Stranger At The Door: 3 Minute Story

short-story-stranger

Buzz of my alarm. It must be time to wake up. It’s the alarm that sounds like a phone ringing so it must be a weekday. The shower water’s going cold. I must only have half an hour left to leave the house. My neighbour slams his front door. I’ve only got about seven minutes to brush my hair.

There’s a queue of cars forming in front of me. That means I’m getting to work ten minutes later. I won’t be late. I’m never late. I just won’t get there as early as usual.

Quick glance at the clock on my screen. Quick glance again. It’s been three hours already. Time’s flying. That means work’s going well.

The smell of tuna sandwiches. The crunch of Glenda biting a rice cracker topped with houmous. A distant rumble in my stomach. It must be lunchtime.

The clank of keys dropped onto the table by the door. I’m home. Car tyres on gravel. My neighbour’s home. Steam boiling on my face. My pasta’s done. The chink of knife scraping plate. I’m full.

Door banging. Wait, what? Door banging? Is that my door? But it’s half 9 at night. This is when I hear the slosh of pouring wine. The dry taste on my tongue. A sleepy feeling. Not banging. Why banging?

‘Help! Please help me!’ Bang. Bang. Bang. It’s loud and urgent and it’s definitely coming from my door.

The snap of the chain. The click of the lock and before I know it a woman pushes into my house.

‘Oh thank you, thank you!’

Trails of mud all over the floor.

‘I was walking home. And this man, h-he came out of nowhere. And- and-he attacked me. He stole my bag. He- on my god I’m bleeding.’

Blood trailing down a knee. Trailing from the hallway all the way into the kitchen.

‘I just need to wash this off, thank you so much.’

Gush of water. Blood smears on the tap. Blood and mud on the granite table top.

‘I pushed him off me, b-before he could do anything, and I ran and h-he followed, shit I’m so scared.’

The scraping of curtains. ‘I can’t see him, thank you so much for letting me in. I didn’t know what else to do. I kept running and thinking I’m surrounded by houses, he can’t do anything here. But then I realised there weren’t that many houses left to run past. Thank you so much.’

There’s a cloth in the cupboard with some anti-bacterial surface cleaner. Lime scented. I wet the cloth with warm water. And wipe.

‘Do you mind if I use your phone? I can ask my husband to pick me up. I’m too scared to leave on my own. What if that man’s still out there?’

Telephonic beeps of numbers dialled. I must have some carpet cleaner somewhere. And a scrubbing brush.

After she leaves I bolt and chain the door again. Sit down with my glass of wine. Gag at the overwhelming smell of lime. And wonder where it all went wrong. In a distance I hear a clock tick.

 

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Dija

When I Close My Eyes: original short story

homelessness-short-story

When I close my eyes

I’m a rockstar. With a guitar in both hands. Held like it’s an extension of my own body. I strut and jive across the stage. Shake my shaggy hair and give the microphone a well deserved snog. The crowd cling for my feet, their eyes willing me to recognise them and wink at them. I raise an arm. One, two, one, two, three, four…

When I close my eyes…

I’m an Olympic runner. I’m wearing my country’s colours. I’m running so fast I’m almost flying. People are squealing. Both in the stands and in front of television screens and on TV catch up days afterwards. I kiss my gold medal and give a nod which becomes a national icon. Of peace. And ends civil wars everywhere.

When I close my eyes…

I’m a famous scientist. Giving an interview on BBC news. Talking about how I discovered my amazing discovery that changed the whole world. How I was in my lab, looking at some molecule under my super high-tech microscope when some dirt from my eyebrows fell on the little plate thing. And bam. I discovered it! The ultimate alternative fuel source. Ohh yeahhhh.

When I close my eyes

I’m a ballet dancer. Gliding around the hall. I am weightlessly floating. A single spotlight highlights the warmth of my skin. Crowds upon crowds of people marvel at the beautiful and elegant way I move. My toes twitter across the stage and the crowds gasps and whoops.

When I close my eyes

I’m in an office. Tap tap tapping on a keyboard. I daydream through the window for a moment before feeling overcome with inspiration. And then I manically run around, sending emails, picking up phones, interrupting meetings, giving presentations. Before I know it, I’m the CEO of a massive corporation and my photo is in Trillionaire Weekly.

When I open my eyes

My hands are white from dryness. I can smell the sewers from across the street. My bum in numb from sitting on the cold hard stone. People walk past me. With their guitars. And their running shoes. And their glasses. And their stockings. And their suits. Their eyes slide down at me and back up again in an instance.

When I close my eyes

They see me. All the people that I wanted to be. They see me huddled in a pile of grey clothes. Wishing their lucky stars they aren’t me.

I’d ask for spare change but my throat’s too dry.

 

 

 

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One Wild Night: short story

One wild night, blinded by the moonlight, blinded by their passions, three young men darted across a field. The only way to distinguish the figures was to say the man in the lead wore a brimmed hat and one of the men, the man who ran slightly slower than the other two, looked to be carrying a bundle. He held it close to his chest as he ran.

In the distance, a car followed them. It was driving across the field leaving deep ugly tire tracks trailing after it.

The men ran faster.

Flecks of dirt spurted from the car as it took up speed.

The woman in the car who’d been grinding her teeth previously, smirked a little. She knew something they didn’t. At the end of the field was a great towering fence.

The headlights of the car lit up the fence in question and one of the men swore loudly. He held up his hands to the other two. One of them, the one in the hat, tried to climb the fence. His hands gripped the bars but there was nothing for his feet so he slid down every time he attempted to push himself up.

The other two backed up next to him, having given up and awaited their fate.

The woman stopped the car and got out. Her heeled shoes struggled in the mud as she advanced towards the men.

The bundle one of the men was holding turned out to be a rugby ball. He tightened his grip on it.

The woman glared at the three men and they physically shook in fear.

“I’m sorry mum” one of them whimpered.

“Get in the car you’re late for dinner!”

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Dija

silly deej

Some Fiction I wrote: Slowly going crazy…

silly deej

In my dream I was running. Running for the absolute joy of it. Running because I could run. Running because of the sheer excitement building up inside of me. I had never run this fast before and it made me manic. My speed was immense. I increased it further until I was flying, my feet barely touching the ground. And still it wasn’t fast enough. Faster I wanted to go. Faster than anyone had ever been before. The scenery around me became a blur. Streaks of black zoomed past me. The cold wind blasted against my face. And still it wasn’t fast enough. The excitement inside of me was growing, rising, mounting, as it thirsted for more pace. It rose further, swelling out my chest. It was going to burst! Rip! Explode! And I would let it.                                         

I felt a surge of pain on my back. I winced and blearily opened my eyes. A tiny lady bug was trundling across a withered yellow leaf near my cheek. The bug was directly opposite my eye, and I could, if I wanted to, count the black spots on its tiny red body. The gentle whisper of running water filled my ears. It was the only sound. I could hear nothing else. The sound was slightly lulling and I could feel myself drifting. Drifting. Drifting on a log in the ocean…

Wait.

This wasn’t my bed!

I whirled around confused, my hand slapping the ground, intruding the heavy blanket of silence. I swore as a sharp flint dug into my palm and looked up, searching for someone to blame. Tall trees towered over me,  and beams of light blasted their way through the gaps in the branches and onto my hurting eyes.

What the hell was I doing in the forest?

Puzzled, I stood up and as I did, I caught a glare of white hot light. It lingered on my eyelids as I massaged my aching head. I couldn’t remember anything of last night. I racked my brains, trying to force a memory to float into my mind. What had gone on? Maybe I’d had a few drinks?

Maybe.

I’d certainly felt something similar to this before – although not as extreme as this. Every single bone in my body was aching. The insides of my mouth felt like a wasteland. What I wouldn’t do for a drink of water…

I started fantasising about the clear plastic jug on our kitchen table at home. I could picture the white ice cubes floating in the cool water, the patterns in them looking like white feathers. I could feel the water pouring into my mouth… The smell of hot baking bread wafted to my nostrils and I could see our oven, with thick blue oven mitts hanging off the handle…

Wait.

I was being watched. A bony man was staring at me. His cloudy eyes narrowed when he caught me staring. My heart sunk when I saw who he was. Great. What did he want? I wasn’t in the mood for his crazy ramblings. He walked towards me, his reddish cotton shirt fluttering in the light breeze. His walk was very cattish, like a prowl, his legs carrying his skinny self lightly and quickly. I gazed at him tiredly, wishing more than anything, that I was at home. His mop of silver hair caught the sunlight making me wince and look away. I scowled.

’Kane?” he said softly, ‘what are you doing here?’

‘Digging for gold,’ I didn’t look at him.

‘You don’t want to dig for gold today lad, didn’t you hear, there was a disturbance here last night. That’s why I’m here, course the others don’t really care, they think I‘m paranoid, but me and Red knew straight away…’

I massaged my head.

‘But you can never be too sure can you? I remember when I was a young lad…’

Oh man! His voice was so hard to block out! It burrowed deep inside your brain. If he didn’t want me to be here, why was he rambling on? I kicked the dead leaves on the ground angrily. I just wanted to go home and have a shower. Why the hell was he talking to me? They called him Mad Murray in the village- I could think of better names.

‘..And we used to have big feasts and we used to sing songs…oh those were the days. And my favourite song used to be “lost in moonlight” I could sing it for you if you like?’

That’s it! I wasn’t going to stand here listening to him sing! I’ve had it!

‘I’m going now,’ I told him loudly.

‘B-but don’t you want to hear my song?’ Mad Murray said and the smile on his face disappeared.

I immediately felt bad, ‘no, I do, I’m just really tired, I’ve got a massive headache and you know I wanna go home’

‘Yes I suppose it’s not really safe to hang around these parts after last night, so we shouldn’t hang around ey?”

I rolled my eyes.

’And Kane,’ he said.

I faced him dully.

“Try to stay awake next time,” and with that he briskly turned and walked deeper into the forest, until it swallowed him and he disappeared from my sight, leaving me staring after him confused and irritated

image from http://nature.desktopnexus.com

 

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