Flash Fiction: Classified

FREE to good home: full set of Charles Worthington Blonde hair care products. Never used. Radiance boosting and clarifying. Will make your hair glow, akin to an angel. EMAIL ONLY – PICKUP REQUIRED.

The girl with the flaxen hair, by Debussy, was always my favourite track. Not because of the melody; it's not that exciting. No, it was the name. The girl with the flaxen hair. That's what my granddad would call me when I was little.

A teenager once yelled “Oi! Rapunzel” at me as I sashayed down the street, my hair swinging from a high pony tail. Even though it was in an 'up-do', it still reached my shoulder blades. Best piece of street heckling I've ever had.

Now they shout at me for a very different reason. Now they shout because I am ugly.

The chemotherapy has ravaged everything: my nails, once shiny and well-conditioned with hydro-oil by L'Oreal, are now dull and cracked and chipped and pink nail varnish slithers off onto my bed clothes several hours after application.

My eyes, once bright and with twenty/twenty vision, are now red and dry and itchy to the point that my greatest pleasure is to rub and scratch, like a dog with a bad allergy.

My lips are cracked, like cavernous, pink, fleshy valleys, arid after the worst drought of the year.

But it's my hair that bothers me the most. It's gone. The last remaining strands have been removed. I say 'have been removed'. I almost can't bear to admit that I shaved my head last night. I gave in. I listed the expensive hair products on Gumtree. The hair products I bought last week: one last hope. One last salvation. They'll go to some other pretty airhead. As long as I can leave it all outside and not have to see the locks that will benefit from my vanity.

I'm still the same person, the same, strong, beautiful woman. As Christina Aguilera said: 'I am beautiful, no matter what they say. Words can't bring me down'. I don't agree with the last bit, but I sing it with gusto; it's on repeat on my iPod. Once I brainwash myself enough, maybe I won't see the monster looking back at me in the gold framed mirrors that hang around my home. I feel like the Evil Stepmother. Hurling a chair at the biggest, and most mocking of the set did make me feel better. Until I realised how much it cost.

The love affair is over and I am reduced to my core. Yet that core is strong. Without the veneer, without the pretence, without the gloss and fake eyelashes – I'm still here.

Plus my mum's bought me a wig.

--

Flash fiction written for East Surrey Creative Writing Workshop - write 500 words about why someone placed a Classified Ad.

First meeting: ES Creative Writing Workshop

Today was the first meeting of the East Surrey Creative Writing Workshop.

Attending: Alex and Tannice. Absent: Vicky and Susi.

We met in the Bull's Head pub, in Reigate High Street, at 7.30 PM.

Alex and I went through introductions and we discussed books and genres that we enjoyed. Alex noted that she was most interested in discussing and practicing fiction.

I also enjoy writing fiction but would also like to do some non-fiction writing, such as essays, articles and features. I may even bring copywriting to the group to get feedback. More details on non-practice discussion is below.

Alex hadn't had time to do the nature practice exercise but did read mine (which you can read here) and we discussed the potential of developing it into a longer short story instead of a flash.

We discussed the structure of the workshop and decided on the following:

Practice exercises, submissions and criticisms

Exercises will be sent out on the Wednesday we meet. Members then have one week to submit their writing to the list (until the following Wednesday). Members will then have one week to write crit notes, which will be presented at the next meeting.

Email-only members can submit their criticisms via email to all members.

I would encourage members to ensure that their criticisms are a good balance of positive and constructive. Crits may include notes about style, grammar, what you'd like to read more about, what you liked and what you think could be improved.

Meeting structure

We will start by presenting crits of the submissions.

The next section of the meeting will be for members to present a piece of writing as a discussion point.

The writing may be from a book, article, short story or any other piece of writing that you like. Members should start with a small introduction on why they've brought the piece to the meeting and a brief synopsis of the story if it's an extract from a book or a longer piece of writing.

We want to know:
- what you like, and why
- what you think works, and why
- what you think should be changes or could be improved upon
- anything else you want to say about it.

The third and final stage of the meeting is for the discussion of anything non-practice we've written, discussions of style and any grammar queries you have.

You will receive the details of the exercise via email.

East Surrey Creative Writing Workshop (ESCWW)

ATTN: budding writers of East Surrey!

Do you have dreams of writing a novel, poetry, a collection of short stories or articles?

Do you yearn to write but sometimes lack inspiration?

Have a great idea that needs work, but you're stuck?

Are you plagued by writer's block?

East Surrey Creative Writing Workshop can help!

-----
Currently there are only 4 female members and we'd love to grow our group to be as diverse as possible.

We've not met up yet as this is an entirely new group. However, the proposed plan is thus:

We will meet bi-weekly. At the moment, no time and place has been set, but a suggestion in discussion is Wednesday nights at 8PM, at the Bull's Head in Reigate. This is subject to change, so please feel free to contact me (contact info below).

Practice exercises will be sent out every two weeks. Members will then prepare their piece and email it to the other members. Obviously, the more quickly a member writes and submits their practice piece, the more criticism and feedback they'll receive.

We will then meet up and discuss the various submissions from members. All criticism must be constructive. As the chairwoman of the meeting, I will endeavour to keep a lid on any heated discussions, should they occur.

Once we've gone through development points, suggestions and anything else about the submissions, we will move on to chat about different elements of writing.

This includes, but is not limited to;

• Books we've read and liked/hated
• Grammar and style queries and discussions
• Brainstorming plot elements, character development, or anything else regarding members' non-practice work
• Discussion of submissions to publishers, where required
  
• Discussion of possibly publishing our practice pieces as an anthology (this is by no means a requirement of membership - purely an idea at this stage).

To contact me about the group, please call me on 07981969693, email me via my website, Cam Poetic License, or @ reply to me on Twitter, @CPoeticLicense

Flash Fiction: Blitzkreig: Lightning War

It was a perfect night for it. The rain was hammering down on the windows, reminding Dylan of an air strike. The roar was deafening as the rain drops tuned to sleet and the sound intensified. Dylan could almost imagine that it was he who controlled the rain, concentrating on making it slam down even harder on the parched ground.

It had to be a dark and wet night. The bridge should be empty so Dylan could be alone. Only four more hours until midnight.

Dylan heard a rumble and then, seconds later, saw the piercing light of a lightning strike. It was just the right night for the choice he'd made.

--

Last Wednesday had been the hottest day of the year so far and he'd taken his niece out. They'd played among the long, summer grasses that the council had neglected to trim.

Dylan had held her pretty feet and lifted her up into the low branches of an Oak tree. She'd sat above him, amused by the antics of the curious squirrels scurrying up the higher branches. She'd asked him why there were no conkers and Dylan had laughed, telling her it was the wrong time of year. It was then that Dylan had felt some sadness and doubt. But after further, logical consideration, he was certain that it was right. After all, Sarah would benefit most. Dylan was sure that, in ten years, when Sarah turned eighteen, she'd understand his decision. As he was unmarried and the rest of his family were estranged, she would be the main beneficiary of his will.

Dylan's thoughts were interrupted by an ominous creaking sound, ear piercing screams and a cacaphonous splintering of wood and buckling of metal. Sprinting towards the front balcony, Dylan flung the patio doors open.

The Yew tree he'd cultivated for twenty years had fallen. Weakened by his over-zealous pruning and the violent winds, it had pinned his neighbours; Janet and her daughter, Susi, in their car.

---

It was half past eleven; almost 4 hours since the accident. The firemen had safely extracted his neighbours from their car and they were in their house, drinking tea and contemplating their luck. Dylan sat on his balcony. He didn't notice the stinging hail, nor the bright, flashing lights of the ambulance and fire engine.

The Yew had changed everything. Dylan never went to London Bridge.
---
Yew tree forklore

Flash fiction submitted for this week's exercise on the Internet Writing Workshop.

Flash Fiction: Scandal in Sakuoza

As Sakura watched the chocolate sauce soak into the woman's silk dress she felt a flutter of bitter satisfaction in her stomach. The woman hadn't even noticed the viscous drips hit the delicately embroidered pink fabric as she greedily hoovered up the profiteroles. The chocolate was cooling now, obscuring the pretty blue cornflowers that surrounded her flat chest. Sakura was transfixed, watching the woman spill more and more hot sauce on her wonderful outfit.

Sakura didn't consider herself a jealous woman but in this last week George had seemed distant, preoccupied; something terrible was weighing heavily on his mind. They'd only been married for a month, after four months of internet dating and two months together here in Japan.

She'd dismissed her suspicions at first but now, watching him talk animatedly with this stranger at the wedding of two of George's friends, she felt sure that something was going on that she wasn't going to like. Not only was she worried about her husband getting too close to this other woman, Sakura was nervous; she'd never met any of these English people before. Most of them didn't speak Japanese and they were finding it hard to understand her attempts to communicate. Sakura had decided to get away from everyone for a while and was standing under a Cherry Blossom tree, watching the guests mill around.

George seemed enraptured by the woman's heavy, Western features. Her face seemed so large and her hair was a dirty brown, unlike Sakura's ebony waterfall of locks. He didn't even seem to notice the small drips of chocolate that had given Sakura so much pleasure to watch. Sakura was too far away to hear what they were saying but her imagination was running wild.

Although George was English, he'd always said he'd preferred the bijoux features of Japanese women. They'd often joked that his attraction to Asian women was the only reason he'd decided to do business in here.

The woman was leaning in now, whispering into George's ear. Surely they knew that someone would see them? Surely they knew she was here somewhere and that she could discover them at any moment? The pair rose and wandered towards the dance-floor. Sakura followed them surreptitiously, avoiding groups of grandparents uttering platitudes to the newlyweds. Once she was safely hidden behind a group of friends, Sakura settled down at a table to plot her revenge. Would she cut up all his suits, bury his golf clubs or poison his Koi? Violent schemes turned the cogs in her mind, never revealing themselves on her pretty face. Never before had the saying 'still waters run deep' been so apt.

As Sakura plotted her husband's eventual demise, George and the stranger had disappeared back into the hotel. Sakura didn't see them leave the dance floor and was so deep in her vicious plotting that she didn't notice George's friend, who she'd met earlier in the day, sitting behind her.

"Hey Sakura! Isn't George's step-sister gorgeous? Do you think you could set us up?" he said, confused at the look on Sakura's face.

Flash-fiction submitted to the Internet Writing Workshop in response to 'What's driving (V2)'