The prompts for my next month of writing…
In February I managed all TWENTY EIGHT –
let’s see how March treats me and viça versa….
Eugene stood in front of the mirror thinking how he had just about everything he could ever need or desire.
His home was exquisite by most people’s standards. In the centre of town, in walking distance from all the popular bars and restaurants. Built recently by an architect that understood his needs and furnished with only the best pieces, like the antique mirror he was now looking into.
He had friends on every level, socially and personally. His life was full of others like him who enjoyed their existences and loved the earthly pleasures. Women, and men come to that, fell at his feet, or on any part of his body he wished. His looks were timeless and faultless. His body moulded and primed.
He had all of this and more. He smiled at himself in the mirror, revealing an incredible set of white teeth. He smiled at the one thing he didn’t have – a reflection.
For more of Eugene check out: This is where I relax.
Blue skies above rolling green fields dotted with beautiful spots of red that are the poppies that have taken up residence in the corn field. Birds flying across the almost perfect sky as they whistle and sing to each other. A perfect summer day where the sun warms my aging body and gladdens my heart. That’s my view today.
Or, at least, in my mind’s eye that’s my view today.
My true view is of a stark graying wall with no decoration except the marks added their by previous inmates, a bunk above me made of cold metal over the end of which hang the legs of my cellmate. For I am physically imprisoned for crimes against the state. Crimes of passion to help others like me remain free. The government of my diseased country impose this physical view on me but they have no power to impose my spiritual view, the view my mind can conjure.
My mind will always remain free, my view will always be of green fields, or of rolling oceans, the beauty that is ours for the asking, or in my case imagination.
I’d seen a painting I admired in a local art gallery so decided that today was the day I would pluck up the courage to drop in and see if I could buy it. I knew some about art from studies at school and college, but was no expert and frankly the art world and those within it still intimidated me. Nonetheless it was raining and I had little else to do to fill my evening so I pushed the door and went in. I still had an hour or so before I was to meet Alex for dinner, and buying the painting as an anniversary gift would be perfect.
Inside I found that the gallery wasn’t quite as I had imagined. I thought it would be all open spaces filled with light to show off the pictures, but it was in fact quite small and divided into even smaller spaces, each one dedicated to a specific artist or style, I was soon to find out.
I had been surprised to see this painting that I wanted in the gallery window a couple of days before and set about looking for it. I guessed I didn’t fit the specifications for the day to day gallery visitor in my jeans and designer jacket. especially as by designer I mean ‘George at Asda’ which is incidentally my favourite jacket ever.
The gallery owner spotted me as I slipped through the door and made a bee-line for me.
“And how can we help sir this terrible evening?” she asked, nose in the air, giving off suspicion as she spoke. “Not great weather to get caught out in,” she added. She had no idea of my bank balance, or my art credentials and I found her implied suggestion that I was sheltering from the rain tantamount to snobbery.
“I saw a piece,” I started, thinking that by saying piece instead of painting or picture it would sound better. “in the window a couple of days ago and thought I’d drop in and take a closer look.”
“Aha, I think I know the one sir means,” She drawled moving into the gallery after having given me the once over and from the look on her face deciding that she didn’t approve of what she saw. Snooty as hell this one.
She moved towards one of the back rooms, right past the painting I wanted to see. I called her up short and stopped in front of the one I fancied. She took a few steps back towards me, nodded and started to tell me everything about the artist, their technique and why the painting was an excellent example of his style.
“Chiaroscuro,” the she droned on, “the blend of light and dark in this piece is exceptional. I am sure you will agree.” She clearly thought I had no idea of what she was talking about.
I was just about to explain my point of view, for I knew the artist well enough, when the bell above the entrance door rang violently and the light went out.
The gallery owner screamed and, from the sound of her heels on the floor, ran in the opposite direction. I moved back against the wall as I felt someone else run past. I had no idea what was happening and didn’t want to get caught up in it either.
Less that five minutes later the light came back on, just as an alarm starting screaming from somewhere above me. I found myself staring at a bare wall in front of me. Alex’s finest piece of work had gone. I hoped the gallery had good insurance. I knew the value of Alex’s masterpiece and without proper insurance the gallery would find their bank balance a couple of hundred thousand pounds light!
Meredith walked slowly down the corridor listening intently as she did so. She was sure she’d heard a noise from the kitchen, which was strange as she knew she was alone in the house until Josh got home and that would be at least two hours away.
Meredith was a pretty, petite redhead with freckles that she had hated when she was a child, but had now accepted as the delightful feature that they were. She was a year three school teacher and at work wore formal wear to accentuate her authority. At home she favoured casual clothes and on this night was wearing one of her husbands checked shirts over a pair of old jogging pants. She had been cutting up cloth for a school project she was preparing for the next day when she had been startled by the noise and had cut her hand. Blood dripped from it along the floor beside her footsteps. On her face there were more cuts leftover from some work she had taken on in the garden. These were were drying now, but added to her slightly forlorn look.
“Hello?” she called to see if anyone would answer, “Hello, is anyone there?”
Meredith and Josh were staying in the old Newman house while they waited for theirs to be renovated. They had moved in just a few days ago and still Meredith wasn’t used to it. To her it felt like it had a life of its own. She had heard stories about the house when she was a child. Stories that could make the hair on the back of your arm stand on end, but refused to give them any credence now she was an adult.
Even though she was walking slowly she soon arrived at the kitchen door. The opaque glass gave nothing away of what was on the other side. Meredith grabbed the handle ready to turn and push. All of a sudden there was an unearthly groan from the other side of the door. Meredith’s face changed just as suddenly from worry to abject fear. She pulled back from the door for a second and pressed herself against the wall in the dim light that filtered through the door.
She wasn’t sure why, but guessed it was the stress, as without warning a fit of the giggles grew within her bursting out of her mouth as she stood back to the wall.
“Cut….Cut,” Marcello shouted. “Janice you’re supposed to be in mortal danger, not giggling like a schoolgirl.”
“Sorry, Marcello,” Janice aka Meredith replied as she returned back to the other end of the corridor to shoot the scene one more time.
It was half past seven. I was half under the duvet and half awake. I felt it was going to be a half-empty kind of day.
With my feet half in my slippers and my dressing gown half tied I stumbled to the bathroom. Half-heartedly I shaved, brushed my teeth and showered. I made myself half-presentable for the day ahead.
For breakfast I had half a grapefruit and having drunk half my cup of coffee I noticed the time. It was half past eight. Grabbing my half-open briefcase I half ran half trotted to the station to catch my train.
When the train pulled into the station I noted that with relief that it was still half empty. As luck had it, or not, by the time I was halfway through the doors it was as good as full and I ended up sitting half on-half off a seat next to an overly large gentleman who had half my seat as well as his own.
Halfway through the journey the train slowed and stopped. an announcement half-heard over the poor tannoy system told us that we were going to be delayed for a few minutes. A few minutes son became a half hour, which meant my arrival at work was similarly delayed.
I got into the office to find my partner going half out of his mind with stress. It transpired that half of our client base was half thinking of moving half a mile away to a competitor.
It was still only halfway through the day and I was ready to get half cut… and that really isn’t the half of it…..
Eugene and Violet had just enjoyed another evening on the town. Eugene had treated Violet to yet another delicious meal in an exclusive restaurant, although he still didn’t seem to enjoy the food himself. for the first time though he suggested Violet come back to his place for a nightcap or something. violet had been waiting for this and had eagerly accepted. Everything about Eugene turned her on and she couldn’t wait to take things a step further.
They walked back to Eugene’s place arm in arm and on arrival Violet was slightly overwhelmed. He had never really spoken much about himself or where he lived, leaving Violet to do most of the talking about her life and family, or rather lack of it. Eugene’s home was a large detached house in a road of terraced ones. It had clearly been the site of yet another terraced house in the past which had been bulldozed at some point to make way for a huge modern townhouse. Steel and reflective glass made up most of the building, which gave nothing away of the insides, just as Eugene gave little away about himself.
The front door was up a couple of steps. Grabbing Violet’s hand Eugene led the way, unlocking the door and switching on the light in the large hallway. Violet pushed the door closed behind her as Eugene pulled her into the house.
The hallway was modern but delicately lit by electric candlelight. To the right was a large , yet strangely intimate living room, stuffed full of reproduction furniture. Eugene moved across the floor and opened a wall bar in which were displayed a huge range of bottles and glasses. He asked what Violet would like to drink and when she chose poured her a large glass, while he himself had nothing. He sat beside her on the reproduction antique sofa and caressed her neck.
The drink soon took effect, making Violet even more malleable under Eugene’s hot embrace. She had already dropped her coat over a chair on the way in. With his breath hot on Violet’s neck Eugene began to unbutton her blouse. “You know what I want?” he whispered.
“What we both want,” She replied. “Should we go upstairs?” Violet tried to get up but Eugene held her firmly against the sofa.
“But, my darling, this is where I like to relax,” he said as he leaned back smiling slightly.
Too late Violet spotted Eugene’s impossibly large teeth as he moved back towards her neck and found her jugular in a well-practised action.
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