I have joined a local creative writing group. Once a fortnight we meet in an upstairs room of the Old Courthouse and for a couple of hours chew the fat on things literary and written (and on a few other subjects too!).
It’s a new group, we are slowly finding our way and hoping to persuade people ‘in the business’ to come and talk to us over the months ahead to pass on a little of their collected wisdom. Most of all it’s good fun, and that includes the homework. Yes, homework! Each week we set ourselves a short written assignment then read it out next time. It’s fun, honest.
Here’s one from the other week – everyone chose and wrote down a word and that word had to be included in the piece of writing. Simple? Judge for yourself. These were the words : “Vase: hammer: Ice cream: scarecrow: pencil: dragon: wristwatch: eagle: rocking chair: wheel barrow: pen: radiator,” and here’s what I made of them. Enjoy the read!
Leaving
He would have to go. He knew it couldn’t go on like this. Enough was enough. Mike looked up from eating his bowl of corn flakes to the far side of the room where Tom was sitting in his rocking chair. He was rocking faster than usual today and the back of the chair was banging against the radiator. Annoyingly so. Mike looked away, his appetite suddenly gone. He didn’t even wish to consider what the old man was about to do with the pencil he was inspecting. Tom glared at him and swapped the pencil for a pen. Mike pushed his bowl away, slurped a few mouthfuls of hot tea and left the table.
Grabbing his jacket and car keys Mike shouted a quick ‘cheerio’ and ran out the front door. What the hell! There was a scarecrow laughing at him in a wheelbarrow parked in front of his car. He sighed and glanced at his wrist watch. That settled it. The other night had been bad enough. Woken by the sight of Tom standing there in his underpants, hammer in one hand, a painting of a dragon and an eagle in the other. The situation was well and truly out of control now. This was the final straw. He would say something tonight when he had more time.
Behind him the net curtains twitched.
“He’s gone, love. Didn’t even finish his breakfast today. And I don’t think he was too chuffed at having to move that barrow.” Rose patted the curtains back into place and moved the vase of freesias into the middle of the window. Their sweet scent filled the air reminding her of the first time she and Tom had met. He had bought her flowers that day, freesias, and then bought her an ice cream. All those years ago. Her thoughts returned to the present. Soon there would be just the two of them. Perhaps she ought to say something, speak to Mike. Tom wouldn’t.
Mike skipped breakfast the next morning. Rose squeezed Tom’s hand and kissed him on the cheek. The suitcase was already in the car. Tom raised a hand in a final salute as the car pulled out the drive.
“Bloody good riddance, eh Rose. And no more lodgers. I’m not going through that again.”
A Shimmering of Northern Light 