I knew it that I will not be able to stay away from this one for long! 🙂
Sometimes life is fluky:
The day when I posted my last entry on writing more in my main blog and doing more off-line life my husband came home and gave me a message from a colleague who is a writer as well. She said: “Tell Bee not to give up writing and to send me stuff. I am happy to read through and support her!”
It came out of nowhere in a time when I decided that I had not the strength to support the Aurela campaign and do all the writing stuff as well. I was tired of it all and I think another depression was on its way. But I am a very spiritual person and it dawned on me that the Universe had a message for me in store: “Don’t stop writing” therefore I won’t :-).
Well as for my experiment with doing short story competitions: The first I did not win, the second I did not take part in ~ story of my life. There were moments when I started to give up (again) in the last few weeks but NO ~ I won’t.
The story I had already written for the competition in bath will not stay in my drawer. I have decided to post it here and now to get some proper feedback from you guys ~ anyone interested???????? 🙂
(One reason why I do that here is the fact it’s not bi-lingual and I do not have to translate it ~ gosh lazy woman 😉 )
And here it is:
Of Lemon and Men
Fion stared at the picture in the newspaper.
The dark-haired woman was hardly recognisable. Her face was bruised, her nose swollen to the size and form of a potato and you could not see her eyes anymore. “Her lovely green eyes!” Fion thought. “How…..” his thoughts got tangled with his feelings. He started gagging and ran into the bathroom.
Fion did not feel the cold in his little apartment when he came back a little later. There was no money left for the metre until the end of the month. He did not sit down at the tiny plywood table underneath the huge window opposite the bathroom door with the newspaper on it. He let his big but still athletic body fall onto the chestnut sofa with its holes and scratches all over it. The sofa always looked a bit foreign to him in the black and white the apartment was kept in.
“How……” again he could not finish the thought. Instead he wondered why they had a picture like that in the local newspaper. “That is not their style!” he thought.
“… be careful what you wish for….” he heard her deep voice saying to him. “You were right my love!” he whispered his throat still burning from his earlier sickness. He put his tough hands over his face trying to make the images go away but only memories came back.
There she was: Dara’s bright red kaftan draped around her on the floor a lemon in front of her and needles. “What the heck are you doing?” Fion had asked. “Just bringing luck back into our lives!” she had smiled at him. But he knew it was not true. He had seen her smile at the ginger twat down the road.
“How is it supposed to work?” He sat down beside her. That was all he was able to do. He longed to touch her, caress her fine face and her long black hair. But she always seemed to shrink back from him now. So he did not. “You take a lemon…” she used to lecture him a little bit but he did not mind. Or maybe he did. It did not matter now though. “… and stick needles in it. With every needle you think about something you wish for. And then you leave it in a sacred place.” She started sticking needles in the huge lemon. With every needle she closed her eyes and her lips moved slightly but she never said what she was wishing for.
“Can I try one?” he had asked. She had opened her eyes and studied his round unshaven face. She used to like him ragged. “I guess you can but be careful what you wish for. It might not work out the way you hope. Magic has its own laws!”
So he had taken one of the metal needles without the usual colourful balls on top and stuck one in and thought “May she never be another man’s!”
He jumped from the sofa as the intensity of the feeling he had added with that wish struck him again. “Oh my god….. “ she would never be now!
A loud bang shook him out of his thoughts. He froze a little , then turned to the left to open the deep black door. “You bastard!” Her brother, once his best friend, rushed in and pushed him over. Fion lost balance. He hit his head on the floor. The pain took his breath and he had trouble to see the smaller but more agile dark-haired man. Fion only felt him sitting on himself his left hand hard on Fion’s shoulder. After a little while he could focus and saw the other mans right fist up in the air. Fion certainly did not want to feel that one. “I…..” he tried to move but there was no way “I did not do anything!”
“You bastard! YOU should have protected her. I trusted you!” The other man let his fist fall lightly and relaxed a little. Fion started moving to and fro violently. The other looked astonished and fell to the right. The black chair in front of the table rattled as he fell against it. Fion’s face twisted into a nasty mask as he sat up beside the other. He shouted “SHE left ME! REMEMBER!”
Fion saw a hint of fear in the other mans dark brown eyes. It was only there for a second. He then relaxed and started sobbing. “I know……. I know!” Fion lay down as well. He had never seen Sharan show any emotion. Fion just lay there waiting. “I am sorry!” Sharan whispered. “What for?” Fion asked brisk then got up. He stood there, his whole body aching, staring down on Sharan. “Want a coffee?” was all Fion could add. Slowly Sharan sat up. His short black hair stood in all directions. His dark blue shirt was dirty and his trouser torn. “Yes”. He was still whispering.
When Fion came back from the kitchen with two cups in his hand the front door was still open and Sharan still sat on the floor his head in his hands sobbing. “Get up man” Fion said as he put the cups down on the table and stepped over Sharan to give the door a push. “I hope no one saw us!” he thought and walked around Sharan who got up like an old man. Fion sat down on the other side of the table facing the sofa. Sharan had managed to move the pushed chair and sat as well. “I had to go and identify her!” he said.
“I am sorry…..”
“Shut up…” Sharan fell in Fions words”… if you would have been man enough for her nothing would have happened!”
Fion felt like he got stabbed. He could not face the man in front of him who used to spend all his time with him. They had met in school. No one had liked the indian looking children: Sharan and his sister Dara. No one had liked Fion either. It was as good a reason for a friendship as any.
Fion remembered the first time Dara wanted to kiss him. He had felt that tingle in his stomach as much as the fear creeping up his spine. He had pushed her away and said “NO!” She was hurt and ran back home. The next morning Sharan was waiting for him with a grim face. “You like her?” he just asked. Fion had looked at him like Sharan was from mars and not from Islington. He did not expect that. He had prepared himself for a fight. “What?!” Sharan had asked and that was like a signal so Fion simply said “YES!” Sharan had started walking as they were late already. Fion had trotted after him. After a little while Sharan had turned around and jerked his head in his walking direction so Fion caught up with him and Sharan said: “Ok! Rather you than any of the other bastards!” They never spoke about it again. But their relationship had slowly cooled down. And not only because Fion from then on spent most of his time with Sharan’s sister. After graduation Dara moved in with him. They hardly ever saw Sharan.
The day Dara moved out of their apartment she had left the dried lemon with him. Fion had sat at the table staring at the brownish thing that looked like a mummified hedgehog and when he could not bear it anymore he grabbed it and threw it out of the window.
“ You think the ginger twat was “man enough” for her?” Fion asked eventually. Sharan’s face twisted and he hit the table with his right fist. His half-drunken cup toppled over and a small stream of dark liquid ran down on the floor.
Fion did not move. “I begged her to leave the twat” he said “ when I saw her first black eye! I knew he was a twat but I didn’t think he was like that!” Sharan took a handkerchief out of his pocket and dried the coffee stream on the table. “She never came home” he said “ when she had bruises. So we always knew!” He stopped wiping, just left his hand on the wet cloth.
After a while Sharan asked “What did she say?”
“Said it was nothing. She ran into a door! As if she ever would run into a door. Not Dara!” Fion nearly sobbed. Sharan just nodded.
They sat there until the sun went down. Both staring out of the window.
“I wish I would not have stuck that needle” Fion thought when Sharan left.
- Another Journey into Writing (mbuitragoblog.wordpress.com)
- Ten Minutes With Author J.W. Northrup… (nickwale.org)
- Feat #2- Finish writing a short story (djkazmaier.wordpress.com)
- Short Story: Morning Contemplation (melissamuhlenkamp.wordpress.com)
- Writer’s Block Sucks (thoughtdumpingtime.wordpress.com)
- A short story about Rage (ashappyascanbe.wordpress.com)