“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”
“What’s the occasion?” I said, shivering and patting my apple.
“I missed you all. There’s no occasion”
They came after 1 am. The rooms filled with socks, and flaps. Butter was the answer, I realised. “It’s a chemistry thing”. I said.
The old aunts glanced at me, then turned back to their conversations about the imprisoned lady.
The hosts brought in the coffee,
“W..we j…ju..st had lunch dear” said the one in brown.
“It’s our pleasure” said the tall host, his hand on his chest, “You’re like our mothers”. His eyes stuck to the tray, a red expression threatening to explode through his skin. Was he proud to be in that position?
The short one with a purple sweater tied around his hips looked under his companion’s arms “they have these peanut butter cups” he said, coming up next with a tray of traditional cookies, ” if you would prefer that “.
He looked around the room, and then bent down to the old woman’s ear. “I know you have diabetes”. The woman didn’t reply. She squinted at his grin and carried on arranging raisins on her plate. No one heard it. Well, apart from myself and Bim, who snorted and nudged me. Before lunch he arranged his pots of honey. Then sat and waved at everyone “It’s lemon flavoured” he said, with a huge smile. His son came up and squeezed him, then they collapsed on each other laughing. An inside joke perhaps.
What are you all doidg here?
One head tilted sideways “DING?” ittle U echoes…