Posts Tagged ‘ story with a twist ’

Short Story 14: Sins of the Father

[Happy New Year readers! This is my take on a competition from Wimbledon Bookfest last year, which we decided to try out at my writing group. The competition called for an interpretation of any one or more of the “Seven Deadly Sins” and it had to be no longer than 200 words. Can you guess my sin/sins.]

Twenty years of the best part of her life and he had left her for that tramp. She had given him everything and it meant nothing. She hadn’t seen him in six months but when they had to identify his body, they came to her. She was still legally his wife; for this, the tramp didn’t count. She stared at his face, a bluish-grey shade now that there was no life in it. They said it was an accident; the pipe had flown off the back of a lorry and gone through his windscreen ripping a hole the size of a 5p coin through his heart. Continue reading

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Short Story 11: The King’s Speech

[I completely forgot about this story until last night when I was sitting in a pub with some friends and someone reminded me of it. You’ll understand why it was being discussed in an alcohol infused environment when you read it. It was written as part of an exercise titled “King’s Speech”, shortly after the movie came out. Not my finest work but here it is.]

By the age of twenty five most people have a reasonable understanding of what their alcohol tolerance is. Years of daring under-aged drinking followed by equally foolish years of legal age binge drinking would have honed the senses into gauging how many units to consume for drunkenness, flirtatiousness, chattiness or to just about pass as a designated driver. Most people’s livers had conversed with the rest of their organs and agreed how long they thought their owners’ bodies would last. It was a good year for the body to start the sideways shuffle away from the evil liquid as people took stock of how they wanted to proceed in life.

For Beverly King it was at this age that she discovered what her limit was. It was the night of the office Christmas party, historically a night of embarrassing tales and yet one that people never quite envision as the night of their undoing. To be fair to Beverly, it was only her second attendance at one of these dos. She had to bail out of the Christmas party she had been invited to last year because her sister had gone into labour just after the main meal had been served. As her birthing partner, Beverley had no choice but to dash to the hospital to be with her. This year she would finally be able to join in on office gossip ensuing from misdemeanours of the night. She was a little too excited about it all and it didn’t help that some of her colleagues squealed with delight at any mention of the party.

None of the excitement dissipated till the night arrived. The event was being held in the large ballroom of a four star hotel on the outskirts of town, one of the few venues that could hold the three hundred plus crowd. The room was all done up in white fairy lights and a tall glistening tree stood in the corner, soft carols filled the air and alcohol flowed at a disproportionate ratio to the meal that was served. Everything felt perfect, a sure sign that disaster was about to strike yet everyone managed to remain civilised until all the food was consumed. The alcohol began to flow more rapidly and a DJ arrived, promptly swapping the carols for a selection of cringe worthy cheesy tunes. Seats were abandoned as a dance floor emerged amidst the tables and song choruses were shouted at anyone who dared to brave the floor, which was surprisingly most people. It was still all going well until Beverly saw him.

Matthew Conrad from HR. She had been silently obsessing over him for months and now there he stood, drinking a beer and chatting with two of his mates. For once he looked approachable and for once she felt like she had the courage she needed to say something to him. Continue reading

Short Story 9: Halloween special

[Happy Halloween everyone! I thought I should put up an aptly themed story today. People have suggested alternative endings to me but I’m sticking to the original here. It’s slightly longer than most of my stories so I hope you read on till the end. Hope you like it.]

“You seem…different.”

She’d never looked at him like that before. Like she could actually see him; like he wasn’t just another one of the many creatures placed on this earth to make her existence less difficult. Despite her middleclass background, she was cursed with an air of superiority which she had found impossible to shake even after spending most of her adult life mingling with the sort of people who were supposed to make her seem less of a snub.

Peter leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Maybe I am different. It’s been a while since we last met.”

She spared him another quizzing look then rolled her eyes. She was not in the mood for games today. “So how have things been with you? You’re still not seeing that Alicia girl, are you? The Stepford wife in the making.” She chuckled at her joke and was pleased to see that Peter smiled back. He hadn’t reacted that way the last time she had let him know her views on his girlfriend.

“No, you were right this time. I think she’s now seeing someone better suited to her financial aspirations.”

At least she had the good grace to look a little sympathetic but he knew she wasn’t sorry at all that his thing with Alicia had ended. That relationship had probably had something to do with the recent hiatus in their friendship. After numerous attempts to meet up with her and an equal amount of carefully worded excuses, he had been surprised when she agreed to meet him for lunch today, albeit a brief one as she had said something about having somewhere else to go afterwards. Which meant he didn’t have time for anymore chitchat.

“I have something to ask you.” As he spoke, he pulled out a small glass vial from his pocket which was filled with a clear liquid. He placed it on the table and watched her face for a reaction.

“What’s this? I don’t understand. Is this…”

“It’s nothing illegal, I promise. It’s just something I need for you to…take.”

A half smile touched her lips. It wasn’t an amused smile. “You want me to drink it. And you’re not going to tell me what it is?”

“I’ve known you for twenty three years Beth and you know I would never ask you to do anything that would hurt you. I can’t tell you what it is but you need to trust me on this, you need to drink it.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Beth…”

“No, you’re high, that’s what it is. You’re high on whatever this is and you want me to join you. Is this why Alicia really left you? There is no other rich guy, is there? There’s only this. I can’t believe this is happening, to you of all people. You were always so sensible.”

“Which is why you know I would never give you something illegal in such a public place. Look, I could easily have slipped this in your drink at some point but I didn’t. What I need is for you to trust me.”

She looked down at the vial, almost as if she was contemplating what he was asking but then she shook her head. “I can’t Peter. You know I can’t.” Continue reading

Short Story 7: Market

He glanced towards the door and shifted in his seat. She was late. He hadn’t expected that and he wondered if something had happened to her. There was no way he could find out because he didn’t have her number, only her username – cleopatra672. Her real name was Jane; he had found that much out during the last few weeks of their chats. He thought it odd that she kept the obscure username when her photograph and details were visible to subscribers of the website but when he found out what her name was, he could understand her reasoning. Cleopatra672 sounded much hotter than Jane.

He sipped some of his tepid water and looked towards the door again. An elderly couple walked into the restaurant and were escorted to a table by the enthusiastic hostess who had shown him his seat earlier. She smiled at him as she walked past his table, a sympathetic smile perhaps. He had been sitting there for over fifteen minutes after foolishly arriving five minutes before their arranged time and now it probably looked like he’d been stood up. Where was she? Continue reading

Short Story 2: The Morning After

(Another one from the writing group but this time not an exercise so doesn’t really have a theme.)

The Morning After

She lay silently on her side of the bed, watching his chest rise and fall as he took long deep breaths in, out, producing a familiar humming sound. He always slept flat on his back even if he started off on his side. At some point in his twenty six years of existence, his body had decided that it gained the most rest if he slept lying upright and as still as a corpse. It freaked most people out but she was used to it by now. In, out, deep breaths, hum.

“I can’t sleep if you’re watching me,” he spoke sharply without opening his eyes. Anyone else would have been startled by the sudden break in the silence but she didn’t seem troubled.

“We need to talk.”

He ignored her and carried on pretending to sleep, it was now obvious that was what he had been doing for a while.

“You have to tell her.”

That did the trick. He opened his eyes and turned to look at her with small piercing eyes still heavy with sleep but trying really hard to intimidate. She stared him down and he turned away.

“If you don’t tell her, I will.”

At this he rose from the bed in one swift movement and went into the connecting bathroom. She waited for the obligatory flush and lay there whilst he brushed his teeth with the spare toothbrush he had kept at her flat for years. She was sick of this. Sick of lying to herself about the situation. Sick of watching him lie to his wife of three years. Claire. Her friend. The mother of his twin sons. How could he live with himself, going home to them with stories spun so well that he probably even believed them a little? She could barely sleep when he spent the night at her tiny one bedroom flat, the guilt tore her apart like nothing else had ever done. Continue reading

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