Creative Writing: "Monochrome Dream"

This was written to Sorrow - Monochrome Dream for Turnfables (LSRfm Thursday 3-4). It's meant to be a slightly tongue-in-cheek dig at old black and white romantic films. Or romantic films in general, because I am a cynical, cynical woman.  Enjoy! 

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A ballroom of a past time in an unspecified place. High heels, high fashion, back when smoking cigarettes spoke of sophistication and class and before wearing fur was taboo. A band plays for the benefit of the couples revolving on the dance floor, all executing the perfect waltz, because it is that era, the era when everyone knew the moves.

He is dressed to the nines. She is dressed to kill. They haven’t seen each other yet.

She drifts through the smoke like a teenage dream, silk pooling at her feet like an ink spill, skin shining like an August moon. What a leading lady… those lips, those eyes; she’s perfection. How are we supposed to believe that she is still yet to be asked to dance? 

He broods in the shadows, tall and rugged, clutching his whiskey and pondering the frivolity of his friends, stereotype of a moody hero. These dances, hah! You won’t catch him on the dance floor, pointlessly twirling some dull blonde around and around, making small talk for little people.

She drifts. He broods. She drifts closer. Their eyes meet.

It’s like his reservations have been swept away with the force of her gaze. He can’t help but reach for her, enclosing her delicately gloved hand inside his strong, masculine paw. She does not resist. Her breath catches.

Now they are dancing, revolving alongside fifty other couples who think this waltz is love. But for them this is love. Neither knows the other’s name, but they know that this is their happily-ever-after. This moment is the one they have both been waiting for all their lives, it’s the moment they’ll never forget. They’ll tell their grandchildren about this moment, the first time they danced, the first time they kissed.

She could swoon in his arms, he could drown in her eyes and I could believe it if it wasn’t in monochrome.

Creative Writing "Farsight"

Creative writing is back! This time for a shiny new LSR show "Turnfables" - less folk, more low-fi dubstep, Thursdays 3-4pm. Here's my very first piece that I wrote for them - it was inspired by the track "Farsight" from Ghostek & Buck UK.

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I am a speck on a deserted beach in winter, all hat and scarf and no umbrella. Up ahead steel grey clouds tumble, pouring fourth not raindrops but sheets of water that fall like perfect panes of glass. They shatter when they hit me and a thousand tiny shards dance around my feet, my shoulders, my wind-scorched face, water droplets tracking my cheeks like tears. The water cascades off my back like a waterfall, my clothes cling to me as ice creeps into my bones. I have a river for a coat and two puddles for shoes, and yet I don’t shudder, I don’t shiver, the cold does not bite. I wrap the rain around me like a shroud and I watch. I watch the waves. I watch them breathe softly over the sand, in and out, in and out. My own breath matches, in and out, in and out. We are one, me and the ocean, we’re in perfect time. Together we are perfectly calm. No rage today, no crashing upon the shore, only gentle drifting under a warring sky. Let the clouds fight, with their thunder and their lightening. Down here all is peaceful. And soon all will be well.

I am speck on a deserted beach in winter, and as the soft roaring of the waves mingles with the drumming of the raindrops, I wonder if all the water will wash me away.