Long time, no see

        Hey everyone, I'm so sorry it's been so long, I feel like such a terrible blogger. Between birthday preparations and the planning that goes into moving, I've had almost no time to do ANYTHING. But, this is a little something I was working on ages ago, it came about when we were asked to do one of our weekly 1,000 word homework assignments, which had to begin  with someone taking a picture. I got as far as this piece goes and then scrapped it to write a Dr Seuss style poem about badgers. Maybe I'll share that gem with you one day too. Anyhow, let me know what you think of this, I'll endeavour to be more active now I've at least got new bedding for the house.

                Click, flash. She turned around, looked out of the window, saw nothing. Click, flash. She turned around again; eyes wider this time, shook her head and put her back to the window once more. Click, flash. This time when she turned around, there was fear in her eyes, she came to the window and looked out, almost pressing her face to the glass this time. She swept her gaze across the street outside, she saw nothing however pulled the curtains together tightly, eyes flicking to every shadow, every tree, every shrub as the quiet street disappeared behind the crimson shield, shrouding the small area outside her window in darkness.

                He waited fifteen minutes before fighting his way out of the bushes opposite her flat, until he was confident that she wasn’t going to poke her head out between the curtains again, to try and steal a glimpse of him. He prised apart the bramble he’d found refuge in and made his exit, proficiently replacing the branches so they looked natural, and not as if someone had been sitting in the middle of it for around two hours every night for the past three months.  

                He’d taken some good photos so far – her unbuttoning her shirt, rolling her head, eyes closed after a long day at the bank where she worked; unclasping her bra and sliding her skirt down her toned thighs, past her knees and letting it fall to the floor, before stepping out of it and moving to her en-suite to shower away the paranoia which was beginning to engulf her.

          I know it's a bit darker than the other stuff on here, I hope you still liked it! I'll do my best to be around, but I'm going to be ridiculously busy for the next 2-3 weeks. Keep well and stuff!

          Thanks for reading, Laura

                                           xoxoxoxox

Everyone knows someone like this.

           Hey hey! :) This piece was a really quick, like, maybe two minute exercise we did in a 9 o'clock lecture, when we were talking about radio plays. We were discussing how you could get information across just through speech, and without anybody being able to see anything. So, the lecturer said that we should try to describe a person to someone who is blind.  The most effective way of doing this is to try and appeal to all of the senses, so rather than talking about them being 'six foot 5 with a medium build, with grey hair and tanned skin', you can far more effectively describe someone, or even somewhere by talking about the sounds and smells surrounding the situation. That way, your readers can really immerse themselves in their surroundings, and get much more of a feel for the characters, than if you were to just describe them aesthetically. 

               Anyhow, you didn't come here to read my ramblings, so here it is! Like I said, It was a really short exercise, very early in the morning - so it's really short. 

           'He smalls of cheap aftershave - too much cheap aftershave. His voice is almost as overbearing as his aroma; scratchy, nauseating and high-pitched, all at once. He seems to shout every third word and manages to insult almost everyone, without ever really meaning to. If he hugs you, you'll know- first, there's the crushing sensation, and secondly; because for the rest of the night- and for at least a few days afterwards - you'll smell of cheap aftershave too.'

                     I hope you enjoyed that, I'll try to do more descriptive stuff in the near future, hopefully without much dialogue because I do so much dialogue, it's nice to just talk about a place, rather than have someones voice destroying the landscape.

                     Let me know what you think in the comments :)

                     Thanks for reading! Laura

                                                      xoxoxoxox

Memories.

      Hey all, so this post is a bit more somber than my others, I generally aim for humour or sarcasm, but this piece's inspiration was the memories which we attach to certain objects. I thought about all the things that bring good memories, but then there are always objects that bring up sad and painful memories, so I decided to break routine, and go down the break-up route for this one. Sorry if it's really depressing, let me know what you think in the comments if you like :)

           The times I've been in this room. How often I've seen everything in here and smiled, because it's just the way we always wanted it. 

         It's over now. All of it. There were far more things in here an hour ago, more things still yesterday. I can't look around now without thinking of the awkward, pained glances at each other, through our eyes' corners; each pretending we're fine, but we're not. I'm not. It's amazing to me how quickly someone can change their mind.

         I've seen him change his mind before; even smiled at it. The colour of the paint in the living room seemed like a huge deal, and so infuriating that he'd changed his mind, oh so many times. But now, it's so trivial. I always expected him to change his mind over the colour of the curtains, whether to have steak, chicken or fish; but I never expected him to change his mind over me.

        I stand in the centre of the room which we decorated together - the wood floors, the paint, the curtains; which turned out to be mocha, and not blue.

         I don't feel empty because he's moved out everything that was his, I feel empty because I've been left with shells and shadows of memories, and even without all of his possessions - he's everywhere. The photos, the fruit bowl, the paintings, and this vase I'm holding. We bought this vase in Antigua, I spotted it first, and he adored it. It was only once we got it home he realised it was completely the wrong colour.

       I'm going over all of this in my head, and all of a sudden, the vase, like me is shattered. Broken. In tiny little pieces all over the ground. 

       I feel an odd mixture of emotions; I feel like the breaking of the vase was some sort of therapy, I feel ashamed that I've scuffed the floor we ended up paying so much for. I feel livid, because I never thought I was this disposable. I feel desperate and desolate. I feel like it's nice to see that something is as fragile as me. I think it'll be good for me to clear it up, because that will at least give me something to do for a while.

      In a single moment, I understand the relief he must have felt when he whispered 'it's over', but it doesn't make it any easier on me. I've destroyed something which was, moments ago, so precious to me. The rage has subsided and left me numb.

      I'm standing still in the middle of scattered and broken memories. Looking at the fragments of one of the last things which ties me to him. I wish I hadn't broken it; I wish he hadn't broken me.

      The love of my life is gone.

       Sorry if that made your day sad, just so I don't feel like I've ruined your life, Here's a Gif of a cat putting on a rabbit hat.

       Have a happy weekend :) 

       Thanks for reading :) Laura

                                          xoxoxoxox

Circus

        So I said in my first post, that I wanted to post some of my creative writing on here, but so far, I've told you about the Olympics, and puddles. 

        This is based on a news story about a failed circus performance, I seem to remember an explosion.

       Silence filled the tent. It was a painful silence; one of those silences which is so out of place, because it follows something so loud. It was probably worse, because it wasn't a stunned, happy silence following a happy din; it was a stunned, baited silence - following a mass of happy sounds. 

       It began as an excited silence, moving quickly into one of nervous anticipation. At this stage, it was verging on the terrified.

        The man was lying still on the ground and music was still booming throughout the tent, although it was almost impossible to hear it over the all-consuming silence. In other words; the music was fighting the silence for air-space, and losing horribly.

       'He didn't do this in rehearsal!' can a whispered voice from behind the curtain.

       'There has to be something wrong - why isn't anybody doing anything?'

       Let me know in the comments if you liked this, if you'd want to see it go anywhere, or if you hated it, because it is a little strange, and would make almost no sense if I hadn't gone any length to explain in before I put it on here :)

                   

        Thanks for reading! Laura

                                         xoxoxoxox