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What`s There To Talk About?

by hopper2607 

Posted: 11 May 2008
Word Count: 489
Summary: I'm not sure if this is flash fiction, a vignette, or something else. It was written as an exercise for a writing class I go to in Altrincham. The idea was to write about a typical love triangle in the style of a number of different genres.


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There was always a distinctive bark from the exhaust when George pulled out onto the main road. Not that he drove anything sporty, it was a hole in the back box. George kept insisting he could fix it himself and then never seemed to get round to it.

Amelia had to steady herself from a burst of vertigo. Her legs felt like they'd disappeared for a moment. She knew that from his room at the front of the house Steve would be listening for that same sound. The footsteps down the stairs weren't long in coming. Two at a time, always two at a time, going down and coming up, always in a hurry. She began clearing the dishes away, dunking them in the sink, with her back to the door. Half of her, the sane half, hoped he would carry on along the hall and disappear with a slam. Instead, the latch clicked behind her.

'Can't you do that later?'

She knew he wouldn't touch her. Not here. Too much of George in this room. But in the cold front room smelling of sweat and rugby shirts and dirty socks it would be different.

'Can't we talk? First. I mean-' God, I can't even speak normally, she thought.

'I've got a lecture at 10.'

'I can drive you. Let me drive you there. Then we'd have more time.'

'I can take the bus.' He was a twitching bundle of energy, the same height as the man in the Ford estate with the rattling exhaust.

Amelia dried her hands and then picked something up from the nearest chair, a blob of green and white and brown.

'I put so much love into this jumper,' she said. 'He never wears it.'

Steve didn't answer. It's not fair to expect him to answer, she told herself. She wondered if a 30 years older version of him would remember what she was cradling in her arms and what she'd confessed about it. Would it be too late for him then if he did understand? Would he have sleepwalked his way into a married wasteland of his own?

'How's the cough?'

'It's nothing.'

'I keep telling George he needs to sort out that radiator. He doesn't listen to me, though.'

'It's OK.'

'I've got some Pavacol.'

'Really. It's nothing.'

Yes, she thought. You're indestructible at your age and you think you'll be like that forever. She was at the foot of the steps leading out of the kitchen, Steve was towering over her.

'Do you think we'll ever talk?'

'What's there to talk about?'

The door closed. That's it, I've scared him off, she thought. Great clumping footsteps pounded up the stairs two at a time. In comparison, her own were almost silent, as though she was afraid George would hear the creaking third step from out there five miles away on the A34. Steve was right. What was there to talk about?






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Comments by other Members



Bunbry at 08:15 on 14 May 2008  Report this post
Hi Andy. I showed this to my girlfriend and she thought it was wonderful. Only fair to pass on her comments!

You are not getting away that lightly though as she has one niggle and I have one question.
She didn't like the word "Blob"

And my quetion. Twice you bucked convention and used "and" twice in a list. Ie "a blob of green and white and brown".And "sweat and rugby shirts and dirty socks". Why did you do that instead of using a comma?
See you soon Nick



hopper2607 at 17:45 on 14 May 2008  Report this post
Hi Nick,

Say thanks to your girlfriend for me.
You're right about "blob" - would be better to simply say she picked up the jumper and then go straight into the 'I put so much love...' line. Miss out the colours too, they're not significant.

'sweat and rugby shirts and dirty socks' - a rhythm thing really. I just liked the rhythm that created compared to 'sweat, rugby shirts and dirty socks.' Don't know why!

Cheers,
Andy


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