Showing posts with label Task 25. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Task 25. Show all posts
Saturday, 28 June 2008
Moderate this: Track 19
Though it’s many years since I saw you, I still carry the photograph you gave me. It’s of you when you were a teenager - lithe and warm with skin thin stockings, your eyes, the colour of wet coffee. I loved your ears, the way they curved through your hair and your sharp chin; it gave your face a severe look, as though it had been carved from the same stone they used to build the pyramids. The last time I heard from you, you were still in your room on the edge of time. Your fingers, still holding that pipe to your lips, the mauve smoke sliding out from the corners of your mouth. You said you’d just made the dish we used to eat together: jasmine rice with lime leaves, garlic prawns - their curved bodies flecked with chilli. You’d place lemon water in saucers for our hands, and we’d sit by the fire, eating them. I watched your fingers - how they moved over the prawn’s body, teasing the shell away from the flesh. After, you said: ‘Go now. Leave me. Don’t come back.’ You were having what you’d call, a ‘heavy moment’ often brought on a Friday night when the moon was low, or cracked. I’d say: ‘Don’t say that. You don’t know what you’re saying,’ and you’d say: ‘Oh yes, I do.’ I’d look at you again, leaning towards the fire in the grate, your pale hair smudged with soot, ‘But I’m alone,’ I said. You’d stand up, take the raven-feather mask from its nail and walk away.
Monday, 23 June 2008
Moderate this: Track 5
I had my eyes closed. I could hear birds, a dog, and, distantly, the train. My hands were bound to my front, my knees and ankles were tied together and my shoulders and hips were wrapped up and knotted to the tracks. A snail began to crawl on my face. I cursed at it and tried to turn away, but it persisted. I blew on it through the side of my mouth. It paused for a moment, retracted its antenna, and then continued to undulate towards my lips.
‘I’ll eat you,’ I said. ‘I'll crunch you up.’
But it could not understand.
It reached my upper lip, and then stopped, making a moustache of itself.
‘I’ll get you once I’m untied,’ I whispered.
By this time the train was clearly audible. I began to sweat heavily, which did something to persuade the mollusk to continue moving. It seemed we would meet our end together. Though, of course, it could well survive. I wished it luck.
‘Peter,’ shouted Frederick. ‘I’m here – you’re...’
The rest of what he said was lost to the train’s whistle. He began to untie me.
‘A snail crawled over me,’ I said.
‘Don’t worry – I’ll get you out soon.’
‘Where did it go?’ I said. ‘Has it moved under my ear?’
He was panting too loud to hear. He cut the knots around my shoulders and hips with a knife he carried, and dragged my still-bound form onto the gravel beside the track.
I laid there while he caught his breath. He pressed a cigarette between my lips, and though I didn’t want it, I could hardly resist.
‘How can you let them keep doing this?’ he said.
‘I don’t let them.’
He shook his head. ‘We let them by staying here,’ he said.
I wanted him to feel better. ‘You were very fast with the knots,’ I said.
He put his hands in his jacket pockets and wandered his gaze across the sky. The train roared by, shaking the rocks around me. I winced.
Frederick cut the rest of the ropes and I stood. As I looked down to the tracks I saw the snail, curled up and clinging to the side of one of the sleepers. I picking it up with my thumb and forefinger, carried it to the grass where it would be safe, and sat down beside it, crying.
‘I’ll eat you,’ I said. ‘I'll crunch you up.’
But it could not understand.
It reached my upper lip, and then stopped, making a moustache of itself.
‘I’ll get you once I’m untied,’ I whispered.
By this time the train was clearly audible. I began to sweat heavily, which did something to persuade the mollusk to continue moving. It seemed we would meet our end together. Though, of course, it could well survive. I wished it luck.
‘Peter,’ shouted Frederick. ‘I’m here – you’re...’
The rest of what he said was lost to the train’s whistle. He began to untie me.
‘A snail crawled over me,’ I said.
‘Don’t worry – I’ll get you out soon.’
‘Where did it go?’ I said. ‘Has it moved under my ear?’
He was panting too loud to hear. He cut the knots around my shoulders and hips with a knife he carried, and dragged my still-bound form onto the gravel beside the track.
I laid there while he caught his breath. He pressed a cigarette between my lips, and though I didn’t want it, I could hardly resist.
‘How can you let them keep doing this?’ he said.
‘I don’t let them.’
He shook his head. ‘We let them by staying here,’ he said.
I wanted him to feel better. ‘You were very fast with the knots,’ I said.
He put his hands in his jacket pockets and wandered his gaze across the sky. The train roared by, shaking the rocks around me. I winced.
Frederick cut the rest of the ropes and I stood. As I looked down to the tracks I saw the snail, curled up and clinging to the side of one of the sleepers. I picking it up with my thumb and forefinger, carried it to the grass where it would be safe, and sat down beside it, crying.
Friday, 30 May 2008
track 7
As Ben entered the room, a sea of eyes fell upon him. Nevres fluttered and blood rushed to his cheeks turning them a scarlet red. The familiar strong stench reassuringly rushed throughout his lungs whilst still reminding him why he was thier. It was decision time: Stay and finaly conquer the mountain that had blocked his path for so long or settle at the bottom as he had done for the past 10 years. hands shaking he approach the unfamiliar crowd who were now all fixated on his every move; staring hard as if he was a ghost. The only ghosts present in the room were the suken pale faces of his fellow addicts.
The meeting proceded despite his late arrival with the typical introductions and cheap refreshments (no alcohol).Joe, the leader was aware dealing with recovering alchoholics was lacking any sort of thrill or excitement that the majority of them were accustom to, so he tried a new tactic: retrospection.
Joe: "close you eyes, dont block nothing out. ask yourself why are you here?why?"
The meeting proceded despite his late arrival with the typical introductions and cheap refreshments (no alcohol).Joe, the leader was aware dealing with recovering alchoholics was lacking any sort of thrill or excitement that the majority of them were accustom to, so he tried a new tactic: retrospection.
Joe: "close you eyes, dont block nothing out. ask yourself why are you here?why?"
* * * *
A teenage boy is walking alone in the streets with a large rucksack, lonely, scared and frightend he squats on a doorway,the cold stone step a chilling reminder he is still alive. He removes his jumper; carefully placing it underneath his head as he settles down for another restless night, his only comfort the bottle of whisky that lies in his pocket.
* * * *
Ben's head rose sharply, like he was viciously awoken from a nightmare to see everyone else was in deep coversation with thier neighbour,except him. Realising this was one reason he didnt want to share he slowly crept out of the building, into the rain lookin for another doorstep to call home.
Wednesday, 28 May 2008
Inspired by "Track 4"
He's running, his muscles aching, beads of sweat running down his face until they meet and form with the liquid running from his eyes, molding a perfect tear. He keeps on running, through the woods, through the main roads, through the park- He cannot risk stopping. His breathing is now heavy and so are his feet. It's getting hard to keep up the pace, the wind pushing against his face, mocking him, trying to slow him down. Maybe fate is against him.
And she's at home. Waiting for his key in the lock, looking out her window, hoping to see his face. After all, there are so many things left unsaid, so many things that she could have said better. Her bags are packed, her passport in her hand. There are so many things she should take back... She didn't mean the things she said when she lost her temper... Why isn't he calling? She's shivering all over, thinking of his touch... Why doesn't he care? He would be here with her if he did... Glancing at the huge clock on her bedroom wall, she puts on her shoes, slowly, reluctantly. One more hurtful glance at the now half empty flat and she bangs the front door shut.
His heaving chest is about to explode, his legs give in and while his mind is still focused, his body refuses to play along and he stops. The rain is pissing down, as if everything is against him, everything is against him getting to her on time. He decides to screw his plan of catching her at home and starts towards the airport. His phone is soaked but the battery died anyway. The frustration and anger almost lifts him off his feet and again, he's off.
She's getting out of the cab and runs for the airport before the rain soaks through her dress. He's running too, but his throbbing heart is ripping at his chest, begging him to stop, to slow down, but he won't. He knows he's running out of time, he knows he has to speed up in order to get to her, not vice versa. He knows he could be too late. She's walking towards the desk now, reluctantly dragging her feet, looking at her watch, She accepts that he isn't going to come and as if a child giving up her favorite toy, she hands over her passport and boarding pass as a tear forms at the corner of her eye. He's at the entrance now, pushing open the door, he looks all around, about to call out her name when he spots her. He would of ran towards her, would have screamed her name, he would have tried to get through the ticket inspectors to get to her, but his heart sank and he knew his was too late. Maybe fate was against him.
And she's at home. Waiting for his key in the lock, looking out her window, hoping to see his face. After all, there are so many things left unsaid, so many things that she could have said better. Her bags are packed, her passport in her hand. There are so many things she should take back... She didn't mean the things she said when she lost her temper... Why isn't he calling? She's shivering all over, thinking of his touch... Why doesn't he care? He would be here with her if he did... Glancing at the huge clock on her bedroom wall, she puts on her shoes, slowly, reluctantly. One more hurtful glance at the now half empty flat and she bangs the front door shut.
His heaving chest is about to explode, his legs give in and while his mind is still focused, his body refuses to play along and he stops. The rain is pissing down, as if everything is against him, everything is against him getting to her on time. He decides to screw his plan of catching her at home and starts towards the airport. His phone is soaked but the battery died anyway. The frustration and anger almost lifts him off his feet and again, he's off.
She's getting out of the cab and runs for the airport before the rain soaks through her dress. He's running too, but his throbbing heart is ripping at his chest, begging him to stop, to slow down, but he won't. He knows he's running out of time, he knows he has to speed up in order to get to her, not vice versa. He knows he could be too late. She's walking towards the desk now, reluctantly dragging her feet, looking at her watch, She accepts that he isn't going to come and as if a child giving up her favorite toy, she hands over her passport and boarding pass as a tear forms at the corner of her eye. He's at the entrance now, pushing open the door, he looks all around, about to call out her name when he spots her. He would of ran towards her, would have screamed her name, he would have tried to get through the ticket inspectors to get to her, but his heart sank and he knew his was too late. Maybe fate was against him.
Monday, 26 May 2008
Track 2
She's still. Cocooned in a porcelain paradise. Peaceful; at least she seems. Wires invade her angelic body, tubes tear through her throat. Life support machines are the only thing you hear; robots pumping her blood, pumps inflating her lungs. The room so sterile and white yet she feels infected and suppressed by fear.
She's hurt. Morphine cannot erase her pain. They're footsteps outside her room, nurses, doctors, family and friends. All going places but neglect her room. Still holding onto life but already forgotten.
She's stuck. Limbo never seemed so sad. In a trance of apocalyptic thoughts, she's screaming inside by no-one can hear her. She's stuck in a place far worse than hell. A place where feelings have no meaning, no love, no happiness, not even pain. She's reaching out for help,hope, happiness. Reaching recklessly for a helping hand. There's nothing.
She's hurt. Morphine cannot erase her pain. They're footsteps outside her room, nurses, doctors, family and friends. All going places but neglect her room. Still holding onto life but already forgotten.
She's stuck. Limbo never seemed so sad. In a trance of apocalyptic thoughts, she's screaming inside by no-one can hear her. She's stuck in a place far worse than hell. A place where feelings have no meaning, no love, no happiness, not even pain. She's reaching out for help,hope, happiness. Reaching recklessly for a helping hand. There's nothing.
Sunday, 25 May 2008
Inspiration By Track 2
Her face looking as fragile as glass. Her hair glimmered as it reflected the sunshine from the window as she lay there asleep, and all I could do was sit there. Watching her. Waiting for the moment she would wake up and call for me. Call for her mummy.
My heart would rip more and more with every minute she was asleep. Every minute seemed to be like hours. Hours like days. It seemed like it had been a lifetime ago since I last heard her voice. A lifetime ago since I had looked into her bright blue eyes. A lifetime ago since I had cuddled my baby girl.
Instead of hearing my baby's voice, all I could hear were the machines. The machines that were keeping my daughter breathing. The sound would echo around the room. Then another noise joined in. A tap of footsteps. I knew who was coming. I knew why they were coming. Yet I could not take my eyes of her, in case she did wake. I couldn't turn around and look at the doctor who was coming to ask the same question as he had been doing every hour, all day. He wanted to switch them off. He wanted to switch the machines off. He wanted to let her go.
Every time he came I knew I should let her go. She was never going to wake up. She was never going to speak to me again. But each time, I said no. Each time, I let my heart take over instead of my brain. I desired with all my heart for her to wake again. This part of me kept those machines switched on, but this time when he approached me and put his hand on my shoulder. I knew what I ha to do, to keep my baby happy, I agreed. I said yes. I knew in my mind I had to let my baby go. She was never going to come back to me . She was always going to stay on the machines. And there was nothing I could do about it.
Then the room went quiet. I knew it. My baby was gone.
My heart would rip more and more with every minute she was asleep. Every minute seemed to be like hours. Hours like days. It seemed like it had been a lifetime ago since I last heard her voice. A lifetime ago since I had looked into her bright blue eyes. A lifetime ago since I had cuddled my baby girl.
Instead of hearing my baby's voice, all I could hear were the machines. The machines that were keeping my daughter breathing. The sound would echo around the room. Then another noise joined in. A tap of footsteps. I knew who was coming. I knew why they were coming. Yet I could not take my eyes of her, in case she did wake. I couldn't turn around and look at the doctor who was coming to ask the same question as he had been doing every hour, all day. He wanted to switch them off. He wanted to switch the machines off. He wanted to let her go.
Every time he came I knew I should let her go. She was never going to wake up. She was never going to speak to me again. But each time, I said no. Each time, I let my heart take over instead of my brain. I desired with all my heart for her to wake again. This part of me kept those machines switched on, but this time when he approached me and put his hand on my shoulder. I knew what I ha to do, to keep my baby happy, I agreed. I said yes. I knew in my mind I had to let my baby go. She was never going to come back to me . She was always going to stay on the machines. And there was nothing I could do about it.
Then the room went quiet. I knew it. My baby was gone.
Inspired by Track 2
As I surveyed the blade, I did feel a detachment from what I had done. You would call it a cruel detachment.
If you ignored the panicked helplessness in his eyes, if you couldn’t hear his screams or watch his frantic efforts to release himself from my prison; you too would have found it funny. Maybe. Like an animal caught in barbed wire funny or throwing a cat out a window funny. Do you know what I mean?
You say I am incapable of emotion.
But when I killed your husband I felt emotion. A whole lot of emotion. Too much emotion. And really, it was my emotion that killed him, and so I guess now I’ve proved myself?
I wonder what you will say when you see him…will you scream? Don’t scream, it’s too noisy and…unnecessary. Maybe you’ll laugh too? I laughed a lot. (Remember when we laughed together?)
I hope you find him soon, bodies are not pleasant when rigor mortis sets in. It’s a bit of a shock really, seeing something so alive so…dead. Less of a shock if you watch it happening though… in any case, I’ll be here when you come.
I wouldn’t miss your face for anything in the world.
If you ignored the panicked helplessness in his eyes, if you couldn’t hear his screams or watch his frantic efforts to release himself from my prison; you too would have found it funny. Maybe. Like an animal caught in barbed wire funny or throwing a cat out a window funny. Do you know what I mean?
You say I am incapable of emotion.
But when I killed your husband I felt emotion. A whole lot of emotion. Too much emotion. And really, it was my emotion that killed him, and so I guess now I’ve proved myself?
I wonder what you will say when you see him…will you scream? Don’t scream, it’s too noisy and…unnecessary. Maybe you’ll laugh too? I laughed a lot. (Remember when we laughed together?)
I hope you find him soon, bodies are not pleasant when rigor mortis sets in. It’s a bit of a shock really, seeing something so alive so…dead. Less of a shock if you watch it happening though… in any case, I’ll be here when you come.
I wouldn’t miss your face for anything in the world.
Tuesday, 20 May 2008
track 2 - Not so void
Both sides of the road are lined with row after row of sickeningly perfect houses with identical hedges flawlessly trimmed out-front. It's at that hour in time when it is neither day nor night and she asks herself, “is the sun setting or is the moon rising?”
The slight chill of autumn permeates her little red anorak, and she pulls it tightly against her small frame hoping that it will shield her from the harsh reality of life.
This realisation reverberates through her like the echo of crashing cymbals; numbing all emotion, slowly anaesthetising all feeling.
Her mind is at war with her heart and she struggles to decide who is right. Logic tells her to face the truth and move on; instinct tells her to run and hide.
Dejected familiar figures clothed in black give way, allowing her to pay her final respects. And as they lower her mother’s casket eight feet into the earth, a cool soothing breeze drifts by, assuring her that although things weren’t going to be easy, they would somehow be ok.
Track 1- Concious
I awoke to the suddenly cooling saliva on my left hand that had slowly drooled out over the last few slumbering hours. The air clung to my skin forming a kind of Clingfilm over my body, making it ever more apparent that I needed a drink. I started my journey from the chemists’ porch, where I had slept, to the off license fifty yards up the road. The occasional pitiful look was only worsened by the looks of scowling city men, their disapproving glances burning guilt-ridden blisters my back. The only kick I could get out of the experience was the knowledge that as soon as they had gotten off work and had three scotch whiskies on the train back to Suburbia, they would neglect their children and ceremoniously spiral into a nightmare of sky sports, question time and whatever gritty Scottish detective drama ITV had to offer. I knew this reality was false, I knew that ultimately they were probably kind people that went home and loved there families, I knew that really, money could buy you happiness. However all of this was part of the experience of homelessness, part of the method author technique, and part of the test of will that would ultimately culminate in my most successful book to date. It may well have been worth it, if i didn't pass out on the off license floor, moments after buying my six-pack of polish lager.
Monday, 19 May 2008
Track 5, Shoot Out
He landed steadily, comfortably and without a sound. The parachute folded easily back into its bag and he left it there next to the wall behind a large metal crate. Footsteps in the distance were getting quickly closer and without any hesitation he was in the shadows once again. The door was close by just up the corridor near 20 yards.
Suddenly a stampede of hooves at high speed. This was his chance. The unicorns came to a halt outside the Large Sky Fortress's only entrance. Once it was opened Alex lashed out from the shadows and down the corridor at full speed, he wasn't going to make it. The gate was near closing, he jumped head first. Everything seemed slow motion, it was now or never as soon as the gate slammed down, the lasers were out.
The first few shots were easy, he always had an eagle eye. He spun on his heals and slid across the floor on his side fingers at a ready. As soon as the next few targets were in sight it didn't take him long to take them out too. The next lot came running from the right, with heavy armor and machine lasers. Alex knew there was no where to run but up, it took him one nano grenade to take out the front line of the soldiers and one smoke bomb for him to quickly climb up into an air vent.
Suddenly a stampede of hooves at high speed. This was his chance. The unicorns came to a halt outside the Large Sky Fortress's only entrance. Once it was opened Alex lashed out from the shadows and down the corridor at full speed, he wasn't going to make it. The gate was near closing, he jumped head first. Everything seemed slow motion, it was now or never as soon as the gate slammed down, the lasers were out.
The first few shots were easy, he always had an eagle eye. He spun on his heals and slid across the floor on his side fingers at a ready. As soon as the next few targets were in sight it didn't take him long to take them out too. The next lot came running from the right, with heavy armor and machine lasers. Alex knew there was no where to run but up, it took him one nano grenade to take out the front line of the soldiers and one smoke bomb for him to quickly climb up into an air vent.
Sunday, 18 May 2008
number 9, track 1
23;59, 8th September 1809, Le Beignon, France.
I woke up in a cold sweat. My ears pricked. Pitter-patter. T'was raining. Clap's of thunder. Twas pouring. A storm to welcome the new day. 00;00. And that's when I heard her. She was faint-sounding at first, I thought it was a dog outside. A dog howling. But a dog's cries did not sound as sharp as this. I thought it was a girl outside. A little french girl seeking refuge under our porch, away from the rain. What kind of parents would let their baby wonder the village at night like this? Come to think of it, her cries are too deep. Obviously not a mans. Her voice was not broken, but her cries were. Painful, empty, sorrowful cries. She was not on the porch, she was in the house! Downstairs, in the living room. An open space filled with little more than an old bookshelf and a sofa. What was she doing down there? Had I left the front door unlocked? No, that's not at all like me. The crying. It was getting louder. I could vividly hear it now. Not echoey. In fact, right near me. She was in the corner of the room! I could not see a thing, apart from when the lightning bolts provided glimses of a shadow.
"bonjour madame. Sont bien vous ? Quelle heure vous l'appelez-vous pour me déranger de mon sommeil avec votre cri ? Arrêtez-vous s'il vous plaît! Arrêtez-vous en ce moment! bonne nuit!"
The crying stopped. All was silent. It was dark. Even the clouds must have heard this commotion because they put a stop to the thunder and rain.
Suddenly footsteps! Stomping, angry, outraged footsteps running towards me. Almost touching, bumping into my bedside. I can hear her loud and clear - "Pisse de!" and then she laughed a victorious laugh and ran downstairs...
I woke up in a cold sweat. My ears pricked. Pitter-patter. T'was raining. Clap's of thunder. Twas pouring. A storm to welcome the new day. 00;00. And that's when I heard her. She was faint-sounding at first, I thought it was a dog outside. A dog howling. But a dog's cries did not sound as sharp as this. I thought it was a girl outside. A little french girl seeking refuge under our porch, away from the rain. What kind of parents would let their baby wonder the village at night like this? Come to think of it, her cries are too deep. Obviously not a mans. Her voice was not broken, but her cries were. Painful, empty, sorrowful cries. She was not on the porch, she was in the house! Downstairs, in the living room. An open space filled with little more than an old bookshelf and a sofa. What was she doing down there? Had I left the front door unlocked? No, that's not at all like me. The crying. It was getting louder. I could vividly hear it now. Not echoey. In fact, right near me. She was in the corner of the room! I could not see a thing, apart from when the lightning bolts provided glimses of a shadow.
"bonjour madame. Sont bien vous ? Quelle heure vous l'appelez-vous pour me déranger de mon sommeil avec votre cri ? Arrêtez-vous s'il vous plaît! Arrêtez-vous en ce moment! bonne nuit!"
The crying stopped. All was silent. It was dark. Even the clouds must have heard this commotion because they put a stop to the thunder and rain.
Suddenly footsteps! Stomping, angry, outraged footsteps running towards me. Almost touching, bumping into my bedside. I can hear her loud and clear - "Pisse de!" and then she laughed a victorious laugh and ran downstairs...
Track 2: Heartbeat
My body lowered itself deep into the heartlessness of the cold sea. I could feel my heartbeat: dee dum dee dum dee dum. A simultaneous beating of my heart with an iambic pentameter. I was getting deeper and deeper into the water. Down. Down. Down DOWN. I knew I was beginning to lose conciousness the minute my eyes wouldn't keep away. They wanted to sleep. They wanted ME to sleep. Fond memories played about in my head like broken records; mere reminicsenses of my life in pieces; different stages perhaps. Like the time daddy would take me to the park, engaging in our little picnics. Or mother and father both telling me how proud they were of my greatest achievements in life. These flashbacks were so self consumed in my head I didn't know what to focus on. My good times or the fact that I was still unconcious in the freezing water. I smiled inside my head just thinking about my childhood experiences. I wonder what daddy would've done if he knew about this near death experience I was in now. He would've jumped and gone in for me. Daddy's little girl. I wonder where daddy is now. I miss him ever so much. I'm just wishing I'd wake up. I can feel myself rising to the top of the surface now. That's it. My eyes are live.
Track 2-My Music Box
With him everything seemed fine, even though it wasn’t everything seemed it.
My life wasn’t easy, it wasn’t easy at all. Everyone doubted me from the beginning, ever since primary school people said that I was different, my goals were not the same. Then secondary school started it got worse I got thrills in weird ways I didn’t mix with any crowds I was just my own person Then I started college that’s when I realized everyone was right, I wasn’t normal I liked different things to everyone else, I wanted different things to everyone else I was just different to everyone else fall stop.
So here I am 3 years later walking through a dark ally with nothing more then a belt round my waist, and a ragged bra on. I’m feeling alone as always, scared but I’ll cope, I always do. I know what’s gonna happen next, it happens every night, I’ll turn this corner then I’ll see them as usual. They’ll all try to touch me, fantasising about what’s under my belt. I’m supposed to feel safe because of these people around me! But I don’t feel safe I just feel alone.
But I’ll keep on walking for the sake of getting home to him! I turn the corner and the hungry hands start pawing at me, I can’t do it anymore but it’s so much easier to carry on and forget this happened again then to push them away. I really do wonder what they think gives them a right to do this to me though, am I not a human just like them I might be a superstar that has more then 10 platinum singles but I’m still human. The bodyguards, the fans, the clothes I don’t need them all I need is him to make me whole to make me happy. When I’m with him I don’t feel alone I feel me.
So I kept on walking with a big fake smile across my face trying to accept what they were supposedly giving me, love, but that’s not how I feel I don’t feel loved just used. That will change when I get there though, once I get there I’ll see it I’ll feel him. Because it’s all in my music box he is in my music box that little plastic figurine that sings and turns perfectly in time to my heartbeat, he’s perfect, something that everyone strives to be but never gets but he does it and because of that I need him because with him everything seems fine and that’s how I need to feel.
My life wasn’t easy, it wasn’t easy at all. Everyone doubted me from the beginning, ever since primary school people said that I was different, my goals were not the same. Then secondary school started it got worse I got thrills in weird ways I didn’t mix with any crowds I was just my own person Then I started college that’s when I realized everyone was right, I wasn’t normal I liked different things to everyone else, I wanted different things to everyone else I was just different to everyone else fall stop.
So here I am 3 years later walking through a dark ally with nothing more then a belt round my waist, and a ragged bra on. I’m feeling alone as always, scared but I’ll cope, I always do. I know what’s gonna happen next, it happens every night, I’ll turn this corner then I’ll see them as usual. They’ll all try to touch me, fantasising about what’s under my belt. I’m supposed to feel safe because of these people around me! But I don’t feel safe I just feel alone.
But I’ll keep on walking for the sake of getting home to him! I turn the corner and the hungry hands start pawing at me, I can’t do it anymore but it’s so much easier to carry on and forget this happened again then to push them away. I really do wonder what they think gives them a right to do this to me though, am I not a human just like them I might be a superstar that has more then 10 platinum singles but I’m still human. The bodyguards, the fans, the clothes I don’t need them all I need is him to make me whole to make me happy. When I’m with him I don’t feel alone I feel me.
So I kept on walking with a big fake smile across my face trying to accept what they were supposedly giving me, love, but that’s not how I feel I don’t feel loved just used. That will change when I get there though, once I get there I’ll see it I’ll feel him. Because it’s all in my music box he is in my music box that little plastic figurine that sings and turns perfectly in time to my heartbeat, he’s perfect, something that everyone strives to be but never gets but he does it and because of that I need him because with him everything seems fine and that’s how I need to feel.
Track 4; Chase
Pelting through the city with no thoughts of turning around, Mathewson knew that his only hope was to lose them. Sirens echoed far too closely behind him, reminding him of what was at stake here. With his shoulder crying out in agony and his breathing becoming ever heavier, he knew he could not last any longer. The gem was his until he got to T, he would make sure of that.
The stares of passers-by were only in disregard. He knew that citizens of Washington saw a chase everyday, but did they know what the secret under his jacket could bring down? Sidewalks were becoming crowded. Like a real professional Mathewson bounded into the mounds of ties and briefcases, getting lost in the sea of rush hour. James Bond knew nothing. Extravaganzas about guns and girls was not the truth, but a way the media could make money. Mathewson knew the media will be all over this. Running out of Pennyville tower in broad daylight was too big of a mistake. It was stupid of him, he knew. A lecture or two would be waiting for Mathewson.
Looking behind him for the first time, he could not see pass the hundreds of bobbing heads. But flicking an eye across the street gave him all that he needed to know. They could see him. Police officers and armed men were sprinting in his direction pointing and shouting orders. A wall was slowly enclosing itself around Mathewson. He had to find a way out, fast. Now the shouting had begun the cover of the hustle and bustle slowly began to split itself. Sounds of running feet and shuffling opened up a gap in the sidewalk. Mathewson muttered a quick “Shit.” And sprinted around the corner and down Millwalk Avenue.
It was a small avenue, the sound of music travelled through the air, notifying him of the open back door of Fever Club. Flashing disco lights and pounding music added to the never-ending headache that ripped through Mathewson’s head. Neon lights shuffled his thoughts bringing him onto the dance floor full of skimpy legs and waving arms. It was only then that he let his jacket fall open, allowing the brown envelope to escape onto the filthy floor. It was only then that the screaming and shoving melted away into a dark realm, seeing as the bullet had taken on its full effect.
The stares of passers-by were only in disregard. He knew that citizens of Washington saw a chase everyday, but did they know what the secret under his jacket could bring down? Sidewalks were becoming crowded. Like a real professional Mathewson bounded into the mounds of ties and briefcases, getting lost in the sea of rush hour. James Bond knew nothing. Extravaganzas about guns and girls was not the truth, but a way the media could make money. Mathewson knew the media will be all over this. Running out of Pennyville tower in broad daylight was too big of a mistake. It was stupid of him, he knew. A lecture or two would be waiting for Mathewson.
Looking behind him for the first time, he could not see pass the hundreds of bobbing heads. But flicking an eye across the street gave him all that he needed to know. They could see him. Police officers and armed men were sprinting in his direction pointing and shouting orders. A wall was slowly enclosing itself around Mathewson. He had to find a way out, fast. Now the shouting had begun the cover of the hustle and bustle slowly began to split itself. Sounds of running feet and shuffling opened up a gap in the sidewalk. Mathewson muttered a quick “Shit.” And sprinted around the corner and down Millwalk Avenue.
It was a small avenue, the sound of music travelled through the air, notifying him of the open back door of Fever Club. Flashing disco lights and pounding music added to the never-ending headache that ripped through Mathewson’s head. Neon lights shuffled his thoughts bringing him onto the dance floor full of skimpy legs and waving arms. It was only then that he let his jacket fall open, allowing the brown envelope to escape onto the filthy floor. It was only then that the screaming and shoving melted away into a dark realm, seeing as the bullet had taken on its full effect.
Task 25 Track 5
Lost in the middle of no where. I’m moving but everything seems be to still. Where I am going? I see them and I just stand there to watch them run wild, run free. As if they have no care at all. The feeling that was running through my veins was unbelievable; I had a new meaning to life. I felt a change in my body. Suddenly I felt myself getting weak and I really couldn’t control it. I felt myself falling to the ground. I called out for help yet no answer, there was no life around. Last thing I can remember is the sound of the horses in the distance.
I woke up, there he was standing. He left the others and came back to me. He was looking great but in his eyes; I could see he was worried about something. I got up and stroke him on his back; he always used to like it when I did that. For some odd reason he moved away from me this time. I didn’t really know why he was behaving like this or maybe he wanted to show me something. He looked at me then into the distance, on the right of me. I slowly started to walk towards the place he was looking at. Still to me it didn’t seem like there was anything there. Emptiness surrounded us like a spider’s web; I didn't really know where we were headed to.
I think we were walking towards north but I had no idea. We’ve been walking for hours and hours and it started to get dark, we both needed to rest for a while. I sat down, looking around like a helpless child though he was strong even to just stand there. I started to feel that same pain as before and I got weaker and weaker. My head was spinning like I was in some kind of fun fair ride, I was in need of water or maybe even a fizzy drink so that my energy level stays high. The pain was unbearable, couldn’t fight it, I try to put my hands over my head to make it stop. I was turning and turning; trying to find a good position to be in. That wasn’t helping and sooner or later I found myself lying on the ground.
Track 5 The widow
The deed is done. I never knew it would be this easy. All I had to do was take off my clothes and there he was, at my feet. Did he really think I was that stupid?
Two years on and he thought that I would forget. Two years ago he made me a widow. He let onto the authority that I was an unfit mother, he took away my baby;the only thing I could remember my husband by and he took it away, I wasn’t going to let him get away with it. He ruined my life.
It was my birthday. The day started off wonderfully. Sun shining on my skin, my husband, Harvey next to me; he made me breakfast in bed. I remember his touch when he was holding me against his body, his strong body, lovely skin and his fragrance. He held me up close to him and fed me; I felt as if I was in heaven. It took an hour for me to finish my breakfast; I didn’t want it to end. After that I don’t know what happened, I was mesmerised, enchanted. All I can say is that we became one, there and then. This was our new start; we were going to make a family. I didn’t want this moment to end.
I was fine the way we were but he wanted everything to be perfect. He bought me a present but because he knew I would find it somewhere in the house he left it at his friends and so he went to get it. I begged him to stay, I didn’t want a present I was already content. He wasn’t, he wanted to make this day even more special and so he went to get my present, and he never came back.
I wonder how long it will take for the neighbours to realise. He stank when he was alive so I don’t know about know. He stank of jealousy. Of hatred. You could see it in his eyes. I thought I was just seeing things, more fool me but it was true. He didn’t like our relationship. He wanted it to end.
I wonder what he felt. Having me all to himself. For the first and the last . That was the last time he would feel anyone so close to him. He will never love or be loved again.
I hope he doesn’t ever rest in peace, I hope he rots away in hell and pays for his sins.
An Exemplar: Track 2
I know some of you have been struggling with this task. I chose Track 2, and put it on my headphones really loud on a continuous loop with my eyes closed until I found myself imagining a scenario, a location, the germ of a story. The music took me somewhere, and I found the story unravelling in my imagination, and all I then had to do was write it down.
I had considered Track 9, whilst listening to which I could see a father and daughter in small sailing boat, gliding wordlessly across an azure sheet of water. Then I considered Track 8, and could picture a teenage girl, surrounded by rough, dangerous-looking boys, under a bridge on the canalside, as she takes a tablet foisted on her by one of them. But, in the end, it had to be Track 2 for me...
I had considered Track 9, whilst listening to which I could see a father and daughter in small sailing boat, gliding wordlessly across an azure sheet of water. Then I considered Track 8, and could picture a teenage girl, surrounded by rough, dangerous-looking boys, under a bridge on the canalside, as she takes a tablet foisted on her by one of them. But, in the end, it had to be Track 2 for me...
The ward was white – everything bleach bloodless: the air a pallid sheet, the tiny, plastic beds like cocoons, and the nurses floating around like so many ghosts. He hadn’t been able to go in at first: all he had heard outside were the screams Maggie had made before the blood fled her body, like rats from a sunken ship, screams which played a violent loop in his mind, almost accusatory in their anger, the panic and the pain demanding some relief. But he had been able to provide none. A better man might have managed to rescue her – or so he told himself – but the truth was far more final.
He could not recall the silence before the screams; and then he had suddenly remembered how Maggie had used to talk about hiccups or mouth ulcers or itching sunburn: she used to say that, when any of these things struck, it quickly became impossible to remember what life was like without them, even moments before. Briefly riding the wave of this trivial memory, he had pushed the doors and drifted into the ward.
And now, stood here statuesque in his stillness, he could no longer hear the screams. They had been wiped away like the blood which had caked the baby’s body. All he could hear was the gentle, fragile gasp of the respirator, as the baby’s chest shivered each exigent breath. But, stark amid this sea of white, a smudge of colour was appearing on her cheeks, and he knew, beyond contradiction or danger, that she was going to be all right. Together, in perfect harmony, they both exhaled.
track 4: freedom
So there I was. Running free. To where? To be honest, I didn’t know. All I did know is that the past was the past and I wasn’t going to let it intervene.
It all started back in ’85 when I was found guilty on charges of murder, I was sent down for life. Hell I‘d like to say I didn’t do it, but I can’t, I’m as guilty as a man can be.
I remember the night of the crime like it’s stored in some sort of filing cabinet in my brain, I took that knife and sliced that sad son of a bitch up until he looked like he had just walked through an abattoir, some people say I’m proud of what I did and to be honest I probably was until age takes its toll and all of a sudden you get sectioned under the 60+ part of the prison. That’s when I realised ‘an old fool like me can’t keep this up much longer’.
I remember when people used to apply for an early release, me and some of the guys used to line up outside and jeer at the rejects. I knew my position on the prison hierarchy would be demolished as soon as I even so much as stepped into that office. To make matters worse the prison only handled a few cases a month out of nearly a thousand so I had my work cut out, even to be considered.
3:30am, July 27th, 1999. Probably one of the happiest days of my life but at the same time one of the saddest. Since I was leaving. Yup, all 66 years 264 days and 3 hours of me. One thing you should’ve known about me however is I never followed rules. Takes a dumbass not to realise that when you’re in prison. I wasn’t leaving through the front gate with my 20-year-old leather suitcase in one hand and a pack of smokes in the other. Oh no, that was way too modest. I was leaving in what everybody else had left behind. I crawled just shy of a mile through foul smelling shit, in the prisons sewer system. You’re right. I did hate every moment of it but through the thick stench of my immediate surroundings I could smell something I hadn’t smelt for fourteen years. Freedom. On that chilly July morning I emerged, not exactly clean of sins or sanity but nether the less. A free man.
So there I was. Running free. To where? To be honest, I didn’t know. All I did know is that the past was the past and I wasn’t going to let it intervene.
Saturday, 17 May 2008
Rush: Track 1
(Jeremy a young pianist around the age of 20 is getting ready for an all night performance at the Bingo Gala, it is empty at the moment but as the hours pass the players flock in barbarically. He feels nervous and starts to shiver violently but the Call-out, who seems around the age of 40, hands him some medicine which he claims help him all the time.)
Jeremy: (Shivers Violently from head to toe whilst clenching his arms in a defensive position) OH MY GOD, MY FIRST EVER SHOW! I’D BETTER NOT MUCK THIS UP.
Call-out: (Stands in a complete contrasting stance to Jeremy with his hands folded gently, his arms folded, and he himself leaning on the curtains with his eyes closed.) Ah don’t sweat it kid, I know how you feel now, I remember my first day as well, so much happened that I…errrrm… (the Call-out changes now to a defensive stance embarrassed of the “incident” that had happened to him).
( Jeremy stares at the Call-out in an oblivious manner but soon returns back to his fragile minded state).
(Call-out walks towards Jeremy)
Call-out: Eh Kid, Take it easy. It all gets better in the end.
If you want I can help you “ease” the pain.
Jeremy: W-W-W-Whh-What D-D-Did you have in mind?
Call-Out: Well Kid, in my day we use to have this thing called… Mini-shots.
They’re guaranteed to “KICK” the old jitters if you know what I mean.
Jeremy: W-W-What D-Do TH-TH-THEY do?
Call-out: Listen kid, I’m a busy dealer... I-I-I Mean wheeler…yeah wheeler, I ain’t got time to be goofin’ around with you here. So either take the “shots” and have a great performance or leave them and spend the night a failing disaster.
Jeremy: Well… I do need quite a lot of help right now, and I can’t play at all with my fingers shivering like this…
Call-out: Yeah so…?
Jeremy: All right…How much to make me confident?
Call-out: It’s Cheap, only $50.
( Jeremy seems sceptical at first but eventually hands over the money)
( 2 hours later the time of the all night performance)
( Jeremy has taken the “ Shots” and he is now much more confident and Raring to go, his body has stopped shivering and things seem to look up for the young pianist).
Call-out: And please welcome our new performer, keep in mind he’s only 20 or so ladies and gentlemen, Jeremy Baker!
(The Audience applaud Jeremy as he strolls out from backstage with a smug look on his face)
(Jeremy struts towards the piano in his penguin tux, and starts to play melancholy music from Amadeus Mozart himself.)
Call-out: Number 9! Number 9! Anybody have a number 9! Number 9! Number 9!
Number 9! Number 9! Number 9! Anybody for a number 9!
( There is no answer from the audience, only a few disheartened grunts)
Maggy: OOO AHH, this young lad’s got potential Meera, I think we should watch out for this one in the future.
Meera: I think so too. Good going young man!
(Jeremy smirks confidently)
Jeremy: Ladies, Ladies, there’s really nothing to it.
( 2 hours later and the “shots” start to kick in and Jeremy’s piano skills deteriorate distinctively)
( Speech is also Slurred)
Jeremy: W-wharrsh gooooing ooooonn?!
Call-out: HAH this is where the performance really starts.
Jeremy: wharshh thisshhh finggsshh?
Maggy: Oh dear Meera I think I might have been wrong about our young lad here aren’t I?
Jeremy: whaarsh?
( As Jeremy tries to regain concentration he notices that the world surrounding him seems to be moving at a much faster rate than he is and so tries desperately to concentrate)
Jeremy: Shhhlowwww Down
( Although it was a valiant effort it was to be to no avail)
Jeremy: ARGHHH!!! Arhg!
Call-out: Whoo!!! It’s getting’ started!!!
(eventually the world moves to fast for Jeremy to follow and he eventually trembles to the floor).
Jeremy: (Shivers Violently from head to toe whilst clenching his arms in a defensive position) OH MY GOD, MY FIRST EVER SHOW! I’D BETTER NOT MUCK THIS UP.
Call-out: (Stands in a complete contrasting stance to Jeremy with his hands folded gently, his arms folded, and he himself leaning on the curtains with his eyes closed.) Ah don’t sweat it kid, I know how you feel now, I remember my first day as well, so much happened that I…errrrm… (the Call-out changes now to a defensive stance embarrassed of the “incident” that had happened to him).
( Jeremy stares at the Call-out in an oblivious manner but soon returns back to his fragile minded state).
(Call-out walks towards Jeremy)
Call-out: Eh Kid, Take it easy. It all gets better in the end.
If you want I can help you “ease” the pain.
Jeremy: W-W-W-Whh-What D-D-Did you have in mind?
Call-Out: Well Kid, in my day we use to have this thing called… Mini-shots.
They’re guaranteed to “KICK” the old jitters if you know what I mean.
Jeremy: W-W-What D-Do TH-TH-THEY do?
Call-out: Listen kid, I’m a busy dealer... I-I-I Mean wheeler…yeah wheeler, I ain’t got time to be goofin’ around with you here. So either take the “shots” and have a great performance or leave them and spend the night a failing disaster.
Jeremy: Well… I do need quite a lot of help right now, and I can’t play at all with my fingers shivering like this…
Call-out: Yeah so…?
Jeremy: All right…How much to make me confident?
Call-out: It’s Cheap, only $50.
( Jeremy seems sceptical at first but eventually hands over the money)
( 2 hours later the time of the all night performance)
( Jeremy has taken the “ Shots” and he is now much more confident and Raring to go, his body has stopped shivering and things seem to look up for the young pianist).
Call-out: And please welcome our new performer, keep in mind he’s only 20 or so ladies and gentlemen, Jeremy Baker!
(The Audience applaud Jeremy as he strolls out from backstage with a smug look on his face)
(Jeremy struts towards the piano in his penguin tux, and starts to play melancholy music from Amadeus Mozart himself.)
Call-out: Number 9! Number 9! Anybody have a number 9! Number 9! Number 9!
Number 9! Number 9! Number 9! Anybody for a number 9!
( There is no answer from the audience, only a few disheartened grunts)
Maggy: OOO AHH, this young lad’s got potential Meera, I think we should watch out for this one in the future.
Meera: I think so too. Good going young man!
(Jeremy smirks confidently)
Jeremy: Ladies, Ladies, there’s really nothing to it.
( 2 hours later and the “shots” start to kick in and Jeremy’s piano skills deteriorate distinctively)
( Speech is also Slurred)
Jeremy: W-wharrsh gooooing ooooonn?!
Call-out: HAH this is where the performance really starts.
Jeremy: wharshh thisshhh finggsshh?
Maggy: Oh dear Meera I think I might have been wrong about our young lad here aren’t I?
Jeremy: whaarsh?
( As Jeremy tries to regain concentration he notices that the world surrounding him seems to be moving at a much faster rate than he is and so tries desperately to concentrate)
Jeremy: Shhhlowwww Down
( Although it was a valiant effort it was to be to no avail)
Jeremy: ARGHHH!!! Arhg!
Call-out: Whoo!!! It’s getting’ started!!!
(eventually the world moves to fast for Jeremy to follow and he eventually trembles to the floor).
Sunday, 11 May 2008
Task 25: From Music to Words
Back to prose fiction again this week - but congratulations on a fantastic set of drama tasks; you really have excelled in that particular form.
Sometimes, when it is difficult to find the MUSE, a writer needs to seek a specific source of inspiration in order to unblock the creative process and get the ideas flowing again. That inspiration might come from something visual - a photo, a painting, a piece of architecture, for example; it might come from a memory - accidentally triggered or deliberately recalled; it might even come from some other sort of sensual trigger - a smell, perhaps, or even a particular taste.
But, this week, I would like us to explore how we can use music to provide the inspiration for a piece of creative writing. I would like you to follow these instructions very carefully indeed:
- Find somewhere quiet and, if possible, dark (or, at the very least, close or cover your eyes)
- Listen to each of the pieces I have emailed you all today in turn ONCE
- Now listen to each of them a second time, but with your eyes open and pen and paper in your hands
- While you listen, you should try to describe, in rough notes, what you 'see' in your mind when you hear it. Do you picture a particular place? Is something happening? Who exactly is involved?
- Now choose which of the pieces of music provided you with the most vivid and interesting pictures. Which one gave you material which would be easiest to turn into the beginning of a short story?
- Once you have selected your piece of music, listen to it several times more, making notes all the time until you have lots of material with which to work.
- Now use those notes to write the first few paragraphs of a short story, inspired by the music you have chosen.
- how ORIGINAL it is (so avoid cliche, melodrama or, indeed, anything derivative)
- how ENGAGING it is (from the outset and throughout)
- how ADEPT it is (i.e. how cleverly and deliberately and diversely does it use the tools of language and punctuation of which you need to become master)
- how CREATIVE it is (e.g. you do not have to take the piece of music LITERALLY, just let it set fire to your imagination, or act as a catalyst to the chemicals of the right side of your brain)
Good luck!
The deadline is midnight on Sunday 18th May. PLEASE don't miss the deadline! :(
P.S. I will attempt the task myself over the next couple of days...
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