After the cheeriness of the previous two five minute challenges (*sarcasm*), I decided to go all out for this one and actually try and do something with a slightly lighter feel.
I believe the prompt for this one was “any colour, as long as its purple”. I started writing with a vague idea in mind and ended up with a kind of nonsense story for kids.
I call it Purple.
‘But we don’t have any purple giraffes!’
‘Well why not?’
‘Because…well, because giraffes only come in a kind of dappled brown.’
‘Oh! What about Orang Utans?’
‘You’re a bit closer there, but orange is the general theme with those.’
‘Okay, so what do you have in purple?’
‘We could dye a sheep for you?’
‘No, that won’t do at all, it has to be natural.’
‘How’s about a parrot?’
‘Too feathery! I’m looking for fur.’
‘Fur, I said.’
‘Well in that case there’s only really one solution I’m afraid, but it won’t be cheap!’
‘I don’t care, I’ll take it,’ and Rob’s face lit up as he left the store wearing his fancy new yeti skin coat.
The second story I wrote, at my writers group meeting the other week, was prompted by the phrase “I’m not your mother”. Again it was just free writing and I had no clue where I was going to end up when my pen initially hit the paper. Five minutes seems like a long time when you’re waiting in a queue at the post office, but when you have to write a story it’s no time at all.
Of course some of the other’s in the group didn’t write a standalone tale, just the start of something bigger. But my instinct was that, if I have five minutes to write a story in then I shall write the whole of a story in that five minutes!
I call this one Mother.
I’m your father, but you will listen to me anyway!
Just because I had less to do with your journey into this world doesn’t mean I have any less of a say in how you run your life.
Every day I see you growing, and every day I see you becoming more like her. The way you look, the way you act, the way you talk.
All of the things you do are from her, and all of the things you do remind me of her. I wish it weren’t so but it is.
I just wish that for one day I could go without seeing her reflection rote large in your existence, but it’s not to be.
I love you so, and I miss your mother every day. She was everything to me and the accident haunts me every night.
I miss her so!
My Writers Group Meetup was last night, it was a pretty relaxed affair with a small number of people. We had decided to try an exercise where everyone has to write for five minutes from a prompt. We were all a bit terrified but it was actually really interesting to see where everyone’s minds took them from the same starting point.
Over the course of the evening we did four different ones, below you’ll find my first one, which came from the phrase “the police knocked at the door” (or some variant thereof!).
This is a straight transcription of what I wrote, with a couple of added commas. It was pretty amazing coming up with a full, albeit short (138 words) story in the time it takes to cook an egg! I surprised myself with what I wrote but am relatively happy that it’s not complete gibberish, even if it’s not the most cheerful tale.
I call it Brad.
Brad got up suddenly. He had no idea what he was going to do with it, but it had to go somewhere. After stashing the thing he tentatively shuffled towards the doorway and turned the squeaky handle until it came off in his hand.
He put his mouth to the hole and said ‘Hang on a minute,’ then went and found a screwdriver to force it open.
Eventually the door swung free and outside were two police people. A man with a stern face and woman who looked slightly concerned.
‘Are you the brother of Amber?’
‘Would you mind accompanying us to the station, we found your sister playing near the train lines.’
Brad stepped out of the door and pulled it shut, thankful that he had left the head out of sight.