MEMBERS of Wokingham Writers’ Group were recently tasked with a challenge of creating a short story based on the theme of city break.
The winning entries were judhed by author Amanda Jennings, who has written a number of books including Sworn Secret, In Her Wake, The Cliff House, and The Haven.
Here we present one of the runners-up.
Wokingham Writers Group meet on the third Saturday of the month from 10am to noon at Wokingham Library. Membership is free and for everyone, be they a novice or experienced writer.
For more details, email chairman Keith Sheppard on: [email protected], or call Heather Dyson at Wokingham Library: 0118 978 1368.
“Shell, ‘ave you sorted out to ‘ave this Saturday off?” Gary slurred down the phone.
He’d told her they were going on a city break. A joke from the start of their relationship, before he’d became a user, a dealer and then a violent partner. How stupid she’d been to think he could change.
In reality, they were off to Newmarket races with his drunken mates. She didn’t care – she was planning a permanent city break from the vicious thug. Not that she could imagine leaving her beloved Colchester. But one thing she wouldn’t miss was the stench from the communal rubbish bins just below their council flat’s balcony.
Three years in the planning and she was finally ready. She’d been surprised at how easy it had been to skim tiny amounts of cocaine from Gary. His hapless customers hadn’t noticed. Her stash of cash would give her enough to live on for three months. A safety net whilst she found a job.
After hitting ‘start’ on the microwave to heat up a Lidl lasagne, she heard loud hammering on the front door. Bloody Gary must have forgotten his key. Again.
Gary shoved her into the wall as he barged passed, gin bottle in hand, his foul breath making her want to wretch. Her heart started to pound.
“What’s cooking?”
God, it would only be a matter of time before the violence began. Her stomach turned to lead. She must escape.
The microwave pinged. Gary pointed impatiently at it while glugging more gin. She smelt another whiff of his rancid breath as he grabbed her arm. She couldn’t endure another round of his violence. In one decisive movement she broke free. She ripped the lid off the piping hot lasagne and rammed it in his face. He screamed, clawing at his eyes. Then she grabbed the heavy chopping block and smashed it over his head. He staggered back, whacking his skull on the cooker. As he crumpled to the ground, she could do nothing but stare and blink wildly. Blood oozed down his face; she covered her face with her hands. OMG, had she killed him? She peeped through her fingers then willed herself to edge towards him and grab his wrist. No pulse. Half of her felt relief; the other half wanted to throw up. Look lively, gal.
After triple-wrapping his body in black bags, she sprinted down the stairs to the communal utilities area. She repositioned the purple-lidded bin, ensuring it was directly under the flat, then pulled out the top layer of rubbish bags before speeding back up the steps. Next, she dragged the body to the balcony. She scanned round making sure it was safe, then heaved Gary over the rail. He landed neatly into the giant bin below. She raced back downstairs and replaced the black bags to cover him, up ready for the refuse truck that afternoon.
Her breathing calmed as she cleaned the kitchen. Maybe she would stay in Colchester after all?
