Tag: Writing fiction

Just Write

One of the most infuriating moments I’ve had so far is when someone says “just write”. Like it is that simple.

All you need to do is sit back. Breathe. Write. Move over King, side step please Gaiman, time to sit down Cornwell. I am going to write and take over the bookshelves because I am going to ‘just write’.

This got me, I hate to say, rather angry. Like an internal carnal level of anger that was aimed at the screen. I was trying to write about a situation I had been given in an evening creative writing class set in a supermarket. I have no qualms admitting this, I was struggling. Could not see through the fog. Which amusingly became mixed in to how the story then started.

But to the advice of “just write”. Write what? A character, a place, a mood? It reminded me of that useless phrase some may say to those stressing or worse. “Just clear your head”. Having had a friend be told this repeatedly, if someone is struggling mentally, PLEASE do not use it. Help them to clear, but don’t use it as a way to get them to do it (show don’t tell right?).

So, I was sat there, not very happy with my favourite person, trying to write on my tablet. Typically, the more I tried, the less that got written. Zero words in fact. Actually, my word count went down as I didn’t like what was already there.

But here is the annoying thing. A 1st draft will always be successful.  Its primary goal is to be completed. That’s it. It can be awful. It can be completely rewritten. One draft I recently did was changed from 3rd to 1st person as I realised it needed to be that way to have impact. But the 1st draft was done. Had I not completed it, I would not have created the yet undiscovered masterpiece that is now on the 3rd edit. I can hear the awards knocking on my door, or that is my dog wanting more food.

So what is it that I’m trying to babble on about. Well, the advice that annoyed so much that lovely evening, is one I wish to suggest you have as YOUR mantra. Not to say to others as you may have a pen, or worse, thrown in your direction. But have it as your own post-it note, the scribble you have in your notes or just let one of the inner voices use when writing.

In the end, something will be there. Once a dialogue has been drafted or a scene pieced together, you can then, and probably only then, begin to see what works. What phrase brings it together, did the twist really stay hidden, or have you changed something part way through that needs changing at the beginning.

The obviously way to end this would be to say to you to get out there and write. I won’t.

BUT, what I will say, is when you have an idea, play with it. Put something down. Don’t worry about what it will be in the 1st draft. Having a 1st draft is more than most ideas come to (Do not look into the statistics, it is worrying).

Enjoy your stories.

Eggs

Halvor couldn’t sleep. He knew that today was the day that the local shop would be getting the latest edition of The Loyal Citizen and he didn’t want to have to wait for the second delivery in the middle of the week.

This story was inspired when I was walking home after getting the paper from the local shop where my parents live. This is a lovely quiet area in North Yorkshire and the atmosphere seemed to make this idea jump out (Not sure this is a good thing though).

Hope you enjoy.

—//—

Each white picket fence around the cul-de-sac had the morning newspaper placed in the middle of its gate. All were freshly painted from the previous weekend as the neighbours came out to paint them on the relaxing sunny day. Group activities always helped to build a community within the cul-de-sacs, the young and old, all took part and congratulated each other on a job well done when complete. Today saw how the sun rise above number 3, bathing the houses in a warm glow for the day ahead.

Erik was collecting the paper for his father as 3 cars drove into the street and parked around the car already there by number 7. People in light grey suits got out to open the doors as the Trygg family appeared from the house with their bags. Erik naturally waved across the street as Sten, his father, briskly walked out to bring him back in with the paper. He calmly waved, greeted everyone a ‘Good morning’ but swiftly turned to walk back inside.

Once inside Erik looked up to his father with a smile. After the door had closed Sten looks down to his son, his young eyes beaming back to his, and spoke clearly. ‘It seems that the Trygg’s have been rewarded with a new house. I hope they enjoy their bigger garden and new community. Now let’s get ready for our day ahead so we can go get your comic, sorry, graphic novel, and have a nice day in the park’.

Outside, with the bags packed, 3 cars quietly pulled away. A remaining member of the group locked the house, closed the gate and got into the car which then droves off. Leaving the quiet cul-de-sac with the freshly painted fences and the newspapers in the middle of each gate.

——

Halvor couldn’t sleep. He knew that today was the day that the local shop would be getting the latest edition of The Loyal Citizen and he didn’t want to have to wait for the second delivery in the middle of the week. This would mean trying to avoid all his friends, who will no doubt have read it and want to discuss it in school on Monday. He also knew that he would not be able to get out to the shop when it opens if he didn’t do all his tasks first. Maybe, with a few extra tasks complete, he would be able to have enough money to buy some sweets.

As he walked outside he pondered an odd tradition in the cul-de-sac. No one wanted to be the last house to collect their paper, but to be first was looked equally frowned upon. Today, Halvor didn’t care. He was going to get each of his tasks done before his parents even got up to make breakfast. He had thought he heard his mother moving around at one point, but their door never opened so quietly continued.

As he skipped out of the front door to collect the paper, he was expecting a quiet, empty road in front of him with the newspapers sitting in the middle of their gate. Halvor had never seen who delivered them, but they were always there when people woke up in the morning. Today this was not the scene. Well it was, but there was something new.

In front of him was a cattle lorry. It was large, black and resembled his sports shirt after playing all afternoon on a muddy day. He was amazed that it was still able to be let out in public as his mother had always sent him straight to the bath when he got home from sports. Once, he was even threatened with being hosed in the back garden to save the carpet but, as he had stopped 3 goals that day, he was carried upstairs by his father like a champion. It was as he was looking at the muddy streaks he realised the two drivers hadn’t seen him while they were talking about how to reverse back to the main road. Then they noticed Halvor, standing there, and froze.

Gleefully he called out, ‘Good morning, are you lost?’

The two drivers stood and didn’t respond.

Halvor couldn’t tell what exactly happened next, but he did know three things happened pretty quickly.

From behind his mother, Thyra, appeared out of the door and heaved him back into the house. Halvor himself was pleased that he was able to hold on to the paper and hand it carefully over to his mother once they were inside. She simply looked down at the paper while Halvor walked off to find his next task, placing his shoes on the rack to keep the hallway tidy.

At the same time a black car appeared from around the corner and 3 light grey suits appeared, they seemed to quickly organised the cattle lorry to support it being driven away.

The final thing that he noticed was how the cattle had begun to wake up and started moving around inside. This created an awful noise for the early morning and Halvor wondered if anyone else in the cul-de-sac was woken up by the beasts.

Inside, Halvor had started to set the table for breakfast. As he placed the final fork his father, Ivar, and his mother entered the kitchen and saw Halvor standing proud of what he accomplished so early in the day. So many morning tasks complete and breakfast wasn’t even started yet.

‘I think it’s time we get our new eggs open’. Thyra glided across the kitchen patting her son on the shoulder. ‘After all, we need to reward the hard worker who started the moment the sun was up.’ Slowly she started breaking and beating the eggs together in a bowl while trying to whistle her favourite tune.

Normally an eggy breakfast was reserved for someone’s birthday or a national holiday, he read this as a clear sign that he was impressing his parents with all his hard work.

Before the pan could be started there was a knock at the door. Ivar calmly paused his son from running to open it and went to find out who it was. It was not long until Halvor was called to the hallway by his father where he was met with two people in the same light grey suits as those he caught a glimpse of before. Ivar guided them all to the front sitting room where his father proudly showed guests he wanted to impress. There were family photos, prizes and certificates on show that they had all won over many years. It was only ever used for guest and if Halvor was ever found playing in there he would be given specific tasks to remind him not to be there.

Halvor had noticed no one seemed to go to open the curtains. He was called over to the sofa next to where the two guests sat in the single seats looking at him carefully. It was odd, but they were apologising to him for the inconvenience caused by the cattle truck, but all Halvor could think of was to ask if they wanted any help in cleaning it. He explained how he was recently given the task of keeping his father’s car clean and wanting to get the practice of washing other vehicles too.

It seemed the only thing that would stop him from offering the different levels of cleaning and waxing he had learnt about was his father to promise that as he had been so helpful, they would go to get his ‘comic’ once the local shop opened. This made Halvor stop talking straight away.

The light grey suit with the notebook paused. Their voice was calm and warm to Halvor as she queried, ‘Do you have a favourite character in The Loyal Citizen?’.

Halvor had never really heard of an adult wanting to discuss his favourite graphic novel. But the other suit seemed to stop the conversation before he could go on about how he loved the recent developments and how the main character had to make a choice about their two best friends. The light grey suit simply asked if he was ok after seeing such a large cattle truck in his quiet cul-de-sac.

Halvor eagerly explained what he saw, how the two drivers seemed to have taken a wrong turn, the beasts inside were sleeping when he walked out but started to wake when his mother pulled him inside. He also apologised that he was not able to help more and give directions but he was proud that he kept hold of the newspaper as it didn’t get dirty or crumpled. He then began to list the tasks he completed in the house but he was stopped short. They only seemed interested in the disturbance outside.

With a side glance between the two suits, they rose. They shook Ivar’s hand and congratulated him on his house and the one with the notebook bent down to shake Halvor’s hand as well, thanking him for his continued effort to make his parents proud.

Outside, Thyra was in the corridor waiting to see what was happening, attempting to dust an already clean corridor when the door opened. The leading suit greeted her, repeated the congratulations on a tidy and organised home. Along with praise for a helpful and responsible son. As they shook hands the suit leaned in and wished her luck for making her eggy breakfast. Commenting ‘It is always good to reward those who have worked hard the moment the sun was up. Have a good day Mrs Trygg.’

Thyra smiled as she opened the front door to bid farewell to their guests and wished them a good day.

As the door closed Halvor was looking up at his mother. ‘Mum, there is something I don’t understand.’

Thyra paused and looked back at her son who was lingering in the kitchen doorway. His puzzled face staring back at her.

‘Mother, if that was a cattle lorry, why did I see some human hands appear from the truck?’.

Thyra paused in the hallway, standing there looking at her sons inquisitive face. Slowly she breathes in. Then out. His eyes beam up at her wondering why his mother is looking at him and wondering why his father behind her has a similar stunned face. He then notices his mothers hand begin to shake.

It was at this point a shadow fills the glass in the door, then a second, and then a third. Finally three knocks follow as a fist hits the door.

—//—

The Bus driver. Part 7.

The passage of time. Some authors are able to make a second last for pages, while others can move hundreds of years in a sentence. Today is my attempt at moving through a day without having to make it a step by step, hour by hour run through.

—The start of school—

When Andy was younger he decided that he would take the stance to not like net curtains, especially in the kitchen. They didn’t appear to do anything and would get in the way of having different things on the windowsill.

It didn’t take long for him to realise he actually liked the sun coming in through the patterned nets. They seemed to stop the bright sun coming into the kitchen in the morning during summer but did allow enough light to come in throughout the year. This didn’t change his mind on finding them being annoying at moving them during the day or limiting what he can have on the windowsill, so it was this small thing that stopped him admitting defeat to his dear wife. He would neglect to mention what he did like about them as, an idea they both shared, letting the other know they were right will only encourage them in the future. An idea he knew Agatha also shared and it was this that kept them on their toes with each other, while also being happy about it as he knew, that they both knew, when they had each won a small victory.

So it was today that he found himself looking at the patterns on the wall while considering what tea to get out while the fake bacon warmed on the pan. They had chosen a new set when they moved, this in turn required a discussion about the colours and size. Andy remembered the days of discussions and patterns they had, how their granddaughter came to help them make the final decision. Andy wanted to have a tree pattern with greens mixed in but, as was often the way, he was out voted to get the birds. Their granddaughter was right, as usual, and he stood there that morning looking at the patterns float on the walls with the morning breeze through the window. For a moment he remembered that day with a mix of emotions.

Before they could take over he jolted back into his morning question with the bathroom door closing firmly upstairs, not slammed though. He looked down at the drawer of tea. Black tea. Green tea. Herbal tea. Oolong tea. A wide variety of boxes had been piled into it and he wondered what some of the flavours even meant. But then he found what he needed. Mint tea. The box was bought a few months ago and was nearly empty. He had hoped he never needed to buy more but this morning, better to be safe to use the mint and risk it with the lemon.

The stairs were soft when Agatha descended for breakfast, Andy had all the pieces in place and was ready with his usual smile and, for once, had chosen to clean himself up for breakfast. The past month had flown by with the ease of the bus being used by a range of people, but today was to be different. The children of the area were to be using it and this was an unknown. Agatha didn’t do unknowns. She had spent a career trying to find out what was wrong and solving it. When an unknown was there her career had been to find the answer. This time, there was no one she could ask, no one who could tell her what to expect when they arrived. Andy could tell she slept badly by the bathroom light being turned on, at least, 3 times, while also being kicked, moved and prodded throughout the night.

When she walked in and smelt the tea from the door way she looked straight at him. ‘I am not that bad! I had a slightly unsettled night’s sleep that is all.’

‘Tell that to my left leg without looking out the window.’

Ignoring this, Agatha tucked into her sandwich and drank her tea, pausing slightly to breath it in but not allowing Andy to see how much she didn’t realise how nervous she was.

After a quiet breakfast she collected herself to be ready, kissed her faithful partner on his balding head,  and set off to be at the bus ready for whatever the day brought. Albeit with an extra bag of sweets in her bag.

Strangely, Del was not found not in the bus as he normally was but in the office with Tom. As Agatha collected the float for the day she could see through the door they were having a heated discussion but the door muffled their voices so couldn’t tell what about without making it obvious she was listening. The tea station sat too tempting and so a quick cuppa was made to pass the time while she watched the clock tick closer to the time they had to leave.

Betsy, as Del often called their bus, had been left running in the in their space and so instead of awkwardly waiting, Agatha chose to sit in her seat and prepare for the day ahead. The change was ready, tickets in the right pocket and her normal routine for the day was complete. All except her ‘Good morning’ to Del followed by a usual grunt or similar expression.

With 2 minutes to spare, Del appeared. It was clear that there was to be no chit chat today and Agatha was starting to wonder if she should have brought her mint tea with her in a flask. But with the movement of the gear stick, Betsy pulled away and the day began. Albeit bumpier than normal.

—

What hurt more for Agatha was the complete lack of sympathy that was given to her when she got home that day.

In her mind, she would arrive, Andy would stop what he was doing, run a hot bath for her and sit on the seat in the bathroom and listen to how her day unfolded. Offer words of comfort and support while making her a nice drink to have while in the bath as the bubbles slowly burst with a scented candle flickering away in the corner filling the room with a nice aroma.

What actually happened was slightly different.

As she pulled into the drive of their home, she slowly got out of the car to be greeted with laughter from the fence. A job Andy had decided to start that day so to get a new coat of paint on in preparation for the autumn. Agatha trudged towards the door ignoring the not so quiet muffled giggle and comment about the lollipop stick that was dangling from her back. Comments about her new tail were not helpful as she tried to get the door open quickly which made it ‘wiggle’. The sight that met her when she looked in the mirror reminded her of each moment of her day.

Now the morning had started off well, children on the bus gave her hope for a good day ahead, new uniforms arrived, oversized blazers on the smaller ones with backpacks as big as those carrying them. However, the return journey did not go the same way. The signs were there, one student thought Agatha might be able to help them with their maths homework. On their third attempt to explain the question a smaller, if not younger, student jumped in with frustration to not only give the answer, but to also explain their workings. Later, she had at least 3 students cling to her in tears after their first day, this was how she suspected the lollipop for stuck to her. As Agatha attempted to remove it she was not convinced the students were really upset as they also seemed to get over their day so quickly.

Then came the older ones who had been to get coffee and other large drinks from the new shop that had opened up over the summer. With Betsy being driven rougher than normal, and teenagers not paying attention, at least 2 of these where thrown over her while one of the group bumped into her and landed on her foot. Breaking the small heal her left foot had while, she suspected, bruising at least one of her toes.

To end the day properly, one of the pots holes in the bus yard had filled with water after one had been washed which, naturally, covered her from behind when a bus drove in after she had ended her day. Del seemed to not try for any comments after this, but did appear to hand her a towel before she drove off quickly to the road to get home. Somehow she felt that the day had brought them a step closer and calmed him down from whatever had upset in in the morning. But, despite this, she had no inkling to explore this with wet clothes on.

It was after she reviewed her day through the mirror that Andy appeared via the back door. Leaving his buddy boots in their usual place so not to make a mess, she could see him considering passing a comment that she do the same, but made the judgement that turning on the kettle was the wise choice.

Once the giggling had stopped, a cup of tea made, Andy did then run that bath Agatha had been wanting, but instead of sitting with her he set to cleaning her dress and mending her shoe. What he didn’t always do in conversation, he made up for in his own way. Hearing him set the washing machine going was still a sound that made the candle and bath have a way to end the day.

Tomorrow, she thought, tomorrow will be smoother and easier with them.

The Bus Driver. Part 6.

I find I can have an idea for a story, often this comes in the form of an idea for how it may start. Then I get the ending come to mind in some way, and if I am able to get to my note pad I can write it down and map the beginning and ending out. But I always struggle to get the middle pieces, or at the least get the middle pieces to map together to join a story together.

So like always, this story is mapped with the beginning, and the end already done. The middle is actually mapped out with a timeline but the little details, the days and changes between events are still being formed. But part 6 is finally set.

—The end of Summer—

The daily routine of going to work on the weekday, having a shift pattern with the only driver who seemed to work weekdays and not weekends, along with the one who could get away with not having to wear the official shirt, all seemed to come easily for Agatha. Once she had washed the fish smell out of the ‘uniform’ that is.

After the first week Del’s daily motions conversation seemed to flow slightly easier, there were quiet moments along the route that Agatha realised there would be no point in trying to break. But the hand requesting sweets still came. With each request she felt the warmth of the man in the driver’s seat slowly grow. Progress is progress, no matter how small it may seem.

Throughout the summer, the different plans that fluttered around Agatha seemed to take a shape of their own. The garden quickly developed into a series of beds, however, Andy had appeared to limit the size of some of them as by the end of summer new shoots of grass could be seen appearing in the soil. Why, after so many years, he suddenly had decided to slow down his own plans for the garden and vegetable beds was a mystery to her. She did decide that not going to comment, as he may start to think about it and change his mind. The pub quiz team that they found were steadily in 3rd place each week. Despite Agatha making sure that the sports section was their strongest, they seemed to struggle on topics such as pop culture and current music trends. In her new working life, the music choice of Del didn’t appear to help in this, 80s classic rock and folk style rock music didn’t appear to come up in the quiz.

But Agatha smiled each morning when she left for work, so by the time summer came to an end her routine was safely set, she had quickly found that after working for a month through the summer that her place in her new home was becoming settled after the past troubled year.

To Andy, anyhow, this change over the last month was seen differently. The 3rd place in the pub quiz, after Agatha winning the sports round each week, meant that he was having to find his own round to step up to in order to support Agatha. Sitting quietly, enjoying the company and the local beer was not going to be enough as 3rd place, although respectable, was not good enough. What his specialty was to be he still did not know, but one day he would have to find his thing to be bring to the team. The grass shoots that were growing up came from multiple reasons. The first was the not so subtle consequence of seeing the eyes staring at the beds each evening when sharing a pot of tea, along with comments about how much food one pair of elderly people could eat in a year. This was coupled with the growing twinge in his back. This was actually aggravated more from his efforts to try to hide his discomfort as opposed to the original cause of it. But the big change that made all the comments, sneaking off to the garden centre and the seeing his wife go to work each day after retiring pale in comparison, was the morning he noticed she didn’t sit there for breakfast and breath in her tea. To many this would have gone unnoticed. But Andy saw.

It was a tradition that she started about 15 years before, a small querk of her routine that started after they had a difficult period, and it only came back during times of stress or when she was unsettled. It was one that Andy always looked out for and could judge how she was. After 2 and a half weeks of working on the bus, she woke up, ate her breakfast and simply drank her tea. That was the day he decided to grass over some of the beds, sit back and rest. It was also on that day, that evening in fact, he was found on the garden sofa, sleeping. But for the first time Agatha saw him not lying there to rest his back, conked out from a hard day in the garden, but to simply enjoy the sun in the garden with a good book and half a beer drank, well more like one quarter drank at best.

So it was a quiet summer evening, early September, Andy and Agatha sat there eating their dinner together while the news was on in the background summarising the global, national and sports news. It wasn’t until the local headlines came up that Agatha realised something was about to happen.

‘Thank you Jill, we were at a local primary today seeing how they are getting ready to welcome back all the students after their long summer tomorrow.’

Agatha dropped her fork and knife as she realised that the bus would suddenly be crowded in the morning and afternoon with all the local children. On mass. Without their parents keeping an eye on them. She was used to meeting troubled children in the past, but this was in small groups if not just one. Not tomorrow. Thankfully they generally had bus passes that Tom had set up to make it easier for the local children to prepay and not carry money around.

But come tomorrow, all the children would be out, the good ,and the bad.

Continue the story with Part 7.

‘Purple’

‘Johnny savoured the moment of gained time, his time. Between needing to work and being dictated to by the whims of the newest member of the family. For some reason checking the price tags on certain items had become the newest hobby.’

This comes from a writing activity given to me when I was able to recently spend an evening a week on a writing course. We were given two descriptions of people (Will explore this activity to focus on your own writing skills in a future post), and then given a setting and a scene at random. As you can probably tell, the setting is was a ‘supermarket’ and if in doubt, the scene was ‘crisis’.

Outside of about 2 people, this was the first thing I had ever shared publicly, and was certainly the first (and only) piece I have read out loud in public.

I have attempted to play with inner monologue of the main character while also building on the description of surroundings. After multiple drafts, this is the one I am so far most happy with.

Please leave any comments below.

—Purple—

A red glow engulfs the car, matching the colour around his eyes. The colour taunts him at the end of a double. It envelops his space as the fog surrounds his car. This fog is getting thicker each morning.

As amber teases him with the potential of being released from the lane, Johnny hears the engine of a car next to him. The indicators flashing with a flapping driver looking at him. With a wave of his hand the car pulls out into the green fog, down the lane towards the shop.

Only one reason anyone would be out here at this time, just show me purple and I might get some sleep tonight.

The car park is nearly empty. A soft glow from the brake and reverse lights create patches within the dark. Who would go shopping this early? Most normal people are sleeping. The car was parked close to the door and Johnny trudged towards the entrance. The cold always made the doors stick. He tried to look down but caught his reflection in the glass.

This face used to be on covers? He surveyed the site. Touched his eyebrows that kept the shape they were made into each week. But stubble was showing. He began to count the late nights, early starts and broken sleeps with each line on his face. This was the sight that would greet his family when he got home. Where had the man gone from before? He touched his face to feel how the skin moved, the bone beneath felt almost separate. His clothes covered from the double shift at work. As the doors slid open, his reality was met with the rhythmic beeps and a shudder as the air conditioning met him. The hunt was on.

He began to recall a conversation, that felt so long ago, even though it was just that morning.

“The Purple one, don’t get the red one as it just comes back up straight away. But also don’t even think about trying to save money with the cheaper ones, they don’t work”.

No, I love you. Have a great day dear. Thanks for doing a double to help with the birthday party coming up. Nope. Just get the purple one.

Johnny savoured the moment of gained time, his time. Between needing to work and being dictated to by the whims of the newest member of the family. For some reason checking the price tags on certain items had become the newest hobby.

Lettuce – £1.20

Steak – £4.59!

Oat milk – £1.75

Crisps – £2.05

“Excuse me, could you reach the packet on that shelf”.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

A shorter person stood adjacent to him nearly half his height, pointing at one of the items on the top shelf. Johnny reached for one but on seeing the expiry date, paused.

“Are you eating this today?”

“No, it is for the weekend”

Carefully, Johnny collected one from near the back and passed it to him. Ironic how shorter people will always be forced to collect the things with the shortest dates.

For a moment Johnny moseyed aimlessly through the aisles, taking in the different prices and offers with bright colours. Then he saw why he was there.

Hanging from the ceiling. Blue sign. Medicine.

Sleep was close.

Johnny first caught sight of the floral women as she floated through the aisle clutching two brown paper bags. These bags were not from here. Showing everyone the other shop. Johnny didn’t go to that part of town. They were out of his way, but also buying bread there would mean dinner would simply be, a slice of bread. Johnny saw how her dress held its form as she wandered down the aisle. Her hair lightly bounced. Had he been awake he may have noticed that she had similar lines to his, although far less in number.

The redness around his eyes had grown from the lights, however, there was a momentary reprieve as he caught sight at the last remaining bottle of purple liquid on the shelf. Placing it in the basket he could feel sleep calling her faithful tune.

‘Oh is that the last bottle?’

Oblivious, and with the hunt complete, Johnny began to walk down past the floral pattern dress, heading straight for the automatic tills. The beeps had become a countdown to a baby crying followed, hopefully, by sleep.

‘Oh drat it is. Excuse me sir, could you spare a moment’.

The light touch on his arm broke the spell of the beeps for the floral women to be met with red eyes, trimmed eyebrows and a face that showed more shifts than sleep.

He was met with a this is why I don’t come to this part of town smeared across her face.

‘I see that you have the last bottle available. I was wondering if you would be so kind as to let me purchase it for my little one’.

Johnny will be crying through the night.

‘No’.

‘But you don’t understand, my little one is so very poorly and our baby sitter won’t work over the weekend.’

‘There is the red one over there’.

‘Oh thank you so much, I will get that for you and swap’

‘What? No. Wait? That’s not what I meant’. Rubbing his eyes to try to stop the piercing luminous bulbs. ‘I mean there are red ones you can use instead’.

‘Oh, well, little Billy doesn’t like it and can make an awful mess. We like to get him the other one so we can sleep easier at night’. She passes the red one to Johnny.

His hand quivers vacantly over the basket.