Writespiration #34

#34

Inspired by Esther’s recent 10 and 20 word stories, and because today brings day 1 of a month of NaNo chaos, submit a one story sentence below and I will post it up with next weeks Writespiration. If your clever with grammar this could be a long sentence. I am sure there’s a book written that’s only one sentence but 100 pages. Does anyone know which book I mean?

Anyway, I’m not clever with grammar, so here’s mine:

That look, those eyes, it told me everything; we were over.

Last weeks Writespiration #33 bought some fantastic responses.

First up, Keith with his fantastically funny poem, Keith is well and truly back on form:

I knelt on the double yellow lines
Praying that there’d be no more fines
When a warden came along
I knew it would go wrong
She said, “Can’t you even see the bloody signs?”

***

Next up, Geoff Le Pard with his unique twist on double yellow lines

Learning a trade By Geoff Le Pard

I knelt on the double yellow lines, trying to find the edge. Finally my nail slipped underneath and I prised the line away from the tarmac. Now that I had found the place where the adhesion was weakest, I teased the rest until my fingers wrapped around the yellow strip and I could give it a good strong pull. It took time but eventually I felt it coming loose. With a satisfying ripping sound, much like when a plaster is stripped from a healed wound, the yellow line rippled free of the road’s surface.
‘Good job, Harry.’ My boss beamed at me. ‘Now when you have the whole thing loose, roll it up and bring it to the workshop. We’ll dry it and then you can work on prising open the middle.’
‘Like pitta bread?’ I said excitedly.
‘Exactly. You’ll be a first rate a fire hose maker, young fella.’

***

New to Writespiration we have Ali Isaac  with an amazing tale of magic that just makes you want more…

I knelt on the double yellow lines…

“No, no, no…”

This couldn’t be happening. The headlights picked out a mess of awkwardly tangled limbs sprawled on the tarmac as the haggard old Mini, engine still running, spewed its fumes into our lungs.

It wasn’t my fault. He had just appeared, conjured as if by magic out of the ragged curtains of fog which layered the night with patches of impenetrable milky shadow.

“Don’t move him,” warned Ciaran, crouching over him.

“We need to get him to a hospital.” The stranger’s long hair glinted copper and gold in the streetlight’s sickly glare. Beneath him, a dark pool of blood spread its fated message. He stirred, and muttered. He looked very pale.

Ciaran sat back on his heels, perplexed. “He spoke in Gaelic, but it’s a dialect I never heard before. He said they’re trying to kill him.”

“What-the-fuck… Who? Why?”

“Don’t know. He’s asking you for healing.”

“Me? I don’t know anything about first aid.”

Ciaran dug his mobile phone out of his pocket. “I’m calling an ambulance. And the police.”

The stranger’s eyes fluttered open and pinned me in their silvery blue gaze. He murmured weakly, and I could see he was becoming increasingly agitated.

“I don’t understand it… its dead as a dodo.”

“Use mine. It’s in the car.”

As Ciaran got to his feet, the moon slid its light like a knife between the clouds, lighting up the pendant swinging at my throat, the tarnished silver Celtic knot work which had been handed down through the women of my family for generations. The stranger reached for my hands and clasped them to his broken body.

I felt myself move aside within my skin, as my physical self became the conduit between life and death. Energy flowed from earth to flesh, and beneath my hands, ripped muscle, crushed bone, torn sinews knitted together, clean and new.

“Yours is dead too…” The phone clattered to the ground, as Ciaran watched me help the stranger to his feet. His heavy cloak billowed in the wind, revealing a gleam of steel at his hip. Ciaran’s eyes goggled.

“Either I’m dreaming, or we’ve stumbled onto some weird real-life fantasy war game.”

The stranger spoke briefly in his strange guttural language, pressed his lips to my hands, then turned and strode back into the fog.

“Wait,” I called, feeling inexplicably bereft, but the air was empty, like he’d never been.

***

 Another new participant this week, and an old friend Storm Silvermane who created this gem of a story:

There I knelt, on the double yellow lines, with disbelief in my heart, yet reality screaming in my head. How could this be so? I can remember every damn detail, yet my heart just wants to scream it isn’t so. It didn’t really happen, yet the stained curb shows it did. Flashes of the night shooting through my head torment me as my mind and heart fight without hope of reconciling.

It was a beautiful fall night, the air was brisk, yet not so cold that one had to bundle up in order to enjoy the night air. I was walking along the street listening to the music coming out from several bars I passed along the way. Some jazz here, rock there, dub step in another place and top 40 trying to be heard above it all. I wondered how people could stand living anywhere near this street with the mixture of melodies, which really did not complement one another, at least not to my ears. I was lost in thought as I passed by yet another music filled establishment and hardly noticed the woman I ran into, until I made contact with her body.

“I am so sorry!” I began to say as I held my hands back and out of the way hoping I did not present a danger to her that would induce some sort of drunken fit. When my eyes adjusted and my brain caught up a smile came to my face. “Julie.”

“Matthew.”

I watched her as she ran her hands through her hair, then over her body as though she had to fix something. Like she didn’t already look amazing.

I stuttered as I fought to keep control of my hands. They wanted to reach out for her, to wrap her in my arms and hug her tight. But, I didn’t know… I didn’t know if I could without feeling those feelings again, and I didn’t want to feel her body tense against mine in panic. I really just wanted her to stop standing there and adjusting imaginary faults of herself and say something other than my name.

“Julie. How have you been?” my voice cracked a little and I cursed under my breath.

“I have missed you.” She jumped forward finally, throwing herself in my arms as her feet left the pavement. I felt her arms grip around my neck and her lips on my cheek, kissing me over and over between words. “I have missed you so much Matthew, can you ever forgive me?”

She leaned back to look in my eyes as her feet found ground once more, but my arms didn’t let go of her, nor did hers let go of me. I blinked a few times as if digesting the words before I could fully understand them.

“You forgive me? I should be asking forgiveness of you.”

“Done, whatever, now forgive me, please?” She smiled up into my eyes, knowing it was already done.

She knew I could not resist her by the evidence of my smile and lowering of my head as my lips softly brushed over hers. That kiss that said everything was forgiven, everything was forgotten and everything was going to be all good again.

My lips lifted from hers and I stared into her eyes, the words on my lips, the breath taken in to utter them when I heard the loud pop. So loud in my ears I could swear the car was right behind me. The idle wandering thought of some people and their lack of taking care of their car went through my brain even as I saw her eyes staring into mine.

They just stared in disbelief, utter disbelief as her body became lax in my arms. I felt the wet on my hands as I helped her to the ground, not even realizing that the reality had already hit my brain. It wasn’t a car, a car didn’t leave a bullet hole in the back of the woman you loved.

Her body shook in mine and I yelled into the night sky, trying to be heard over the music, yelling to no one, and everyone.

“HELP ME!!”

And no one heard, no one came.

She stared at me as though it hurt too much to blink. Barely able to raise her hand to my face, already covered in blood, while I tried to press the flow back.

Words tried to come forth, yet all that would slip out of those beautiful lips was blood.

I shook my head “Don’t talk.”

She tried again even as her eyes were closing and I could feel her breath leaving her body. I knelt there with her on the double yellow lines and whispered. “I forgive you.”

 

29 comments

  1. How about this…

    I brought you carefully home from the nursery, gave you a roof over your head and a nice soft bed, kept you warm and cosy, provided for your every need, supported you when you needed it, watched proudly as you grew tall and strong, and you reward me with one lousy tomato… next year I’m growing courgettes!

    Liked by 6 people

      1. Yep, just flying in and out. The dog minding duties reverted to us today as tomorrow the Lawyer and the Beautician are off to New York (cunning surprise for Lawyer’s 25th B’day present between parents and girlfriend. He has no clue where she’s taking him tomorrow – they only down side is we won’t see his face when he finds out!) You still bashing out the words?

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Wow, what an awesome present 😀 you will have get the beautician to snapchat an action shot of his face. Im so jel, I adore NYC. yep currently sitting pretty at 54,800, which means I wrote 1612 today, and still going…. it already feels like a long month, but the thought of being able to call myself an actual writer, or better an author at the end of the month is spurring me on.

        Liked by 1 person

      3. She has so much planned – she’s never been so is ‘super excited’ – I think is the a la mode way of saying ‘very’! The Textiliste and I have had great fun helping set it up – like you we adore the place (well outside of July and August when it is has all the attraction of a steelworkers armpit)

        Liked by 1 person

      4. I would take july and august over the Arctic shit storm that was our trip there in feb. Ahh they will just have the most fantastic time. It’s a bit of a dream of mine to have an apartment there…. yeah, I know… I’ll keep dreaming! lol.

        Liked by 1 person

  2. He poised, arms raised, and plunged, a perfect arc, slicing the water to join the rollicking seals, and though she watched until the sun set, night fell, and the seals disappeared, he never broke the surface.

    Like

  3. Deep breath…

    I was sent down for fifteen years for armed robbery; although if I behave, I can be out in eight; but that’s not what the judge said when the foreman of the jury (and they were a rum bunch, I don’t mind telling you) handed him the piece of paper saying I had been found guilty, even though all the evidence cleared me, my alibi being cast iron and the character witnesses I brought in being pillars of the community, well, most of them, anyways, but they still said I was guilty and that judge, who wouldn’t have known an honest man if he stood up and thumped him, bloody agreed with them – senile old git that he was, and sent me down for a fifteen stretch!

    …and breathe.

    Liked by 1 person

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