Write to Be Published competition.
GREY!
I sit on the bed and look at the cell in which I’m imprisoned. It’s grey and dingy. Even the clouds that I can see through the rusted bars at the window are an ashen colour. Everything smells drab. There’s no sign of any home comforts, no pictures or portraits adorn the sombre walls. No furniture alleviates the plainness, just the bed I’m sitting on, which creaks with every movement. A malodorous stench emanates from the cracked toilet in the corner. I have nothing of my own. This cell has stripped me of my identity.
I watched the blood trickle down his crumpled body and change colour as it dribbled on to the concrete floor. It was his fault. I’ve told him countless times not to disturb me when I’m writing. I wonder if they’ll give me my fountain pen back when they retrieve it from his eye.
Comments
Subscribe
Visitor counter
Blog Roll Centre
Blog Hints
20 Comments
Short it may be but so full of vivid imagery I was in the cell. Initially at least......before I felt it was time to run away. Grey is a strong colour - it says so much as well as showing the presence of so little.... Before the mode had time to change my independent brain was making its own connections and forcing them in front of my eyes to match the mood - thoughts of a certain prime ministers other-half some years ago - showing my age, sorry - whom everyone described in terms of contrast so strongly coloured was she.... (oops!)
.......to go with my women's history writing the image of that woman in one of the illustrated Dicken's works that shows a woman prisoner trying to escape from her prison cell, and the jailer - representing patriarchy etc - who wont let her out....(can anyone remember which one I mean?)
And then - so short, so settled, so strong an image of dull nothingness vividly contrasted by the sharp introduction of violent colour. Inner brains immediate reaction - very visual still - like the films, adverts on TV that are monochrome and then add one colour - or perhaps when they changed the style on CSI and started to show the gory bits rather than leave it understated.
And oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, I think I can honestly claim myself amongst the priviledged many (not necessarily few) who have at times been ready to wield our own inked weapon.
(smart again - historically the woman's weapon was her pen..... inner brain prompts me again. Wasn't Mary Wollstonecraft described by one of her contemporaries as 'an Amazonian of the pen' - though eye prodding wasnt generally her style!)
And in 100 words only - not a book, not a short story, just 100 words. That takes skill. And talent.
My scientific son has recently been going on about being 'smart' and working 'smart' - ie the skill of condensing effort to gain maximum work/benefit from an effort.....
SMART LADY!!!!!
I take off my imaginary hat to you ...........
(Pauses, thinks - I am sure I was saving it for a special occasion. Though my daughter would forgive me. If she knew... Shhhh! Well done again....)
You should have won the competition. :-) x
Is this part of something bigger or jsut what I call a mind snapshot?
If there is more send it.
If not, make more....
OFP
It was for a one hundred word competition, and had to be taken from the cover of a book called 'How to get printed' by Nicola Morgan. All that was on the cover was a fountain pen and a splodge of red ink. I didn't win, but got into the short list which couldn't have excited me more than winning. The only other competition I've won, is a one hundred word one on here last year. Maybe I can only write flash fiction. Thanks for your comments Prop, and that goes for everyone else that has commented. I shall now take my swelled head upstairs to unpack. Home again, ah, peace and quiet.
Click here to sign up now.