Showing posts with label Challenge 3. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Challenge 3. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Challenge 3
Unreliable Third
Write a fragment of a story from the POV of an unreliable narrator - third-person limited (or attached) narration.
Wordcount: 500 (+/- 10%)
Notes:
Usually, an unreliable narration is spoken in first person, so what happens when you give us a slightly detached, yet still unreliable narration? (Think Hitchock's movie Stage Fright) In third person unreliable narration, the readers will believe more of the lies, so see if you can present a deceptive character's perceptions as what he/she believes or wants to believe. You have to both believe the lie and show it to be a lie.
Good luck.
Monday, February 8, 2010
3 - Unreliable Third: True Love?
it's a bit too long really, but I'm trying to get a few done... I'm going to go back and have another couple of goes at some of them, but I'm posting my first efforts anyway!
Helen smiles at George and tries to ignore the little frown lines around his mouth. He is trying to make her a better person, and it is working – slowly, but it is working.
She turns back to her ironing, standing up straight, ensuring that her back is elegantly poised and her shoulders are not slouched. He hates slouching, but only because he doesn’t want her to get backache. He only slouches himself because of his own back trouble, and he doesn’t want Helen to suffer the way he does. After all, he couldn’t afford for them both to visit the masseuse.
He turns the television up a little higher. He’s forgotten that she hates this show, hates the presenter. He wouldn’t have put it on if he had remembered, but she forgives him, because he’s just trying to relax. He’s been working late, it’s not his fault his job is so stressful. She’s grateful his secretary is such a sweet girl, always so obliging, staying late at work so he doesn’t have to make the phone calls himself. Jeannie. A lovely girl. She even calls Helen herself when George is working late, so that George can get on with things and be home a little earlier. Jeannie is such a pretty thing, she could be a model, but George says she prefers to do something useful with her life.
Helen folds up the last shirt with care as the programme finally finishes and places it in the pile of ironing. George harrumphs and hauls himself up from the settee. There’s a faraway look in his eye that reminds Helen of their honeymoon. She’s about to say something when he catches her eye and frowns again.
“I’m going to bed.” His voice is gruff, but that’s just his way. She knows he loves her. She’s sure that tonight when she goes up he’ll be waiting for her, not turned away and snoring as he has been recently. He’s just been tired, and she can’t blame him for that.
“Can you…?” She gestures towards the pile of ironing, but he puts a hand in the small of his back and grimaces.
“Can’t. Back trouble.”
His terseness can’t cover up the fact that he’s still miles away, looking past her at some memory that softens his expression and reminds her of the man she fell in love with.
She’s sure now that he’s remembering their honeymoon, and once he’s gone up the stairs she starts to bustle about, getting everything quickly tidied away so that her beloved won’t have to wait for long.
She tries not to move too quickly when he is in the same room – she knows he gets irritated when she makes a noise. It’s not his fault – he has sensitive ears. That’s why they rarely have music on. It’s something to do with the beat or the pitch or – Helen doesn’t really understand, but she loves him and she can listen while he’s at work. The neighbours won’t tell.
There’s more to do than she had thought, and she doesn’t want to leave anything untidy. George probably won’t be up before her in the morning, but if he is he won’t want to be tripping over things. It only takes a few minutes, but George is so tired, and when she pushes open the bedroom door he’s snoring. She sighs. She’s disappointed, but not surprised. He’s been working late. Jeannie told her so. Maybe at the weekend he won’t be so tired.
He’s only doing it for her, working himself into the ground so that she can stay in all day and not have to work. He loves her. She knows he loves her. She’s sure of it. She is.
Helen smiles at George and tries to ignore the little frown lines around his mouth. He is trying to make her a better person, and it is working – slowly, but it is working.
She turns back to her ironing, standing up straight, ensuring that her back is elegantly poised and her shoulders are not slouched. He hates slouching, but only because he doesn’t want her to get backache. He only slouches himself because of his own back trouble, and he doesn’t want Helen to suffer the way he does. After all, he couldn’t afford for them both to visit the masseuse.
He turns the television up a little higher. He’s forgotten that she hates this show, hates the presenter. He wouldn’t have put it on if he had remembered, but she forgives him, because he’s just trying to relax. He’s been working late, it’s not his fault his job is so stressful. She’s grateful his secretary is such a sweet girl, always so obliging, staying late at work so he doesn’t have to make the phone calls himself. Jeannie. A lovely girl. She even calls Helen herself when George is working late, so that George can get on with things and be home a little earlier. Jeannie is such a pretty thing, she could be a model, but George says she prefers to do something useful with her life.
Helen folds up the last shirt with care as the programme finally finishes and places it in the pile of ironing. George harrumphs and hauls himself up from the settee. There’s a faraway look in his eye that reminds Helen of their honeymoon. She’s about to say something when he catches her eye and frowns again.
“I’m going to bed.” His voice is gruff, but that’s just his way. She knows he loves her. She’s sure that tonight when she goes up he’ll be waiting for her, not turned away and snoring as he has been recently. He’s just been tired, and she can’t blame him for that.
“Can you…?” She gestures towards the pile of ironing, but he puts a hand in the small of his back and grimaces.
“Can’t. Back trouble.”
His terseness can’t cover up the fact that he’s still miles away, looking past her at some memory that softens his expression and reminds her of the man she fell in love with.
She’s sure now that he’s remembering their honeymoon, and once he’s gone up the stairs she starts to bustle about, getting everything quickly tidied away so that her beloved won’t have to wait for long.
She tries not to move too quickly when he is in the same room – she knows he gets irritated when she makes a noise. It’s not his fault – he has sensitive ears. That’s why they rarely have music on. It’s something to do with the beat or the pitch or – Helen doesn’t really understand, but she loves him and she can listen while he’s at work. The neighbours won’t tell.
There’s more to do than she had thought, and she doesn’t want to leave anything untidy. George probably won’t be up before her in the morning, but if he is he won’t want to be tripping over things. It only takes a few minutes, but George is so tired, and when she pushes open the bedroom door he’s snoring. She sighs. She’s disappointed, but not surprised. He’s been working late. Jeannie told her so. Maybe at the weekend he won’t be so tired.
He’s only doing it for her, working himself into the ground so that she can stay in all day and not have to work. He loves her. She knows he loves her. She’s sure of it. She is.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Challenge 3: Morepork
Noah shut his eyes, squeezing his eyelids so that his broad nose wrinkled and his lips curled wide into a half-grin, half-grimace. He listened intently, stretching his ears as far as he could. Out under the open window into the hazy Moana night Noah listened, as the wind hissed at Uncle Jeremy and hushed Mum to sleep.
More… Pork… he stretched his bony middle finger to count the third time he’d heard the ruru craw tonight. His two littlest fingers did grasshopper jumps on his palm, desperate to join the others. Five times, Hinekiri had said.
‘I’ll do the morepork five times at the gate, when I go out to the train tracks after tea.’
Hinekiri didn’t live in the little blue house with Uncle Jeremy anymore. She'd left on the train to go stay with her old aunty Nga in Greymouth. Noah missed his friend achingly. He still counted the ruru calls, and if there were five before the train came, he was sure the next day would be cool. The best, like her.
More…Pork… there it was again. Noah wriggled, and listened more earnestly.
Tomorrow would be Noah’s birthday. Before he’d wormed his way under the sheet to listen so desperately, Mum had wrapped his skinny elbows round her neck and planted a dry kiss on his wide cheek.
‘Happy last night of being nine, Noah’ she’d grinned, but she’d sounded a little sad. Noah had flashed his charmingly crooked teeth at her anyway.
More…Pork… his little finger jumped up to count five and Noah listened, urgently now, hoping for the distant rumble of the train.
Hinekiri was good at doing the morepork. So good that Uncle Jeremy couldn’t tell it was her. Hine was good at everything. She could run down the tracks so fast her thick hair would get all tangled.
She’d made a brilliant hut out of dead branches and toitoi. It was out past the bend in the tracks and over the deep, gouged-out ditch, and you couldn’t even see it unless you got really close to the steep edge. You had to jump over it. Inside the hut there was a blanket and a magnifying glass, and once, Noah had brought some gingernuts for them to share. It was a real pity Hine wasn't here now. There were three gingernuts left and he didn’t want to eat them on his own.
Noah wasn’t sure if – was that it? Was that the train? Perhaps his thoughts were just getting noisier.
Sometimes Hinekiri was late to school after they’d been out across the train tracks to the hut. She’d come to school with red eyes and say her leg hurt and that’s why she couldn’t ride her bike fast enough. After the bell had rung and Noah had scuffed his way back home, Uncle Jeremy would call Mum and grumble he was sending ‘that kid’ round because he needed her ‘outta his hair awhile.’ Then he’d sit in his overalls and turn up the volume on the TV.
Hinekiri would drink a milo at Noah and Mum’s place. She would discover ants with the magnifying glass and let Noah ride her bike, and stay up until her eyes were drooping and her voice was thin. Mum used to bundle her up in a rug then, and take her, soggy with sleep, back to Uncle Jeremy’s. Just before Hine went away though, Mum started putting her to sleep on the couch.
‘Your aunty Nga asked me to look after you,’ she’d say, and plant a dry kiss on her pointed cheek.
Then Hine wouldn’t do the morepork calls for awhile, but Noah always knew that she’d been out to the hut anyway. When they did go flying back out over the ditch, more of the gingernuts were gone.
Noah’s eyes leapt wide open for the rumbling, rushing, urgent train. It had crept up on him again! He took a thick, thrilling breath as his thoughts dashed out into the hazy Moana night, following the clinkety-clink and the whirr and the disappearing hiss. He closed his eyes, more gently this time. Tomorrow would be his birthday and it would be cool, the best! Out under the open window Noah dreamed, as the wind spat at Uncle Jeremy, speeding down the train tracks to soothe sweet Hinekiri to sleep.
wordcount: 721
More… Pork… he stretched his bony middle finger to count the third time he’d heard the ruru craw tonight. His two littlest fingers did grasshopper jumps on his palm, desperate to join the others. Five times, Hinekiri had said.
‘I’ll do the morepork five times at the gate, when I go out to the train tracks after tea.’
Hinekiri didn’t live in the little blue house with Uncle Jeremy anymore. She'd left on the train to go stay with her old aunty Nga in Greymouth. Noah missed his friend achingly. He still counted the ruru calls, and if there were five before the train came, he was sure the next day would be cool. The best, like her.
More…Pork… there it was again. Noah wriggled, and listened more earnestly.
Tomorrow would be Noah’s birthday. Before he’d wormed his way under the sheet to listen so desperately, Mum had wrapped his skinny elbows round her neck and planted a dry kiss on his wide cheek.
‘Happy last night of being nine, Noah’ she’d grinned, but she’d sounded a little sad. Noah had flashed his charmingly crooked teeth at her anyway.
More…Pork… his little finger jumped up to count five and Noah listened, urgently now, hoping for the distant rumble of the train.
Hinekiri was good at doing the morepork. So good that Uncle Jeremy couldn’t tell it was her. Hine was good at everything. She could run down the tracks so fast her thick hair would get all tangled.
She’d made a brilliant hut out of dead branches and toitoi. It was out past the bend in the tracks and over the deep, gouged-out ditch, and you couldn’t even see it unless you got really close to the steep edge. You had to jump over it. Inside the hut there was a blanket and a magnifying glass, and once, Noah had brought some gingernuts for them to share. It was a real pity Hine wasn't here now. There were three gingernuts left and he didn’t want to eat them on his own.
Noah wasn’t sure if – was that it? Was that the train? Perhaps his thoughts were just getting noisier.
Sometimes Hinekiri was late to school after they’d been out across the train tracks to the hut. She’d come to school with red eyes and say her leg hurt and that’s why she couldn’t ride her bike fast enough. After the bell had rung and Noah had scuffed his way back home, Uncle Jeremy would call Mum and grumble he was sending ‘that kid’ round because he needed her ‘outta his hair awhile.’ Then he’d sit in his overalls and turn up the volume on the TV.
Hinekiri would drink a milo at Noah and Mum’s place. She would discover ants with the magnifying glass and let Noah ride her bike, and stay up until her eyes were drooping and her voice was thin. Mum used to bundle her up in a rug then, and take her, soggy with sleep, back to Uncle Jeremy’s. Just before Hine went away though, Mum started putting her to sleep on the couch.
‘Your aunty Nga asked me to look after you,’ she’d say, and plant a dry kiss on her pointed cheek.
Then Hine wouldn’t do the morepork calls for awhile, but Noah always knew that she’d been out to the hut anyway. When they did go flying back out over the ditch, more of the gingernuts were gone.
Noah’s eyes leapt wide open for the rumbling, rushing, urgent train. It had crept up on him again! He took a thick, thrilling breath as his thoughts dashed out into the hazy Moana night, following the clinkety-clink and the whirr and the disappearing hiss. He closed his eyes, more gently this time. Tomorrow would be his birthday and it would be cool, the best! Out under the open window Noah dreamed, as the wind spat at Uncle Jeremy, speeding down the train tracks to soothe sweet Hinekiri to sleep.
wordcount: 721
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Challenge 3: Seduction?
"...far more time together than you'd expect. And...well...his daughter, Sonja, says Simon's over there all the time. Everyone else in the lab seems to think something's going on too. It's just that I'm the only one who remembers when we first met him and he introduced himself as your fiance...he hasn't said anything about it since. I just thought you should know..." Alexis was cleaning her fingernails rather determinedly. "I wasn't trying to interfere."
Jack wished the slow churning feeling in her stomach would go away.
"Damn Michael," she managed to say.
Alexis cleaned her fingernails for a few more seconds, then, hesitantly: "It's not Michael. Simon knows what he's doing. I've met both of Michael's wives - he's not some kind of...predator. Sarah, the first, knew what he was like. Maybe she didn't find out until after they were married...but Jessica knew what he was like early on - he's got a reputation. She married him anyway." She sighed. "He wouldn't have done anything so openly if Jessica were still alive, but everyone in the lab knew he'd be moving on to the next one now she's gone. So I warned Simon."
"What?" Jack was almost too tired to care.
"Not obviously, but they were already getting along really well and I was worried. I told him Professor Collins had been married twice - what I told you now. About the rumours. He didn't care."
Damn Michael. She'd heard about him, too, but she'd never seen him as a threat to Simon. Michael knew they were engaged, for fuck's sake. And now, when Simon had lost his family and was already vulnerable...
He'd been coping surprisingly well until now, even though they hadn't been as close, not when he was being so fucking philosophical and depressed at the same time. It was too much, even for Jack, to spend all day with him when he was being like that. Maybe it was her own fault, but she just couldn't see how to reason with him, and he'd said that was okay. Maybe Michael had a hold on him even from that first day, when the world had exploded around them and she hadn't been there.
And damn Alexis, too.
"Damn Michael," she managed to say.
Alexis cleaned her fingernails for a few more seconds, then, hesitantly: "It's not Michael. Simon knows what he's doing. I've met both of Michael's wives - he's not some kind of...predator. Sarah, the first, knew what he was like. Maybe she didn't find out until after they were married...but Jessica knew what he was like early on - he's got a reputation. She married him anyway." She sighed. "He wouldn't have done anything so openly if Jessica were still alive, but everyone in the lab knew he'd be moving on to the next one now she's gone. So I warned Simon."
"What?" Jack was almost too tired to care.
"Not obviously, but they were already getting along really well and I was worried. I told him Professor Collins had been married twice - what I told you now. About the rumours. He didn't care."
Damn Michael. She'd heard about him, too, but she'd never seen him as a threat to Simon. Michael knew they were engaged, for fuck's sake. And now, when Simon had lost his family and was already vulnerable...
He'd been coping surprisingly well until now, even though they hadn't been as close, not when he was being so fucking philosophical and depressed at the same time. It was too much, even for Jack, to spend all day with him when he was being like that. Maybe it was her own fault, but she just couldn't see how to reason with him, and he'd said that was okay. Maybe Michael had a hold on him even from that first day, when the world had exploded around them and she hadn't been there.
And damn Alexis, too.
"Simon's family..."
The other girl hesitated again, waiting to see if she'd finish. "I've seen Michael with his son. This isn’t the same sort of relationship."
Were they both in on it? Alexis and Professor Collins? No, because they wouldn't get anything from it. No, it must be true. But Alexis was trying to make Simon out to be the monster because she didn’t see how awful Michael really was. Jack hadn’t spent much time in the lab, but everyone knew Alexis was Michael's favourite student...
“Why are you telling me? Do you think I should’ve kept a better rein on him, is that it? You think I told Simon to snare your professor?”
“Shit, no, Jack!” Alexis stood up. “I was just trying to help. I didn’t like everyone else knowing what was going on when Simon hadn’t even said anything to you. If you ask me, it’s disgusting that he doesn’t even have the decency to talk to you about it.”
Maybe she wanted to get Jack out of the way so she could have Simon to herself...
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Word count: 550
Acknowledgements to Anistasya for the background story and characters :)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Word count: 550
Acknowledgements to Anistasya for the background story and characters :)
Friday, January 22, 2010
Challenge 3: Harriet
“Sally! Lunch Time!” called Kelly. “Coming!” called a voice from the garden.
“Miriam! Lunch Time!” called Kelly. “Coming!” replied a voice from the library.
The final member of the household did not need calling. Harriet followed Kelly around, never letting Kelly out of her sight. Poor girl. Harriet was the eternal child. She did not speak, she just watched everything with a constant hint of fear in her eyes. Only Kelly knew why. And she wasn't ever gong to reveal that secret. No matter how often Dr Saunders tried to get her to. Dr Saunders owned the house the women lived in. The women took care of it, Sally cared for what she thought of as 'her' garden. Miriam did the same for 'her' library and Kelly and Harriet kept the rest of the house tidy. Dr Saunders worked long hours in town and had a flat there that he stayed in during the week, then he returned to them in the weekends. Kelly never really thought about why Dr Saunders had them living in his home, it was just the way they had always been. Kelly could not recall a time when there had not been the four of them in this house with Dr Saunder's weekend 'visits' for that was what they felt like, even though this was actually his home.
“Good afternoon Harriet. Do you feel like talking today?” Dr Saunders asked politely, as he did every time they had these conversations. He always only spoke to Harriet. Never the others. The others were always there with Harriet, protecting her. Harriet shook her head. “I have had a rather unusual letter that I wish to discuss with you.” Dr Saunders continued. “I have a letter from Harriet's father...” he began, all the women reacted immediately, blocking Harriet from the Dr and a new person stepped forward. “That bastard is not allowed anywhere near us.” Hissed the new girl fiercely. Her voice filled with fury and loathing for the man in question and Dr Saunders for any suggestion of him in front of them. Dr Saunders looked taken aback. “May I ask why?” he asked gently. All five women almost exploded in the pain and fear of Harriet, the child surrounded protectively by the other four. “You do not have to fear him here.” said the doctor carefully, “He does not know where you are, the letter was sent to my office in town.” said Dr Saunders comfortingly. “He cannot harm you.” he repeated. “But you could hurt him, if you tell me why you are afraid of him.” he added gently. “Mother...” the word seemed to be pulled from them as all five spoke the word at once. For just one instant all five were as they were supposed to be and Harriet was whole “He killed mother.” she said, then she was once again five with the child in the centre.
Wordcount: 500
“Miriam! Lunch Time!” called Kelly. “Coming!” replied a voice from the library.
The final member of the household did not need calling. Harriet followed Kelly around, never letting Kelly out of her sight. Poor girl. Harriet was the eternal child. She did not speak, she just watched everything with a constant hint of fear in her eyes. Only Kelly knew why. And she wasn't ever gong to reveal that secret. No matter how often Dr Saunders tried to get her to. Dr Saunders owned the house the women lived in. The women took care of it, Sally cared for what she thought of as 'her' garden. Miriam did the same for 'her' library and Kelly and Harriet kept the rest of the house tidy. Dr Saunders worked long hours in town and had a flat there that he stayed in during the week, then he returned to them in the weekends. Kelly never really thought about why Dr Saunders had them living in his home, it was just the way they had always been. Kelly could not recall a time when there had not been the four of them in this house with Dr Saunder's weekend 'visits' for that was what they felt like, even though this was actually his home.
“Good afternoon Harriet. Do you feel like talking today?” Dr Saunders asked politely, as he did every time they had these conversations. He always only spoke to Harriet. Never the others. The others were always there with Harriet, protecting her. Harriet shook her head. “I have had a rather unusual letter that I wish to discuss with you.” Dr Saunders continued. “I have a letter from Harriet's father...” he began, all the women reacted immediately, blocking Harriet from the Dr and a new person stepped forward. “That bastard is not allowed anywhere near us.” Hissed the new girl fiercely. Her voice filled with fury and loathing for the man in question and Dr Saunders for any suggestion of him in front of them. Dr Saunders looked taken aback. “May I ask why?” he asked gently. All five women almost exploded in the pain and fear of Harriet, the child surrounded protectively by the other four. “You do not have to fear him here.” said the doctor carefully, “He does not know where you are, the letter was sent to my office in town.” said Dr Saunders comfortingly. “He cannot harm you.” he repeated. “But you could hurt him, if you tell me why you are afraid of him.” he added gently. “Mother...” the word seemed to be pulled from them as all five spoke the word at once. For just one instant all five were as they were supposed to be and Harriet was whole “He killed mother.” she said, then she was once again five with the child in the centre.
Wordcount: 500
Challenge 3: Missing Frank
“My husband is missing,” she said, straining to keep the emotion from her voice. It wasn’t appropriate to cry just yet, he might just have needed some space. Frank did that sometimes, driving off to the port hills to look down on the city and clear his head. Usually, it was after an argument, but he’d always come home.
Patricia took a deep breath and forced herself to her feet, saying, “Would you like a cup of tea? I have Early Grey or English Breakfast.”
The police woman smiled politely but shook her head. Of course, Patricia berated herself, the nice cop wouldn’t want to take too many liberties while she was working.
“When was the last time you saw him, Mrs Ainsley?”
Patricia filled the kettle and put it on to boil, thinking about the day before. It had been a terrible fight. Probably one of their worst. She had come home from work early because of a migraine she couldn’t seem to shake. Frank had been sitting in the living room, watching re-runs of last night’s football match. She remembered wondering how he could even see the television through the screen of cigarette smoke. They argued about his laziness. Patricia was sick of supporting them both on hours and hours of cleaning other people’s houses. She wanted a nice place of her own.
In the end, Frank walked out of course, like he always did. Except this time, he hadn’t come home.
“Mrs Ainsley?”
“Hmm?” She glanced at the officer. “Oh yes, I saw him yesterday afternoon. He went out to do a bit of shopping and never returned.”
“Was there an argument of any sort? Any reason to think he might just have left you?”
“No…” Patricia smiled warily. “I don’t think so…”
The lady made a few notes and then stood up. “Well, I can’t promise anything, Mrs Ainsley, but we’ll do our best.”
She passed Patricia a card. “Call me at this number if you remember anything that could be important, alright?”
Patricia escorted the nice lady to the front door and waved as the police car pulled out of the driveway and sped off down the street. Then she returned to her tea, sitting at the kitchen table and watching the rain pelt down against the pavers.
It was strange, how little she really missed Frank. She wondered, for a moment, when she had ever loved him. He was hardly faithful to her. Everyone knew that. But she needed him. She couldn’t stand the thought that he would actually get up and walk out on her. Not after twenty years of marriage.
She stood up and pulled open the kitchen drawer, not exactly sure what she was looking for. Perhaps a spoon to stir a little more sugar into her tea? She took out a knife. Long and sharp. It wasn’t clean. Why had she put it away without washing it properly first?
She turned the tap on to full and scrubbed. The water turned red and then clear again. She put the knife in the dishwasher and returned to her tea. Frank would be back, soon. He always was.
Wordcount: 526
Patricia took a deep breath and forced herself to her feet, saying, “Would you like a cup of tea? I have Early Grey or English Breakfast.”
The police woman smiled politely but shook her head. Of course, Patricia berated herself, the nice cop wouldn’t want to take too many liberties while she was working.
“When was the last time you saw him, Mrs Ainsley?”
Patricia filled the kettle and put it on to boil, thinking about the day before. It had been a terrible fight. Probably one of their worst. She had come home from work early because of a migraine she couldn’t seem to shake. Frank had been sitting in the living room, watching re-runs of last night’s football match. She remembered wondering how he could even see the television through the screen of cigarette smoke. They argued about his laziness. Patricia was sick of supporting them both on hours and hours of cleaning other people’s houses. She wanted a nice place of her own.
In the end, Frank walked out of course, like he always did. Except this time, he hadn’t come home.
“Mrs Ainsley?”
“Hmm?” She glanced at the officer. “Oh yes, I saw him yesterday afternoon. He went out to do a bit of shopping and never returned.”
“Was there an argument of any sort? Any reason to think he might just have left you?”
“No…” Patricia smiled warily. “I don’t think so…”
The lady made a few notes and then stood up. “Well, I can’t promise anything, Mrs Ainsley, but we’ll do our best.”
She passed Patricia a card. “Call me at this number if you remember anything that could be important, alright?”
Patricia escorted the nice lady to the front door and waved as the police car pulled out of the driveway and sped off down the street. Then she returned to her tea, sitting at the kitchen table and watching the rain pelt down against the pavers.
It was strange, how little she really missed Frank. She wondered, for a moment, when she had ever loved him. He was hardly faithful to her. Everyone knew that. But she needed him. She couldn’t stand the thought that he would actually get up and walk out on her. Not after twenty years of marriage.
She stood up and pulled open the kitchen drawer, not exactly sure what she was looking for. Perhaps a spoon to stir a little more sugar into her tea? She took out a knife. Long and sharp. It wasn’t clean. Why had she put it away without washing it properly first?
She turned the tap on to full and scrubbed. The water turned red and then clear again. She put the knife in the dishwasher and returned to her tea. Frank would be back, soon. He always was.
Wordcount: 526
Challenge 3: Denial
“She is such a slut” said Jane spitefully. “She's known him for like a week and already they're making out in the back courtyard during their breaks.” Helen nodded and made the sympathetic noises that were expected of her. The 'yes, of course's and the 'I know's were automatic by now. When talking with Jane they had to be. A person could quickly drive themselves mad actually listening.
Everyone knew that Jane had been completely in love with Derek for months now. Including him. He obviously had no feelings in return or he would not be making such a show of his lust for the new girl.
“It's probably just a phase for both of them.” Helen said once when Jane's rant fell into a lull. “I bet that in another week it will all be over.” He'll lose interest as soon as she puts out, she thought but did not say. Derek may be a nice guy but he was not that nice. He was certainly not above chasing a new piece of ass each time he got bored with the last one.
“I don't care if it will be over in a week!” Jane had begun to raise her voice higher than was necessary and people in the hotel lobby where they were working were starting to stare. “I don't want to have to watch them grope each other every time they pass in the hallway.” It wasn't that bad. Well... maybe it was. It wasn't really important anyway, Helen had learned to tune it out and now just walked past them without so much as turning her head. It was best not to look too closely anyway. “I had a guest complain about them yesterday you know. A mother said she spotted a couple of guests in the hallway getting closer to each other than she would have liked her children to see. Asked me to go and tell them to keep it inside their room. I went to check it out and what do I see but Derek with that little slut all over him. It's lucky she didn't realise they're staff.” She was getting really angry now. Really she wanted to be the one all over him in the hallway. Totally jealous.
She must be so insecure to get so upset over seeing a boy she had a crush on fondle another girl. Most people wouldn't care but she wouldn't let it go. She acted as if the girl was doing it on purpose just to make her angry. Somehow he remained blameless in her mind. Helen was getting sick of hearing all of this over and over again today, it was so pointless. She knew that she would be the one to get him in the end anyway. He may play around with girls like Cindy or Sparkles or whatever her name was but one day he would want a real girl and Helen doubted that he would pick Jane. It was just a matter of time.
Words 510
Everyone knew that Jane had been completely in love with Derek for months now. Including him. He obviously had no feelings in return or he would not be making such a show of his lust for the new girl.
“It's probably just a phase for both of them.” Helen said once when Jane's rant fell into a lull. “I bet that in another week it will all be over.” He'll lose interest as soon as she puts out, she thought but did not say. Derek may be a nice guy but he was not that nice. He was certainly not above chasing a new piece of ass each time he got bored with the last one.
“I don't care if it will be over in a week!” Jane had begun to raise her voice higher than was necessary and people in the hotel lobby where they were working were starting to stare. “I don't want to have to watch them grope each other every time they pass in the hallway.” It wasn't that bad. Well... maybe it was. It wasn't really important anyway, Helen had learned to tune it out and now just walked past them without so much as turning her head. It was best not to look too closely anyway. “I had a guest complain about them yesterday you know. A mother said she spotted a couple of guests in the hallway getting closer to each other than she would have liked her children to see. Asked me to go and tell them to keep it inside their room. I went to check it out and what do I see but Derek with that little slut all over him. It's lucky she didn't realise they're staff.” She was getting really angry now. Really she wanted to be the one all over him in the hallway. Totally jealous.
She must be so insecure to get so upset over seeing a boy she had a crush on fondle another girl. Most people wouldn't care but she wouldn't let it go. She acted as if the girl was doing it on purpose just to make her angry. Somehow he remained blameless in her mind. Helen was getting sick of hearing all of this over and over again today, it was so pointless. She knew that she would be the one to get him in the end anyway. He may play around with girls like Cindy or Sparkles or whatever her name was but one day he would want a real girl and Helen doubted that he would pick Jane. It was just a matter of time.
Words 510
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Challenge 3
Unreliable Third
Write a fragment of a story from the POV of an unreliable narrator - third-person limited (or attached) narration.
Wordcount: 500 (+/- 10%)
Notes:
Usually, an unreliable narration is spoken in first person, so what happens when you give us a slightly detached, yet still unreliable narration? (Think Hitchock's movie Stage Fright) In third person unreliable narration, the readers will believe more of the lies, so see if you can present a deceptive character's perceptions as what he/she believes or wants to believe. You have to both believe the lie and show it to be a lie.
Confused? Good, now show me what you can do!
Good luck.
P.S. Add any bonus challenges in the comments section.
Write a fragment of a story from the POV of an unreliable narrator - third-person limited (or attached) narration.
Wordcount: 500 (+/- 10%)
Notes:
Usually, an unreliable narration is spoken in first person, so what happens when you give us a slightly detached, yet still unreliable narration? (Think Hitchock's movie Stage Fright) In third person unreliable narration, the readers will believe more of the lies, so see if you can present a deceptive character's perceptions as what he/she believes or wants to believe. You have to both believe the lie and show it to be a lie.
Confused? Good, now show me what you can do!
Good luck.
P.S. Add any bonus challenges in the comments section.
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