Lost: One Bench #Throwback Thursday

English: Wooden bench at Marriott's Way, Norfolk
English: Wooden bench at Marriott’s Way, Norfolk (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

‘How can you forget where you left it?’ Samantha demanded, shooting Michael a withering look before closing her eyes and counting to ten. In a moment she would let out a deep sighing breath and give Michael her best, why do you insist on embarrassing me stare before ordering another drink from the bar and forgetting the subject altogether.

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‘I mean really Michael!’

Michael blinked, confused as to where the last 6 seconds had gone and why she hadn’t ordered a large glass of red wine. She wasn’t following the natural order.

‘It’s a bench!’ Samantha spluttered. ‘You cannot misplace a bench! Especially not one of yours! They’re massive and made of wood. WOOD MICHAEL! WOOD!’

Everyone else in the pub had fallen silent now, the hum of conversation dying as all eyes turned to stare at the couple having the argument. Or rather, Samantha yelling at her bemused husband since Michael rarely said two words to anyone about anything.

‘I could understand a nail or two, perhaps even your level metre, but misplacing a bench is on a whole other level.’

Michael fixed his stare on what was left of his pint as Samantha continued to berate him for losing the garden bench he had made on commission, for Miss Appleway’s new patio. He really didn’t understand why she was so concerned; he would remember where it was and then collect it. Forgetting the rest of his pint he stood up from the table and headed for the door, leaving his wife purple faced and furious.

Hailing a cab he climbed in, sat down, and nodded when appropriate to the driver’s chatter. He didn’t notice the manila folder sticking out from beneath the front seats until he was almost home. Ignoring the driver’s comments on the weather Michael ducked down, and yanked the folder out.

There were three sheets of paper inside, all gibberish and slightly crumpled. There was nothing to say who they belonged to, or what they were about, just block text and narrow margins.

Rolling the folder up, Michael stuck it into his jacket pocket. I didn’t fit of course, but it stayed where he’d put it. In the morning he’d ask around the town and see if anyone had lost three sheets of nonsense.

‘Here we are mate!’ The driver said cheerfully, throwing a grin back over his shoulder as Michael clambered out of the taxi. ‘Nice looking place!’

Pulling out his wallet Michael paid him, watching him drive off before diving into his trouser pocket to search for keys. His house was one of row of terrace building, set back in tiny manicured gardens with box-hedges and gravel paths. What set his and Samantha’s apart from the rest was the array of strange wooden carving dotting the lawn and perching in the hedge.

‘Excuse me Sir?’ The voice came from an older gentleman stood beside the garden gate.

Michael acknowledged sadly that his house keys were not in his pocket and turned to face the man approaching him instead.

‘May I ask where you found that document?’ The man pointed at the folder sticking out of Michael’s pocket.

‘Taxi.’ Michael responded, gazing up at the front of his house and wondering how long it would be before Samantha got back. She’d probably be late home, thinking that it would punish him for abandoning her.

‘Did you read the content?’ The man asked, glancing at the folder in a way that would seem to suggest he was about dash in and snatch it.

Michael shrugged.

‘Utter nonsense.’ he told the man.

The man in the suit sighed. ‘I’ll take that as a yes then. I am terrible sorry for this, but you never can be too careful in these situations.’

Michael nodded, assuming that whatever the man had said required his agreement, he had been more occupied with the splintered window ledge on the second floor.

It would take Samantha another three months before she noticed it, and then another five before it was fixed.

~~~~~

Michael Remmet

Aged 29

Died 17th September 2012

Short-Suffered Husband

Has anyone seen his bench?


Written for the writing challenge on http://outwherethebusesdontrun.com/2012/09/14/prompt-this/

My prompt was “The absent-minded carpenter found the top secret document in the taxi to avoid the argument.”

NaPoWriMo – Day Twenty-One: Love

Love is a dangerous serpent,

if you learn how to knot it

how to twist it back on itself

until it resembles nothing

of love at all,

then you can weave a noose

from the stands

cut from your own heart

and choke the life

out of those

who refused to take it

when love was first offered.

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And now for our (optional) prompt. In her interview, Brim provides us with several suggestions for generative writing exercises, and we’d like to challenge to today to tackle her third one, which is based in the myth of Narcissus. After reading the myth, try writing a poem that plays with the myth in some way. 

There is something in this myth that has rubbed me the wrong way today. I think it’s the parallel between Narcissus being cursed for not returning another’s love, and the current climate where women are sometimes thrown into toxic situations where rejecting an advance is seen as an insult that should be punished.

If We Were Having Coffee

It’s been a while since I’ve posted a Saturday Coffee post but to be honest, not a lot has really gone on. At the beginning of February all of my productivity stalled and coupled with every cold going, and even a chest infection, I’m not really done very much at all since January.

The second draft of the novel has now reached 40,000 words but progress is a little slow. I’m trying to focus more on my AAT course than the writing and that means I spend a lot less time at the keyboard than I would like. The course is what needs my attention however and the sooner I finish the sooner I can get back to focusing on my writing. Even if it does seem like Darkened Daughter is just getting longer and longer with every passing day.

The fiancée and I have just got our mortgage-in-principal so we can start making choices about where we want to buy in earnest. Trying to get my head around legal fees and surveys is more tricky that I was expecting. Being the first time buying a house I’ve got no context to put costs against and not having context really stresses me out. I like to know what I’m getting myself into and at the moment I don’t.

Hopefully with spring now in the UK, though it has arrived with storms and rain as always, I’ll find some way of being a bit more creatively productive. I’ve decided to give Camp Nanowrimo a miss this April due to the workload. I’m hoping that if I reduce the areas that I’m focusing on the more I can get done on those areas.

However! I have managed to get Headquarters up on its own site! I’m also working on the next update for the story which I haven’t updated in about two years so I’m feeling pretty good about myself. Reading back through the stories I can remember what I loved about writing Headquarters. I can’t spend as much time as I want on it but I’m hoping to spend some time here and there.

Progress is progress, no matter how small.

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Backwards Traveller

I am not a wanderer.

These feet find too much home

in sandstone slopes

and moss edged red bricks

tucked up in dandelion lawns

and weather worn fence posts.

These souls loose their itch

too close to the boundary mark.

Shutter up too soon after leaving.

Always find a way of looking back

and remembering

everything I want. I have.

I just have to turn around.


 

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My first poem since January. The prompt was to write a poem about the adventure of travel but I’m not ashamed to say that I’m an utter home bird. I do like visiting new places but I hate being away from home for long. I’m one of those people who’s attachment to their own bed beats almost every other attachment I have.

I like knowing that I’m at home.

Blue Trellis

 

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Photo Prompt – Copyright Ceayr

 

Lilly had been expecting something more than blue, trellis gates. Beyond them, the compound crept west, the concrete yard broken up by thistles and nettles, bursting out of the cracks and spilling out onto the emptiness. She swallowed and looked at the gates again, imagined something stronger, like steel or iron, tall and spiked.

‘Three, fifteen,’ said the woman beside her. She sucked air through her teeth and tapped at her watch. ‘Your uncle said he would meet us here.’

Lilly nodded and peered past the weeds. She nibbled her lip and then stopped.

Remember, she thought. Just be nice.

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