THE MONSTER PARADE

Again, this one still needs some work but I thought I'd post it in case I never end up coming back to it. Happy Halloween!!!

THE MONSTER PARADE

Nicky was cold when he woke up. As he reached out for his blanket, he realised with a smack of fear that he was also wet. He scrambled up and looked down at the large dark circle on his bare, already yellowed, mattress and began to cry. Mummy said she would kill him if it ever happened again. Nicky squeezed the pink blanket to himself. He stared around for something that could help him but, as always, all he saw was his cluttered room and the grey, grubby wallpaper. He tried rubbing the wet bed with his blanket but it made no difference.

     There was nothing for it. He would have to leave the house and run away. He thought about the monsters that lived outside and was scared but Nicky remembered the last time Daddy had wet his bed. Mummy had hit him with a bottle and then they had a fight and both of them went to hospital. There was still glass on the stairs.

     Nicky went to the window and rubbed away a patch of dirt with his shirt-sleeve. Usually he was too frightened to look outside in case he saw the monsters and got nightmares like when Daddy showed him that film with the old lady in the bath. Nicky was glad to see that the street was empty and even more happy to see that Daddy’s car was gone. It was always safe for Daddy to go out because he was bigger and the monsters were scared of cars. If Mummy was asleep, Nicky could just walk out the door. He had never been outside before but he had no choice. Even if Mummy didn’t kill him, she would definitely shout and hurt him and his arm still hadn’t got better since he knocked her ashtray over.

     Nicky couldn’t tell the time and didn’t have a clock anyway but the sky was starting to turn dark. He should go soon.

     Just then, he saw two of the Men In Yellow walking up the street. He jumped back from the window, hoping they hadn’t seen him. Forgetting the wet patch, he crouched on his bed. Daddy had told Nicky all about the Men In Yellow. If he was to see one, he had to tell daddy straight away. Everyone knew that if you went outside the monsters would get you but the men in yellow would try to get in your house and that must never happen. Nicky had spent many nights awake, thinking about the Men In Yellow. He couldn’t believe he was about to go out there but he was going to be brave, like Ben 10. It would be hard because he didn’t know what the monsters looked like or even what they would do with him if they caught him. Mummy sometimes said that Nicky was a monster, so maybe they’d like him. They might look after him. If they were like the Cookie Monster it wouldn’t be so bad.

     Nicky searched through the heaps of clothes in his room until he found a jumper and some trousers. Mummy always said it would be too cold for Nicky outside but if he took his blanket and some of Daddy’s socks, he thought he would be okay.

     When he was dressed, Nicky squeaked his way down the stairs on tiptoes. He could see Mummy’s feet over the end of the settee and peered round the door to make sure she was asleep. She was. Nicky relaxed. He knew that nothing could wake her when she was sleeping. He knew he should leave quickly before Daddy came back but decided to take one last look at her. He started to cry again because he knew this would be the last time he saw her. She was wrapped in a dressing-gown and snoring. Nicky kissed her on the cheek before taking himself and his blanket quickly through the kitchen and out the back door.

     He found himself in a small garden he never knew was there. He was surprised to find that he was no colder out here than in the house but the air he breathed felt icy and fresh. Nicky stood where he was for a few minutes while he thought about whether he was doing the right thing or not. In the end, it was clear he could not stay, so he started to walk. Once the decision had been made, he found it easy to keep going. He started to enjoy the feel of the night air rushing at his face as he ran down roads, sticking to the pavement where he found there were no cars, turning corners, following the lights.

     It was when he stopped to catch his breath that he saw the first monster. It was a clown. He knew this because there was one just the same in one of his cartoons. Nicky watched a lot of cartoons, even though he didn’t understand most of them. Now he waited as the clown walk towards him, excited and scared at the same time. The clown saw him staring and smiled at Nicky with a big, red, silly, mouth. Nicky giggled. He liked clowns. He watched until it went round a corner and out of sight. Perhaps Nicky was a monster and that was why the clown-monster had smiled at him.

     There was lots of noise coming from a road up ahead and Nicky saw it was packed with monsters. He ran towards them, wanting to see more clowns, and was delighted to see hundreds of monsters of all sizes. He was unable at first to do anything but stand with his mouth open as monster after monster marched down the crowded street. Music was playing and some of them were dancing.

     Some had white faces, some had big teeth or wings and many of them carried glowing orange balls with jagged faces on. Some held hands and a couple of the smaller ones sat on the shoulders of the bigger ones. All of them were smiling and so was Nicky. He joined in the crowd and it felt warm.

     After a little while they all stopped and stood or sat in groups. A wonderful smell floated over to Nicky and he realised it was coming from the food the people were eating. He thought that monster food must be delicious and went to find some. Behind where the group was biggest was a long table where monsters were giving food out. Nicky knew he looked a bit different to the others, so was shy about asking for some but the smell was so good! He made his way through the crowd until he was face to face with a tall monster with long, black, hair and a green face. It said nothing to him.

     ‘Can I have some food?’ Nicky said. He did not know as many words as Mummy and daddy but he hoped the monster understood him.

     ‘What would you like?’ said the monster. It had a voice a bit like Mummy’s.

     ‘Can I have some food?’ said Nicky, ‘I’m hungry and smells good’.

     The monster put her head on the side and looked at Nicky for a while. Eventually, she handed him a round sandwich with something hot and brown in the middle. Nicky smiled and started to eat it quickly. He’d never had hot food before and had no idea that it could taste like this. When he was done, the lady-monster handed him another.

     ‘Are you on your own?’ she asked.

     Nicky wasn’t sure what she meant. He looked around at all the happy monsters. ‘I’m a monster’, he said.

     ‘Wait there’, the lady-monster said. She came round to his side of the table, carrying a cup of juice and a small bag of sweets. A few of the other monsters that were closest to him had started to notice him too now. They looked concerned, their noses wrinkled. The lady-monster led Nicky to a stone statue and told him to sit down on a step, eat up and she’d be back in a minute.

     While Nicky gobbled up his dinner, thrilled by all the new tastes, he saw that the lady-monster was with some of the Men In Yellow. They were talking and looking at Nicky. For a moment he was scared again but then he remembered that he was like them now.

     The Men In Yellow came over to Nicky and one of them crouched down in front of him. ‘Hi there’, he said. Underneath their hats, the men in yellow didn’t look much like monsters at all. ‘What’s your name, mate?’

     ‘Nicky’, said Nicky, ‘are you going to look after me?’

     The Man In Yellow looked surprised, and then said, ‘yes. Come with us and we’ll take care of you’.

     Nicky realised he was crying again but this time it was because he was happy. He felt happier than ever before. His belly was full and he was warm. Mummy wasn’t going to kill him because the monsters would take care of him. He had been brave and now he was going stay here and live with the monsters.

 

FREEWRITE 1

Freewriting
In freewriting – a term coined by Peter Elbow – we permit ourselves to associate freely, that is to write down the first words that occur to us, then whatever that makes us think of, following the train of thought wherever it goes. It can feel uncomfortable, especially at first. You may feel that what you are writing is silly or unseemly or banal. You may feel a strong urge to stop or control it. But don’t. You will often be surprised, even delighted, by the liveliness and power of the ideas and words that emerge.

A long time ago...

‘A long time ago’, everything was better. Even if there was a war on, people seemed to cope. It was probably because alcohol and fags were so cheap then. I’ve had some great times and they were all ‘a long time ago’. Songs, food, smells, photos, places, TV shows, all remind me of these wonderful times but I know for sure that some of them weren’t that great. In fact, some were awful. However, we still get nostalgic about the bad times. I think nostalgia is the best way to describe it. There should be a word that means ‘negative nostalgia’. Maybe there already is. My Granny told stories about the family all sitting up late together getting drunk. It sounds like Hell to me – sitting in a stuffy living room with a fire that is too hot, drinking gin with ones relatives. I don’t think I could handle taking the kids to school the next day with a hangover, waiting to see if the air-raid siren goes off. Why do we always remember things as being better than they actually were? Maybe I haven’t suffered enough. Maybe if something really horrendous happened I wouldn’t remember it in that way at all. Maybe that’s why we sometimes return to things we know will hurt us. Maybe it’s because we just want to be younger again, get as far away from death as possible, a need for something that has already happened, that we know the outcome of, even if it is a bad one. Maybe that’s why little children still cry for a mother that abuses them. Perhaps we would do best to go so far back that we had never been born at all.

This is one of my first attempts. I think next time I'll try to focus more on imagery and words, rather than ideas.

GRANNY'S FUNERAL

This is a little chunk of something that I hope will one day end as a novel. As always, it is not a final draft, just me trying to put some ideas in order. Secondly, for any family reading this, all the characters are 100% fictional and not based on anyone I know. Thanks in advance for any feedback. x

Kat clicked her way down the aisle in her new, shiny stilettos. She had hoped they would make her look taller and more graceful but now she was sure she looked – and sounded – like a drunken pig, tottering on its trotters, the noise echoing blasphemously through the church. Finding an empty pew in a middle row, she squeezed in and slid right to the end. She felt pleased with herself for finding a spot that was safely tucked away in the corner, the solid arm-rest and high wooden backs of the seats a comfort to her. She judged that she was not so far back as to appear disrespectful but could slip out relatively quietly if she started to feel ‘uncomfortable’; after removing her shoes, of course.

Kat had decided to turn up alone today and pretend to be normal, just another one of the mourners paying her last respects. Unfortunately, the fluttering she was sensing out the corner of her eye told her that her mother, who was waving her arms in Kat’s direction, was not going to stand for it. She let her gaze flicker for an instant to where she was sitting in the front row and cringed at the wide vacant space she was angrily pointing to. Kat pretended not to notice but instead leafed through the little booklet she had been handed when she entered. She skipped the words and focused on the numbers printed in bold under each little section; 10 minutes, 3 minutes, 6 minutes… It was going to be a long service.

Now Kat did start to feel ‘uncomfortable’. Her corset was too tight and the smooth, varnished seats on her tights were making her thighs itch. Her heartbeat had sped up and her stomach was flipping like a frantic fish. She breathed deeply, reminding herself that it was Granny’s funeral and the least she could do would be to sit through her bloody service. She should not have drunk that extra glass of wine last night…this morning.

Just then a couple and their two children, none of whom she recognised, filed in beside her. Kat instantly felt relieved, less exposed. She had been worried that some family member would spot her alone and decide that she needed company and for this reason she liked her new neighbours immensely. The parents smiled at her, so she smiled back. They must have believed she was normal.

Kat looked at her watch and wondered if she could fit in another cigarette but she suspected her mum would be ready for her. She would appear suddenly, lay on a heavy guilt-trip and Kat would be forced to sit at the front with all the old crying people. It would not have been hard either; Kat did feel guilty.

She felt guilty that she was in a church when she didn’t believe in God, she felt guilty that she had screwed Rob again last night and turned up today with a hangover, she felt guilty because she knew she would not cry, she felt guilty because she secretly wanted the vicar to notice her cleavage. Kat felt guilty because she was a terrible person. Even this was not enough to provoke a few tears. Again, and not for the first time that day, she wondered what was wrong with her. When did she become this person?

Kat looked back to the programme of the service she still gripped and examined the photograph on the front. Thankfully they had used an old, slightly fuzzy, picture of Granny. She was younger than Kat had ever seen her, sitting in a garden chair with a chubby infant on her lap. She had been rather pretty, if not a little severe-looking. Her black hair and dress contrasted sharply with the ball of lacy, frilly baby she held. Kat was surprised by how thin Granny had been and instantly developed a new, deeper respect for her.

The hall was filling up and the crowd were murmuring in low voices when another series of clicks cut through the noise. It was the other Katherine, Kat’s cousin. She was dabbing gently at her face under a little black veil. Kat did not even try to hide her distaste. Who the fuck wears a veil to a funeral nowadays? She thought, ‘someone who wants to draw the attention away from the poor sod in the coffin and onto them’. Knowing her cousin as she did, there was no doubt that this was the case.

Their mothers were sisters who had been in competition with each other as long as anyone could remember. It was only natural that, when they fell pregnant around the same time, nine months of squabbling over names would follow. No one really knew which of them first had the idea of naming their daughter after Granny, proving their devotion to her above all others, but it had been Kat who was born first. Katherine had followed five days later and now they both served as a reminder of the lifelong feud that was still raging silently between the sisters. Despite being born second, Kat felt it was Katherine who had the last laugh. At least she had retained her full Christian name. Kat, on the other hand, fancied that one day she would hunt down the person who first started calling her ‘Kat’ and punish them for giving her a nickname that rhymed with ‘fat’. She knew it was only a matter of time before someone else noticed the connection and she would then be known as ‘Fat Kat’. She couldn’t live with that.

A215 - Weekly Writing Challenge 6.

Week 6 - Twitterati

Write a piece of fiction using only 140 characters. This challenge is designed to make you think about your words, your letters and your punctuation. Write something that will allow your reader to fill in the blanks.

Remember, this is not 'up to 140 characters' - it is exactly 140 characters!

To be completed by Tuesday 20th September.

F WIDOW seeks M, 51. Must like The Who, real ale, drive a red mini, smoke a pipe, have freckles and always pretend to forget our anniversary

A Quick Poem

Today is our birthday.

We play games in the garden all day.

I am in love.

Lucy says we shall grow old together.

Today is our birthday.

She is so much bigger than I.

I’m sure I’ll catch up.

Lucy says I can sleep in her bed.

Today is our birthday.

Lucy wants to play dress-up.

I bite her.

She thinks because she’s big she can boss me around.

Today is our birthday.

I haven’t seen Lucy at all.

I leave a present on our bed.

The next day she shouts at me.

Today is our birthday.

We are thirteen.

I wait for my life to begin.

She seems so much younger than me.

Today is our birthday.

Lucy is happy.

She has colours painted on her face.

I am tired.

Today is our birthday.

I stay in bed.

Lucy sits on me when she comes in.

I think I’m getting smaller.

Today is our birthday.

I think I am dying.

Lucy cries while she strokes my hair.

‘Goodbye, my Puss’.

A215 - Weekly Writing Challenge 5.

Week 5 - Flash Fiction

 Write a piece of flash fiction using the prompt 'now or never'

Guidelines vary with regards to Flash Fiction; some being as little as 300 words. For the purpose of this challenge, anything up to 600 words is acceptable.

NOW OR NEVER

Sarah made her way gravely towards the front door. Before she entered, she wriggled off her engagement ring and slipped it in her jeans pocket. It helped a little. She felt like part of the dreaded task was already completed.

It was not that she did not love Matt anymore; she just hated the way he rolled his cigarettes, the sounds he made when he ate and the smell of his shampoo. Sarah knew her complaints were unreasonable and that he was no different now from the clever, strong, handsome man she had adored six years ago, so maybe it was her who had changed. She used to get jealous when she saw women pointlessly flirting with him but now she longed for him to have an affair. She thought she would burst with joy if that happened. Anything would be better than the look of shocked devastation and the tears she would soon have to face.

Sarah had hoped Matt would sense there was something wrong when she started joining clubs and going to pub quizzes just to avoid having to stay home with him. Finding excuses not to have sex was the hardest part as he knew better than anyone what an appetite for it she usually had. Sometimes, she found herself trying to start arguments, hoping he would get so sick of her that he would leave. None of these tactics worked, however. If anything they made him quietly miserable, while being even more eager to make her happy. She often cried when she thought about her treatment of him and had decided today that he deserved to be told the truth.

Sarah noticed her neighbour was eyeing her from across the road and realised she could not stand on the doorstep, fiddling with her keys, any longer. With a deep breath she opened the door. She could not have felt more scared if she had been walking to her death.

‘Matt?’ she called, closing the door.

He appeared from the kitchen to her left, looking serious and pale.

‘Something’s happened’, he said.

I’ve been seeing someone else; I’ve been seeing someone else…Sarah’s mind chanted desperately, praying these would be his next words.

‘My dad died’. Matt’s eyes fell to the floor while he covered his crumpled face with his hands.

Sarah rushed to her fiancé and wrapped him in her arms, while behind his neck she replaced the ring that, for a few minutes, she had been free from.

A215 - Weekly Writing Challenge 4.

Write a short piece of prose, poetry or fiction inspired by this photo. You don't have to mention the picture at all; just see where it takes you.

For example - You could write a short piece about a man walking in the rain; how is he feeling? Where has he come from? Where is he going?

ANONYMOUS

The woman in black, she walked ahead of me,

So strong a figure I had never seen,

Another city worker, possibly?

To me she was Titania, Nature’s Queen.

The trees arched high above her hidden face,

Protective of their mistress on parade,

An ebony statue hailed her from its place,

As she, even this modern world obeyed.

The rain created mirrors everywhere,

So on each surface her reflection showed,

A part of all that lived and breathed the air,

How humble did I feel to share her road.

Now, when I weave through overcrowded streets,

I see her influence in all I meet.