A Month Of Writing: August 19th 2018

During the Month of August 2018, Each day I Wrote Two pages of fiction in my Travelers Notebook. Here are some of the extracts.

August 19th

A long day at work had tired her out and it was the first day back after a three day weekend. And standing and waiting in the cold for what seamed like at least 40 minuets or more, which in fact was only 20 minuets.

Getting on to the bus, only two stops from its stating rote, meant that it was empty. Heading to the back seat, she made herself comfy as the bus continued its journey. 

Neon lights from the shops lit the roads on the late autumn evening.

As the bus pulled in to the next stop, she looked around as two more people climb aboard. looking at the opposite seats with a few papers and magazines laid. she moved over to the neighbouring seat and reached for the both. Picking them up she saw a think black notebook with scraps of paper sticking out of the sides, its cover slightly bowed with its contents  elastic closure stretched keeping it closed, Staring at it unsure weather to pick it up or just leave it. But there was something about it… It was as if it was asking her to pick it up.  Moving back over to the seat that she had chosen by the window laying the papers and the magazines on her lap and looking at the notebook laying on top of them.

She stared at it wondering if there might be a name and number or an email inside so she could return it to its owner.

Slipping off the elastic, carefully not to knock and of the lose pages out of their carefully placed places.

The front page with its lies for its owner to scribe their name was blank. Glancing up as the bus stopped again letting no one off or on, waiting to move on.

So she began to look through the book. Scribbled notes on each page, some clear and readable, others scribbled roughly and practically unreadable. with strange symbols which almost seamed religious but she was unsure.

Pages from books stuck in with lines high lighted and question marks and questions noted. “Why was she there?” “Why did the writer include this?” “Why did he do that?”. It all seamed strange and pointless, yet it intrigued her, so she kept going, the lose pages had more notes on, then there was scribbled pictures in pen and some in pencil of screaming faces, people burning, similar to the images of witch trills. Dark twisted images of statues of Angels. More lose pages some from the Bible, defaced with drawings.

It all made her feel unease but there was something about the book that made her want to turn each page, despite her instinct to close it and leave it on the seat next to her and go.

A dark curiosity made her turn the next page, eyes taking in each spread of strange dark weirdness…

A Month Of Writing: August 17th 2018

During the Month of August 2018, Each day I Wrote Two pages of fiction in my Travelers Notebook. Here are some of the extracts.

August 17th

“Usual” asked the girl behind behind the counter. 

“please” he responded with a smile and pulling his wallet out of his back pocket.

“hows it been today” he asked the other girl as she began to put together his sandwich.

“been busy, enjoying the quite time before it picks up at around 4’ish”

“fair enough” He looked around the cafe with a dozen or so tables with only 6 people sat eating and drinking. His eyes stopped at the table in the corner by the window, where a girl sat with a plate with a half eaten cake and an untouched cup of coffee. She sat scribbling in a notebook franticly, passionately.

“She’s been here for nearly two hours, thats her second cup of coffee that she hasn’t touched.” said the girl placing his late on the try.

“Is she a regular?”

“Nope.. what ever she is writing has got to be important. my be she’s a student.”

As he watched her putting words on the paper, then flicking back through pages and crossing through words, lines. she pushed her hair off her face tucking it behind her ear. He suddenly realised.

“I know her.” His stomach tightened with that thought. He recognised the ring, the tattoo on her arm.

“You should go and say hi. Make sure that the pens not running out” smiled the other girl, placing his bacon and egg roll on the tray.

It couldn't be her. could it? It had been so long. Maybe it wasn't her? May be he was wrong?

“No that wouldn't be a good idea.”

Suddenly she stopped and jumped up startled. knocking the coffee of the edge of the table. She stared straight at him shocked at seeing him. She grabbed the notebook and quickly left.

“I think she remembers you”

He watched her leave and stared at the door after her. It was her, he could not believe it. He thought he would never see her again considering. But here she was still the same after 300 years. 

A Month of Writing: August 3rd 2018

During the Month of August 2018, Each day I Wrote Two pages of fiction in my Travelers Notebook. Here are some of the extracts.

August 3rd

“I’m not going in there”

“Why not? We agreed we would do this together.”

“Yeah, well, I was drunk and things always seam like a good idea at that time.”

The two of them stood looking through the open door way in to the dark void.

“Are we still going through with this?” he said pushing passed the two of them with a T bar stand with two yellow woking lights on them trailing the power cable behind.

“All in.. Well she's starting to chicken out” smiling at her.

“Lets just do this” she said turning on her touch.

“and let their be light” he said, plugging in the lights in to the extension lead. plunging the darkness in to light. Yet it almost seamed that the darkness was eating the light. with them unable to she the end of this cavernous room beneath the building that they knew so well.

In front of them was a mound of dirt. creating the dusty damp smell. set in to the side of the mound were concrete slabs creating a path of steps. leading to the top.

The three of them stood looking at the make-shift path in fount of them.

“fine I’ll go first.” she said stepping in to the void. they all slowly step up the slabs laid before them, each step leaving a its mark in the fine layer of dust. 

“I think this place is bigger then just one shop.”

“There has always been rumours of tuners leading down to the beach from one of the old manor houses.”

“yeah but those tunnels would be small, I think, there meant to be centres old and these shops have only been her 80 years tops.”

As they reached the top the three of them stood with their touches shining in to the far distance, even the light from the working lights did not illuminate this basement void. 

“We should go” she said the tone of her voice authoritative.. the two of them turned their touches to where the beam of hers fell. They stood in science as they paned the beams of light below, the white beams hitting and reviling tomb stone upon tomb stone….

A Month Of Writing: August 2nd 2018

During the Month of August 2018, Each day I Wrote Two pages of fiction in my Travelers Notebook. Here are some of the extracts.

August 2nd

Swinging from the chandelles, high on Champagne on ice

A ballroom floor of black and white tiles littered with black, sliver and purple balloons and glitter and streamers the same. 

While musicians play a lively beat with drums and sax, guitar and keys. The grand piano taking centre stage.

As guests as dressed up in black, purple and green, laugh and dance and jest. as glasses kiss and lovers caress. Hand in hand they move throw the crowds. For a privet corner, for a secret kiss.

A table out stretched. Nearly as long as the room, laid in purple, and red with a marvellous spread. Roosted hog, beef and quail. Roasted veg, steamed corn and jugs of ale.  Rich velvet chocolate cake and fruits from across the seas.

A Champagne fountain takes centre place, glasses staged high each filled… Devine.

A jester on a ladder empties another green bottle while another hand hands hime another.

While a group gathers round waiting for a glass of Champagne from on high. 

A figure dressed in black and green and mask to match. Purple ribbons hang from its stick to match the ribbons with in her hair. 

Stands alone and watches the chandelles that hang above their light and reflection captured in the mirrors in the celling above. 

Gold gilded frames, frame each one and cast painted sculpture hang between each one. 

As she watches the guests dance and sway on the checkered ceiling refection so high. 

Her broken thoughts last and slip away with the touch of a hand on hers as he leads her a way.