My Words, My World

First drafts – A few pages in the large wilderness of the world of writing

Archive for the tag “silence”

A drink to die for – 99-word fiction

I woke up this morning with a sentence in my head; “and fear hung in the air like a death sentence”.  I immediately wrote it down then tried to work it into something.  This is the result.

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I’d been walking for five hours when I arrived on the outskirts of the town. Silence, total and desolate, greeted me and fear hung in the air like a death sentence. I would have called out but my throat was parched.  I walked towards the town square. No one stepped out to help me, nor did any curtain twitch.  I was alone, the fear I felt was mine.  I found a drinking fountain and stooped to drink, just as I heard the first shuffling footsteps, a sound like laughter and the ring of a sword drawn from its scabbard.

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Morning story without the glory

The deep-water sound of someone pissing from a height at 4.30 in the morning
before the first blackbird has it in him
to wake up and start singing
and no car hums the tune of rubber on tarmac
and the night has its own sound
a no-sound
a “fuck me, well hello again, it’s you” sound
and I join in the silence,
eyes wide open and mouth closed shut
and I breathe in and I breathe out
and it doesn’t do much good and I turn over
on my side and wonder if I should read by reading light
or just get up and kiss the night
goodbye
so I say hi to my pen and paper and I want to write a story,
any story,
about the world and what goes on in it, within it
and all I end up writing, again, is my own.

Broken Silence

The silence hangs like the first fog of autumn; denser than mist, more dangerous.  Blinding even, creating its own shadow.  A shadow falls across the newspaper that rustles at the table, struggling to break through the opaque shroud of silence.  The silence in the kitchen breaks as an oven dish crashes on top of the cooker whatever is inside now basted by metal on metal.

The newspaper, disturbed by the crashing metal, now lies flat and silent.  Its reader casts a last worn glance at the front page, frowns, gasps and smiles.  The smiling reader gets up, puts on his coat to protect him from the cold but not the silence.  The door opens, then closes with a thud.

The closing door is not heard in the kitchen, where knives are sharpened whilst thinking about the reader, with regret at how things have become.  The reader’s keys click and turn in the door which swings open, hinges crying out for oil.  His coat is off but his smile isn’t.

The smile continues as a few words are muttered in the kitchen, above the sound of the extraction fan.  The knives fall silent once again.

“Happy anniversary my darling.”

The cloak of fog disappears as a cork pops in the kitchen.

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