Quicklinks:
|
Great Writing - Home > Short S. > Wurzelled by the Mangold - A Monologue
| READING ROOM | ||||
|---|---|---|---|---|
|
| COMMUNITY | |||
|---|---|---|---|
|
| ABOUT GREAT WRITING | ||
|---|---|---|
|
| WORK AWAITING REVIEW |
|---|
|
| GW IS... |
|---|
|
Great Writing creative writing community is designed to prompt ideas
and provide inspiration and motivation within aspiring and amateur
authors. Whatever your topic; from love poetry to Doctor Who or Harry
Potter fan fiction, Great Writing's online writing group is where you
can make new friends and improve your creative writing. |
| WHO'S ONLINE |
|---|
| We have 937 guests online and 10 members online |
Shorts
| print friendly version | |
| Wurzelled by the Mangold - A Monologue | |
| By BlondeBimbo | ||||||
| 13 April 2006 | ||||||
|
A little experiment with a couple of scenarios I overheard recently. Light hearted, does need editing.  That really hurt. No really. I think there’s a dent in my head. You wouldn’t think a baby beet could be so dangerous. The way that bloody loading machine shoots those steaming roots into the trays. Like on the telly. Those tennis ball thingies American’s always have. “Phut “ they go, elephant farts. “Phut”. Wonder if I’ll get compensation? I could sue. Perhaps the papers will get involved. “Pensioner Beaten by Baby Beet”. What was she doing at the pickle factory? They’ll say. Visiting her daughter. The owner. Suing her own daughter? Whatever next. Maybe not. What would the kids say? Probably never see them again. That really hurts. Wonder why it’s so quiet? How the hell did I get here? I mustn’t forget to tell her about the call. Fancy him ringing. “Mrs Cole”, he said. “Mrs Sheila Cole.” Sounded like a policeman. Well he is a policeman, so I suppose he would. Haven’t seen him since Cyril’s funeral. Never been close. Fancy someone with the same name as me, same maiden name as well, dying. Did he expect me to answer the phone and say “Yes, that’s right. I died last week”. Funny boy. You’d think she’s help her old Mum. Where’s she gone? Phut. Wonder what elephant farts smell like? Always wanted to go to Africa. “Born free, free as the wind blows…” He was a lovely man, Matt Munro, lovely hands. The way his fingers fondled those sexy shiny keys! Same name. Same city. How come I never met her? The other Sheila Cole. Wonder what her husband was like? Did she have kids? I wonder if she had a good life? Mine’s been okay I suppose. Could’ve been better. I could have married Martin Lake and retired to a farmhouse in France. But would I have had a daughter like Nina? Such a success. Good, solid marriage, lovely, pretty children, great business. Makes me so proud. So very proud. “NINA!” “I’m here, Nina. Over here! Where are you going?” “No! Nina, don’t cry. It wasn’t me, he made a mistake. It was the other Sheila. Nina! Why can’t you hear me? NINA! I’m not…”
Only registered users can rate and write comments. Powered by AkoComment 2.0! |
||||||
 Previous item
|
Next item
|
|---|