The Word Cloud

Ok, so February has some obvious themes, namely Love (Valentine's) and love again (as in "yum, I love pancakes").

But this February also has another special theme, because it is a Leap Year. And as you may know, in leap years women are officially permitted to propose to men (!!!)

So in keeping with this theme, the topic for the February Competition is: "Role Reversal"
...To be interpreted in whatever way you wish.

And because it's the month of love I'm going to allow you up to 300 words (max.)

Good luck!

February word comp. is here.....

Derek Brimble was a nasty piece of work, the kind of boy who pulled the wings off butterflies. Worst of all he was a bully and a vicious one at that. He picked on all the weaker kids in the playground, stealing their lunch money and sending them home black and blue. His father was also a bully. Because he sat on the board of school governors and played golf with the head, the worst punishment Derek ever received was ten lines.

One pupil who received more than his fair share of Derek's spite, was little Colin Mittons, the puniest, quietest kid in school. Poor Colin would lock himself in the caretaker's shed at break-time, just to avoid Derek and his gang of cowardly thugs. He even had to hide his jam sandwiches in the music room piano, to stop them being kicked round the playground. What noone knew about Colin, was that when the school bell rang and he'd sprinted home, he would shut his bedroom door behind him and dream about his ultimate ambition, to become an opera singer.

It was a very ordinary break-time, the only thing unusual about it was Colin, who for once was not hiding in the caretakers shed. His presence in the playground had not gone unnoticed.

'What you doing in my playground shrimp boy?' Asked Derek.

A crowd quickly gathered.

'Oi! Im talking to you Mittons'.

'Colin Mittons is weak as kittens,' sang his gang.

Then something unexpected happened. Colin dropped his hood and began to sing. It was not just any old playground song, it was an aria, the like of which none of the children had ever heard before and it was sung so beautifully, even Betty the tattooed dinner-lady began to weep. But the one who cried the most, big, tearful, snotty sobs, was Derek Brimble. He cried so much he had to lock himself in the caretakers shed. While he hid, Colin sat and ate his jam sandwiches, legs swinging back and forth. Every last crust.

That was The Jam In The Sandwich....and it broke the word limit so Im disqualified.

Stephen Terry writes Chick Lit. A role reversal?

‘It was lust at first sight,’ said Steffi, scooping an indelicate amount of molten hazelnut chocolate and whipped cream onto her spoon. Her painted lips parted, showing sparkling white teeth that had been artificially enhanced like most of her body. ‘And Ryan is a dream chef.’ A throaty chuckle escaped. ‘But we had the main course in the four-poster.’

Gwen would have rolled her eyes or even raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t want to ruin her mascara that she’d spent all morning refining at reception. Now she had suffered her whole lunch break recording Steffi’s goss, and she needed to get back to work to finish revarnishing her nails. ‘Gives me goose pimples imaging it,’ she agreed.

Friggo parlour was a three-minute, healthy walk from her office - enough to lose fifteen calories by Gwen’s reckoning, so Glamour magazine had headlined. Add one hundred and thirty calories for the avocado and lemon sorbet and ... it was too much to think about. ‘Looks like rain. Do you want a cab?’

Steffi took the hint. ‘My treat, darling. Anyway, Ryan’s going to pick me up in the ... I can’t remember the name, but it’s gold – my colour.’

Gwen glanced at Steffi’s bracelet on her tanned wrist. It looked heavy enough to hamper her virtuosity; maybe Ryan could handle a slow build-up. She smoothed her skirt, adjusted her suede jacket, and patted her dark locks, hoping the grey didn’t show. She slipped out of her seat. ‘I’ll call you next week. It’s been lovely catching up.’

When Gwen got back to the office she called Jameson, the editor. ‘Steffi’s meeting Ryan Gosling at Friggo’s now. I have all the goss.’ She picked up her nail file. ‘Glamour owes me one, darling.’

Raymond nestled into the shadows that dressed the old stone walls. The cathedral embraced him in its darkness, protecting the knowledge that the resistance had trusted him with. He tugged the fronts of his overcoat closer together, trying to get them to meet, even if they wouldn't be friends. His girth refused to yield and he slunk into the cafe for a Pastis. Medicine for the ruin that France had become, for what he had become.
At least Odette would make him feel like a man. A slap, some tickle. Maybe another slap. She wasn't very bright, but she was cheap. He grinned when he saw her red clad form bent over a barrel. Raymond checked the bar for her husband then grabbed her backside in a deep pinch. Just for a moment her face grimaced with distaste, but he was sure it was at the dregs in the barrel.
He shoved his overcoat at her. 'Be careful, the pocket is armed.' Raymond chortled at his own joke as she hung it on a peg and filled a small glass for him.
Odette glanced around at the other patrons. 'You shouldn't talk so loud about it. Death will come for you.' Another casing of the cafe. 'From anywhere.'
Big peasant hands slapped down on the bar, yellowed stumps of teeth exposed in laughter. 'Ha ha, Odette.' Raymond's own eyes scanned the cafe, and he considered the wicker bread basket and the checked table clothes. 'There's only you here awake. Death wouldn't choose a simple country barmaid.'
Odette put her hand inside Raymond's overcoat pocket and pulled the trigger, firing through the fabric. 'No, but the Gestapo would.'

I kneel beside the cage. Reaching between the bars, I stroke the hair of the slumbering form within. She stirs, but does not wake.

“A shame to destroy such a beautiful creature,” my father says.

“But I have no need of her, now that you have found me the perfect mate,” I answer.

My hand is taken; a thumb is smoothed across the tattoo on the inside of my wrist…checking.

“Very well. I shall make the necessary arrangements.”

A dry kiss is planted on my forehead and I remind myself it is one of the few more I must endure. Soon, there will be passionate kisses from my beloved; Andreth. From the first moment I saw him, I was determined to have him.

In the cage, the creature’s eyes have opened. I see my reflection in them and smile. I cannot resent her now, knowing what is to come for both of us.

She had lived for twenty privileged years before I was created - it was her father’s genius which gave me life. My own twenty years were purely physical, experienced in just a few short months. My sole purpose - to allow father to assess potential mates for her without compromising either virtue or value.

But dear father had not reckoned on my finding love.

It is his own flesh and blood, her natural birthmark camouflaged, who lies drugged within the cage…not, as he believes, the result of his cloning experiment.

I am outside…where I will remain.

The Jam in the Sandwich

Derek Brimble was a nasty piece of work, the kind of boy who pulled the wings off butterflies. Worst of all he was a bully and a vicious one at that. He picked on all the weaker kids in the playground, stealing their lunch money and sending them home black and blue.

One pupil who received more than his fair share of Derek's spite, was little Colin Mittons, the puniest kid in school. Poor Colin would lock himself in the caretaker's shed at break-time, just to avoid Derek and his gang of cowardly thugs. He even had to hide his jam sandwiches in the music room to stop them being kicked round the playground. What no one knew about Colin was that when the school bell rang and he'd sprinted home, he would shut his bedroom door behind him and dream about becoming an opera singer.

It was a very ordinary break-time, the only thing unusual about it was Colin, who for once was not hiding in the caretaker's shed. His presence in the playground had not gone unnoticed.

'What you doing in my playground shrimp?' Asked Derek.

A crowd gathered.

'Oi! Im talking to you Mittons'.

'Colin Mittons is weak as kittens,' sang his gang.

Then something unexpected happened.

Colin dropped his hood and began to sing. It was not just any old playground song, it was an aria, the likes of which none of the children had ever heard before, sung so beautifully, even Betty the tattooed dinner-lady began to weep. But the one who cried the most, big, snotty sobs, was Derek Brimble. He cried so much he had to lock himself in the caretaker's shed. While he hid, Colin sat and ate his jam sandwiches, legs swinging back and forth. Every last crust.

Snipped!

Holding onto something I never had is hard enough, but to have it completely taken away, even that small glimmer of hope that I might one day have it, broke me.
I was born into a normal family.
Mother operates the UFO's, so she was away, and father’s a stay at home dad.
From the outside, just a typical family.
On the inside?
Dysfunctional as hell.
Mother always comes home in a terrible mood, and drinks cans of 'glug' as if there was no tomorrow. So on the one day a week I get to see her, she’s drunk.
My father, try as he might, can not hold the family together. My brother’s off at university learning how to build ships, and my older sister living with her husband.
At the age of 15, fate decides whether you live of not.
Life is borrowed until then.
If your grades are good and you are a genuinely a nice person, you’re in with a chance of staying alive.
Only 250 of the 1500 student’s at my youth school will make it.
If you survive, you get to pick your gender. Boy or girl.
I’m 15 today.
Out of the three people who turned 15 today, only two of them are being allowed to live.
I’m not one of them.
I was never really living, so my life can't be mourned can it?
By midnight tonight I’m going to be dead. These two people will get to grow up and have a life.
No-Body say's;
'sorry that you're going to die'
They just act like normal. And I do the same. Because it's natural.
Life, I never really had it, but I hoped one day I would.

Heels clip haphazardly on concrete and he stirs from his chair.

‘Hey you useless fuck!’ she screams, banging on front door. A glance at the mantel clock, 02:30.

He’s been sitting waiting but not worrying. He’d stopped worrying long ago, but perhaps he was wishing. Wishing that one night, she wouldn’t come home. But tonight, he is ready.

He lets out a weary sigh and moves to the door, undoing the latch with a sober hand. It swings open and he’s greeted with a fist in his cheekbone, golden claws slicing through his flesh.

‘Too fuckin’ slow.’

She stumbles in steeped in Special Brew and pukes in the kitchenette sink. He touches his hand to his bloodied cheek.

‘It’ll heal,’ he thinks, trawling his brain for a worthy excuse to give offer his buddies on the school run. They know the score, some of them are worse off than him and he is grateful that his troubles are confined to the weekends.

He hears retching and panting but feels no pity as half the week’s money surges down the plughole. A blur of tiger print and bare flesh stumbles past muttering obscenities and the bedroom door slams shut. He sits patiently by the window until he hears low rumbles. Taking a deep breath, he chooses his weapon from the selection hanging in the kitchenette. The bedroom floorboards creak as he stands over her, the woman he would’ve once walked through fire for. He raises his arm and steel glints. Five solid blows to the body curled under the duvet.

***

He is frying eggs and children’s voices sing as she limps into the room bedraggled and drawn.

‘That must’ve been some fight last night,’ she moans, wincing.

He smiles at the best wedding present ever – the Le Cruset pan set.

I flick at a butterfly, catching it perfect and watching its wings to explode in different directions. I smile then allow my tail to fall behind my white robe, as the gates swing open and a young man of sixteen (according to my notes), wearing a Green Day hoody, fingerless gloves and baggy jeans creeps in. He stares around the entrance hall, awe-struck at the cloud formations that form the walls and floor, the infinite blue hues of the ceiling, the sound of absolute silence, the vision of me sat upon the golden throne...

I scratch at my white beard as I greet him, ‘My child...’

He falls to one knee like some sort of ex-rock star waiting to be knighted. I continue, ‘Welcome to Paradise.’

Tears begin to stream from his eyes as I recount events from his life, which are no more than a list of misdemeanours. ‘You were no angel Charlie. You have committed a great many sins. Yet here you stand in front of me,’ I rise from my throne, ignoring the itch on my cheeks, as light emanates around me. ‘Do you want to spend eternity with me, Charlie?’

He sobs ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ uncontrollably as I check my watch: 23.59, 01.04.2013.

The gates behind him swing open and a presence is felt. Charlie and I look to see a figure who is in every way the spitting image of myself. Charlie turns to me as I pull of my beard and allow the white robe to fall to the floor.

I run a finger over one of the horns on my head as I smile at Charlie.

‘Wrong answer mate.’

A click of my fingers and the cloud beneath him disappears and he falls, screaming and cursing my name.

God approaches me, hands over a set of fake horns and asks, ‘Same time next year?’

February competition winner is.......


Liam! Congratualtions!
I loved your piece about the role reversal when our characters start telling US what to do! This was a lovely commentary on the art of writing, very well-writeen and you captured really well the relationship between author and characters. I also love the line: “It’s easy to let Caravaggio smug his way out of your mouth when you have the answer card.” The best description of Paxman ever!

I'd also like to give a runner-up prize to Squidge. This was a very good piece of sci-fi fantasy with a real darkness given by the role of the “clone”. A great interpretation of “role reversal”.

But I have to say, all the pieces were excellent. I was impressed by every one:

Stephen Terry - I love the bit aboutthe bracelet! What a thought.... This piece really captures the “bitchiness” of women, and I like how the tables are turned at the end.

Barb - This was very clever. I like the sudden twist at the end – didn’t see this coming and makes the piece suddenly very dark. I also love the line – “A slap, some tickle. Maybe another slap.”

Danno - Ah - The power of song! What a lovely idea. I wish all bullies could be stopped in this way. I love the last few lines: “While he hid, Colin sat and ate his jam sandwiches, legs swinging back and forth. Every last crust.”

Steffie - Ooo I like your imagination. – scary world to live in. I am struck by the criteria for survival: “If your grades are good and you are a genuinely a nice person”. How sad to have such a "dysfunctional" life and then have to die....

Noodledoodle - This was my 2nd runner up It has a great theme – the role reversal of the battered husband... and his dark fantasies. I also love how all we really see of the wife is a “blur of tiger print and bare flesh”.

Caoimh - Tee hee hee! Oh Lord (‘scuse the pun) how scary to think there may be pranksters up there!!! Puts more meaning into the phrase “I thought I’d died and gone to heaven”! Nice line: “He falls to one knee like some sort of ex-rock star waiting to be knighted”

Well one again everyone. I look forward to seeing what Liam will set for the March competition.

Well done Liam - a worthy winner!

Congratulations Liam, I really enjoyed your piece.

Wow! Thank you, Philippa (and Squidge and Barb!), I’m surprised. This is definitely a first for me; I thought it could have gone to anyone this month.

Props to Stephen, Barb, Danno, Steffie, Noodle and Caoimh. Every story I read had something that I wish I’d been able to do myself.

Great imagination - a worthy winner. Well done, Liam.

Well done to all and hearty congratulations to Liam. Didn't enter this competition, but may well enter your March competition, Liam. Like the concept and you mention the Ides of March, on which day I married!!

worthy winner. clever stuff Liam. well done.

Well done Liam, very creative little piece. Enjoyed it very much :-)

Thank you Stephen, Jill, Danno and Noodle. Kind words :)