Post by medusacascade on Jan 30, 2009 22:53:41 GMT
Ok first up, this is not a true story, this was written from a longer piece of work that I used in my OU course that I passed the other weekend. It was given high acclaim by my tutor which I intend on framing as its the best feedback on any work I have ever received from him, so that says something.
Music the Mood is a love story set in modern times and based in a fictitious part of London. I'd like to hear what you think? There is no swearing in it, no sexual over or undertones, no rude words.
'High up above or down below
When you're too in love to let it go,
But if you try you'll never know
Just what you're worth.'
He ran along the street, dodging the oncoming crowd, weaving in and out of them like a dog in an agility course. He never stopped running; his brown unbuttoned striped jacket blew behind him, his dirty red converse trainers splashed in the puddles in the broken paving slabs as he rounded the corner of Wishmore Street. He ran up the steps to the park with the sandstone pillars and the black metal gates and ran along the footpath that cut through the trees. He burst through the hedge on the other side of the park scaring a young woman half to death walking a very small dog in an expensive jacket. He leaned over and caught his breath, his mouth was dry and he swallowed several times before regaining his composure and running on towards the large townhouse with the white painted walls and climbing Wisteria that hung over the door on either side.
With the little energy he had left he bounded up the stairs two at a time to the third floor and hesitated on the landing. He reached the door handle and gently turned it, the door opened and Mel stood holding the telephone in her painted hands, her young slim figure wrapped in paint stained tracky bottoms and a grey sweatshirt and her auburn hair tied back in a pony tail. A tinny voice called 'Hello' on the other end of the phone, but Mel didn't respond. Her face was white; she was in shock, her mouth open in disbelief.
'He...he's....' Mel couldn't say it; she didn't want to believe it, believing it made it true. David with his dark tousled hair windswept and damp strode towards her and placed the phone on the hook, he held her close and she could feel his heart pounding.
'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.' He whispered.
'But he can't be....' She gasped, her whole body shaking. 'He was coming home, oh my God....not Robert.' She felt faint and gripped hold of him to steady herself, she was falling down, her whole world was collapsing and Robert Flynn was never coming back.
'Tears streaming down your face
When you lose something you cannot replace.....
The winter sunshine lit up the bedroom as she lay facing his side of the double bed; her long auburn hair lay around her neck like a warm scarf. In her mind she could see him sleeping, he was on his back, his short fair wavy hair caught the sunlight of the morning, his lean body lay beneath the sheet, asleep like a child. She smiled as she reached out a hand to touch his face. But as she lay on the white crisp sheets that still held the scent of the aftershave, her face creased and the tears fell and she gripped the empty sheet and wept with all her heart.
The lounge was quiet, only his voice echoed in the photographs and paintings that adorned the walls and the painting she was working upon. She walked slowly towards the canvas, the lines and contours of Robert's face stared back at her. He was leaning back against the stone wall of Miller's Cottage. She had captured his image perfectly; he stood with his hands deep in his trouser pockets and was wearing his blue bomber jacket and had that unmistakeable smile that stepped out of the painting. She reached out a hand to touch him but her vision blurred.
She gasped and fought with her feelings. She tried hard to hold it together, but the more she stared at the photographs about the walls, the portraits of Robert and her together laughing and fooling around as children in the Irish countryside, the pain in her chest grew stronger until she couldn't hold it in anymore.
She screamed and angrily grabbed the paintings and pulled them off the walls and they clattered and smashed onto the floor. She dragged the books that they read off the shelves and they fell to the ground, pages opening and catching the next book and creasing the papers. The loose furniture, coffee tables and footstools bounced along the wooden floor, coming to rest against the sofa and fireplace. Robert's canvas bounced off the stand and shattered disfiguring his face completely.
She pulled and tugged at the furniture that refused to budge until screaming very loudly she slumped to her knees and cried until she was exhausted.
She awoke to the smell of hot coffee and opened her eyes to a familiar face. David with his locks of gelled hair and freckles and the chocolate brown eyes that melted her whenever she saw him smiled at her. He had the look of concern upon his face.
She sat up and hugged the mug as he squatted beside her; his dark eyes twinkled at her. He surveyed the damage to the room, glass and broken picture frames lay strewn about the floor, photographs were torn or crumpled and lay defeated under shards of glass. The canvas he remembered seeing almost completed lay broken, in pieces everywhere. He lifted the nearest hardback book, and smoothed the pages flat before closing it again and lifting another and repeating the action.
'I like what you've done to the room, is it Feng Shui?' He asked raising an eyebrow and catching her look.
Tossing the book back onto the pile he rose to his feet and held out a hand to her. She took it and stood up and looked about her, the room resembled the after effects of a bomb blast, and she recalled the message on the phone from the previous day. Her stomach lurched as she pictured Robert lying beside his film crew, blood and glass intermingled. She clapped a hand to her mouth and ran from the room and retched into the toilet.
As the bells tolled in the nearby church, the cold winter chill huddled the handful of mourners around the open grave in the small cemetery on the outskirts of the Derry village. Amongst the many mourners were his parents, his father, old and tired smiled at Mel, but his mother as usual wore her permanent scowl.
'She hates me.' Mel whispered to David as they stepped back from the group.
'Why?'
'I was the reason he left home, and now I'm to blame for his death.'
'How do you figure that?'
'I made him follow his dreams.'
'But he would have left anyway.' David replied blowing into his frozen hands.
'She blamed me for everything that went wrong in her family but I still loved him.'
'But you never told him, did you?'
'We were best friends. If he knew, then it would have ruined everything between us.' She sighed heavily and watched the people gather to pay their last respects before leaving in the black sedans that drove slowly out of the cemetery gates.
The ferry journey back to the mainland was quiet; those that had travelled with them slept huddled in their seats. She breathed out heavily and looked at David sleeping beside her.
Mel turned and glanced out at the lights on the mainland popping on and off like fairylights. As the music played on a radio somewhere her mind drifted back to the pact she'd made with Robert and Chris Cleaver under the boughs of the old oak in the field overlooking Miller's Cottage.
'The three musketeers, we have no need for anyone else. No matter how far we go in life, we'll always be together. Nobody will ever break us up. If they do, they'll be damned forever.' She'd nodded, terrified like Chris, and they'd remained strong and true to each other, she didn't need anyone other than Robert. They'd crossed to the mainland together and achieved what they'd set out to do and all the while she'd remained true and loyal.
But as she cast a look back at the man pushing himself into the seat for a better position, her stomach somersaulted, and the sadness broke into a grin, she was the last of the musketeers, and the pact was broken. She laughed out loud and awoke people in the nearby seats. David awoke and blinked the sleep from his eyes; he sat up and looked at her. She was smiling at him, her face wet from tears and snail trails.
'Do you still love me?' He nodded sleepily. 'I don't want to lose you, when Robert was alive so was the pact. But he's gone now, and I don't want to lose you, not now.'
'I'm not going anywhere.' They embraced and kissed with a passion as the music enveloped the entire deck and as the ship finally docked, David and Mel stepped off the boat holding hands.
'Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you.'
Please note that although there are similarities to a certain person we know, this story is not about David. But I wanted to share it with you because out of all the stories I have ever written, this is the best and how my writing should be and will be from now on.
Hope you like it, feel free to give comment. My tutor said and I quote:
'The story is powerfully and graphically told .......you evoke in a very powerful and moving manner the lives and fates of the protagonists and you handle the change of scene with a cinematic clarity and distinctiveness which is very convincing and absorbing.'
I've never received comments like that ever in my life about my work which makes me believe that I am now ready to re-write my sci fi story and prepare it for publishing. I also have to work on the Doctor Who story to make it as good as this one.
Music the Mood is a love story set in modern times and based in a fictitious part of London. I'd like to hear what you think? There is no swearing in it, no sexual over or undertones, no rude words.
'High up above or down below
When you're too in love to let it go,
But if you try you'll never know
Just what you're worth.'
He ran along the street, dodging the oncoming crowd, weaving in and out of them like a dog in an agility course. He never stopped running; his brown unbuttoned striped jacket blew behind him, his dirty red converse trainers splashed in the puddles in the broken paving slabs as he rounded the corner of Wishmore Street. He ran up the steps to the park with the sandstone pillars and the black metal gates and ran along the footpath that cut through the trees. He burst through the hedge on the other side of the park scaring a young woman half to death walking a very small dog in an expensive jacket. He leaned over and caught his breath, his mouth was dry and he swallowed several times before regaining his composure and running on towards the large townhouse with the white painted walls and climbing Wisteria that hung over the door on either side.
With the little energy he had left he bounded up the stairs two at a time to the third floor and hesitated on the landing. He reached the door handle and gently turned it, the door opened and Mel stood holding the telephone in her painted hands, her young slim figure wrapped in paint stained tracky bottoms and a grey sweatshirt and her auburn hair tied back in a pony tail. A tinny voice called 'Hello' on the other end of the phone, but Mel didn't respond. Her face was white; she was in shock, her mouth open in disbelief.
'He...he's....' Mel couldn't say it; she didn't want to believe it, believing it made it true. David with his dark tousled hair windswept and damp strode towards her and placed the phone on the hook, he held her close and she could feel his heart pounding.
'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.' He whispered.
'But he can't be....' She gasped, her whole body shaking. 'He was coming home, oh my God....not Robert.' She felt faint and gripped hold of him to steady herself, she was falling down, her whole world was collapsing and Robert Flynn was never coming back.
'Tears streaming down your face
When you lose something you cannot replace.....
The winter sunshine lit up the bedroom as she lay facing his side of the double bed; her long auburn hair lay around her neck like a warm scarf. In her mind she could see him sleeping, he was on his back, his short fair wavy hair caught the sunlight of the morning, his lean body lay beneath the sheet, asleep like a child. She smiled as she reached out a hand to touch his face. But as she lay on the white crisp sheets that still held the scent of the aftershave, her face creased and the tears fell and she gripped the empty sheet and wept with all her heart.
The lounge was quiet, only his voice echoed in the photographs and paintings that adorned the walls and the painting she was working upon. She walked slowly towards the canvas, the lines and contours of Robert's face stared back at her. He was leaning back against the stone wall of Miller's Cottage. She had captured his image perfectly; he stood with his hands deep in his trouser pockets and was wearing his blue bomber jacket and had that unmistakeable smile that stepped out of the painting. She reached out a hand to touch him but her vision blurred.
She gasped and fought with her feelings. She tried hard to hold it together, but the more she stared at the photographs about the walls, the portraits of Robert and her together laughing and fooling around as children in the Irish countryside, the pain in her chest grew stronger until she couldn't hold it in anymore.
She screamed and angrily grabbed the paintings and pulled them off the walls and they clattered and smashed onto the floor. She dragged the books that they read off the shelves and they fell to the ground, pages opening and catching the next book and creasing the papers. The loose furniture, coffee tables and footstools bounced along the wooden floor, coming to rest against the sofa and fireplace. Robert's canvas bounced off the stand and shattered disfiguring his face completely.
She pulled and tugged at the furniture that refused to budge until screaming very loudly she slumped to her knees and cried until she was exhausted.
She awoke to the smell of hot coffee and opened her eyes to a familiar face. David with his locks of gelled hair and freckles and the chocolate brown eyes that melted her whenever she saw him smiled at her. He had the look of concern upon his face.
She sat up and hugged the mug as he squatted beside her; his dark eyes twinkled at her. He surveyed the damage to the room, glass and broken picture frames lay strewn about the floor, photographs were torn or crumpled and lay defeated under shards of glass. The canvas he remembered seeing almost completed lay broken, in pieces everywhere. He lifted the nearest hardback book, and smoothed the pages flat before closing it again and lifting another and repeating the action.
'I like what you've done to the room, is it Feng Shui?' He asked raising an eyebrow and catching her look.
Tossing the book back onto the pile he rose to his feet and held out a hand to her. She took it and stood up and looked about her, the room resembled the after effects of a bomb blast, and she recalled the message on the phone from the previous day. Her stomach lurched as she pictured Robert lying beside his film crew, blood and glass intermingled. She clapped a hand to her mouth and ran from the room and retched into the toilet.
As the bells tolled in the nearby church, the cold winter chill huddled the handful of mourners around the open grave in the small cemetery on the outskirts of the Derry village. Amongst the many mourners were his parents, his father, old and tired smiled at Mel, but his mother as usual wore her permanent scowl.
'She hates me.' Mel whispered to David as they stepped back from the group.
'Why?'
'I was the reason he left home, and now I'm to blame for his death.'
'How do you figure that?'
'I made him follow his dreams.'
'But he would have left anyway.' David replied blowing into his frozen hands.
'She blamed me for everything that went wrong in her family but I still loved him.'
'But you never told him, did you?'
'We were best friends. If he knew, then it would have ruined everything between us.' She sighed heavily and watched the people gather to pay their last respects before leaving in the black sedans that drove slowly out of the cemetery gates.
The ferry journey back to the mainland was quiet; those that had travelled with them slept huddled in their seats. She breathed out heavily and looked at David sleeping beside her.
Mel turned and glanced out at the lights on the mainland popping on and off like fairylights. As the music played on a radio somewhere her mind drifted back to the pact she'd made with Robert and Chris Cleaver under the boughs of the old oak in the field overlooking Miller's Cottage.
'The three musketeers, we have no need for anyone else. No matter how far we go in life, we'll always be together. Nobody will ever break us up. If they do, they'll be damned forever.' She'd nodded, terrified like Chris, and they'd remained strong and true to each other, she didn't need anyone other than Robert. They'd crossed to the mainland together and achieved what they'd set out to do and all the while she'd remained true and loyal.
But as she cast a look back at the man pushing himself into the seat for a better position, her stomach somersaulted, and the sadness broke into a grin, she was the last of the musketeers, and the pact was broken. She laughed out loud and awoke people in the nearby seats. David awoke and blinked the sleep from his eyes; he sat up and looked at her. She was smiling at him, her face wet from tears and snail trails.
'Do you still love me?' He nodded sleepily. 'I don't want to lose you, when Robert was alive so was the pact. But he's gone now, and I don't want to lose you, not now.'
'I'm not going anywhere.' They embraced and kissed with a passion as the music enveloped the entire deck and as the ship finally docked, David and Mel stepped off the boat holding hands.
'Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you.'
Please note that although there are similarities to a certain person we know, this story is not about David. But I wanted to share it with you because out of all the stories I have ever written, this is the best and how my writing should be and will be from now on.
Hope you like it, feel free to give comment. My tutor said and I quote:
'The story is powerfully and graphically told .......you evoke in a very powerful and moving manner the lives and fates of the protagonists and you handle the change of scene with a cinematic clarity and distinctiveness which is very convincing and absorbing.'
I've never received comments like that ever in my life about my work which makes me believe that I am now ready to re-write my sci fi story and prepare it for publishing. I also have to work on the Doctor Who story to make it as good as this one.
I Met David on the 11.10.2008 I told him he was amazing in Hamlet and he replied "God Bless you Thank you very much". I gave him a angel beany bear he was brilliant in love labours lost too sig and av made by invisable companion Tracy thanks for letting me use them xxxx