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Tezza
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27-09-2018, 11:41 PM
1

Fast fiction

Short stories written to a given theme and a limited word count.
This is one I wrote on another forum.
The first line was the suggested theme.

The beam of sunlight cut through the shutters on to his face ---- a face that was etched with lines that suggested an age of many years of trials and tribulations, a face that bore the hallmarks of many hours of stress.
George often sat by the window looking out over the park watching the townsfolk go about their leisurely pursuits, some jogging ,some walking their dogs, some just getting a little exercise perhaps after a heavy lunch.
But George never fully opened the shutters. Few people even knew of George’s existence. For several years now he had stayed behind closed doors with only an occasional visit from a relative or trusted friend bringing necessary supplies and keeping watch on his general well being.
The times he did venture out were usually after dark when the streets were quiet and the only travellers he was liable to meet were on their way home from the pubs or clubs and were often in no fit state to be bothered by a lone figure wrapped up in dark clothes and walking in the shadows.
Sometimes in life you have a duty to others that by it’s very nature puts your own well being at risk.
Such a person was George.
He lived in the shady world of spies and counter spies, a world where should you find yourself in the headlines you would immediately be disowned by your masters, where one bad mistake could mean you cease to exist and no-one would know that you had gone.

No funeral for people to mourn your going, no goodbyes in the obituary column, just no longer there, as if you had never existed.
He knew that there were people high up the pecking order in the wider world who had put a bounty on his head for putting them in the public eye, by disclosing certain truths that they wanted kept quiet.
Many times since he had finally become physically unable to carry out his duties he wished he had chosen a different walk of life, many times he had longed to be able to live among ordinary people and laugh and cry without fear.

His parents had sadly passed away while he was still a young man and so he chose a life in the Military Police to give him some kind of stability in life.
After serving many years he came back into civilian life and his credentials attracted the attention of the secret services and needing something to do he duly joined.

The phone suddenly broke the stillness of the room and for some reason seemed to be saying this call is urgent.
Picking up the receiver he said nothing, as was his way given his circumstances, and a quiet voice said one word that only he and the caller would know.
The message was quick and to the point and indicated a need for him to leave his present accommodation as soon as practicable because his safety there could no longer be assured.
That night George looked for the last time through the partly opened shutters before closing his small case of personal belongings and making a quick professional check of his little hideaway.
The street was quiet and the cold night air turned his breath into little puffs of vapour as he made his way to a rendezvous with the mystery caller.
Keeping close to the hedgerows he made his way through the back streets and walking down an alley between two houses he came across a woman sitting with her head on her knees.
It went against all his instincts to stop and enquire if he could help but for once in his life he decided to try and act as a normal person would, and bending down he asked her if she needed any help.
He never really felt the knife penetrate his vital organs but he knew that swift justice had been done and those whom he had betrayed had exacted their revenge.
There was no mention of his passing in the media, it was as if he had never existed, but in a small office deep in the bowels of a nondescript building in the city a file was marked TOP SECRET and sealed in a large vault with many other such files to gather dust.

Anyone fancy giving it a go I can suggest a theme and word count.
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28-09-2018, 06:25 AM
2

Re: Fast fiction

That sounds like a challenge, Tezza, I am out for the day but would like to have go later on if that is OK?

I liked your story very much!
eccles
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28-09-2018, 06:42 AM
3

Re: Fast fiction

I'll give it a go. I've written 100 word stories in the past which seem to work well.
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28-09-2018, 07:42 AM
4

Re: Fast fiction

I’m no good at writing stories but I’m sure I’ll enjoy reading everyone else’s story.

A good start Tezza!
Tezza
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28-09-2018, 08:42 AM
5

Re: Fast fiction

Thanks for your comments and interest. Feel free to jump in anytime you like.

Can I suggest a limit of about 700 to 800 words. Give or take.
Should be right up your street Eccles.

I will suggest a Topic if you so desire. 👍
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28-09-2018, 09:46 AM
6

Re: Fast fiction

Go for it ... as long as it is not football!
Tezza
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28-09-2018, 09:56 AM
7

Re: Fast fiction

Okay. The first Topic is ..’ mistaken identity’ with a maximum limit of between 700 to 800 words. Good luck.
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28-09-2018, 10:17 AM
8

Re: Fast fiction

O'Shaughnessy.

It was my last term at school. I stood by the shelter shed and thought how quickly the time had passed. As I pondered, a small third former, who I had never seen before, walked towards me. He was small and thin, with a wedge shaped head that seemed a little too big for his body. He had not noticed me standing quietly behind the doorway. As I watched, to my surprise, he disappeared through the wall! I quickly moved inside the shed and blocked his path.
"Don't ever do that again!" I said, "It will complicate your life!"
He raised his eyebrows over green eyes.
"My father says I will grow out of it; it comes from my grandmother , only she could walk through glass. I can't do that."
"You'll have to give it up," I told him, "You'll find it doesn't pay! I'm not asking you ! I'm telling you!. Never do that again!"
He did not reply but shook his head and tugged at his pointed left ear in embarrassment.
A week later at morning break, I saw a crowd surrounding a gibbering third former. He seemed to be hysterical. He was led away gently by two teachers.
A fifth former told me that he was 'off his bean' , convinced that he had seen someone called O'Shaughnessy walk through a brick wall. The crowd dispersed ; break was over.
I went into the shelter shed. There was the trembling wedge of a head on an undersized body cowering in the shadows. He recognised me . "I got in," he said, " but I couldn't get back. It's over. Dad was right". His eyes filled with tears, like murky little pools.
I put my hand on his bony shoulder, "It's all for the best. You'll never get anywhere doing that sort of thing."
He walked out of the shed towards the school and I tried to imagine his sense of loss. He would learn that nothing lasts and all things pass. It's a hard world.
The bell sounded! I was late!
To save time I walked through the wall!
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28-09-2018, 10:17 AM
9

Re: Fast fiction

Apologies, it's a bit longer than you asked for. I tried cutting it down from its original as much as I could. Not exactly mistaken identity - shall we say ambiguous identity? Here goes ...

SPEAKING IN TONGUES

He was a meticulous man impatient with prevarications, and for this monumental occasion he knew it was imperative to be word perfect and project exactly the right image. He had practised his speech for months, hand gestures, head movements, number of blinks. Excessive blinking showed nervousness. He knew; he had studied books and watched hours of famous orators, some of whom he frankly thought pathetically emotional and downright ineffectual. It had become an obsession and he was aware that it was an obsession, but it was vital there were no mistakes. He couldn’t afford to hesitate, stumble over words or appear anything less than completely confident, otherwise who would take him seriously? Oratory was powerful, persuasive, spellbinding in the right hands. He had listened to so many public speakers waffling on about their woolly ideas for improvements, production increases, plans for a better world and didn’t fail to notice the audiences fiddling, casting covert looks round the room, checking their watches.. Were they blind? Surely they must notice the glazed eyes and fidgeting?

It wasn’t engaging his audience either, he realised that. It was vital to look the part. Here he was a little less confident. He strode over to the mirror in his locked office and dispassionately viewed his reflection. Well, nobody could have called him a handsome man, he thought with a wry smile. Shorter than average, stocky, nondescript features, dark hair. He did have commanding eyes though, even he could see that. They stared back at him, two pools of blue, challenging him to do what? Change his mind and return to being forgettable?

As a child he’d certainly felt unforgettable, one of the millions of poor kids living in the country with his strict, cold father and ineffectual mother. Life had been a struggle for them all and he’d been a sickly child, in and out of hospital with lung infections. He hadn’t been expected to survive, and he didn’t think his parents would have been heartbroken if he had died. After all, one less mouth to feed in those days would have been a blessing. He didn’t resent the realisation, it was just life. Poor children dropped like flies, as did their parents, and it happened with depressing regularity worldwide. Poverty was no shame; it was no fun either, and when it bled over into young adulthood, with dreams of fame and comfort fading, it cut deeper.

He permitted himself a grim smile as he remembered hesitantly telling his father of his desire to enter the priesthood. That was a much more terrifying speech than the one he was about to perform today, and it was about the only time he had heard his fierce father laugh, a rusty wheeze like a poorly oiled machine part that had sprung into life after years of neglect. The derision hadn’t deterred him, at least not immediately; he was well accustomed to self denial and penury and had felt it a lifetime commitment worth small sacrifices. He grew out of it though, as young men will. He moved to the nearest city along with others of his class, hoping for – what? Adventure? Love? Riches? None had come his way, and time on the streets as a penniless drifter soon re-formed his idealistic daydreams. He was nothing if not a realist. And now here he was, a middle aged successful man of substance. He was still not rich and lived simply enough. He had no desire for the trappings of wealth and despised vulgar ostentation such as some of his staff flaunted.

As for love, he wasn’t fool enough to think women found in him movie star looks, and he was indifferent to the many women he met socially and officially. He could appreciate them aesthetically, their soft shape, the clouds of scent that enveloped them, the way they hung onto his every casual word now he was no longer a nobody. He had bedded a few, of course, he wasn’t entirely made of stone. Nobody would ever call him abnormal, but they distracted him with their chatter about things of which they had no real understanding. Women had their place, but it wasn’t here, today. Today was special, a pivotal day for him, and it had to be right.


There was a tap on his door. He strode over, unlocked the latch and a young man peered round nervously, clutching several files and rolled up sheets, a pen behind his ear and the harassed air of a clerk burdened with too much important work and too little time in which to do it.
“Er – ten minutes left, sir. Then I suggest you make your way to the stage. Everyone out there seems very enthusiastic; there’s a huge turnout!” His pink face glowed with excitement.
“Very well. Keep them waiting eh? It will be worth it.”
“Yes, sir. Good luck, sir,” murmured the clerk, softly closing the heavy door behind him.

He glanced down at his notes one last time, mouthed a few lines and cast the paper aside. It wouldn’t do to be seen to refer to notes out there. The long mirror caught his confident image briefly as he walked quickly over to his office door. He straightened his back, smoothed down his jacket and glanced down at his hands. Steady as a rock.

As he walked down the corridor towards a door leading into the arena an insistent chant could be heard in the still air, thrumming ever louder as he neared. It filled up his head and his soul, and his heart jumped in time.

“Fuh-rer! Fuh-rer! Fuh-rer!”
Tezza
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28-09-2018, 10:56 AM
10

Re: Fast fiction

I certainly didn’t expect that.

Well done Ciderman and Eccles for two very different takes on the topic.👍
 
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