allbarkandnowrite

[allbarkandnowrite]

Flash Fiction - Draft 1

Annie ran into the phone booth, sweat dripping down her face. She picked the battered phone up from its cradle and hastily dialled the only number she could remember. 

  “You have to help me!” she gasped into the receiver, the stitch in her side becoming noticeable at last. Her feet ached from the stolen shoes that didn’t fit quite right, and hair fell shoddily from the once-neat bun. She had been running for quite some time.

  “What’s wrong, Annie?” asked a cool, steely voice from the other end of the line. Annie stood stock still, mouth gaping. Her breathing became laboured as the air felt thick around her.

  “Who is this? What do you want?” she asked, her heart beginning to pound.

  “We’ve been watching and listening to you for a while now, Annie Williams. We know what you did. We’re sending a team to apprehend you. Do not try to run, do not try to hide. We have you now.”

The warning fell on deaf ears, as Annie dropped the phone from her hands and ran again, a new energy coursing through her veins. She could hear the distant sounds of an accelerating car and she did not want to be there when They arrived.

Critiques:

1. It doesn’t get to the meat of the story quickly enough.

2. Parts of it seem to be weak, and wouldn’t withstand a second drafting.

3. There’s nothing particularly appealing about the first two sentences.

Successes:

1. The first piece of dialogue is interesting enough to hook a reader, therefore should probably precede the story.

[allbarkandnowrite]

A Night To Remember - Draft 1

Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.

It was almost as if she would never be clean. Her hands were red and raw, knuckles cracked and stiff from the constant friction. Still, she could not help but feel layer upon layer of grime, coating her entire body, head to toe. No visible traces of dirt, sweat or blood were apparent on her; steaming water and carbolic soap had washed those away hours ago. Her hair, wet and stringy, sometimes crowded her vision, but a swift flick of her head soon cleared it. She rinsed once more, and then shut the shower off. She wrapped a big, fluffy towel around herself, but it still did not stop the shivering. She stepped towards the bathroom mirror, fogged up from the intense heat of the water. Fiercely, she wiped away the condensation to look at herself for the first time since it happened. Red-rimmed eyes, brighter than before. Pink tinged nose. Swollen lips. It was apparent that she had been crying. Hurriedly, she splashed her face with cold water, anything to erase the events of the evening.

Briiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!

She jumped. She had been jittery all night anyway, scared that somebody had witnessed everything.

Briiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!

The doorbell chimed out once more. Soon enough she would have to face the music. She slipped on a robe, tying it tight and left the bathroom. Slowly, she approached the front door where a shadow stood, illuminated by the streetlamps outside.

Briiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!

   “I’m coming! Calm down…” she yelled out. Her anxiety rocketed at the thought of explaining it all to somebody new. Somebody who did not know the full story and might not understand the motivation. Somebody who would convict her without truly understanding the facts.

Slowly, she opened the door to a familiar face. Her older brother stood there, with a malevolent glint in his eye.

   “Where is he?” he asked, pushing past her and strolling into the house.

   “Well…he’s not in? What’s all this about? Please…please don’t get angry.” She begged, grasping his arm.

   “Look at your face,” her brother whipped around to look at her. “It’s covered in bruises – I may as well call you the Phantom.” His reference to the purple and green bruise that shrouded the left side of her face caused her to turn away, mortified.

   “It was an accident – just a silly accident,” she squeaked, “You know that, Nathan, he would never hurt me on purpose.”

   “Ana, it’s spread across your face. There’s no point in defending him. Give him up; I’ll kill him myself.” Nathan raged.

Ana broke down, sobs heaving from her chest. She ran her hands through her sopping wet hair as streams of tears fell from her eyes. Puzzled, Nathan looked closely at her, seeing pain and remorse in her eyes.

   “Ana,” he started, “what happened here tonight?”

Ana glanced up, terrified of the consequences if she told him the truth.

   “Nothing! What are you talking about? Everything’s fine. You just have to leave now. Go.” She blurted out, pushing him back towards the door.

He pushed past her once more, striding towards the living room. He flung the door open and saw a bundle of chaos. Throw cushions were strewn across the floor, the curtain rail hung lopsided, as if dragged down and the television set – well – the lack of television set caught Nathan’s eye. Ana caught his arm, pleading with him to leave and never look back. He shrugged her off and walked to the kitchen, Ana following close behind. The strong scent of bleach hit his nose immediately. The kitchen seemed orderly enough; nothing had been tossed around and the tile flooring looked immaculate. He was about to turn and leave when a rust-coloured spot on an otherwise cream floor caught his eye.

   “What’s that, Ana? Is that blood? Did he make you clean up your own blood again?” fumed Nathan.

   “It’s not mine.” She croaked in a hoarse whisper.

   “Then…whose blood is it?”

   “His.” Came the simple reply.

   “Where is he now?” Nathan asked, calmly.

   “He’s in the field.”

Nathan cradled his face in his hands, willing the words to come out.

   “Whereabouts in the field?”

   “Near the oak tree. Under it, in fact.”

Ana had no idea where this sudden sense of calm came from. Her lips disobeyed her mind, and out tumbled the events prior to Nathan’s visit.

   “Stephen came home from work at the usual time, 6:30pm. I was just finishing dinner – the potatoes had taken longer than I thought they would, so I was panicking already. He slammed the door when he got in; I think he’d had a bad day at work,” Ana fidgeted with her fingers, “It wasn’t as if I’d forgotten his dinner completely! No, I was only running a few minutes late. If the traffic had been a bit worse then this would never have happened.”

Nathan put his hand on his sister’s, signalling that her rambling had to stop.

   “Go on, please.”

   “So, I took his beer into the living room for him. He was already sat down, sprawled across my beautiful new seat covers, messing them up. His shoes had been kicked off. The TV was on at a hundred decibels, you know, as per usual,” she paused for breath, “Well anyway, he glared up at me and said, ‘Where’s my scran?’. I replied and told him that it would be a few minutes, the jackets were just finishing up. For some reason that made him go mental. ‘I don’t want any fucking jacket potatoes!’, he yelled, throwing the cushions at me. Of course, that didn’t hurt, they’re only cushions. But then he threw the table lamp at me. You know, the beautiful china one from Grandma?”

Nathan gestured for her to go on.

   “Well thankfully that didn’t smash,” she mumbled, “But – oh…where was I?”

   “He threw Grandma’s lamp at you?”

   “Yes, yes, it didn’t smash. So, I passed him the beer bottle and walked into the kitchen, when I did hear a smash. He’d thrown the bottle at the TV, shattered the screen and bottle, and set the wires off, can you believe?”

Nathan moved towards his sister, clasping her close, trying to soothe her.

   “I don’t know what came over me,” she sobbed, “I snapped. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I thumped the tray of food down on his lap and told him to get his own next time. He just…rushed at me. I ran to the kitchen and slammed the door. I grabbed one of the knives and told him not to come near me. It was an accident, Nathan, you have to believe me.”

She pushed away from him and left the room, her breathing getting heavier as the hallway seemed to tighten around her. Ana ran upstairs, locking her bedroom door behind her. Nathan did not follow. Instead he searched the kitchen for the offending knife, eventually finding it near the first clue; the rust-coloured blood stain. Nathan took a deep breath before grabbing the knife, covering it with his prints.

   “Ana, I’m going,” he called up the stairs, “I’m going to the oak tree and turning myself in.”

Critiques: 

1. The outcome of the story can be obvious to others

2. For it to be a successful psychological piece, I need to delay the outcome and confuse the reader, almost

3. I need clarity on who the protagonist is; I feel it wavers at the introduction of the secondary character

Successes:

1. It has an element of suspense, not a lot, but it’s there

2. I feel as though the characters are realistic, and are therefore relatable in a way

3. There is a clear structure to the story