Monday, 26 July 2010

Upside Up

single hand stand crossoverImage via Wikipedia

"What are you doing on the ceiling?" Judy gasped, slamming the door behind her. Stephen sputtered indignantly.

"What are you doing on the ceiling?"

Silenced, Judy crossed her arms and paced. To come home and find your husband splayed across the ceiling, ankles bound by silk scarves to the dangling ceiling lamps and gripping the curtain rail for dear life... Well! It was an ugly surprise. She glanced once before averting her eyes.

"This isn't funny Stephen," she told the floor. "What are you doing?"

"Everything's upside down," he mused. "Even you. I didn't think you would be."

"No it's not Stephen. It really isn't."

"It is. It is. I swear it is. I feel so much better on the ground. The ceiling made my stomach turn."

Judy lifted a hand to hide her face.

"Honey, please come down."

"I should ask the same. How are you still well?" His faint smile sent her hand for the phone.

"I'm not the one who's sick," she murmured, dialling then putting the phone to her ear. "...Hello? My husband's gone mad or had a stroke or something. He's currently hanging off the ceiling... Yes. 113 Clarrendon Road... OK, I'll try."

"I wonder why this happened..."

Judy quietly left the room and returned with a chair, left again and brought a box. She brought anything sturdy and stacked them underneath him. Under her breath she cursed as she built her shaky staircase.

"How did you get up there? Fly? Trust you to go insane before I do. Was it in spite?"

Stephen frowned.

"Innocence isn't exactly your strong point, babe. I know you’d do this on purpose."

"You really think I'm wrong? That I'm the upside down one?"

"Yes," Judy cried, climbing onto a small coffee table.

He shook his head. "Mad, woman. Pure insanity." She lifted her face towards his and smiled thinly.

Balancing on her tower of furniture she took hold of his wrists. "Come on Stephen. People are coming to help you. Please come down."

"Gladly, if that were down," he said, motioning with his nose and almost smacking heads.

"Stephen, come down," she growled, trying to wrench his fingers off the rail.

"No! No-no!" He squeezed his face up tight.

"I'm trying to help you," she argued, thumping his fingers as hard as she could.

"Ow!" He tried to shake her off his arms. "Get off!" He shook harder. In a moment his fingers slipped and in the next, Judy lay under a noisy pile of furniture and Sephen swung from the ceiling by his ankles.

And that was how the ambulance crew found them.

In the ambulance, Judy glared at Stephen as he struggled with two paramedics trying to climb to the roof of the vehicle.

"Definitely needs a CAT scan, this one," said the bulkier, who promptly received a hand pushed into his face.

"What about me?" Judy asked.

"It'll take a month or two for you to recover from your bruising and broken arm, but you'll be fine," a third paramedic said, watching the others wrestle with mild amusement.

"Oh! That's okay," she said looking pointedly in her husband's direction. "That’s just splendid."

Wrote this one a while ago, when I was utterly bored, to entertain myself. Almost threw it away. Probably needs some editing but I don't think it's worth it.
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Thursday, 22 July 2010

Writing. Quality over clarity?

Lyle had them on tenterhooks. All faces at the table were fully his and attentively still. When it came to this field... well, he was something of an expert.
“Peas may have some good qualities but the disadvantages on your internal organs....” He whistled through his teeth. “Forget about it!”
The quiet man in the black suit piped up: “Why is it exactly that certain diets can make you live longer?”
“Ah!” Lyle grinned, wiping his mouth with a scarlet napkin. “It’s been shown that a matter of how healthy your digestive tract is usually correlates with life expectancy.”
The man, who had been very hushed all evening, spoke an eloquent little speech in which he conclusively refuted everything Lyle had said with actual case studies, telling the table in a modest voice that the only diet to increase longevity was a restricted one that slows metabolism.
It turned out the man was something of an expert.

Not the most riveting thing, I know, but constructive feedback would be loved.
Are there any literary passages you love though you're not 100% clear on meaning?

Wednesday, 21 July 2010

The Plot Thickens

Indeed it does, or at least the character conflicts for novel number 1 (or is it number 3.5? Nah, those first tries don’t count.)

Here, for your amusement (something that really terrified me at the time) a true saga! Told almost entirely with imperative commands. (Read it! :P)

Fear the winged monster that dusts your cheeks as you barely sleep. Rouse from your pearly-grey slumber and kill it, before it takes from you again. Turn on the lights to find it gone. Wait. Wait until your eyes are closing, then allow yourself to believe it has gone away. Search through every crevice in the room, one last time. Find yourself content and lay your head back on the pillow. Glance around and turn off the light.

Sleep a second and then wake to the wings of a moth gargantuan, the Goliath of moths. Shriek once. Roll off the bed in a tangle of blankets then rage yourself up and find a weapon. With a book covered in receipt papers, back into a corner. Throw the switch and bide your time; it won’t be long before you see it and crush it. Don’t shake. You mustn’t shake like that; it’ll throw off your aim when the time comes.

See a flash of black in the dimness, a triangle against the white. As it sits poised serenely above your empty pillow, pontificate your attack. Sneak up from behind. Don’t fear that it might move. Don’t think. You must, for the love of god, stop shaking. Stop over-thinking and go for the dive. Feel a muffled crunch under the book. Remove the soiled thing and put it on the floor outside your bedroom. Close the door and try to calm down. Let the adrenalin fade and crawl back into bed so you might fall asleep. Fall asleep while still shivering mildly.

Tuesday, 20 July 2010

End of the World

Scrap I found in my backlog of writings:

*Sirens sound.* police yelling 'report to your nearest nuclear bunker'

"Oh crap! We've got to get out of here!" People panicking and running around them.

"Hang on! Gotta pee." Runs towards loos.

"What? NOW?"

"I was holding it in!" apologized "I thought you were gonna kiss me. Back in a tick."

"You'll hang on for a kiss but not for the end of the world!?" but he was out of earshot