“Instead of writing down everything that happens in your day, give your day a twist by fictionalising it”
“Practise using the 6 elements of story: Action, Description, Dialogue, Introspection, Emotion, and Exposition”
I tried to sit professionally, after my late arrival. The ladies had already arrived, so I sat in the corner. “It’s getting hot right?”, “oh, very”
“they say tomorrow it’ll rise up to the thirties!” My widowed aunt added.
He came in to get the tray of coffee. They all congratulated him for the second time. His new wife carried the tray of coffee and cakes “Here, then come back and get the nuts and tea”. The spot lights blinked and leaked on my creases. The phone rang. “Yes, turn left at the red house, and when the white tower appears follow the cow stained road” I tried to flatten my creases, and pinched my elbow folds.. A squint beyond her eyes. Don’t cry, don’t cry. The flies were laying eggs in his backpack, which leaned against their new fridge. A fruit bowl was there to decorate the table.”Why aren’t we eating fruits instead?”. The old ladies looked around, and then threw in their after dinner tablets. “Fruit? you’re not thirsty again are you?” “No, but… it’s too heavy to have cakes and nuts, after a barbecue. She patted my lap “It’ll be okay iA, it’ll be okay”
“Is that apple cake?” I can’t handle this anymore.
“Give me an apple please”. Hovercraft throws me his half chewed one.
“so what do you do in your day?”. They began.
“Me? I cook.”. I race to cut the apple, and place the pillow back on my lap. The room went green. “here, have some of these dried figs and apricots” my widowed aunt offered. She manages to gouge my pocket open and stuff them in. The blood began to crawl up. Koala placed his hands on my cheeks “Fever?” “no, no!” I laughed. Silence pinched the air, and me.
“Pigeons living in your toilet?”
“No, they’re up in the hedge” replied the busy wife. “oh, I like your paint. I wanted lime for little Tickle’s new bedroom, but the man thought I was off my head for suggesting that” added another.
I sighed and pushed the peels off my lap. It’s getting better. My hand crawled to the shelf above my head. “Not the yellow cup!”. The silence followed. Mouths formed into an O.
Whenever I find her yellow cup empty with a new tea bag sitting inside, I fill it up. A wondering cycle of apples turned to flee the stork of inches and miles, I need to sleep but I haven’t written the entire day and im not happy with that. Today, how can I mystify you and knock some glamour into the pain that comes and goes from the morning, the looks in the mirror. The lice farm. Cold hands above the toaster after a short dry night. Headache, apples. Big ones, small ones and mushy ones. The flies dropped droppings on my laptop screen, why do they do that! I admire my laptop, care about it, and take extra caution around it – the flies use it as a toilet and gathering area… I’m finding it hard to try and make up something that happens in my diary. . . Today was the first time I ever threw my socks onto the kitchen bench and flew out of the room. I didn’t last long in the lounge though. The greetings and the automatic messages, then the awkward silence . Should I go, Should I excuse myself… I needed to get back to apples, I didn’t want to sit infront of the tv and watch soccer – that would be impersonating. Each day there’s a twist – happy or depressing. Next door, I arrived late, and tried to sit professionally but the eyes would always give away insecurity – I awaited my serving of nuts, like a nut. (o3.o4.’16)