CrazyTom
01-13-2007, 5:12 PM
Sally swept out into the garden in a rage, mascara running freely down her cheeks. Inside the house, the phone hung forlornly by the cord, Dan’s plaintive voice leaking from the speaker. She couldn’t care less. Let the bastard whine all he wanted, she wouldn’t be having anything to do with him for a long while. She jabbed angrily at the cold ground with the trowel, heedless of the rain starting to soak through her, pushing some of the plants aside to jam the blade into the soil. Bits of brick and small stones littered the surface of the flowerbed so she threw down the tool and scrabbled at it with her fingernails. Damned if she was going to let those tulips he’d sent her grow. She’d buried the bulbs quite deep like the magazine had said, covering them it the exotic red soil she’d picked up on her holiday with Dan in Nigeria. Once she’d cleared a space, she picked up the trowel again, driving it deep, turning it and imagining she was driving it into his chest.
There was a strange clink. Swearing viciously, Sally jammed her gloved fingers down into the hole she’d dug and yanked at the hard object she’d found down there. There was resistance for a moment, as if the earth was tugging back, but then whatever it was slid free with a dull pop and Sally fell back onto her lawn, jarring her hip against a smiling garden gnome. For a few eternal seconds she found herself looking at a milky white pebble, bright against her muddy green gloves. Then tears blurred her eyes as the pain hit her.
Thunder boomed and echoed across the Ipswich terraces, followed by flashes far away. Sally finally bit back her sobs, dropped everything and staggered back inside. The moment she slammed the door the wind seemed to redouble, an invisible fiend clawing at the bricks of her house. She hobbled over to the phone and jammed it back on the hub, too upset to notice that it immediately began ringing – the sound drowned out by the rain thundering against her double glazing.
It was only when she went to get some ice for her hip that she realised she still had the little white pebble in her hand. She put it gently on the worktop, wondering as she did so why she was so afraid to damage it. A twinge of pain jerked her attention away from it and back to the ice pack in the freezer which she wrapped in a tea towel and placed against her hip, groaning as the swelling started to ease. And the little white pebble was forgotten for the rest of the evening as she curled up with a duvet and hot chocolate in the time-honoured fashion of upset women everywhere.
Outside, the storm continued to throw itself around like a drunken animal. Sally was watching Star Wars when a particularly powerful gust whistled past the house, rattling the back door and making her jump. Moments later, everything went black.
"Power cut. Thank you, God." Sally muttered, her eyes rolling. Still, at least she had some candles left over from the last time she had dinner with… him. She sniffed again and then quashed the memory as she set about arranging the candles around the room, igniting each one with her cigarette lighter. On a whim she jammed one of the incense sticks into the holder next to the sink and lit that too, before wandering into the house in search of a nice violent book to take her mind away from life. She went to bed early that night, curling up in a foetal ball. The scent of the incense stick had wafted upstairs and it lulled her senses, until she slipped away into dreams.
"Many thanks to you." Sally’s dreamscape, a strange place with a yellow sky suddenly dissolved into darkness and a voice spoke to her out of the black. It was as if she was still awake, and yet still dreaming. Sally decided she was still asleep, and this was just some strange dream brought on by the incense. Still, the fact that she wasn’t waking up was mildly troubling – but it was only a dream, after all.
"I was trapped for a long time, but now you’ve let me out I can do something for you – before I leave. Anything you like, in fact." The voice told her. Sally’s thoughts were still wrapped around Dan and his cheating, scheming ways.
"Punish that bastard. I want him punished." She muttered, not surprised that she was dreaming of revenge. The darkness shifted back into the yellow sky, where Sally tended to purple plants as a blue rain fell from pink clouds.
Driving to work the next day, Sally flicked through the radio stations trying to find some news, or at least some classic rock stations to drive away the annoying pop tunes stuck in her head. She was thankful for one thing – her mobile was silent and hadn’t made a peep all morning. It looked like Dan had got the message yesterday afternoon. If she kept ignoring him, he’d learn to stay away.
She hurried into the office, her hair messed up by the gale force winds outside. Taking a look at herself in the mirror, Sally groaned. There were so many things she should have done last night, instead of moping over that piece of scum. She hadn’t even told anyone that her and Dan were no longer an item. She ran her fingers through her hair, sorted out the worst of the wind’s depredations and then stepped into the lift, waving a hurried goodbye to Jodie, the receptionist.
As soon as she stepped out of the lift, Sally realised something was wrong. Rochelle, who was usually so glad to see her, was downcast. Jason was standing over by the photocopier, he didn’t meet Sally’s eyes when she looked over. It was Carl who walked up, eyes averted. He put a hand on her shoulder.
"I’m sorry, Sally, really I am. Boss said if you want the day off, you’re welcome."
"Day off? What? What’s going on?" Sally asked, confused. "You guys heard about Dan somehow?"
"Yeah, it’s been on the radio. Probably make the evening news, too. Really sad. God, his mom’s gonna be distraught." Carl’s voice had none of its usual playfulness.
"Jesus, I only dumped him… It’s not like he’s dead. How’d you know about that anyway?"
"You don’t know?" Carl looked up at her sharply. Sally shook her head in confusion. "Oh, God, Sally… Dan’s dead."
"What? Dead? How? I was talking to him yesterday, he can’t be dead! We just split up."
"He was murdered, Sally. Tortured, the police have said."
"God…" Into her mind flashed the memory of the strange dreams. Sally’s hand flew to her mouth. Next second, she was back in the lift and then out of the building, running to her car and driving home.
She charged up the path, nearly tripping over a pot, her hip still sore from the previous evening. She leapt up the steps to her front door, jammed her key in the lock and ran inside. The worktop where she’d left the white stone was covered in the redness of the exotic soil. The soil had been arranged to spell out a word in the Nigerian language, but Sally didn’t need to be able to read it to know it said ‘Thank you.’ Beneath the words, the white stone gleamed malevolently.
Sally swept out into the garden, terrified and confused. She found the hole she’d dug yesterday and bent down to throw the stone back into it. But before she could do so, something immensely strong grabbed her arm.
"I don’t think so." A dark voice whispered.
This is part of the writing a university requested for my application to do Creative Writing there... think they'll like it?
There was a strange clink. Swearing viciously, Sally jammed her gloved fingers down into the hole she’d dug and yanked at the hard object she’d found down there. There was resistance for a moment, as if the earth was tugging back, but then whatever it was slid free with a dull pop and Sally fell back onto her lawn, jarring her hip against a smiling garden gnome. For a few eternal seconds she found herself looking at a milky white pebble, bright against her muddy green gloves. Then tears blurred her eyes as the pain hit her.
Thunder boomed and echoed across the Ipswich terraces, followed by flashes far away. Sally finally bit back her sobs, dropped everything and staggered back inside. The moment she slammed the door the wind seemed to redouble, an invisible fiend clawing at the bricks of her house. She hobbled over to the phone and jammed it back on the hub, too upset to notice that it immediately began ringing – the sound drowned out by the rain thundering against her double glazing.
It was only when she went to get some ice for her hip that she realised she still had the little white pebble in her hand. She put it gently on the worktop, wondering as she did so why she was so afraid to damage it. A twinge of pain jerked her attention away from it and back to the ice pack in the freezer which she wrapped in a tea towel and placed against her hip, groaning as the swelling started to ease. And the little white pebble was forgotten for the rest of the evening as she curled up with a duvet and hot chocolate in the time-honoured fashion of upset women everywhere.
Outside, the storm continued to throw itself around like a drunken animal. Sally was watching Star Wars when a particularly powerful gust whistled past the house, rattling the back door and making her jump. Moments later, everything went black.
"Power cut. Thank you, God." Sally muttered, her eyes rolling. Still, at least she had some candles left over from the last time she had dinner with… him. She sniffed again and then quashed the memory as she set about arranging the candles around the room, igniting each one with her cigarette lighter. On a whim she jammed one of the incense sticks into the holder next to the sink and lit that too, before wandering into the house in search of a nice violent book to take her mind away from life. She went to bed early that night, curling up in a foetal ball. The scent of the incense stick had wafted upstairs and it lulled her senses, until she slipped away into dreams.
"Many thanks to you." Sally’s dreamscape, a strange place with a yellow sky suddenly dissolved into darkness and a voice spoke to her out of the black. It was as if she was still awake, and yet still dreaming. Sally decided she was still asleep, and this was just some strange dream brought on by the incense. Still, the fact that she wasn’t waking up was mildly troubling – but it was only a dream, after all.
"I was trapped for a long time, but now you’ve let me out I can do something for you – before I leave. Anything you like, in fact." The voice told her. Sally’s thoughts were still wrapped around Dan and his cheating, scheming ways.
"Punish that bastard. I want him punished." She muttered, not surprised that she was dreaming of revenge. The darkness shifted back into the yellow sky, where Sally tended to purple plants as a blue rain fell from pink clouds.
Driving to work the next day, Sally flicked through the radio stations trying to find some news, or at least some classic rock stations to drive away the annoying pop tunes stuck in her head. She was thankful for one thing – her mobile was silent and hadn’t made a peep all morning. It looked like Dan had got the message yesterday afternoon. If she kept ignoring him, he’d learn to stay away.
She hurried into the office, her hair messed up by the gale force winds outside. Taking a look at herself in the mirror, Sally groaned. There were so many things she should have done last night, instead of moping over that piece of scum. She hadn’t even told anyone that her and Dan were no longer an item. She ran her fingers through her hair, sorted out the worst of the wind’s depredations and then stepped into the lift, waving a hurried goodbye to Jodie, the receptionist.
As soon as she stepped out of the lift, Sally realised something was wrong. Rochelle, who was usually so glad to see her, was downcast. Jason was standing over by the photocopier, he didn’t meet Sally’s eyes when she looked over. It was Carl who walked up, eyes averted. He put a hand on her shoulder.
"I’m sorry, Sally, really I am. Boss said if you want the day off, you’re welcome."
"Day off? What? What’s going on?" Sally asked, confused. "You guys heard about Dan somehow?"
"Yeah, it’s been on the radio. Probably make the evening news, too. Really sad. God, his mom’s gonna be distraught." Carl’s voice had none of its usual playfulness.
"Jesus, I only dumped him… It’s not like he’s dead. How’d you know about that anyway?"
"You don’t know?" Carl looked up at her sharply. Sally shook her head in confusion. "Oh, God, Sally… Dan’s dead."
"What? Dead? How? I was talking to him yesterday, he can’t be dead! We just split up."
"He was murdered, Sally. Tortured, the police have said."
"God…" Into her mind flashed the memory of the strange dreams. Sally’s hand flew to her mouth. Next second, she was back in the lift and then out of the building, running to her car and driving home.
She charged up the path, nearly tripping over a pot, her hip still sore from the previous evening. She leapt up the steps to her front door, jammed her key in the lock and ran inside. The worktop where she’d left the white stone was covered in the redness of the exotic soil. The soil had been arranged to spell out a word in the Nigerian language, but Sally didn’t need to be able to read it to know it said ‘Thank you.’ Beneath the words, the white stone gleamed malevolently.
Sally swept out into the garden, terrified and confused. She found the hole she’d dug yesterday and bent down to throw the stone back into it. But before she could do so, something immensely strong grabbed her arm.
"I don’t think so." A dark voice whispered.
This is part of the writing a university requested for my application to do Creative Writing there... think they'll like it?