Before I get into them, I should also note I've got a radio show! But more on that later...
The first piece was the "Autumn" topic and is called "The Carnival". In the actual class, we were given just two minutes to write what we could on the topic. Like the rest of the class, my work was basically a scribbled down poem, or it could be if I could write poetry. Instead it came out in prose form but in a much more poetic flavor. This seemed to happen to everyone - a want to write a poem perhaps born out of the short time limit, and the jumbled result as either a further result of that time shortage, or poetic ineptitude like myself. Apart from one girl in the class who continues to completely astound me with her ability to write poems and limericks - she's lightning fast, and I'm in awe at it.
Anyway, we were told to take it away and spend only an hour on writing it up. This is important to note, the piece I have put here was written in exactly an hour. I have not tampered with it beyond that, unlike my second piece which has been endlessly meddled with. As such I am unsure if this one's quality... it was the kind of thing I found myself writing having lots of cool little ideas but no idea where it was going. The luxury of it being an hour time limit meant that in the end it didn't matter where it was going, I could leave it unfinished if I wanted.
Anyway, the first post I put onto this blog was about the steam-fair. When I sat down to write this story, I found myself completely inspired by that, as the first paragraph of the story will most likely attest to. The images in my head warped until everything was distinctly Tim Burton-ey. I might come back to this story at some point, should I ever have a burst of inspiration related to it. As it stands I think its very flawed, but also completely different from anything I have ever written.
The second story is called "Statues in the Country". Occasionally I have massive trouble actually coming up with a name for a story and this is one of those times. It possibly would have been better to leave it simply as "Statues". But I digress... unlike the previous effort, in class we were given a whole ten minutes for this and so I immediately jumped into short story mode. I was also very lucky that the actual plot of the story appeared in my head almost fully formed. It's very nice when this happens. Also as anyone can see, I was very influenced by the Doctor Who episode "Blink". I don't say this as a rip off - I say this as that episode was so bloody well done that I now can't even look at a statue without thinking of it coming to kill me. When I was told to write about statues, they were going to be evil. It was a foregone conclusion.
I must say, the thing I enjoyed most about writing this story was the child perspective. I was having such fun with it in fact, I had to kick myself in the backside to actually keep it as a short little piece and keep the plot moving and relevant, to try and not lose the tension. Reading it now, I feel the ending may be a bit rushed, but ah well. Either way, I like it as a short little piece, even if I can't think of a good name for the damned thing.
So there we are. Two very different stories. Please read them, enjoy, and tell me what you think.
The Carnival
In the darkness, between the trees, there is a tent. Around this tent are many smaller tents, and wooden stands, trucks, and machines that billow out steam. Small, dim lights hang from tent to tent and stand to stand, wired to anything that will hold them in the air. On their own, a single bulb emits a low, sad glow. But together, strung around the place in their hundreds, the light is fantastically bright. It spreads out into the trees. Its glow ensures that the leaves are always golden, yet never fall. The air is always crisp here, and the many fires around the camp ensure that the heavy smell of bonfire smoke is constant. This place is the carnival, and nobody ever leaves.
Effy wakes up in a tent, woken by the noises surrounding her. Her vision is blurry at first, all she can see is blurred, and all that can be made out is a large shape bustling around the cramped interior, wearing a deep maroon, it almost looks like a hot air balloon shaking in the wind. It must be a man, Effy realises, making out a large, black bushy beard that blends in with the long dark hair. She tries to move, but moving is as impaired as her sight, her arms weak and shaky. Hearing her, the shape turns around, and what is surprising is not that Effy’s vision begins to return to her, but that the voice that comes from the huge man is not a man’s voice.
“Oh! You’re awake! How wonderful!” squeals the enormous figure. The voice booms out like a repressed opera singer, and now with her sight returned Effy see’s that it is indeed a woman, a massive bust threatening to knock everything in the room as she swings around. The only disconcerting thing is the beard. This isn’t the kind of thing where you’re confronted by a woman with a slight moustache, this is face fur that would put Father Christmas to shame. She finally settles herself down onto a stool that seemed to defy known laws of physics by holding her upright and picks two small irons, which she proceeds to straighten out her beard with.
“You’ve been asleep for days, we were all beginning to get quite worried,” she says, rattling out the words at a lightning pace. She notices Effy staring at the beard and giggles, what can be seen of her generous cheeks blush red, “Oh you know how it is! Got to look you’re best!” She giggles again. Effy really doesn’t know what she means, but it’s probably best to nod. The woman keeps gabbling on for a while, completely oblivious to whether she holds Effy’s attention at all. Eventually, Effy pulls herself up, noticing for the first time the colourful quilt that covers her. So colourful in fact, it almost hurts her still delicate eyes.
“Where am I?” Effy asks, butting through the woman’s conversation with nobody. She is almost physically knocked back by this, as if the idea of a conversation being conducted with assistance of someone else was a great departure from the norm.
“My dear, don’t you know?” She eventually stammers back.
The silence answers for Effy.
“Well... you’re at the carnival darling. We’ve all been waiting for you.”
This statement pulls the plug in Effy’s stomach. A deep sinking feeling begins to overtake her. People waiting for you is fine, but you should know these people, and preferably a meeting place should have been agreed on. Beyond this people waiting for you is a very bad thing. It goes into James Bond territory, with bald men stroking ugly cats on swivel chairs. Effy tries to remember how she came to be here, but she can summon nothing. The last thing that comes to her is that she went to bed one night, and now she has woken up in a very strange place.
“Please, if you could I’d like some water.” Effy coughs out, her throat feels dry and again her head feels light.
“Well, there’s no water in here”, replies the bearded lady, “Only mulled wine.” Effy grabs it and drinks it down, the warm sticky liquid dripping down her chin. A warmth fills her, as if she had just gotten in to a warm bath after being out in the rain. Her head is on fire, and a welcome dizziness overtakes her. Over the next hour she is fed toffee apples, nougat, rock, candy and other tasty treats, to the point that Effy is sure she would be physically sick if she even saw a grain of sugar again. Eventually, with a movement deceptively fast for someone of such size, the bearded lady whisks the quilt away from her. Effy covers herself instinctively, wearing only her underwear. The lady laughs jovially.
“Come on dear, it’s time to come meet everyone! I’ve got some clothes ready for you, just pop them on and then we can get everything started. The Ringleader is so looking forward to making your acquaintance!” The clothes the lady is holding are not exactly flattering, but with lack of anything else Effy puts on the bright jumper and polka-dotted skirt. She is given a pair of huge fluffy boots to wear, and led outside.
The tent flaps open, and a huge crowd erupts into roars of approval and thunderous applause. Fireworks shoot into the sky, and a large band starts to play. A group of small acrobats jump over each other, forming a tower that the last member springs off into the air. As far as Effy can tell, he doesn’t come down. The bearded lady seems to have gotten quite emotional, blowing her nose and sobbing slightly, her massive bosom rising and falling with each booming cry. A small muscular man wearing nothing but a loincloth swallows a torch, and spits flame into the night, much to the delight of the midgets that cartwheel themselves around his waist. Through the massive throng of people, a tall, spindly man makes his way through. He wears nothing but stripes, they cover his huge height, culminating in a large stripy garish top hat, that reaches to the top of the surrounding tents. A huge moustache curls itself of his upper lip, its tips almost touching the tiny half moon blacked out glasses that cover his eyes. A huge smile covers his face, showing the yellow teeth. He comes right up to Effy, over double her height, and clicks his long fingers. The crowd immediately comes to attention, silenced. He bends himself over, reaching down to look Effy in the face. The smile begins to get wider and wider, threatening to crack his face.
“I’m so glad you are away my darling girl. We’ve all been waiting for so long to get things started,” he states the words simply, but his voice carries everywhere. He seems to pause for effect.
“Now at last... the party can begin!” He throws his arms into the air, and the applause explodes again, tenfold what it was before. Effy feels suddenly faint, as if the wine is getting to her. The crowd, the tents, the fireworks, the slow burning glowing light all begins to spin around her, until all that is left is a constant circle of dim light bulbs, burning into her retinas. Then she’s on the ground, looking up into the dark, clear night sky, at the moon. It stares back at her, winks, then bursts into cruel laughter.
Statues in the Country
Albie was nervous. He clutched onto his frayed teddy bear as the rough road threw him around the back seat of the old Volvo. This was the day that had been threatening to come for the last few months: Moving day. Albie found it impossible to fathom the reasons his parents had decided to go to all this trouble when their old house seemed fine. All his friends were there. His school was there; his entire life was back in London. And now parts of his life had been packed into boxes and shoved into a truck, others simply left behind. The old house was home and after all there’s no place like it. This place was something new, undefined. The only thing left was his bear, so he continued to clutch to it desperately for the rest of the journey, until the car eventually pulled into a large courtyard.
The house itself was big, much larger than their cosy flat. Bits of it were falling apart, chipped paint all across the window panes; long ivy winded its way up the walls and over the roof. It was as if the structure was being overwhelmed by a tide of green, plants grew out of control everywhere, weeds fighting a long campaign to cover all in sight. Albie was not impressed. It took a good ten minutes until his parents managed to goad him out of the car. They all walked around the decrepit front garden of the house, with his father commenting repetitively on the “bracing” country air, not that Albie was taking any notice. He began to wander around on his own until he realised that he was being watched. Not by someone, but something. A statue. An old lady whose condition matched the house. She sat on a tall, straight chair, her hair tied up into a bun. The stone itself was chipped, the face uneven, worn away and weathered. But the eyes themselves seemed unaffected. They were cold, grey and completely smooth. They followed him and seemed to stare directly into his eyes, despite being still. He instinctively reached out for his mother’s hand, and found it. She rushed him inside quickly and made him dinner, then tucked him into bed. Albie lay awake for what felt like hours, listening to the creaking of the old house and the howling of the wind on the shutters. It hadn’t been like this back home, back home it had felt safe and warm at night, he was protected. Here the night-time was wild and uncontrollable, even if he could hear his parents talking downstairs, their voices raised. Like it does to every child however, tiredness eventually caught up with him and he fell to sleep, his bear clutched close to his chest.
It is a fact that every child will wake up early in the morning, and Albie was no different. He awoke as the sun was just beginning to slip through the blind into his room and he got out of bed quickly, moving across the floor as fast as he could in his pyjamas, rushing to his slippers that would shield his feet from the freezing wood. Slippers were another change that had been forced upon him – no longer could he happily walk across the warm carpet, feeling the soft material reach up between his toes. Now he had to wear footwear at all times, lest he catch frostbite and loose his foot, or worse, splinters. He was yet to figure out what he could actually do with his morning. His toys were all still packed into boxes, as was everything of any interest. There was no television. It was unimaginable to Albie what could actually be done with these early fresh hours, when the rest of the world slept. He held his bear close and slowly walked down the stairs, more cold wood. He couldn’t ride down these on his bottom, giggling like he used to at home. These were slippery and hard and he had been explicitly told that to do it would be dangerous. It was yet another loss of the move. He at last reached the bottom, the undiscovered country that was his new house. Immediately he froze in his tracks. There was something else there, something that shouldn’t be. By the front door, there was an outstretched stone hand on the floor. Crumbled pieces of chipped rock lay around its rough jagged wrist. It took what felt like an eternity for Albie to walk over to it, almost not blinking lest it leapt of the floor for his throat. He eventually reached it, where it remained completely still, dead. It was not alive, he told himself. His was heart beating so loudly Albie was surprised that his parents didn’t come running down the stairs to find out what had woken them. He picked it up slowly, although it was heavy, cold and difficult to hold in his hands, especially as to put down his bear would be to lose a comrade and in all honestly, Albie had to admit his willpower would most likely break. So carefully, having to almost crouch to keep himself from dropping his dangerous cargo, Albie managed to open the door and head outside. He turned to the statue, and the bear and the hand hit the floor almost immediately, barely missing Albie’s foot. The Old lady stood, the chair gone, her right arm outstretched as if pointing directly at Albie’s head. It would have been pointing had it not been broken off at the wrist, it’s accusing hand lying at Albie’s feet. He did what any other child would do at this point: He screamed at the top of his voice and ran, stopping of course to grab the bear. He fled back into the house and up the stairs as fast as he could, finding his way to his parents room and burying himself into the warm area between their two bodies in the covers, tears streaming down his face. They awoke to this, and after much comforting finally got a reason out of him. Albie’s father put on his dressing gown and wandered down the stairs while he stayed in the safety of his mother’s arms, crying his eyes out. Minutes later, his father returned wearing a face that he knew all too well, one that displayed disappointment and annoyance. With a lot of effort, his parents managed to get the boy outside again, to show him the old lady, sitting on her chair as she had been. Albie felt anger, confusion and humiliation. It was impossible, wasn’t it? So he threw tantrums, and kicked and screamed, and didn’t talk to his parents, and sat in his room, and made noise. And for day’s and day’s this continued, until the punishments wore him down, and weeks passed and soon it was all forgotten to the child’s mind. It had all been part of his imagination.
***
Two years later, a new car pulled into the courtyard outside the house. As two adults walked inside, two children slowly got out of the car, a boy and a girl. The girl was the eldest and as every eldest child does, she took charge, taking the boy’s hand in hers and leading forward to explore. The first thing the children noticed, and what they found strange was the three statues, all closely placed together. A man and a woman, both sitting on chairs and staring forwards with a dead stare. But then a small tiny statue, of a small boy holding a bear.
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