Waiting in the Rain II (Flash Fiction)

If this sounds familiar, good. It should. It's a different take on the same story. A completely different take, actually. 

Lessons learnt: Second person is a bugger to write in. 

Waiting in the Rain II

You feel the branches scratch at the windows, like nails dragged along a chalkboard. The wind whispers under the floor and the rain pelts down on the roof. There’s a dull red light from the maintenance panel. The battery’s dead. And there is nothing you can do but wait.

And so you do.

The moonlight casts shadows on the wet road and your mind plays tricks, making shapes you know can’t be there. You could go outside but you dare not. You’re safer inside, with the doors locked and the windows slowly steaming up. The heaters are still out, remember. Rub your hands together and pull your collar up around your neck. You regret not bringing a flask but you never thought that you would need one. It was just an ordinary drive home. That same ordinary drive you’ve done a thousand times. But this time you’re stuck. Alone and hungry and feeling the coldness creeping in, stinging your fingers tips. You’ll start to taste the cold soon.  

Try the engine again.

You know it won’t work. It didn’t turn over last time and it won’t turn over this. But you still have hope. And why shouldn’t you? You have nothing else left. The thunder doesn’t help. Nor do the lights of passing cars. They must see you. They must. And yet they ignore you. Or, if you are acknowledged, you’re forgotten shortly after. You may even be the subject of a brief dinner time conversation. “I saw a poor bugger stuck out in the rain,” they’ll say.

It’s been twenty minutes since you called. And then your phone battery ran out. What if they’re trying to get through to you? That last light is flickering now. It’s about to go out. 

Waiting in the Rain (Flash Fiction)

Hello, friends!

It’s been a long time. I promised a piece of writing and here it is. I should (*coughs*) be using this more in the coming months (HINT: pack your bags for a trip to Devon).

It isn’t going into a university portfolio or entered into a competition because, quite frankly, it isn't good enough. It’s just a bit of fun. I started it in a seminar the other day and, with a bit of editing, I have managed to make a presentable piece out of it. It’s only a short one but I'm happy with it like that.

It’s not written in my usual tone or style but I wanted to try something different…

Waiting in the Rain

A country lane. It’s always on a country lane, always dark and always raining. This is where the stories start. A woman, it’s usually a woman and I don’t know why, is sitting in her clapped out car. Waiting. Waiting for a midnight rendezvous or something. Then, from out of the woods, a mad axe man or a mental farmer with a shot gun comes along and turns her into soup. And she screams. Oh boy does she scream. Maybe that’s why it’s a woman. Well, I am not a woman. I am a man. And cannibals don’t like men. At least, not according to ITV.

It’s been half an hour since I phoned. The lights keep flashing past. Each time I hope and each time I get let down.  I should go out again but I’ve already ruined the shoes and I don’t want to ruin the trousers. I’ll just wait, sit here and wait. And ignore the imaginary man who keeps peeking out of the bushes.

Tea

Tea

i made a cup of tea
and forgot about it

it was still warm
when i returned


Commentary
This poem, I feel, needs a commentary. So let me talk you through my process when writing this poem:

Imagine making a cup of tea. A simple thing. You build it up from nothing. You add the milk, the sugar, the tea and the water to your favourite mug; you make it your own. It's perfect for you and only you. No one else would get the same satisfaction as you would from that wonderful cup of tea.

And then you forget it.

You leave it by the kettle to answer the door to a salesman, to change the radio station because the Harlem Shake came on, to pop to the loo because the sound of the trickling water has made you want to go. Your tea stands there; it's useless. But it holds out for you.

And then you remember it.

You return to it and you hold the mug and you realise it is still warm.

It held out for you.
Sweet, loyal tea.

Sometimes, you find yourself being the tea. Sometimes, you want someone else to be the tea.
But sometimes, the tea goes cold.

50 Reasons

this isn't one of the three just a spot of fun!


50 reasons for my love of Doctor Who

Escapism.
The shade of blue the TARDIS is.
Bow ties. They are cool, after all.
Matt Smith's hair.
The Fourth Doctor's Scarf.
Clara/Oswin
The Daleks.
Every one is important.
Captain Jack Harkness.
Professor River Song.
Every day can be extraordinary.
 'One day, I shall come back, yes I shall come back...'
 Every star has a million stories.
Never be afraid to be afraid.
 'Everybody knows that everybody dies. And no one knows it like the Doctor.'
The music. Doomsday? Clara's theme?
The 2012 - present TARDIS console room
David Tennant
Elizabeth Sladen
'Affirmative'
'Run you clever boy and remember'
You don't need to be heroic to be a hero. Just a man with a plan.
The most feared man is the one with nothing to lose.
oooooeeeeeooooooooo
Things aren't exactly as they appear.
Always double take a phone box.
Epic coats are epic
Never be afraid to dream. One day they might come true.
Run.
Twitter is the root of all evil. Probably.
Moffat.
Douglas Adams.
Always take a banana to a party. Bananas are good.
This is a fake.
'Hello, sweetie'
'I take the words, I scatter them, across time and space.'
Impossible is just another way of saying 'it will take me two minutes'.
London landmarks are a target for alien invasions.
'There's one thing you never put in a trap'
A love story can last two thousand years
Don't lie to make people feel better
42 minutes can change the world... or 22.
Screwdrivers are the most useful tool in the universe.
Everyone's brilliant.
Bravery and idiocy are never to be confused.
Hope
Fun isn't fun without danger.
Robot dogs can get throat infections.
The face may change but the man never does.
Never be afraid to be yourself.

Demons' Realm

Another original piece. It's not really based on anything in particular this time. I just looked out of my window one night and heard a howl of a wolf coming from the park guarded by the bare trees and the first stanza walked up and tapped me on the shoulder. The rest, as they say, is history.

               If everything you knew turned out to be a lie,

                                        would you believe the truth? 

Demons' Realm

 This is the land

where the queens are king:

where the skeleton trees have lost their leaves

and angels fear to tread.

The demons hunt in the demons’ realm.

The borders are never clear,

between hope and love

and hate and fear,

as a lonely boy fights away,

dreaming of a distant world.

A single star hangs in the sky:

burning through the night’s day

they claw, they scowl, they pray

and with one last look

and one last shout the

final light goes out.