Tag: writing

Exhaustion

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She had to stay awake.

Carol felt her eyes drooping and bolted to her feet, swaying and immediately dizzy. Her fast and heavy heartbeat told her that she could not have any more caffeine. Her hair was still wet from her most recent frigid shower. She began to jog on the spot, hoping to keep herself awake, just a little while longer.

Outside her bedroom it was a bright and sunny day. Families walked past, laughing and smiling in the spring breeze. A car drove by, playing music she remembered from her teenage years. The colour of the car was familiar.

The same family walked past again, the opposite way. They little girl was giggling, riding her father’s shoulders. Her hair was the same colour as Carol’s.

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The Birdhouse

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There is something living in the birdhouse. I am very certain it is not a bird.

I did see a bird land there once, in the dappled sunlight. I watched it poke its head hesitantly through the hole. I saw it suddenly pulled inside. I saw the coins thrown out and onto the ground. The lack of birdsong in the Summer months made sense to me after that.

I kept the coins as recompense for losing the birdsong. My parents did not care much for wildlife. The birdhouse had been there when we moved in and they only did the bare minimum to take care of the garden, not bothering to inspect it. My older brother said the birds annoyed him. Everything annoyed him, actually. Especially me. That was his excuse to wear noise-cancelling headphones all the time and never talk to me.

I took food to the birdhouse. I tried birdseed, at first. It did not drop any money, but the next morning there were coins and feathers covered in blood on the grass. It wanted meat.

I took it bits of dinner and lunchmeat picked from sandwiches. I was careful to use tongs to put the food inside. Whatever was inside had a vice-like grip. It would grab at the tongs, tearing the morsels from them and only relinquishing the metal after gnawing them to test for further food. The teeth must have been sharp, to leave gouges in the metal.

My brother started getting suspicious. He asked why a brat with no job had so much money. He took my money box and said he would tell my parents about it if I complained.

I told him I found a stash of money in the old birdhouse out back. I told him it was right at the back and that he would have to reach all the way inside.

Scriptwriting

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This is the first scene from a test episode of a podcast I am working on with my fiancé and friend. It’s also the first time I have written a script since highschool, I think. It’s definitely my first time trying this seriously, so I would appreciate any constructive feedback

Scene 1 – The Office

Nick:   (very annoyed) would you hurry up and get your stuff packed? We are in a bit of a hurry.

Devin:  Hey, I’m doing my research as fast as I can. We need to know this stuff.

Nick:   (annoyed grumbling as he packs his bag)

Devin:  Did you know that light can only penetrate 330 feet into the ocean? Do you understand what this means?! Two thirds of our planet is an underwater breeding ground for vampires!

Nick:   I don’t think vampires can breathe underwater.

Devin: Merpires, then! Vampeople!

Nick:   We’re not even going into the ocean, we’ll be on the oil rig the entire time. I am definitely not planning on diving over the side.

Devin:  If I see a mervamperson, I will be straight over.

Nick:   (laughing) Why, are you hoping to get bit-

[rustling sounds]

Nick:   No! No. No, you cannot bring a stake on this trip. I know you: if you don’t find a vampire, and you will not find vampires, aquatic or otherwise, you will feel the need to stab something. And I will be there the entire time, with my very stab-able body, waiting for the moment you decide I am really a daywalker.

Devin:  Don’t be ridiculous. You’re some sort of cryptid.

Nick:   Please, just pack up. I’m almost done.

Devin:  (tapping on his phone) There are deep sea vents that can fire searing-hot plumes of water 18 stories high!

[a phone starts to ring]

Nick:   (distracted, as he pulls out his phone) That’ll sort the seapires out then, yeah?

Nick: Hello? …

Nick: Oh yes, I did email. I need a pet sitter, for today and tomorrow

Nick: No, better if they don’t stay overnight. They barely let me sleep in the bed, haha!

Devin:  There were squid shaped liked paperclips that lived for two hundred years, Nick.

Nick:   (trying to ignore Devin) The card you have on file is fine.

Devin:  Right. We need to be ready

[there is the sound of paperclips being poured into a briefcase]

Nick:   (speaking louder to drown out Devin) Right, I have 3 or 4, um, pets. I think you should have this down from last time?

Devin:  If we see one, we throw these. Hopefully it thinks they’re its babies and goes after them.

Nick:   … Right, well… OK, I have at least 3. It’s hard to say.

Devin:  I’m bringing a stapler too. If I find out there are jellyfish shaped like staples, I want to be ready. Oh! Do we have staple guns?

[there are the sounds of rummaging]

Nick:   They’re just… they’re pets. I have between 3 and 5.

Nick: Look, I’ll just pay for five, but can you ask the sitter to count them in case it’s less right now?

Nick: Yeah, I know but I’m taking care of them by booking you, that makes me a good pet owner.

Nick: I… don’t know what they are, exactly … (he clears his throat then speaks more confidently) I’ve never been one to care about breeds. They’re good boys, ok? Key’s under the matt. I need to go.

Devin:  OK. I’m ready to go. I have assembled the best arsenal your desk drawers had to offer.

Nick:   (beat) Right. Put back the whiskey and let’s go.

Comfortable Horror

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Sarah had never married
Not that she’d make a bad wife
But with her strange adventures
She did not think she suited married life

She fed the witch’s familiars
As their owners flew across the sky
They appreciated her kind care
And left gifts when they stopped by

Each month she left a change of clothes
Draped over a naked, exhausted frame
Once recovered, the werewolf gave thanks
And left her a good share of game

She had long chats with a vampire
and although she never invited him inside
When the daylight found him
She loaned him an umbrella to hide

Her parents had told her, when she’d asked
That babies come from the cabbage patch
So it was not that strange to her
When she heard a cry from the field out back

The baby was not quite right, however.
He’d clearly grown from the wrong crop
His head was a bit big, his complexion odd
But he needed care and she’d give it, full stop

Sarah bundled up the newborn babe
She took him home and put him to bed
She cared for and loved him all her days
Her little boy with a pumpkin head

Two Sentence Stories (Part 14)

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I would have lost my mind in grief when my oldest son disappeared, but at the time I had to focus on my newborn baby daughter. But now she is the same age her brother was, describing the same imaginary friend.

The trick to finding your way through any maze was to keep your hand on one wall and follow it all the way around. But now he noticed the wall ahead already had dried blood on it, at the same height that his raw and bleeding hand had been for hours.

The laptop screen went black and despite her best efforts, everything was gone: her photos, her novel, her thesis. Words appeared on the screen, asking what she was willing to do to get them back.

Stages

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It was only a small bite
But the skin had turned green
And scales had begun to grow,
so he knew for certain that the foot had to go

The next day he awoke and checked
He saw the scales climbing up his shin
and within second he was sure
He needed only take off a bit more

He took the leg off up to his hip
But the next day the other leg looked green
So he made his choice and braced
Ready to cut everything from his waist

He was always certain it was the last bit
Then he would be completely fine
But every day it was a little bit more
Leaving spare parts over the floor

He was a torso, head and arms
But each arm then needed to go
Then his torso began to moulder
so at last he took his head from his shoulders

Now the parts would not stay still
They reached out for each other
and a different body slowly grew
old parts making something new

His head watched from the floor
As hands lifted him onto a new neck
looking in the mirror, he saw the monstrous grin
in his reflection was the monster that bit him.

Office

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It is 9:02 am and I have not slept. My head aches but my heart is beating too fast for coffee. I am at my desk.

I need to staple these papers. The stapler is not where I left it. I look and move everything on the desk, but it is not there. I paperclip the papers and file them. The stapler is now where I left it.

Someone calls. They call me by someone else’s name. They’re probably right. It’s fine.

I spin in my chair to face my screen. I go too far and let myself revolve again. The screen is asleep by the time I stop.

I send an email. It arrives in my inbox, from someone else. It asks if I’m OK. I don’t reply.

I feel in my bag for lunch. I check the time. It is 9:10 am.

At the Bottom of the Well

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There is something living in the bottom of the well
If you drop in just the right gift, it will offer a spell
Teeth, coins, oddities and various bric-a-brac
Once a gift is dropped it is well-paid back

A girl dropped in her doll, a gift from mother to daughter
Her childhood favourite now sunken underwater
She asked for beauty, something for which she had prayed
Each morning she awakes, shining hair in a perfect braid

One lad dropped the blanket his grandma had knitted
Long outgrown but still beloved, his tears admitted
He asked for his muscles to swell without effort
He often wakes sore, like his limbs were subject to violent sport

Most people wish for fortune and small blessings
Careful to offer enough and to be polite in addressing
But some call for darker acts to be committed
But with the right payment, this is also permitted

Enemies disappear quietly into the dark
Nail scratches on floorboards their only remaining mark
But those who ask for this and offer less than their best
Will find themselves facing their own request

There is something living in the bottom of the well
And if not paid its fees, it will take you there as well
But its greatest gift is that it lets everyone believe
That it lives only in the well, and does not leave

Widower

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She had left in the middle of the night
A note left behind asking for forgiveness
Explaining that she had taken a lover
But leaving no forwarding address

He was embarrassed and depressed
His wife departed for greener grass
When asked about her whereabouts
He chose to say that she had passed

He had more homemade meals
than in fifteen years of married life
He had friends and neighbours for company
And he barely missed his wife

One night she returned, distraught
Her lover had decided to roam
So she, with nowhere else to go
Decided it was time to come home

He quickly ushered her inside
And told her all was forgiven
He made her favourite drink
And she drank what she was given

He watched her finish, greedily
and collapse onto the floor below her
It was lovely that she had returned
But he would rather be a widower

Closed

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The fog arrived an hour before the ship, rolling onto the shores and fillings the streets. The ship, far too large for the available docks, beached itself on the small patch of sand on the lakeshore.

It was well after dark, but the sound drew many of the townsfolk to the shoreline. They watched as the crew stepped over the sides, falling from the ship. Those that landed in shallow water waited patiently as those that fell upon the rocks were forced to take time to set broken legs which showed through translucent skin. Together, the entire crew began to walk through the town.

The townsfolk who had watched from the shore now hid in their hastily locked and barricaded homes with their families. Some heard knocking at their doors, tapping at their windows, footsteps on the roof. Those brave enough to approach their thresholds could hear what sounded like pleas, but what remained of the crew’s vocal cords was not enough form words.

By dawn the fog had receded and the ship had disappeared. The townsfolk stared at the footprints and depression left on the shore of the lake and wondered what would have happened, had they opened their doors.