Too Old to Start Again

Sunday

“Your biggest achievement this year?”

“That I haven’t shot myself yet.”

His voice had never sounded so cold. But she remained unaffected by his words.

“You’re so predictable. Always so dramatic.”

She sent him a reassuring smile.

“There is must be something interesting, bold or new you’ve done this year.”


Sunday

He hesitated then spoke slowly.

“I thought about what you said.”

She was doing her nails.

“About what I’ve achieved this year.”

She nodded without looking in his direction.

“I bought a gun.”

He got her attention this time.

“You didn’t.”

He nodded.

“W-why?” she trembled. “When?”

“Last Wednesday. I kept it well hidden in a locked closet. Not easily reached so I wouldn’t be easily tempted.”

“Why? Damn it, what’s wrong with you?” She was going crazy. He looked away.


Sunday

“Maybe we’re just not meant to be happy.”

“Maybe we’re just not meant to be happy together.”

He was looking down.

“I’m not sure I know I can do that.”

“You’ll adapt. I promise.”


Sunday

“Are you still here?”

There was no answer on the other side.

“Please don’t do this.”

“I’m too old to start again.”

 

Advertisements

Writer’s Block – Part III

Writer’s Block – Part I

Writer’s Block – Part II


Many clients, some secrets, his diary and the rain.

“You made it to the end of the first page. But does this first page set the scene for your story?” I think so.

“If your reader gets this far and says ‘so what’ you might want to go back and do a rewrite.”

He reads the page out loud, acting out the introductory scene.

They found his diary under his bed. All the confessions he never dared to share, everything was on this notebook. His fears, his fantasies, his loves, his clients. With the rainstorm outside, this was the perfect backdrop for the start of a thriller film.

He observed from his discrete looking how they searched his room, how the dog was sniffing his clothes, how the detective was reading intensively his darkest secrets. Years with a double identity. Years with a double life.

It was the ideal moment to run away but he found his feet glued to the ground. What was he still doing here? He was somehow drawn to the scene, his heart aching as they flipped his bed, emptied his drawers, found his hidden money, called for back-up. He must leave.

He took one final look at his beloved apartment. It was far from perfect, it has so many flaws but it was the only home he ever got.

His feet started to move backwards when he saw her crossing the street leading to his house. She was holding the bottle of wine she promised and he was going to bake the chocolate soufflé. He had to stop her from going in. He didn’t want her to find out this way. Or in any way. He had to make sure she wouldn’t reach the building.

This is not too bad. He smiles approvingly.

“Think of the final line of the chapter as the first line of the next chapter.”

He takes out a new page and writes down his new first line. He had to make sure she wouldn’t reach the building.

He stares at his brand new first page, excitement growing within him, butterflies in his stomach.

“The next chapter is a new story.”

The End

Oath of Secrecy

Hello fellow travelers, I hope you haven’t abandoned the paper planes while I was away. I have disappeared for various reasons, the most obvious one is the serious lack of inspirations that I have been going through. I’ve been trying quite a lot and checked in daily on the blog, but in vain. Maybe this will get me back on track, I’ve missed writing here. Thank you for sticking around.
T.O.P.P.

He stood out of the crowd.
He loved to believe that. But even if he did, it would be for wrong and unflattering reasons.
Every night, he lay in bed for a few minutes, he stared into the darkness and sank into his thoughts. he’d usually fall asleep by the time the clock struck one. But he never slept too much and it only took a couple of hours before he opened his eyes again, more tired than before his short rest.
Just last night, he cried. Never really figuring out why, but he couldn’t stand it anymore. His mind kept going back to their disappointed stares. They were judging him, unintentionally maybe, but judging nevertheless. It was overwhelming and broke his heart into pieces.
Little things seem to matter a lot more than they should, making him constantly restless and nervous. A silent stare that lasted a second too long, a short sigh, a dish not cooked to perfection, an accident somewhere, a temporary lack of affection. It was nerve–racking.
He had to admit it’s been a tough year so far. Not that he was too optimistic but it exceeded his worst expectations.
He had a hard time expressing that out loud. Even though, they’d probably say it was the only thing he’s been talking about lately. And they weren’t completely wrong.
Maybe he should learn to manage his ideas better, he should keep some things to himself, hide his darkest thoughts in the deepest drawers of his brain and show them instead how interested he was in their lives – because he truly was.
“If there was ever a time to seize the day, now was that time.” He laughed. As if he never tried that one before.
Maybe one day they would see things eye to eye but for now, he would make an oath of silence and secrecy. Patience and prayers. He couldn’t see any other way out of this mess.
But in the end, maybe it really didn’t matter, he thought.
And in that moment, he had nothing else left to say.

 

Writer’s Block – Part II

screen-shot-2016-12-22-at-8-52-46-am

Writer’s Block – Part I


The paper is blank.

He continues to stare.

The paper is still blank.

He sighs.

There’s a secret. He was only going to hint at it. If only he knew what the secret was. Okay okay, he can do it.

He takes his pen, looks at the blank paper then write his new first line.

“They found his diary under his bed.”

This is good. This is good. This is intriguing. Right?

Okay, keep going.

“They found his diary under his bed. All the confessions he never dared to share, everything was on this notebook. His fears, his fantasies, his loves, his clients.”

Clients? Okay, he could work with that.

He turned to his precious notebook. “You have reached the second paragraph. How are you going to fill this one? Relax, you’re still on the first page. Most readers will stick with a story for at least the first page – but if it gets boring…”

“Boring” such a scary word. But this wasn’t boring, right?

“Bring in something new. Something that the central character is doing that is unusual – like hanging about in pouring rain. Why would anyone stand in pouring rain, unless there was some important reason that compelled them to?”

Something unusual. Pouring rain. But it makes no sense, he just wrote a guy with a diary and some clients. Is he meeting a client under the rain? This is getting confusing.

Okay so clients, secrets, diary, rain.

He sighs.

Maybe he should get some coffee. Get the ideas flowing. Yes, he should do that. Coffee, ideas, inspiration, good story. That’s the plan! Great plan! Okay, coffee.

He leaves the desk and walks to the kitchen. He stands for a second. Coffeeshop it is.

End of Part II

Part III


Hey again, I think this story will keep going for one more chapter. I don’t know what you thought of it (it was actually hard than part I). Thank you for reading and I would like to also thank one more time the WRITERS BLANK PAGE ELIMINATOR – from where I took the liberty to borrow their tips and use them in this story. 

Writer’s Block – Part I

The paper is blank.

He continues to stare.

The paper is still blank.

He sighs.

He hates these kinds of situations. He had no theme, no idea, no plot, not even the first name of his main character. He opens the first drawer of his desk and takes out his most precious notebook. He opens it and searches for the page with the title “Writer’s Block”. He hates this term but he always knew that one day he would eventually need the tips written in here.

“Write about a secret. Slowly give out the information.”

Okay, a secret. He can do that.

A secret.

He takes his pen, looks at the blank paper and writes down the first sentence.

“Mary had a deep secret but she had to tell her fiancé, Joseph.”

He laughs. Joseph and Mary, he’s heard that one before.

He turns back to the notebook: “Make the first paragraph easy to digest, we need to make the reader want to continue to read. Make your first line intriguing.”

Is his first line intriguing?

He stares at it for a moment. Maybe. Or Maybe not.

He sighs then scratches the first line of the paper and takes brand new blank one.

He stares at the new paper.

The paper is still blank.

He sighs.

He stands up as his mind replays the same words: “A secret. An intriguing first line. An intriguing secret.”

He walks to the front door, puts his coat on.

He’ll be back to his blank paper but for now, he’ll settle for a good breakfast.

End of Part I

Part II


Hey guys, this story is obviously not finished yet. Part II will be up later this week. I like having to continue a story where it is left of, so I’ll see how this one unfolds. Thank you for reading and I would like to also thank the WRITERS BLANK PAGE ELIMINATOR – from where I took the liberty to borrow their tips and use them in this story. 

Jasmine

“Ray.”

We were both standing by the door. None of us moved or talked for the past ten minutes.

“Are you ready?”

He didn’t answer.

“Ray?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you ready?”

“Uhu”

He clearly wasn’t. I take his hand and stand in front of him.

“I know you’re nervous. I am too.”

“I’m not nervous. I’m okay.”

“Okay.”

He took out his keys and opened the door. He let me through first – always a gentleman – then closed the door behind him. The TV was on, we could hear it.

“They’re in the living room.”

I nod. He put his keys on the counter then looked at his reflexion in the mirror. He ran his hand into his hair then turned to me and smiled. I held him in my arms for a few seconds then kissed his forehead. He whispered:

“Don’t worry about it too much darling.”

I let him go gently but kept both of my hands on his back and whispered back:

“I want you to know that I’m so proud of you.”

He smiled, it was a little forced this time.

“I felt so much better when I did it.”

“But it’s different here. Mine are not like yours.”

“I know but it will be okay. I’m with you.”

He smiled again.

“Let’s get this shit done then.”

I shake my head.

“You don’t have to, you know? Definitely not with this attitude.”

“Oh really? We’ve been having this conversation for months and you’ve made it clear that we didn’t have a choice.”

“That’s not true. You can do it later if you’re not ready now…”

“Look I’m not going to argue with you right now…”

“Ray?”

We both turned to his mother leaving the living room holding a tray with two empty mugs. Jasmine tea, probably. His parents always drank Jasmine tea. No sugar. Three cups a day, at least. Jasmine tea always smells nice. I like his parents very much.

“Hey mom.”

“Hello Mrs Williams.”

“Hello Tim.”

I smiled to her and silently prayed she wouldn’t hate me in the next few minutes. Ray took the tray from her hands and put it on the counter.

“What’s wrong honey?” she asked in her sweet voice.

Ray – always the drama king – remained silent and lead her back to the living room. I quickly followed. His father was still watching TV, he turned to us and smiled.

“What’s with the long faces boys?”

“I caught them ‘not wanting to argue'”, Mrs Williams joke.

Her husband giggled: “Well neither do we.”

Ray stood in front of his father as his mother sat on the couch next to her husband.

“Come on then, have seat both of you. We’ll make some more tea!”

Ray remained silent for little more as I came closer to him. And I stood there next to him and waited, my heart skipping beat after beat.

“Mom, dad. I’ve got something very important to tell you.”

Conversations Over Coffee

man and woman in the kitchen
http://www.freepik.com Designed by Teksomolika / Freepik

“We always fight on Fridays.”
“We do?”
“Yup, which is a shame because we always have great plans for the weekend.”

“I never realised how much I look like my mother until the funeral.”

“I like your tattoo.”
“Yeah me too.”
“What does it mean?”
“Oh, it’s a long story… a long dark story.”
“I have time.”

“I was thinking of using African percussions for the chorus.”
“Yes, that could work too.”
“Like the Djembe would be nice with your lyrics.”

“The question is do YOU have the strength to succeed?”

“What will you be having today?”
“I’m trying to cut off the coffee.”
“We have a large selection of tea.”
“Mmm no, not today.”
“Fresh juices?”
“Nah.”

“And he was like: When I talk, you listen.”
“No way!”
“I know right!”
“What did you do?”
“What else could I have done? I took my stuff and told him to get a life.”

“Are we humans better at creating or destroying?”

“Dogs or Cats?”
“Dogs obviously.”
“Facebook or Twitter?”
“Twitter.”
“Watching sports or playing?”
“Playing… on Play Station!”
“Mac or PC?”
“Mac!”
“Harry Potter or Lord of The Rings?”
“Potterhead for life!”
“Burgers or salad?”
“Burgers. I’m not stupid!”
“Black & White or Colors?”
“B&W.”
“Bath or shower?”
“Both, with you.”