S.F. Burgess's Blog: I’d just like to say...
August 27, 2013
The Argument
My next blog will be on my research trip to Stonehenge, but while I write that, I thought you might be interested in this short scene that was written for a writing class, we had to write about an argument. Conflict is something that drives plot, as it pushes people into action, I had a whole story in my head about this piece.
The Argument by S.F. Burgess
Simon gave a satisfied sigh, leaning back in the chair. Patting his now slightly distended stomach he belched softly. From across the immaculately appointed dining table, Amy gave him a disapproving look.
Simon smiled. “In France it’s a compliment to the chef.”
Amy rolled her eyes. “I’ve never been more delighted that I don’t live in France.”
Simon gave her his best cheeky grin and her stern demeanour cracked, a stunning, indulgent smile spreading across her face.
Seeing his advantage, Simon pushed on. “The food really was amazing darling, thank you, that beef was cooked to perfection.”
Amy flushed a little at the praise and reached across the table to take his hand. “You’re welcome, happy anniversary my love.”
Simon raised her hand and kissed the palm, watching as her beautiful blue eyes glazed a little in lust. He leant forward, nipping, licking and kissing gently up the inside of her wrist. She shuddered, her other hand running fingers through his hair.
Simon reached the crook of her arm and stopped raising his eyes to her half-closed languid blue gaze and smiled.
“What’s for desert?”
There was just enough suggestion to the comment to bring a sultry smile to Amy’s face.
“Chocolate mousse... Do you want it now?”
Simon chuckled. Amy shook herself and stood, stacking the plates to take into the kitchen. Simon caught her hands, enforcing stillness.
“Chocolate mousse sounds good, but I’ve got a surprise for you. It’s been so hard to wait to tell you, I’m so excited, but I wanted to get everything ready first.”
With a puzzled look, Amy sat again.
Simon took a deep breath for dramatic effect. “The company have given me a promotion.”
Amy jumped up and flung her arms around his neck.
“Simon that’s brilliant!” She squealed in his ear. Simon hugged her slim frame.
“That’s not the best part… the new job’s in New York!”
Amy froze. Pulling away from him, her arms crossing her stomach, holding herself, she stared at him. Simon registered the shock.
“I know it’s a big surprise, but you don’t have to worry, the company are sorting out accommodation and the move, all we have to do is pack a case and get on the plane.”
Amy’s shocked look morphed into something Simon had not expected. Fear flooded her eyes.
“Simon, I don’t want to live in New York.”
Stunned, Simon felt the situation shifting, in all the months of planning, he had never imagined for one moment that Amy wouldn’t want to come.
“But you loved New York when we visited last Christmas.”
Amy took another step away from him. “Yes, New York was great for a two week shopping trip, that doesn’t mean I want to live there.”
Simon felt anger surface, this was a huge opportunity for him, something he’d worked really hard for, Amy should be delighted.
“I have to go Amy, I’ve signed the contract, you’re my wife, you have to come with me.”
Amy’s eye’s grew wide, but her voice remained soft, fearful. “I’m your wife Simon, you’re partner in life, not a slave, you can’t just make a decision like this. I don’t want to go. What about my life, my plans? You should have discussed this with me.”
Simon stood up so quickly he knocked over the delicate dining chair; Amy cringed at the noise as it hit the polished dark wood floor.
“What life, what plans?” He snapped. “You don’t have a job, you live well off my generosity. Everything you have, I’ve provided for you, this decision was entirely mine to make and if you wish to remain my wife you’ll do as I say.”
With a sharp inhale of breath Amy grasping her hands over her heart, tears standing out in her eyes. She struggled to get herself under control, to speak around the obvious lump in her throat.
“My art lessons are…” she whispered.
“I’m pretty sure they give art classes in New York, Amy,” Simon interrupted, imperiously. Regretting his tone as Amy seemed to fold further into herself.
“My family…. My mother…” Little more than a breath, the soft utterance had started the tears falling.
Simon sighed; he hated to see her cry. “Your family can visit whenever they like, I’ll pay for the tickets, they can stay as long as they like.”
This was a big concession; his mother-in-law was difficult at the best of times. Amy, shook her head, tears flying,
“I’m not going. You are going to have to decide once and for all, us or your job.” Simon could hear the steel in the soft voiced ultimatum. When he didn’t respond immediately, the tears started in earnest and turning on her heel Amy fled the room.
Simon righted the chair and sat heavily. It was then he noticed the small gift near his wine glass. Wondering morosely if it would be the last anniversary present Amy ever gave him, Simon opened the box. Inside was a strange plastic tube, a small screen embedded in it. The small screen had the word ‘Positive’ standing proud on it, the image of a little digital baby next to it.
It took a full minute for the significance of what he held in his hand to register. Then it took less than a second for the entire world to turn on its head.
“Oh Amy…” he murmured, his anger evaporating.
The Argument by S.F. Burgess
Simon gave a satisfied sigh, leaning back in the chair. Patting his now slightly distended stomach he belched softly. From across the immaculately appointed dining table, Amy gave him a disapproving look.
Simon smiled. “In France it’s a compliment to the chef.”
Amy rolled her eyes. “I’ve never been more delighted that I don’t live in France.”
Simon gave her his best cheeky grin and her stern demeanour cracked, a stunning, indulgent smile spreading across her face.
Seeing his advantage, Simon pushed on. “The food really was amazing darling, thank you, that beef was cooked to perfection.”
Amy flushed a little at the praise and reached across the table to take his hand. “You’re welcome, happy anniversary my love.”
Simon raised her hand and kissed the palm, watching as her beautiful blue eyes glazed a little in lust. He leant forward, nipping, licking and kissing gently up the inside of her wrist. She shuddered, her other hand running fingers through his hair.
Simon reached the crook of her arm and stopped raising his eyes to her half-closed languid blue gaze and smiled.
“What’s for desert?”
There was just enough suggestion to the comment to bring a sultry smile to Amy’s face.
“Chocolate mousse... Do you want it now?”
Simon chuckled. Amy shook herself and stood, stacking the plates to take into the kitchen. Simon caught her hands, enforcing stillness.
“Chocolate mousse sounds good, but I’ve got a surprise for you. It’s been so hard to wait to tell you, I’m so excited, but I wanted to get everything ready first.”
With a puzzled look, Amy sat again.
Simon took a deep breath for dramatic effect. “The company have given me a promotion.”
Amy jumped up and flung her arms around his neck.
“Simon that’s brilliant!” She squealed in his ear. Simon hugged her slim frame.
“That’s not the best part… the new job’s in New York!”
Amy froze. Pulling away from him, her arms crossing her stomach, holding herself, she stared at him. Simon registered the shock.
“I know it’s a big surprise, but you don’t have to worry, the company are sorting out accommodation and the move, all we have to do is pack a case and get on the plane.”
Amy’s shocked look morphed into something Simon had not expected. Fear flooded her eyes.
“Simon, I don’t want to live in New York.”
Stunned, Simon felt the situation shifting, in all the months of planning, he had never imagined for one moment that Amy wouldn’t want to come.
“But you loved New York when we visited last Christmas.”
Amy took another step away from him. “Yes, New York was great for a two week shopping trip, that doesn’t mean I want to live there.”
Simon felt anger surface, this was a huge opportunity for him, something he’d worked really hard for, Amy should be delighted.
“I have to go Amy, I’ve signed the contract, you’re my wife, you have to come with me.”
Amy’s eye’s grew wide, but her voice remained soft, fearful. “I’m your wife Simon, you’re partner in life, not a slave, you can’t just make a decision like this. I don’t want to go. What about my life, my plans? You should have discussed this with me.”
Simon stood up so quickly he knocked over the delicate dining chair; Amy cringed at the noise as it hit the polished dark wood floor.
“What life, what plans?” He snapped. “You don’t have a job, you live well off my generosity. Everything you have, I’ve provided for you, this decision was entirely mine to make and if you wish to remain my wife you’ll do as I say.”
With a sharp inhale of breath Amy grasping her hands over her heart, tears standing out in her eyes. She struggled to get herself under control, to speak around the obvious lump in her throat.
“My art lessons are…” she whispered.
“I’m pretty sure they give art classes in New York, Amy,” Simon interrupted, imperiously. Regretting his tone as Amy seemed to fold further into herself.
“My family…. My mother…” Little more than a breath, the soft utterance had started the tears falling.
Simon sighed; he hated to see her cry. “Your family can visit whenever they like, I’ll pay for the tickets, they can stay as long as they like.”
This was a big concession; his mother-in-law was difficult at the best of times. Amy, shook her head, tears flying,
“I’m not going. You are going to have to decide once and for all, us or your job.” Simon could hear the steel in the soft voiced ultimatum. When he didn’t respond immediately, the tears started in earnest and turning on her heel Amy fled the room.
Simon righted the chair and sat heavily. It was then he noticed the small gift near his wine glass. Wondering morosely if it would be the last anniversary present Amy ever gave him, Simon opened the box. Inside was a strange plastic tube, a small screen embedded in it. The small screen had the word ‘Positive’ standing proud on it, the image of a little digital baby next to it.
It took a full minute for the significance of what he held in his hand to register. Then it took less than a second for the entire world to turn on its head.
“Oh Amy…” he murmured, his anger evaporating.
August 23, 2013
I'd just like to say...
Obviously, Eleanor has been my main writing focus and currently the second book in this series has taken Eleanor’s place. However, I still enjoy writing short pieces on lots of different subjects, just to keep my hand in, to give my brain a little practice in different areas. With writing, there is no such thing as too much practice. I am the member of a brilliant writing group and write a short piece for them every so often. A friend recently pointed out that other people might like to read these short pieces.
This piece was an attempt at ‘Flash Fiction’, write a story in 350 words or less, with a beginning a middle and an end.
Blue Eyes – by S.F. Burgess
Blue eyes met hers as she perused potatoes. He smiled. Not the absent, late night shoppers empty pleasantry, but a warm attempt at connection. She held his gaze, flattered, until the responsibility reminder, sleeping in its carrier in the trolley, gave a murmuring chunter. With a small, tired, apologetic smile, she moved towards dairy produce.
It was late when she escaped fake fluorescent day, crossing the car park towards her Volvo. Regretting her distant, badly lit choice of car parking spot, she moved quickly. The trolleys annoying rattling disturbed the baby. She stopped, trying to soothe. Alive four days, already making her feel incompetent.
Are those footsteps? Are they coming towards me? Are other cars parked this far out?
Vision yet to adjust to the dark, she froze, suddenly, irrationally, terrified. ‘Get to the car!’ Her brain screamed. ‘It’s safe.’
Violently shoving the trolley forward with one hand, she used the other to fumble for keys, scraping the trolley against the car in her haste, two attempts to open the door. Heart hammering, knowing heavy footfalls were advancing. Panting in fear, chest tight, she flung shopping into the trunk. Scrambled into the driver’s seat. Door closing, hand forcing the door lock down.
Safe!
Gulping breaths, trying to calm herself.
Bang!
Blue eyes came from nowhere, hands slamming, palms down onto her side window. She screamed, frantically ramming key into ignition, engine roaring to life. The car moved forward. The man yelled, chasing her. Running hard, legs pumping, he cut across, pulling parallel, stopping in front of her, hands held out, signalling stop.
Do I run him over?
She couldn’t and stood on the break. Something heavy scrapped metal across the car roof, shot over her, large, pink. He caught it, the force knocking him to the ground, pain creasing his face.
Shocked, she stared into blue eyes, then at the baby carrier in his arms, her baby, howling within it.
This piece was an attempt at ‘Flash Fiction’, write a story in 350 words or less, with a beginning a middle and an end.
Blue Eyes – by S.F. Burgess
Blue eyes met hers as she perused potatoes. He smiled. Not the absent, late night shoppers empty pleasantry, but a warm attempt at connection. She held his gaze, flattered, until the responsibility reminder, sleeping in its carrier in the trolley, gave a murmuring chunter. With a small, tired, apologetic smile, she moved towards dairy produce.
It was late when she escaped fake fluorescent day, crossing the car park towards her Volvo. Regretting her distant, badly lit choice of car parking spot, she moved quickly. The trolleys annoying rattling disturbed the baby. She stopped, trying to soothe. Alive four days, already making her feel incompetent.
Are those footsteps? Are they coming towards me? Are other cars parked this far out?
Vision yet to adjust to the dark, she froze, suddenly, irrationally, terrified. ‘Get to the car!’ Her brain screamed. ‘It’s safe.’
Violently shoving the trolley forward with one hand, she used the other to fumble for keys, scraping the trolley against the car in her haste, two attempts to open the door. Heart hammering, knowing heavy footfalls were advancing. Panting in fear, chest tight, she flung shopping into the trunk. Scrambled into the driver’s seat. Door closing, hand forcing the door lock down.
Safe!
Gulping breaths, trying to calm herself.
Bang!
Blue eyes came from nowhere, hands slamming, palms down onto her side window. She screamed, frantically ramming key into ignition, engine roaring to life. The car moved forward. The man yelled, chasing her. Running hard, legs pumping, he cut across, pulling parallel, stopping in front of her, hands held out, signalling stop.
Do I run him over?
She couldn’t and stood on the break. Something heavy scrapped metal across the car roof, shot over her, large, pink. He caught it, the force knocking him to the ground, pain creasing his face.
Shocked, she stared into blue eyes, then at the baby carrier in his arms, her baby, howling within it.
