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HINCKLEY'S VERY OWN WRITERS WORKSHOP
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Look Ahead
She looks straight ahead
And thinks of herself and her lot
She doesn't give a damn
Nor cares if she ought
She's selfish and turned inwards
As if that's all that there is…
The world resolves around her
She queries the din
It must be great in her world
So central and clear
Who questions her motives?
She's the one who must have found "real"
by Anne Breese
Mistaken Identity
Family, friend, acquaintance, colleague
Soul mate, lover, worker, relative
Associate, companion, helper
Enemy, betrayer, supporter
Ally, equal, pal, crony
Which one are you?
by Anne Breese
Wishful thinking
When I am better, life will seem "smooth",
I know this is so, because else that'd be cruel.
Some say I'm acting… I am most of the time
How would you "know", let alone try to define?
Futile our lives, moulded and scarred they soon will have gone
Useful for time, then the use moves along
Look to the future never behind
The present? A crime
How can I move on? It feels like a game
I try to keep smiling, it feels such a shame
Is now the time to give up
Give in, lie down, cry or just die?
Kindness pervades every living cell, where from?
Inwards of course, my own private shell
Never lose sight of the prize held out for all to achieve
Gone is that hope, I just cannot succeed….
by Anne breese
Dark night, red tomatoes
The rain drizzled down from the dark clouds above onto the bevelled rooftops above Silkys head. Her high heels made a long high pitched clopping sound as she walked down Azalea Road. Her hair was the colour of rust, sodden, as was her thin black dress.
The day had been beautiful and blue when she had left home earlier that afternoon. She had forgotten how dark it got now that the clocks had been turned back. She sensed that something was not quite right as she walked up the stone steps leading to her front door. As she slotted the key that she took out from her fake wet snakeskin handbag into the keyhole, her spine tingled with anticipation. The door slide open with a corny cliché horror movie creaking sound, she expected a cat to jump out or something equally predictable, but it did not.
Turning the lights on everything seemed normal at first until she looked at the clocks! They were all running backwards, the wall clock, microwave, and video recorder. Bang! The kitchen cupboard door shot open and a volcanic eruption of tinned tomatoes, spaghetti, rice pudding and chocolate sauce meshed into a consolidated mess, running over the worktops, down the side of the kitchen cupboards, and finally ending in a pile on the white speckled vinyl floor.
Silkys lips pursed together with displeasure and her heart beated at an alarming rate.
"If this is that bloody husband of mine doing something stupid again I'll have his bits in the cheese grater!" Silky spoke to herself in a calm and authoritative voice.
"Jim! Jimmy you get out of bed and see this bloody mess will you?" Silky grabbed the towel off the lukewarm radiator and proceeded to towel dry her hair as she walked up the stairs. She stopped suddenly, dead in her tracks as she noticed the bloody marks that covered the lemon yellow bedroom door. "Jimmy are you alright? This is not funny! If it's one of your practical jokes! Come on Jimmy, speak to me." Trembling she placed her hand on the blood stained door handle and shoved it open with her right hand while turning the light on with her left.
"Aghhhhhh!" Silky screamed at the top of her lungs. There on her four poster bed lay all her clothes, jewellery and wedding photo's covered in tomato sauce and a pungent smell of urine with a large piece of card stuck in the middle, which read.
Dear Silky
Seen the interesting video of you and my now ex-best friend Dave, hope he was worth it! P.S. The new convertible BMW we brought on the new housing loan in your name is now in the canal. See you in hell, no love what so ever, Jimmy.
By W.Ridgway