The Wednesday Exercise

Ooooh, a chair!

So I have my Creative Writing Seminar on a Wednesday. Inevitably, I do some writing during it, and this means I usually end up with something I half like. So I thought to myself that each week I’d select the best piece to come out of it and throw it up here. Any objections? No, I didn’t think so. That’s one of the benefits of a mute audience.


The light dropped in a single shaft over his face. ‘Ya, I did it. Real quiet like. One hand over her mouth, the other copping a cheeky feel.’ He grinned and took a drag on his cigarette before leaning forward. ‘I even sprinkled her with that God-damned pop-ary. Awful smelling stuff, I tells ya.’ Another pause as he leant back. Suddenly he surged forward. ‘But it smells a damn sight better than a fuckin’ corpse!’ Peals of manic laughter echoed around the room as he tapped the glowing tabacco on the table.

He canted his head to one side as he heard the question. ‘Hmmm, well, I went ’round for the only reason a man spends time with a woman.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes, feckin’ sex. Real horrorshow shit.’ He grinned. ‘Yeah, I know, you wouldn’t think ‘scum’ like me would’ve red lit-a-ra-ture, would ya?’ He paused for another drag. ‘Well fuck you. I read whatever the fuck I like and you ain’t no fucking body to say otherwise.’

Taking a deep breath he leaned back and patted down his hair. ‘So there she was, practically begging me to drill her oil rig style when she gets a fucking change of heart. Well fuck that. A girl says yes once that’s fucking consent.’ He pointed an accusatory finger. ‘I don’t give a shit if she struggled. I had my fun and that’s what’s important. the problem was the bitch wouldn’t stop crying. I mean, I know I’m a great feckin’ shag, but there’s no need to cry for joy.’ Another peal of laughter as he stared at the impassive faces. ‘What?’ He sighed.

‘You don’t appreciate great comedy. Well fuck yous too. Look, I’m not saying I particularly wanted the whore dead, but she wouldn’t shut up. What’s a man to do? So I quieted her, and now she isn’t anyone’s problem. I did yous lot a fuckin’ favour, and you’re not reciprocating Sonny Jim. I deserve a fuckin’ medal. Instead you got me in chains. This is why society is going down the shitter. Yous got teenagers killing innocent Arabs while pieces of shit got their fuckin’ euthanists locked away.’ Another drag.

‘Yeah, it was a fuckin’ mercy killing. No, not for her you egit. For us!’ He patted down his hair again, both hands this time. ‘Mercy from her fuckin’ whining and her incessant fucking crying. I did us all a favour, and you should be fucking thankful for it. Hell, she isn’t even a burden on the state any more. I’ll take my fucking cheque, thanks very much.’ He held out his hand.


About Phill Cameron

I've graduated, had a look at the world, and spat. Now I'm devoting my time to moving from 3/4 of a games journalist to 9/10ths. I figure I can get away with 9/10ths.
This entry was posted in Fiction and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s