Quicklinks:
|
Great Writing - Home > Short S. > Winners and losers
| 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 2008 guests online and 8 members online |
Shorts
| print friendly version | |
| Winners and losers | |
| By timmorrow | ||
| 31 December 2006 | ||
|
A dark tale of bad luck Another grim November day began slowly and reluctantly, as if nature were on the side of the sleepy population of Fordingbridge England. Bob Eyres turned over at the sound of the alarm searching for the warmest spot of the bed to snuggle up to. Ten minutes later he was up and dressed and sat at his kitchen table, awaiting the boiling water that would convert his coffee granules to something essential and necessary for his own survival. It was Friday, a day he should have seen as a release for the weekend, instead the two days before him were just another pointless routine between the days he spent producing brake shoes for the automobile industry. What of his friends and family, they had long deserted him; the reason, his choice of a wife, an immigrant east European who disappeared a month after their wedding with a strange man called uncle Demitri. It was he who was the first to kiss the bride and almost definitely consummate the marriage. Bob found out they had been previously wed in Estonia and were now living in his council flat on the East ford estate. Bob closed the door of his caravan and stepped out in to the cold Friday morning air like an automaton controlled by an unseen device. The twenty minute walk to the industrial estate took him through some of the most depressing aspects of the twenty first century,Burnt out rusted wrecks of cars lay strewn amid gutters of rubbish, above a dark grey sky that could have depicted the very end of the world. Eventually his tall lank unkempt figure reached a door and entered the factory unit, where it pulled from out of a grimy jacket a creased piece of card and clocked on. Once inside his tired sunken eyes quickly adjusted to the bright light, revealing the pale wizened features of a thirty year old that could have belonged to a much older man. The jovial banter of a crowd of rough men caused his heart to sink and in dejected silence he tried to slip among them unnoticed, but no sooner had he began to assemble the components from a parts bin;each man had earlier urinated in,a huge cheer went up.Then as the dejected figure removed his soaking hand ,a piece of metal bounced off the bench beside him. At ten thirty the assembled crowd of men placed down whatever they had to hand and headed out in a frenzy to the rest room for a break. Bob remained at his work station and began to inspect various bits and pieces, noting down numbers which he recorded in a small note book. Satisfied he had the six he needed he walked slowly towards the toilet block and sat down in a filthy cubicle covered in graffiti and drawings of an obscene nature. Unfortunately he never noticed a group of men who had crept in behind him and now stood in silence facing the row of toilet cubicles. A sound of muffled laughter alerted him, followed by a bucket of water and the cheers of the same men who had early used his parts bin as a toilet. Five minutes later a wet figure removed a card from a clock and exited the building never to return. Later that day Bob walked the short distance to newsagents and bought a lottery for the Saturday night draw, on his return to his home he noticed that above him the dark skies lifted letting in a brief patch of light, for a moment a strange feeling of elation took over him and he gripped the ticket tightly as if it somehow conveyed to him the enormity of its purchase. Once inside his caravan he placed the ticket beside two passports in a biscuit tin in a small cupboard above his TV. Later that evening he plonked himself in front of the tele with anticipation; his head told him to screw up his ticket, while his heart prepared him for the dizzy heights of wealth. Outside the endless sounds of Saturday night carried the emergency services and police sirens across from the estates and town up to his caravan; as if they were broadcasted from some secret source to maintain his fear of the streets. Suddenly a blast of noise followed by the splattering of coloured lights momentarily grabbed his attention as firework after firework turned the night in to an imagined war zone. Bob briefly moved a dirty cream coloured curtain back and peered out from his wheeled cell in to the bright night sky, then returned his gaze to the television as the six product numbers he had recorded earlier from the brake shoes lined the screen. Then almost unnoticed among the bright lights and anarchy a scream emitted from a rocking caravan almost as somewhere in town a big party were being prepared for a millionaire. At ten minutes past midnight a taxi made his second trip of the evening to bobs wheeled home, the first to deposit an east European couple who quickly entered and returned minutes later; the second to drop off a very drunk man who danced a jig before disappearing in to his dirty home. The following day brought an early downpour of rain which aided by a vicious strong wind shook the caravan and the sleepy occupant inside. Eventually the accumulation of noise and a ring tone from a mobile phone brought the hapless occupant from his slumber . with an unsteady hand he took a phone call from his ex wife who stood victorious inside terminal three Heathrow airport. “Hello” said bob in a falter voice. “I now ring to say goodbye” said the voice in broken English. Bob scratched his head then began smoothing down his greasy long hair. “I have your passports” he replied sharply before eyeing the empty space on top of his television. “Demi made new key for caravan door” she replied in a haughty tone. “fuck fuck” came the exasperated reply down the phone which was then dropped among the piles of rubbish and worn underwear that littered the caravan floor. Bob began to search the caravan frantically before collapsing in sobs of desperation beside his discarded phone. A distorted voice coming from the mobile phone told him they had given his lottery ticket to the drunken lady who lived in the flat below them. A male voice then said they had sold the council flat for a tidy sum that would see them alright in Estonia. The phone then briefly lit up before the battery died leaving it lifeless as a stone. The following day a grim dark sky ushered in a cold wet Monday morning;a lifeless body of a thirty year old man lay in a filthy bed inside a grubby caravan oblivious to the continuous sound of an alarm clock that the man would never wake from.
Only registered users can rate and write comments. Powered by AkoComment 2.0! |
||
 Previous item
|
Next item
|
|---|