Another exercise from the CityLit workshop. A very short one, but one I like. We had to look at a bunch of pictures laid out on some desks and choose one as a prompt for a piece of writing.
My main writing partner for the day, Lee, who was a ridiculously talented Irishman with a bar in Kingston and an interest in stand-up comedy wrote a fantastic piece that turned his choice of what could have been a very disturbing image into a little slice of fun family drama. His image of what could have been blood on stairs was instead evidence of a home-made ketchup spillage that had to be cleaned up before the wife got home.
Mine lacks both the length and the humour of his, but I’m still pleased with it for no other reason than it’s mine and I made it.
Mia walked into the old school hall, empty but for the dejected-looking figure on the temporary stage, that had been there as long as she could remember.
He didn’t acknowledge her approach, although he must have heard her. Stilettos on a wooden floor were never subtle.
She sat on the edge of the stage, next to his crumpled form.
“Don’t wanna talk about it?”
He shook his head and hunkered further inwards.
She leaned back on her hands and just let herself be.
Slowly he began to unfurl, until he was sitting next to her. Then, between one deep, shuddering breath and the next, his head was buried in her shoulder and the tears finally came.