My short story: Just a few minutes
Uhhhh..........
:lol:
I have to submit a portfolio of poems and short stories for one of my modules.
Below is something I've written that I'm considering including in the portfolio.
Any feedback will be great. Are my tenses ok?!
I know it is rather long so thank you for taking the time to read it. As Logos
said, everyone want their stuff read!
Just a few minutes
Burt Madison suddenly sat upright early that morning. He looked to his right.
He rubbed his eyes and looked at their square clock on her small pine coloured
table. The small black hand with a green line in the middle was at the number
five. But there was a lot of sunlight in the room. Burt looked a second time
and realised there was no ticking sound. He looked at his wife. He couldn’t tell
if she was breathing. Her body wasn’t rising and falling. He waited for some
movement, some noise. Nothing. Finally, with trembling hands Burt reached
over and pushed her gently on her shoulder.
‘I’m not dead yet.’ She said. She turned to face him. ‘So don’t go claiming the
insurance just yet.’
You shouldn’t make jokes like that.’ He said. He slid back underneath the
covers and rested his head on the corner of her pillow.
‘What time is it?’
‘Don’t know.’ He said. He raised his head a little to see if he could hear
anything. Some cars drove past, then a bus and he heard few voices. ‘Yeah
right’ some girl shouted. ‘Nah man, I’m serious.’ Another voice said. Then the
voices merged into one and nothing distinct could be heard, just some chatter
and a few unmistakable swear words.
‘School time?’ He suggested.
‘Mmmm.’ She murmured and snuggled up against him. She entwined her bony
legs with his, her big toe rubbing up and down against the front of his feet.
Her feet were cold.
‘I told you to wear socks to bed.’
‘It’s not comfortable. It makes me itch.’
‘I’ll go make breakfast. What would you like?’
‘Oh no, I’m not hungry.’
‘You have to eat.’ He said. He slid out of their bed and slipped into a woolly
jumper and black formal trousers.
‘Burt?’
‘Yeah?’ He sat on the edge of the bed and put his black socks on, first the
left feet, pausing a little to look at her and then moved on to his right feet.
‘I have such thoughts, I have such strange thoughts’
He didn’t say anything. Perhaps he hadn’t heard. So she repeated it. ‘I have
such thoughts.’
‘Try not to think so much.’ He advised. He didn’t want to encourage her so he
didn’t ask what about. He stood up, smoothed out the creases on his trousers
and walked to the door. He paused before he opened the door. ‘About what?’
He had his back to her. He noticed a thin crack at the top of the door.
‘Oh you know’ She sighed. He heard the rustling of sheets and the springiness
of the mattress. ‘What will you do? You have to move into a smaller house - ‘
‘No, no. Don’t you worry about that.’
‘But you won’t manage on your own. The mortgage, the bills-‘
‘I’ll do just fine. Don’t you worry about that.’ He interrupted again.
‘But…But Burt – now that you don’t have a job, well it makes sense to – to–’
Her voice drifted off.
He turned round on his heels and walked back to her slowly. He bent over and
took her small hand. ‘Listen honey, I’ll have a job in no time.’ He said. ‘I have
decades of experience.’ He carried on. ‘They made a mistake Eleanor, that’s
all. They just wanted to give that young lad a chance to get his foot on the
ladder. That’s all.’
‘But Burt, they let you go. And he – he got that promotion you should have
had. After years of slaving away for them - ’
‘Listen Eleanor, don’t worry about me okay? Especially about money. Now that
I have my fancy degree they’ll be queuing up outside for me. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘Now what do you want?’
She thought for a moment. ‘I feel like cereal. And tea please. With milk.’
‘Coming right up.’ He said.
‘Do stop tidying.’ Eleanor moaned. Burt was folding their clothes and placing
them neatly in their large wardrobe. ‘Read to me.’
‘One moment.’ He picked up his black shiny shoes and placed them on their
white shoe rack next to the wardrobe. She handed him her heavy book as he
sat next to her on their bed. He took out her orange bookmark from
Waterstones, it said ‘I have never found any distress that an hour’s reading
did not relieve’ followed by a name in white capital letters: Baron de
Montesquieu.
‘Chapter ex vee’ He said.
‘Fifteen. When will you learn your roman numerals?’ She laughed.
‘Shhh. Only a few chapters to go.’ He said. He took a deep breath and read:
‘The discomposure of spirits, which this extraordinary visit threw Elizabeth
into, could not be easily overcome; nor could she for many learn –‘ He
paused. ‘Nor could she for many hours, learn to think of it less than
incessantly. Lady Catherine it appeared, had actually taken the trouble –‘
‘You forgot the biscuits.’
‘What?’ Burt looked up from the book. She had her favourite white mug in her
hand. ‘To the world’s best wife, from the world’s greatest liar’ was written on
the mug in bright rainbow colours.
‘My digestive biscuits.’
He looked at their green tray. ‘Slipped my mind. I’ll just go get them.’ He took
her mug out of her hand.
‘Never mind.’ She said.
‘Don’t worry. It’s no hassle.’
‘No, don’t worry about it.’ She said. ‘I don’t want you to leave me.’ She held
onto his hand.
‘I’m not leaving you.’ He said. He stood up. She let go. ‘I’m just going
downstairs.’
‘Be quick.’
‘I’ll be just a few minutes.’ He said. He stroked back her hair and gathered it
all together in one long string in his hands.
He found her digestive biscuits, half eaten, in their biscuit tin. He noticed his
dirty mug on their dining table, quickly washed it, rubbing hard on the coffee
stain at the top of the mug and left it on the side of their sink. He picked up
their hand towel from the floor, folded it and placed it on their towel rack. He
noticed some threads had been pulled from the front of his woolly jumper. He
flattened the threads a little and picked out some yellow strings of his jumper.
Burt opened the cabinet on his right and moved his Shredded Wheat cereal
box to check if Eleanor’s unused kitchen knife was still there.
Yesterday he’d checked only eighteen times.
Burt picked up her half eaten biscuit packet and walked back upstairs. She
was kneeling against their headboard. Her head titled to a side away from
him, her arms spread out and her shoulders drooping. Her hair had formed one
long yellow string and it was wrapped around her throat three times.
He placed her half eaten digestive biscuit packet on their green tray. A tea
stain had formed on it. She didn’t move. ‘Ha ha. Stop joking, It’s not funny.’
He said, half angry. He walked to the opposite side of the room, the side she
was facing. She wasn’t blinking. Both here eyes were wide and her lips a little
parted. Burt waited patiently for a few minutes. He was breathing hard. His
palms felt moist.
He walked towards her and waved his right hand in front of her eyes. Still she
didn’t blink. He touched her hand, not cold but not as warm as before. Burt
tried to say something but his throat became tight. He ran back to the pine
coloured table, picked up the biscuit packet from the green tray and ran back
downstairs, almost tripping on the bottom stairs as it curved in.
He found the dirty mug he had washed only minutes a go, poured coffee in it,
poured it out of the mug in the sink. A faint black coffee stain had formed in
the white mug. He placed it on the dining table, exactly where he had found it
before. He pulled out the hand towel from the towel rack, scrunched it up a
little and dropped it back on the floor, exactly where he had found it before.
Burt opened the cabinet on his right, moved the cereal box back into where it
was before he’d moved it to check on the knife. He picked up the half eaten
biscuit packet and walked upstairs. She was still kneeling against the
headboard. He walked to the bed, tucked the thick layers of sheet around
her, turned her head until she was facing him. He stroked her head but didn’t
untangle her hair. He picked up the book again. Only a few chapters
left, he thought. Oh god, she would never know, he thought. We
didn’t finish the book. He opened the book. She would never know Darcy
and Elizabeth live happily ever after, he thought, I should have read the
book first. He cried, loud deep sobs wrenched out of him uncontrollably. Page
341 became wet. The paper went soft. He sobbed louder, wiping his tears and
his nose with the left sleeve of the woolly jumper. The more he thought that
Eleanor would never know the ending of the book the louder his sobs became.
She picked up the phone and dialled the number highlighted in green on the
call sheet. She looked at her book, Trainspotting, as the phone rang.
Someone picked up immediately.
‘Hello.’
‘Hi. Is this Burt Madison?’ She asked.
‘Yes.’
‘I just left you a message. I’m calling from the Careers Service of your old
university. We’re just contacting our recent graduates to find what they’ve
been doing since they graduated. Do you have time to answer a quick
survey?’
‘Sure. How long will it take?’ Burt Madison asked.
‘Just a few minutes.’ She said, tapping her pencil impatiently.
‘Sure.’
‘Ok. Thank you. Are you studying at the moment?’ She stopped tapping and
started drawing flowers on the corner of the call sheet.
‘No. I’m not studying.’
‘Are you working than?’
‘No. I’m not working.’ Burt replied.
‘So you’re not studying or working at the moment?’ She asked, thrilled that
she had no more questions to ask him. What a loser, she thought. Lazy bum.
‘Yes.’
‘Ok. Great. I mean thanks. Well best of luck, You can still use the careers
service here if you want.’ She signed and dated the form. And then placed it
on top of a pile in front of her.
‘Well, you see I’ve been busy.’ He said.
‘Hey, don’t worry about it. Have a nice eve-‘
‘Well, you see I was looking after my wife.’
‘Oh, is she not well?’ She asked. She looked at the name next on her list.
‘She was terminally ill. She had cancer.’
‘Oh I’m sorry.’ She said.
‘So that’s why I haven’t been doing anything, I was looking after my wife,
Eleanor Madison, until she died.’
‘I’m sorry about your loss.’ She said. She looked at her fingers, all dry and
skinny and cuts on them.
The boy next to her said ‘There’s tea on the table of you want some. And
digestive biscuits.’
‘Thank you.’ Burt said. ‘Oh my wife loved digestive biscuits.’
‘Did she?’ She asked. She looked at the table behind her, in the middle was
several mugs, all the same size and colour, green, and two packets of
digestive biscuits, one standing upright, the other flat on the table, open and
several biscuits peeping out of the packet.
‘Yes. Loved them. She enjoyed soaking them in her tea and just watching
them soften and break off. It drove me mad.’
She laughed. ‘Well, Mr Madison, I have to shoot off now. I’m sorry about your
loss. Best of luck for the future.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Bye.’ She said and hung up quickly.
Burt Madison put the phone down. The room was very dark except for the
faint light from the street lamp outside. It made a circle on the corner wall.
Burt felt Eleanor’s hand. It was cold now. He found gloves in the top shelf of
the wardrobe and put them on her hands. Two fingers went in the same
space. Not wanting to hurt her he separated each finger for its rightful space.
He was hungry and tired. He slid beneath the covers and held her. He placed
her smiling rosy little head on his shoulder. Her cheek once more blushed
bright beneath his burning kiss.
She found him leaning against the refrigerator when she got home, drinking a
can of beer. She stood at the doorway and watched him for a few minutes.
Then she placed the two white bags on the table and her keys on top of the
washing machine. ‘Been shopping?’ He asked. He threw the can, aiming for the
bin, but it hit the bin lid and dropped to the side of the bin. He didn’t pick it
up. He came up behind her and put his arms around her tightly. She pulled
away. ‘Fine. See if I care.’ He muttered. He started emptying the contents of
the white bags. Semi-skimmed milk, a pack of beer can marked ‘half price’,
hand cream, batteries, Heinz beans, brown sauce, mushrooms, facial wipes.
The second bag was full of digestive biscuits. ‘Why have you bought so many
digestive biscuits? Blimey, did you buy them all?’
She walked out of kitchen and threw her coat on the sofa in the living room.
He followed. ‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘Nothing.’ She said. She walked back to the kitchen, passing a large oval
mirror in the hallway. She looked at her reflection. Rough uneven hair, small
eyes and dark lines under her eyes. She walked back into the kitchen and put
the electric kettle on. He was stacking the biscuits in the cupboard. After a
few minutes the kettle started whistling and smoke began to come out of the
lips of the kettle. It made a clicking noise and the whistling stopped. She
poured the water into a mug slowly. ‘‘I spoke to this man who wasn’t doing
anything because he was looking after his terminally ill wife.’ She said to break
the silence. Behind her she heard another beer can hit the floor.
‘Your mother called. Lily sprained her ankle.’
‘It’s sad isn’t it’ She said. She put two Tetley tea bags into her tea and
moved them around with a tea spoon. She watched the colour come out.
‘‘She’s only sprained her ankle. Nothing to cry about.’ He said. She heard him
walk out of the room.
‘I meant the man.’ She took out one of the biscuit packets from the
cupboard, sat at the table with the packet and her mug. She opened the
biscuit packet and dipped the round light brown biscuit into her tea. She
looked up.
‘Oh well, what can you do. It’s life,’ He said. He was kneeling against the
door. ‘I think I’ll have a cup too.’ He walked to the sink and washed himself a
mug. She was on her fourth biscuit. She soaked each biscuit into her tea.
First half of it and watched it fall, then soaked the remaining half and waited
until the whole biscuit disappeared into the tea except the small little bit by
which she was holding the biscuit.
‘Nothing matters anymore. It doesn’t make any real difference.’ She said. She
sipped her tea. She heard the kettle whistle behind her and waited for the
same click sound. ‘We’ll all go one day. Everyone’s getting older.’ She took
another sip of her tea. ‘People around us will go but we’ll just carry on as
normal.’
‘Well, what else is there to do?’ He said.
Her mug was empty now except the thick pile of melted biscuits at the
bottom. ‘And we’ll have to go one day too. And it’ll be like we were never here
in the first place. You know what I mean? We’re here for just a few minutes. I
wish it’d slow down. In the end what have we got? I wish…’ She paused. ‘I
wish you’d say something.’ She heard something fall to the ground
behind her. He cursed. Then she heard a glass break. She looked at the green
and orange floor tile, small pieces of glass everywhere, stream of tea moving
slowly past her chair.
Things kept falling.
Burt Madison had put on the bedroom light but not drawn the thick cream
curtains. He waited patiently by her side. He felt numb. Burt Madison had cut
both his wrists, the left wrist first and then rather clumsily, like a
second-hand job, the right wrist. His last thought was ‘God-God, are you
listening?’ He said. ‘I’m coming and-and you-You’ve got a hell lot of explaining
to do. We-we didn’t finish the book. I didn’t mean to do it. I’m sorry if that’s
blasphemy’ and silently in his head he said ‘I don’t care,’ Burt Madison was
dead in just a few hours. That is how it happened.
