FICTION – Workshop, Piece 1

I thought I would share the writing I came up with during the workshop last Saturday. They haven’t been edited much since the workshop, so they are a little messy. But hopefully they’re interesting. I’ll explain the activity for each as well.

Cricket – We were given the first sentence and then asked to write without stopping, every few minutes we were given a word to incorporate into our piece. The words we were given were slouching, good, afternoon, horses, trailer, beard.


I want to tell you about my favourite place in the city. I like to sit, slouching over a table, coffee between my hands. The steam will rise so that it tickles my face, the heat warming my hands. I like to sit there for a long time. Watching the world tick by. Watching the people move and pass – good people, bad people. Sometimes, it feels as though the whole world is there. Moving around. Perhaps I’m the sun.

No one really notices me, but I’m as part of the city as everyone else.

It happened one afternoon in late February, I don’t know the year. I’d been going there every day for so long I couldn’t remember how long it had been. My eyes were scanning the road, the people. And then I heard the familiar clip clop of horses and thought I was dreaming. I turned to look and saw two policemen on horseback approaching. Where once I had liked horses, now I was afraid, my whole body reacting. Adrenaline washed through me, heating me from the inside so that I no longer needed the dregs of my once warm coffee. The polystyrene cup fell to the group as I stood up. They looked at me – the police or the horses, I’m not sure. I turned to run and collided with one of the trailers headed for the market, filled with underwear, hula hoops and nineties videos. I looked in the window of the van that was pulling the trailer. A man with a beard was glaring at me, a tab hanging from his lip as he shouted at me with words that offended the people on the street.

Suddenly they could see me.

I was being pulled into their realities of work, bills, husbands, wives and kids. I was being dragged inside of their view, their eyes unable to flit over me, simply a girl in a black hoody, perhaps a boy, perhaps a woman. Suddenly they were curious. The police were approaching. My private, order-less, homeless existence was about to come to an end.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s