The story should be no more than 4000 words.
Deadline: 18th December 2013
AM
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Story Idea 11
I have been able to see them since the seizure but recently I am beginning to think that they can see me too....
The story should be no more than 4000 words.
AM
The story should be no more than 4000 words.
AM
Idaho Kid
She wouldn't look at me. Not while this Idaho kid was around. Only a few weeks ago she was still coming over to my house at least twice a week, and whenever me and Stan turned up at the beach, it was never long before she appeared, beautiful Kimberley Vaughan with her golden hair and dirty mouth. We were going to change the world. Back then in the long days. We smoked, wrote songs on our thrift store guitars, and slowly planned the revolution.
It was going to be so easy, so obvious that the good would out, and our new land of opportunity, of peace and love would be born. Kim and I would get married and make speeches about what was wrong and what was right, and we'd have a family, five kids and a simple house with a small piece of land. Our destiny fulfilled.
But he changed everything. His name was Stevie, the Idaho kid and Stan said he was here for the whole Summer. He was good looking I had to admit, but real dumb. All brawn and no brain Ma would say and I tried to tell Kim he was only after one thing, but she wouldn't listen.
'You're so jealous Donald Hagen,' she would tease, biting her lip and twisting her hair around her fingers.
'I'm so not,' I'd tell her; but I was. Sick feeling in my stomach jealous. Couldn't eat for days jealous. 'I'm just worried for you,' I tell her. 'He's a stranger, why are you bothering with him. He'll be gone again soon enough.'
I couldn't lose her, not any part of her.
'Stevie says his folks are looking to move out west. His dad's company has an office out here and they're going to relocate.'
She poked me. 'What do you think of that?'
That's what they all say, I thought. And I'll be here to pick up the pieces again. Maybe that is my destiny; Kim will run off into the sunset with the Idaho kid and I'll grow an old man, still shaking his fist and waving the Stars and Stripes.
By Darren Seeley
It was going to be so easy, so obvious that the good would out, and our new land of opportunity, of peace and love would be born. Kim and I would get married and make speeches about what was wrong and what was right, and we'd have a family, five kids and a simple house with a small piece of land. Our destiny fulfilled.
But he changed everything. His name was Stevie, the Idaho kid and Stan said he was here for the whole Summer. He was good looking I had to admit, but real dumb. All brawn and no brain Ma would say and I tried to tell Kim he was only after one thing, but she wouldn't listen.
'You're so jealous Donald Hagen,' she would tease, biting her lip and twisting her hair around her fingers.
'I'm so not,' I'd tell her; but I was. Sick feeling in my stomach jealous. Couldn't eat for days jealous. 'I'm just worried for you,' I tell her. 'He's a stranger, why are you bothering with him. He'll be gone again soon enough.'
I couldn't lose her, not any part of her.
'Stevie says his folks are looking to move out west. His dad's company has an office out here and they're going to relocate.'
She poked me. 'What do you think of that?'
That's what they all say, I thought. And I'll be here to pick up the pieces again. Maybe that is my destiny; Kim will run off into the sunset with the Idaho kid and I'll grow an old man, still shaking his fist and waving the Stars and Stripes.
By Darren Seeley
Inspiration
The pub was quieter than usual for a Thursday night. The Specials were playing on the stereo and Bernard, Peter and Stephen were keeping time with their feet as they glanced around at the other punters in the hopes they would be recognised. That had happened a few times now, since they’d played live on So It Goes, and the lads had gotten a taste for it.
“My round!” Bernard announced as he eyed the punters at the bar and took off with a swagger.
Shortly after Ian walked into the pub and Peter and Stephen barely stifled their groans. They loved Ian, he was the centre of their universe and the band but when he was down, he dragged everyone else down with him, and they could tell from his bearing he was well down.
“Hey Ian.” Peter said as Ian sank into a chair at the table and lit up a fag.
Ian drew deeply and exhaled without making eye contact with either of them. His brow was furrowed, his mouth downturned. Neither Peter nor Stephen attempted speech again until Bernard returned with the round.
“Ian?” Bernard asked as he set down the drinks and it was clear he wasn’t asking for a drink order.
“It’s fucked. It’s so fucked.”
“What is?” asked Peter.
Ian pinned him with a gaze that held so much pain Peter wanted to look away.
“I’ve no control anymore.” Ian said as he dragged hard on his hand rolled.
“Control of what?” Bernard pushed.
“Me and Deb. It’s like we’re stuck in a routine, no ambition, but she resents my success like I’m leaving her behind, but I’m not, we’re just changing our ways, you know, taking different roads.”
Ian dragged deep on the cigarette, held his breath for a long time and then let the smoke burst forth from his lungs. The expelled cloud covered the inhabitants of the table.
“The bedroom is so cold; she always turns on her side, regardless of my timing. We seem to have lost respect for each other but some appeal is seeing us through. The other night she cried out in her sleep but she wasn’t crying out for me. I felt like a failure. I couldn’t stand the taste in my mouth, I felt desperate. How could something so good just not function no more.”
Stephen shifted uncomfortably. “Jesus, it’s like the antithesis of that Captain and Tenillle song.”
Ian wasn’t listening. He was staring into the distance in that way he did and humming a tune under his breath.
“What’s that tune?” Bernard asked, getting his attention.
Ian turned his wide eyes on him. “Just something playing around in my head, it won’t leave me alone.”
Bernard downed his pint in three big gulps and banged it noisily on the table as he stood. “Then let’s go and get it down man.”
By Dayv Metcalfe
“My round!” Bernard announced as he eyed the punters at the bar and took off with a swagger.
Shortly after Ian walked into the pub and Peter and Stephen barely stifled their groans. They loved Ian, he was the centre of their universe and the band but when he was down, he dragged everyone else down with him, and they could tell from his bearing he was well down.
“Hey Ian.” Peter said as Ian sank into a chair at the table and lit up a fag.
Ian drew deeply and exhaled without making eye contact with either of them. His brow was furrowed, his mouth downturned. Neither Peter nor Stephen attempted speech again until Bernard returned with the round.
“Ian?” Bernard asked as he set down the drinks and it was clear he wasn’t asking for a drink order.
“It’s fucked. It’s so fucked.”
“What is?” asked Peter.
Ian pinned him with a gaze that held so much pain Peter wanted to look away.
“I’ve no control anymore.” Ian said as he dragged hard on his hand rolled.
“Control of what?” Bernard pushed.
“Me and Deb. It’s like we’re stuck in a routine, no ambition, but she resents my success like I’m leaving her behind, but I’m not, we’re just changing our ways, you know, taking different roads.”
Ian dragged deep on the cigarette, held his breath for a long time and then let the smoke burst forth from his lungs. The expelled cloud covered the inhabitants of the table.
“The bedroom is so cold; she always turns on her side, regardless of my timing. We seem to have lost respect for each other but some appeal is seeing us through. The other night she cried out in her sleep but she wasn’t crying out for me. I felt like a failure. I couldn’t stand the taste in my mouth, I felt desperate. How could something so good just not function no more.”
Stephen shifted uncomfortably. “Jesus, it’s like the antithesis of that Captain and Tenillle song.”
Ian wasn’t listening. He was staring into the distance in that way he did and humming a tune under his breath.
“What’s that tune?” Bernard asked, getting his attention.
Ian turned his wide eyes on him. “Just something playing around in my head, it won’t leave me alone.”
Bernard downed his pint in three big gulps and banged it noisily on the table as he stood. “Then let’s go and get it down man.”
By Dayv Metcalfe
The Brightest Light
She told me she was over it, it bored her, she was sick of it. I didn't really understand that though, but I was prudent and said, "Oh yeah I would be too! Jesus, News flash! Boring!" She smiled thinly knowing I was trying to be funny and happy for that, but I could see the weight of it, oily heavy on her shoulders. She said she was due on stage in a few hours, and she had twenty minutes. I had only just met her, but she rested her head against my shoulder to 'forget everything.' I didn't say a word and fell asleep with her, when I awoke she was gone. She came to my room again that night and I became her secret lover. I would go to every show, no matter where in the world, be one of the audience, her always looking for me.
A week ago I got her call near midnight. I couldn't be on tour with her this time. It was early morning in Scotland, she was teary and needy, I wanted to feel her head on my shoulder, even though I was needed in Melbourne. Her natural detachment could not make her ask.
"I'm so sick of it! I, I am so sick and tired of everything! "
"I'll come." said I, muttering the sentiment she wanted to shout. She had said to me I smiled like the sun, and I wanted to bathe her in it.
It was a long journey, but I knew I could get to Glasgow in time. The passage was zombie, I only opened my eyes when they let us in and I got a seat close to the stage. When she appeared, with her long hair flaxen and glowing, I stood up, I willed her to see me. Her voice came melodic and exact, she swayed with her partner who moved with her but like a shadow. They vocalized oom pa pa's , trill assembly harmonically perfect, like watching two birds cooperate and dance their song routine. I was enraptured. I loved her so much and in that instant I feared it was the stage presence that stirred the cauldron of desire. I thought hard, and nearly sat down, but when her eyes scanned the crowd again I could see she had seen me, she was ecstatic and her left arm shot up, her presence bloomed, a crescendo, for me being there.
The song's interlude had her attempting peeks at me as she moved with her partner. They faced each other, they put their backs to each other, and when they began to sing again the words reached out to all the crowd, and they all stood up in response. No! They breathed in alarm, she could never be lonely with the crowd there, all twenty thousand of us, she could never be lonely with us facing her, even though it was her brilliant and beautiful shadow that sang those words. I remembered back to a conversation we had had in Melbourne, that was where I had met her, those years ago, after the concert at the Myer Music Bowl in 1976. She said that her marriage was a sham, it was constructed because the band's architects wanted to reach into the family unit, and they needed marriages to depict the right message. She said it was the loneliest thing, especially on stage when you faced your fans. I asked how anyone could ever be so lonely but her reserved resignation surfaced, and she kissed my lips and took my hands without an answer. The precious minutes passed and our heart beats raced in physical exertion, the pheromones filled the air and I hated her faux husband and her success. I said to her, and she caught her breath - "What if your success never ends?" The tears welled in her blue eyes, they fell onto our hands and I knew that it would never end, I would be cast aside by the machinery that used her as a doll on a music box. She saw my understanding and gripped me.
"I think about you always, I want you in the crowd, you are brighter than the brightest stage light, your beams blind me with it. If I know you are there everything is so different! Please, I go crazy if you aren't there!" With those words my own hands gripped hers and my tears made crescents in my eyes, I replied:
"I could be part of your crowd eternally, your silent, secret and greatest trouper, honestly, I could, but what about my feelings?" She looked at me suddenly motionless and emotionless, considering.
"I can't afford to care about your feelings." Her eyes were clear, sharp. Her eye shadow gas blue, like a Nordic fjord. She got up like a Queen and left the room without turning to look at me, swirling the scent of amber, musk and powerful jasmine.
I went back to my room, and thought of my life. I had followed the beautiful blonde women for many years, and always she had rested her head on my shoulder and seemed so glad that I was there. Was I living a fantasy? A curtain suddenly lifted, and I shivered in the Glasgow Hotel room. That night was their last performance for the year, I would be there as usual, and wish for her to see me and smile. When I arrived my mental state was different, there was no magic in the air, the sense of great expectation, of kismet, and the sureness that my secret affair would be acknowledged by her when she saw me in the crowd.
Reality, and a note of danger touched me as I watched my, lover? Some men were watching me, one nodded to another, and another moved around the crowd. My lover shot her arm in the air in recognition of me as her shadow sang about the brightest light, but we hadn't even made eye contact, in fact, she was looking at the crowd generally. Had she been drugged? The curtain in my mind lifted further, of her resting her head against my shoulder, her, head? I caught my breath, and thought of all the souvenir brochures I had bought over the years. Her words to me? The vinyl on the floor arranged and lined up to deliver her specific words. True hit me, but I could not deal with it, I stood up and waved my arms at my flaxen haired lover, shouting "You are not alone! You are not alone!" The men moved in. As a hand grabbed my shoulder I had to slump and admit it, I was a fucking deluded stalker..
By Andy Parker
A week ago I got her call near midnight. I couldn't be on tour with her this time. It was early morning in Scotland, she was teary and needy, I wanted to feel her head on my shoulder, even though I was needed in Melbourne. Her natural detachment could not make her ask.
"I'm so sick of it! I, I am so sick and tired of everything! "
"I'll come." said I, muttering the sentiment she wanted to shout. She had said to me I smiled like the sun, and I wanted to bathe her in it.
It was a long journey, but I knew I could get to Glasgow in time. The passage was zombie, I only opened my eyes when they let us in and I got a seat close to the stage. When she appeared, with her long hair flaxen and glowing, I stood up, I willed her to see me. Her voice came melodic and exact, she swayed with her partner who moved with her but like a shadow. They vocalized oom pa pa's , trill assembly harmonically perfect, like watching two birds cooperate and dance their song routine. I was enraptured. I loved her so much and in that instant I feared it was the stage presence that stirred the cauldron of desire. I thought hard, and nearly sat down, but when her eyes scanned the crowd again I could see she had seen me, she was ecstatic and her left arm shot up, her presence bloomed, a crescendo, for me being there.
The song's interlude had her attempting peeks at me as she moved with her partner. They faced each other, they put their backs to each other, and when they began to sing again the words reached out to all the crowd, and they all stood up in response. No! They breathed in alarm, she could never be lonely with the crowd there, all twenty thousand of us, she could never be lonely with us facing her, even though it was her brilliant and beautiful shadow that sang those words. I remembered back to a conversation we had had in Melbourne, that was where I had met her, those years ago, after the concert at the Myer Music Bowl in 1976. She said that her marriage was a sham, it was constructed because the band's architects wanted to reach into the family unit, and they needed marriages to depict the right message. She said it was the loneliest thing, especially on stage when you faced your fans. I asked how anyone could ever be so lonely but her reserved resignation surfaced, and she kissed my lips and took my hands without an answer. The precious minutes passed and our heart beats raced in physical exertion, the pheromones filled the air and I hated her faux husband and her success. I said to her, and she caught her breath - "What if your success never ends?" The tears welled in her blue eyes, they fell onto our hands and I knew that it would never end, I would be cast aside by the machinery that used her as a doll on a music box. She saw my understanding and gripped me.
"I think about you always, I want you in the crowd, you are brighter than the brightest stage light, your beams blind me with it. If I know you are there everything is so different! Please, I go crazy if you aren't there!" With those words my own hands gripped hers and my tears made crescents in my eyes, I replied:
"I could be part of your crowd eternally, your silent, secret and greatest trouper, honestly, I could, but what about my feelings?" She looked at me suddenly motionless and emotionless, considering.
"I can't afford to care about your feelings." Her eyes were clear, sharp. Her eye shadow gas blue, like a Nordic fjord. She got up like a Queen and left the room without turning to look at me, swirling the scent of amber, musk and powerful jasmine.
I went back to my room, and thought of my life. I had followed the beautiful blonde women for many years, and always she had rested her head on my shoulder and seemed so glad that I was there. Was I living a fantasy? A curtain suddenly lifted, and I shivered in the Glasgow Hotel room. That night was their last performance for the year, I would be there as usual, and wish for her to see me and smile. When I arrived my mental state was different, there was no magic in the air, the sense of great expectation, of kismet, and the sureness that my secret affair would be acknowledged by her when she saw me in the crowd.
Reality, and a note of danger touched me as I watched my, lover? Some men were watching me, one nodded to another, and another moved around the crowd. My lover shot her arm in the air in recognition of me as her shadow sang about the brightest light, but we hadn't even made eye contact, in fact, she was looking at the crowd generally. Had she been drugged? The curtain in my mind lifted further, of her resting her head against my shoulder, her, head? I caught my breath, and thought of all the souvenir brochures I had bought over the years. Her words to me? The vinyl on the floor arranged and lined up to deliver her specific words. True hit me, but I could not deal with it, I stood up and waved my arms at my flaxen haired lover, shouting "You are not alone! You are not alone!" The men moved in. As a hand grabbed my shoulder I had to slump and admit it, I was a fucking deluded stalker..
By Andy Parker
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