Creative Writing Series 6

6.     An ex-boyfriend, a pair of binoculars, and a good-luck charm.

Silver with dangling charms. Not the modern beaded charms but the old ones with each charm on its own link and each charm representing something new.

A musical note – How we met. He played on an old school upright piano with the keys broken. Stark white against the painted black of the wood. His long fingers caressing each key as the sound filtered out of the old instrument. The odd note out of tune but the sound still beautiful none the less. His back perfectly straight, his glasses drawing me into his eyes as his fingers moved almost with a life of their own.

A pair of binoculars – Our first date was a bird sanctuary by a lake. We picnicked and I laughed at him playing with his food. We went cycling and he laughed at me for being terribly unfit. The nature trail was tranquil and relaxing. However it turned cold and windy which made us snuggle together under the picnic blanket to stay warm.

A butterfly – Our second date was a butterfly sanctuary. It was an unbelievably hot humid room covered in trees. One side of the room was taken up by a small pond. Butterfly’s fluttered across the room occasionally landing on the heads of those with brightly dyed hair. Children chased them around the room as they flew just out of reach. In the corners of the room cocoons were hanging in rows from the trees. He spent the day taking pictures as I attempted to draw them before they flew away.

A heart – Broken. It’s not you, it’s me. We’re better off just friends.

Creative Writing Series 5

5.     Aerobics, a secret diary, and something unpleasant under the bed.

Aerobics are a killer. I go there three times a week and every time I feel like I'm about to collapse. The instructor stands at the front perfectly skinny in her black leotard. Mocking us.

“You’re doing great!” she says in her perky voice while we splutter for breath in front of her.

“Keep going!” I feel the urge to punch her.  I don’t know why I torture myself with this pursuit. She probably is really nice and means well but all I know is that three time a week her voice is like a soundtrack to agony.

“Well Done! See you all next week!” I groan out a response before collapsing on the floor for a second before rising to get my stuff and change.

The people leaving the room are all commenting on what a great class it is. I just want to get home.

In the deserted changing room at the end of the hall I discover something under the wooden bench. I am vaguely surprised as most people use the changing room at the other end of the hall, closer to the exercise rooms.

It’s a book. Not just any book but a leather bound journal. I look at the inside cover and at the back to try to find some form of identification but there is none.

It intrigues me. I flick through the journal to try to ascertain its owner which is when I discover… It’s not a journal or a diary. It’s an unfinished novel. I read the first page and the next, and the next until suddenly, I find I’ve read the whole first chapter. It’s drawn me in.