
99-word fiction: The stranger – part II
Following last week’s story, someone (I’ll mention no names but she’s called Sharon…) asked me what happened next. I went to find out…
The stranger stood at the bar, his coat tight around him. The bell chimed as the door opened. He turned.
A woman entered. Her wet hat and coat shone in the light and steam soon rose from them. At the bar she ordered vodka. She turned to the stranger then nodded to a small table in the dark corner and he followed her. They sat.
“I think you’ve something for me,” she said.
The stranger shook his head and smiled. Frowning, she opened her coat enough so he could see the gun.
“You’ve ten seconds to change your mind.”
99-word fiction: Waiting for Friday
Waiting. I hate waiting; for anything.
On Monday I have to wait for Friday. Five long days, so slow you can hear them crawl by. Then, finally, it’s Friday. I’ve waited all week for Friday and now it’s here I get to the end of the day and I just feel tired; of waiting.
Waiting. I ignore the people around me. I ignore my vibrating phone in my pocket, like me it has to wait. I stand and stare.
Waiting. The darkness becomes lighter. Movement, a liquid dance, the light becomes white.
Waiting: for the perfect pint of Guinness.
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99-word fiction – Animal instinct
Every evening the rat would come to my cell. Then I had an idea. It had taken time. I shared my food every evening, and watched the rat leave in the morning. One day I’d asked for a pencil, another day an elastic band, then a piece of paper. The guards had been stupid.
The little hole in the wall was the only way out of my cell and into the nearby market, maybe someone would find him; someone had to know where I was. I tied the note to the rat, watched him leave then said a prayer.
99-word fiction – Cannibal
I first noticed her tattoo; it was beautiful, a waterfall of colour. She saw me looking and held up her empty glass, waving it at me. I bought her a drink.
“I love your tattoo.”
She smiled.
Beer followed beer then whisky followed the beer. I must have charmed her; we finished the evening at my place. That was three months ago, and we’re still here.
The tattoo is beautiful. I sit looking at its waterfall of colour and touch it, delicately. Her skin is cold to the touch. It’s the only part of her left in the freezer.
99-word fiction – Dying for a drink
I dragged my feet over the outskirts of a dusty, run-down town. Silence, total and desolate, greeted me and my fear went before me like my shadow. I would have called out but my lips were cracked and my throat was dry. My tongue felt like leather. I fell and crawled towards the town square. No one stepped out to help me, nor did any curtain twitch. There was a water pump in the square. I looked around. I was alone. I winced as the metal pump screeched. I had to drink.
Then I heard the first shuffling footsteps.
99-word fiction – Moonlight
The full moon lit the winter sky, its cold light streamed through the small window high above the man’s head, and illuminated the white walls which turned the night to day, and glinted off the chrome taps on the steel basin. Even his tin cup of water shone with a small square of light. The man couldn’t sleep, his back felt every lump under the thin mattress. He pulled the blanket around his cold body.
He had once counted the passing of the full moon but had long ago accepted he would never walk free in the moonlight again.
99-word fiction – Voices
I sit down on a stool at the bar. I order a beer. I watch the barmaid tilt her head as she tilts the glass.
Voices getting louder. Behind me, to the side of me but not in front where I can see where they’re coming from. I’m trying to understand if they’re talking about me.
They are, I can hear them. Now they’re trying to whisper but it’s too late for that. They’re provoking me. This happens everywhere I go and it always ends the same way.
I turn on my stool and look around an empty bar.
99-word fiction – The stranger
The stranger stepped in out of the rain. He wore a trench coat, hat and looked like he needed a gun. He ordered a double whisky. He removed his hat and his wet face shone with the light from the bar mirror. The old men playing poker at the corner table ignored him with straight faces. The barman cleaned glasses with a cloth. The stranger sipped his whisky.
He kept his coat on and wrapped it tighter around himself, as if he could keep the world’s evils from getting in.
Or to keep his own evils from getting out.
Me and cats and owls
Another early morning
eyes closed open
my 4am default
it’s no-one’s fault
it’s just that time (again)
I welcome the new day early,
that’s all
while the stars revolve overhead
and thoughts run clear in my head
Darkness, peace and quiet
and the chill before dawn
before the day is born
before the TV chatter
and other people’s natter
You see,
it’s just me and cats and owls
as I write in these early hours
I sweat
Sticky, humid summer heat
Things can only get better
or wetter
I breathe, I sweat
I stand, I sweat,
I sleep, I sweat
I shower, I sweat
But at least it’s not winter cold
and winter grey
with rain on a winter’s day
Sunshine, suntan
shorts and short-sleeves
and sleep uncovered
Sleep?
What’s sleep in this heat?
Instead I write
I write, I sweat
Ice water in my veins
Moka Shock
Coffee taste in the morning
bitter and black
the caffeine zing
Awake yet?
The mocking moka sits
bubbling and tempting
Do you want some more?
Like Oliver Twist
Try the sugar buzz this time
Oh, but I really shouldn’t
black but not bitter
caffeine in the bloodstream
caffeine in my body’s machine
leaving me wired
and no longer tired.
Magic orange button
This is no waiting room this is waiting on the ward this is the hospital bed this is the walking wounded this is hospital food and a week of post-op antibiotics this is the gown that never closes this is the intravenous drip that drips drops into the veins this is that magic orange button for the need to pee in a plastic bottle or replenish the drugs when they wear off.
Air
Little sleep,
no air;
anywhere.
Sat breathing, sweating
standing is worse
respiration and perspiration
this humidity makes me fidgety.
But wait!
The billow of the drape
as the air becomes movement
and the curtain sways and dances
then, like a tired ballerina
it curtsies, and drops once more.
Rain, finally
The hiss of the constant rain,
at last.
The patter of raindrops
against the glass.
Windows, tiny windows of clear water
shatter as they hit the ground.
The air becomes water
and the water, air.
I stand, I breathe
and the skies open.
Water washes away the withered spring;
rivers on the road
rivulets on the window
and the trees raise their branches
and give their thanks to the rain.
Two till six
Watching the twos, threes and fours
of the morning clock.
The sixty second minutes, as they
count the hours off.
Sleep eludes me,
sleep deludes me.
Five is here,
in its cold, dark hour,
Five now passing into six
and still I sit,
unsleeping.
My insomnia wakes me,
my insomnia hates me.
Essence
The view outside my window,
stark,
frozen in time.
The essence of the tree
suspended inside.
The view outside my window,
dark,
the lights shimmer,
captured in time.
The essence of the city
flickers outside.
The view outside my window,
mark,
the rising sun,
welcome in time.
The essence of my soul
warms me inside.
Rise
I bleed, I breathe,
I sleep.
Sometimes.
I wake, I walk,
I see
the signs
I go, I stop,
I wait.
For what?
I feel, I fall,
I kneel
beneath the sky
I rise, I try
to stand
my shoulders back
my strength in hand.
Whereabouts
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My Words, My World 