Sometimes all you need is a word to get your creativity going and for threads of a story or poem to start to weave together. Here are some words to start you on your way:
- Surprise
- Affair
- Shatter
- Angels
- Terror
- Cafe
- Accident
- Alleyway
- Poison
- Rejection
Last week, I gave you two short story openings to stimulate those creative juices:
Idea one:
Night time is the worst time. I hate it. All day I dread it. In the summer months, it is delayed for just a little while, but it still comes creeping closer as the shimmering sun sets and the moon rises, mocking me.
It is here now. It has joined me in my bedroom. I can feel it enveloping me, ever tighter. The grandfather clock ticks in the hall, a tick tock of comfort, of familiarity, but it not comfort I want, nor familiarity. Those are the things I detest.
Idea two:
Donald couldn’t bear it. Sweat soaked the sheets and a sickness surged through him. His life was over. He paused. Any minute now.
The thud was tremendous as the tabloid thumped onto the mat. His wife’s scream informed him she’d seen the photos plastered all over the front pages.
Geoff Le Pard wrote something for the second idea and sent it in. As always, it’s brilliant. Read and enjoy:
Donald couldn’t bear it. Sweat soaked the sheets and a sickness surged through him. His life was over. He paused. Any minute now.
The thud was tremendous as the tabloid thumped onto the mat. His wife’s scream informed him she’d seen the photos plastered all over the front pages.
What was taking her so long? His chest ached and his stomach churned. She should be by the bed telling him what she thought. How she’d leave him, how she’d tell the press about his penchant for her taffeta. He’d be a laughing stock, his ministerial post would be history, his agent would demand ‘with great regret’ his resignation.
Where was she? Had she fainted? No he could hear noises. Oh god, had she gone for a knife? Was she going to kill him? Or do a ‘Bobbit’ and remove the offending appendage?
Donald went to stand up but pain suffused his whole being, emanating from his chest. As he collapsed back on the bed he heard her feet on the stairs. While his chest exploded in agony and his breathing began to stop, he caught the sound of her feet sliding across the deep carpet. He was slipping into a final unconscious state as her hand turned the bedroom door nob. He realised now the sounds were not her anger or tears but a chortling laugh. The last thing of which he was aware before death took him was his wife saying ‘You will never believe what your twin has been up to now.’
***
Esther Chilton 
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