At
this week's writers meeting, organiser Oz brought in Kalum Kerr's short story anthology 31. You
could do this exercise with any anthology book.
31
is a collection of short stories, numbered 1-31. Oz asked us to pick
a number between these 2. We picked 27. She then read the first line
of that story with the intention of using it as a writing prompt. It
wasn't a good one, so we switched to 15!
Our
new prompt: “I wanted to be alone.”
With
ten minutes on the clock, here's what I produced. It's totally,
y'know, fictional.
Cough.
I
wanted to be alone. I'd spent the weekend in Blackpool with 7 other
mates, all guys, giving and taking banter and force-feeding myself
Jack Daniels and Takeaway burgers. I hada number in my phone from
some blonde girl who'd kissed me in a club- Sanuk or something, I
can't really remember- and, of course, I'd obliterated my meagre bank
account over the course of 24 hours. My nasal tract was still clotted
from the drugs, and, coupled with the effects of this car journey,
the churning of my stomach was almost- almost- uncontrollable. I
found the horizon past the field on the other side of the motorway,
the trees whipping behind us with surprising clarity, considering the
state I was in the night before, running down Blackpool's strip, the
street lights blurry and comet-tailed. Even when you've lost your
mates in a club and the ecstasy’s still coursing through you, the
strangers you encounter still feel invasive and strange, talking in
incoherent jive about some guy's attitude or some girl's skirt and
why that dance floor wouldn't ever stop rotating. I was also going to
have to have words with Apone- his attitude was going too far,
whether he's on something or not.
But
I'm not going to confront him now. Not in this state.
Puke.
Sleep. Eat. Phone this girl. Then talk to Apone.
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