How are you all? I hope you are well, you look good. lost some weight? I like you're new hair style...
If you're wondering why i'm being so polite it is because i feel awful about not writing to you guys for so long. things seem very different right now. We've had a new show come into our theatre and it gobbles up all my time. George has returned from his adventures and i've been at a loss as to what to write about... last time i wrote to you lovely people i was asking if maybe the time for blogging was over ...
...it turns out it is not!
One of the main reasons i've been too busy to keep you guys up to date with the weather, trains and the price of stamps is because of an Open University course i've been working on. Although i've mentioned this before i've not show too many people my work. Since right now i'm free time is limited i figured i'd showcase my creative writing. a little arrogant of me i know, but this is my blog after all.
So until Zoe and i can get together and record some podcasts i will treat you all with some of my short stories. This first one is called 'PANIC' ... enjoy.
Panic
Phil
was a tall man. He hated that this was how his friends, family and
co-workers described him. He would argue that there were many aspects
of his persona far more worthy of comment other than having to always
to stand at the back for a photo. He liked to think of himself as a
snappy dresser, today for instance he wore jeans and black shoes. A
combination he insisted allowed him to look casual yet smart . Sadly
the pale pink stain of an earlier tomato sauce incident on his
freshly ironed shirt suggested otherwise. So there you go, he wasn't
just a tall man, he was also a clumsy man. In all fairness there was
much more to Philip Stevens than just having the ability to change
light bulbs without the aid of a ladder, Phil was getting married.
At
this precise moment in time he was sitting in a florists, perched on
a rickety old stool; arse going numb, while his bride to be and a
besuited flower arranger flicked through a price catalogue, finding
more imaginative ways for the wedding to bankrupt him and whatever
family he hoped to have in the future.
It
had seemed such a good idea last year when he dropped to one knee,
looked up at her with his big blue kind eyes and proposed. Those big
blue eyes were looking rather sunk and tired these days, and the left
one had developed a twitch every time a charge was made on his
Master-card.
'What
did we decide for the button holes?' enquired the florist.
Every
inch of Phil's body wanted to scream, 'Buttons! We want buttons in
our button holes!' but instead only a mouse-like whimper fell from
his mouth.
The
shop looked so cute from the outside. It was tucked snugly between a
bakery and an opticians. It had huge great windows that were always
clean. The shop front was a beautiful midnight blue, with carvings of
ivy and sunflowers reaching up from the ground. Phil would peer
inside every morning on his commute to work, it always looked so
enchanting. He imagined that this is how Narnia would look, had the
wardrobe been sat on Putney high street. The displays in the window
captured Hallmark moments perfectly. Their bouquets brought life and
colour to the street. Even their wreaths made death look enticing.
'Let's
talk centrepieces,' Phil couldn't be sure who'd said this.
His ears were ringing, heart racing and for years to come he would
tell anyone who'd listen that at that moment he felt his hair turning
grey. A madness fell upon him. leaping to his feet he snatched the
catalogue with his right hand and a small gardening fork with his
left, and with a blood curdling scream ran out of the shop. Well, he
tried to. Within meters of the door he collided with a decorative
hanging basket and tumbled backwards, scattering the Mothering Sunday
display as he fell.
Phil
really was a tall clumsy man.
Let me know what you thinks guys, and until next time,
take care,
and go have yourselves an adventure.
yours,
Little Dave
