New short story

Hello again,

Well it's been a long and unfruitful few months for me. What with getting a full-time job at FHM (brag brag) I'd sort of lost my motivation and direction when it came to my writing. Well, I've been working on a new short story recently and I wanted to give you the first snippet. Contructive criticism is welcome!

A work in progress

He blinked hard as the drops splashed his glossy eye. The pharmacist had told him that he didn’t have an eye infection. The stinging sensation was probably nothing more than a symptom of dry or tried eyes. Waking up felt like a resurrection anyway, without the need for this new ritual. He imagined Dracula – from a camp 1950’s Hollywood horror - punching through a coffin lid, sitting up and scraping the grit from his face, and body before roaring with an open blood stained mouth. He huffed and laughed to himself a little too loudly. ‘Still here?’ His wife Jenny said. Oh God she’s awake.

‘I thought you had an 9 o’clock meeting?’

‘Yes, yes. I’m going.’

‘But you’re still in your pants.’

‘They’re boxers. Can you please call them boxers…’ He left the bedroom, tugging self-consciously on his Calvins. God, she would always do this. She would always say something that would get under his skin and really piss him off before he’d even had a decent chance at starting the day. ‘Argh!’ He growled as he accidentally knocked over a bunch of Jenny’s cosmetics on the sink.

‘Alright noisy. What are you doing in there?’

‘Your shit is just everywhere! Where’s my stuff supposed to go?’ He bent over the sink gritting his teeth and gripping his toothbrush in a white knuckled fist. Nothing more from the bedroom. He’d obviously upset her. He was being a prick and she was lovely just the way she was. He was just grouchy. And he didn’t love her any more.

As he gruffly looped his tie around his neck, he peered up at the ceiling and conjured up another image that was all too dark for a Monday morning. Life was not grim for Andrew. He had a job he enjoyed and was married to a former model/actress /cabaret performer who wanted to father his children. Perfect. For someone else. The only part of his day he could stand, was work. His unnecessary menial morning and evening routine around the house depressed him, made him think about things that well-adjusted magazine editors shouldn’t be thinking about.

He hooked a dark green Wentworth brolley over his forearm and shouted up the stairs, ‘Jen I’m off-‘

‘No kiss-‘ she shouted back. Even her voice made his nerves jangle.

‘Late.’ He mumbled. He then decided to lie to her, ‘Oh I’m meeting with this guy from the MOD tonight….for drinks. He might have a lead.’ She was walking down the stairs now, her robe was open and her patchwork Agent Provateur twin set showed off her toned figure. ‘Another late night?’

‘Yes. I won’t be long. Just a couple of hours.’ He lunged forward touched her lightly on the small of her back as he pecked her, too quickly for her to reciprocate.

‘Hey!’ she pulled him close to her and wrapped her pale freckly arms around his neck. ‘I want a proper kiss.’ She kissed him long and hard on the mouth. He counted four big elephants in his head before he jerked his head away. ‘Really late.’ He yanked his rucksack on to his back before leaving the house. He stopped for a moment outside. It was raining, as he had suspected, and he felt nauseous for the second time that morning.

Andrew got off the train at Waterloo – having stood up in the carriage for the entire journey – and walked over to a seat to change his shoes and drink the last of his coffee. He suffered from horrendous bunions around his big toes and couldn’t stand the pinching of his smart shoes any longer than he had to. He tugged off his orthotic trainers and grimaced as he pulled on his especially shiny pointed shoes. He daren’t wear trainers on the way to the office as he always saw at least five colleagues on the way. He didn’t want people to think he was a wimp, or worse, a pre-work gym bunny.

Coco before Chanel

I haven't seen the film yet, but I predict that Audrey Tatou will be brilliant in Coco before Chanel. However, I'm not really that fussed about seeing this biopic which is bound to be wildly inaccurate and probably at some point even offensive to Mademoiselle Coco Chanel and most if not all her surviving relatives.

As a consequence of said film release, pretty much every fashion mag that exists is running a Chanel inspired fashion story, and 'high street knock offs' page centred around Audrey's various costumes in the film. I'm actually loving the reprieve from the Cheryl Cole Danni Minogue 'dress off' and I'm appreciating the revival of Chanel inspired pieces which can be found everywhere at the moment. Here are a few beauties I came across while trawling through my monthly (and a few weekly) girly mag subscriptions.

LBD from Asos



Beautiful 5th Avenue inspired white corset dress again from Asos



Black quilted bag from Urban Outfitters



Classic monochrome pumps from Office



Racy pink quilted bag from Miss Selfridge



Tight fitting simple cardigan from Asos

One for the ladies...

Amazing Vivienne Westwood shoes for £88. Ok not so cheap, but cheap for Vivienne Westwood. Buy them here.

Ace tune - VV Brown may be a squidge dull but...

This is a brilliant acoustic recording of VV Brown's Shark in the Water. You can't deny that this girl has a delicious voice and sense of style.

Lily Allen, 22. This song speaks to me... oh dear.

Just recently bought Lily Allen's album and this song is a corker. Fellow 22 year olds, is life really this dismal?

New short story

Belize Beast

Ant was drunk. That last coconut shell hadn’t been filled with ‘just pineapple juice.’ His breath reeked of sugary rum and his fingers were stuck to the pink straw in his drink. He had knocked back his first tequila shot at four o’clock. That was probably a mistake he thought. He couldn’t see his watch face too clearly, but he was pretty sure it was about 10pm now. He belched loudly and thought he might be sick. He stumbled to the water’s edge.
‘Ant are you ok?’
‘Mate…I’m great. I’m fine…I probably need some water.’
‘Oh dear. And I thought I would be the one to throw up first,’ said Brian.
‘Ha….Bri?’
‘Yes mate?’ said Brian.
‘Are you happy?’
‘Oh Jesus, I’m not answering that. I’ll get you some water.’ Ant felt the sand shift under his feet as Bri thumped up the beach and back to the party. I can’t believe he got married…Before me. Ant didn’t want to be around all the guests. He needed some space. Janey’s printed dress with all the tropical fruit on had made him nauseous.

Ant was a 35 year old bachelor. He had always wanted to get married – his six girlfriends had found this unusual. He’d been engaged four times – married none.
‘Here you go mate.’ Bri offered his younger brother another hollowed out coconut shell. Ant took a sip.
‘Oh shit!’ He spat the mouthful out.
‘What? Not what you expected.’ Bri stumbled now. He laughed at his brother, all doused in Vodka.
‘Yeah great Bri, just what I needed.’
‘Cheer up, you big pussy and come back to the party. Loads of hot Mayan chicks are doing this sexy belly dance. Please can you take them off my hands, before my wife catches me grinding on one of them?’ He was such an obnoxious prat sometimes.
‘I’ll just be a minute. Think I might take a quick dip. Sober up.’
‘Don’t miss the whole party knob jockey.’
‘Won’t…Just gonna go for a swim.’ Ant dropped the coconut shell, spilling the remaining vodka on to his dark blue shirt which he’d bought from Belize City. He began to unbutton it.
‘Alright mate. Try not to drown yeah?’

Bri must have gone. He couldn’t sense any one around him. He sank down, bottom first into the sand. He unbuttoned the last fiddly disc and removed his shirt. He was tired now, so decided to look about. Belize was probably the most beautiful place he had ever been to. He didn’t travel much as he was scared of flying – he’d drunk six vodka and cokes on the plane, just to calm his nerves. He was thankful that he had fallen asleep after their consumption. He was sure it was illegal to be drunk on planes. Belize was incredibly green – preserved. The Mayan ruins which were dotted about here and there in San Pedro had a mystic quality. The forests were so dense, you saw something, but in a moment it would disappear. Creatures were like holograms – leaving only a flash of their appearance before melting into the green blur of the mangrove swamp.

At this precise moment Ant didn’t know which end was his head. Shirtless and stinking of alcohol, he crawled on all fours towards the calm black water. He imagined that the water would be pretty cold now, but he was numb to its temperature. He was in to his elbows, when he noticed a large black rock. He held his weight with the left arm, while he reached out to touch the rock with his right. It moved. Bloody hell, am I really that drunk. He tried again. This time he grazed it with his fingers before it evaded the rest of his hand with a quicker movement than before.
‘Bri! Bri! What is this shit?’ His knees were wet now, and he began to shiver with cold or fear – he could not tell. He was intrigued by this slippery black rock – He stood up and waded into the water deeper and deeper till his ribs touched the inky surface of the water. The moon’s silver light did its best to illuminate as Ant used his bleary eyes to catch a glimpse of this queer little creature. He could see it now, though not at all clearly, further away. It can’t have been the same black rock. It must be a bigger one. It was as tall as him now, with half a body’s length showing above the surface. Ant was more worried about what he couldn’t see.
Something tickled his left foot. Small fish he concluded. Before he could reach down to scratch his foot, he was on his back. A slippery rope tightened around his ankle and dragged him further into the sea. Ant struggled to keep his head above the surface. He thrashed his arms about to attract some attention as the creature pulled him away from the shore. He was too far out for anyone to see him. The creature stopped, but Ant could feel what he assumed was a tentacle coiling further up his leg. His thigh pulsed under the pressure of the slimy appendage. He thought it must have been a snake or a massive eel or something, but when the black rock creature reared its lumpy head, opened its mouth and revealed rows of tiny teeth he wasn’t so sure what it was…

Hello again

'The Enigma of Desire' by Salvador Dali.

Ok I've started browsing, but I've not really come across anyone who I'd like to follow...just yet. I still haven't really thought up a theme, but whilst I'm thinking, I'm going to put up a couple of short stories that I wrote whilst I've been doing my masters.

‘The Enigma of Desire’

He was too busy lighting the candles to notice the smell from the kitchen. The living room was appropriately dim - flattering. This was Michael’s sixth date with the Italian girl. He’d offered to cook rather foolishly, but like the real loser he was, he’d asked his mum to make him a lasagne that he could just reheat. His mum was more than accommodating, ‘did you want some pecan pie for after’s? Perhaps I could stop by and meet the lovely lady.’ Hilda tried her best not to seem too excited. She knew her son wasn’t the girl magnet she’d hoped for. He was socially inept and wore ridiculous glasses but he was smart and that had to count for something . ‘Not this time ma. As cool as it would be for you to show up bearing our romantic dinner, I think I’ll go solo on this one.’ 35 and I can’t cook for my girlfriend. What a chump.

This girl was more attractive than he was, although not out of his league. He was wealthy - a console game designer for Ubisoft - part of the team that built Ransom 1 and 2. He was sort of handsome too, in a studious way, but this girl was really something. He tried not to be affected by his brother’s constant put downs. ‘She’s a bunny boiler. She’ll lob off your plumbs while you sleep and feed them to her dog.’ He didn’t want to admit it, but he was intimidated by her. Her mood swings were a little peculiar if not unpleasant - especially during sex. ‘You’re just sore, coz she chose me - your charming and gorgeous little brother,’ Michael jibed. She appeared to be flirting with both of them, on that night when they all met for the first time. Michael ordered a bottle of the bar’s most expensive champagne, to celebrate his brother’s birthday. When the Laurent Perrier arrived at their table - in an embarrassingly large ice bucket - so did she. ‘Can I join you in your celebration?’ They both knew she was foreign straight away. If she hadn’t been so beautiful they might have rejected the offer. They all talked for hours and consumed a whole crate of the French fizz. This girl had so many questions, particularly about Michael’s job. ‘So Michael do you have a company car?’
‘No, no. I opted for the bonus. I bought a really nice apartment just recently.’ His older brother, Liam, was clearly bored, the wet finger round the wine glass trick was starting to really piss Michael off. ‘Really, that sounds great...Maybe I can come see it.’

That was how it had all started. He had slept with her that night - she had such great energy in bed. He had never met a girl who was so into him. He imagined her jiggling breasts and his hands around her little waist. It was scary how well proportioned she was. He couldn’t have created a better woman in 3D game graphics. Her skin was blemish free, tanned, but ageless. Her lips were plump without looking inflatable. He didn’t know much about her - she didn’t like to talk about herself which was fine with him. He didn’t want to corrupt his fantasy. Someone knocked on the door loudly. ‘Just coming!’ The smoke detector started to screech at him from the foyer. Is that the candles? Shit, the food. He jumped up, too quickly for his 35 year old knees and knocked the coffee table. Shit. He hopped a little on one leg whilst trying to rub his shin. He could just about hear her voice above the wailing alarm. ‘Darling. I’m getting impatient.’

Once he’d removed the incinerated lasagne, punched the hell out of the detector with his date’s heavy duty hair brush, he felt ready hit the sack. ‘Don’t worry bello. I’ve eaten lasagne before. I know what I’m not missing.’ She pinched his chin and rubbed her nose against his. ‘I’m not hungry anyway. Shall we have some wine?’ She sashayed over to the coffee table and picked up the bottle. She bent down over the glasses as she poured, displaying cleavage and a dangerous smile. ‘To us bello.’ They clinked their glasses and drank.

She lay languidly on the floor. The cream bed sheet was twisted around her body. Her arms rippled over the new carpet. She looked like she was making snow angels in his front room. The sticky smelling candle was an inch tall. The melted wax looked remarkably like a piece of Dali art. She teased her tongue around two fingers and extinguished the flame.
‘Ciggy?’ He proffered the Mayfair pack.
‘Yesss bambino.’ She plucked one from the blue box and slid the cigarette between her fingers.
‘You’re delicious.’ He sucked on her neck hard.
‘Stop that darling. Give me a light.’
He flicked open a silver Zippo lighter with his thumb and watched the flame slowly burn the end. Her eyes were devilishly dark and framed by thick arched brows. The smoke slivered out between two orange lips.
‘I don’t like that lipstick.’
‘It’s neon bright bello.’ Her Italian accent licked at his ears like a forked tongue.
‘It makes you look like a hooker bella.’ He managed a half laugh.
Her eyes narrowed. ‘What did you call me bastardo!?’ She sat up baring her full breasts and navel.
‘It was a joke. Calm down. We always play around like this.’
She stumped the lit cigarette on Michael’s forehead.
‘Ouch you crazy bitch.’ She held it firm against his skin and proceeded to chant some sort of curse in Italian.
‘What are you doing? Get off me! Get off me!’ He felt ready to hit her when he noticed that his finger tips had begun to droop. He had no feeling in his hand. He gripped it with the other floppy hand. Both soggy hands began to drip like flesh coloured paint off the brush.
‘What’s happening to me? What have you done to me?’
‘You’re melting you stupid son of a bitch.’ She fleeced him of his wallet, laptop and car keys as he watched, unable to stand up or even crawl. He could hear his bones cracking and disintegrating, his torso folded over his legs like a rag doll. As she pulled on her burgundy trench coat and adjusted her matching leather gloves he was but a muddy brown puddle staining his new carpet.

I hope you like this one. I wrote it as part of a 'magical realism' assignment.

Cha cha
x

So...I've embarked on the bloggers' journey to potential greatness...and as I suspected not much has happened. My Dad has become my first follower and I have yet to trespass any other 'blogspot'. This blogging blah isn't the explosion of words and wisdom that I expect it will be...in time. Something tells me that I'm not trying hard enough just yet, or perhaps I'm expecting too much too soon. Oh and I have yet to pick a theme, yikes...that's a real error. Must think of a theme. What am I all about, what do I want to impart on others? What do you guys like debating about? Politics, film trivia, do you tell jokes or swap stories about your gap year abroad. If you're tuning in, let me know that you're out there. Me? I'm off to become the proverbial and literal 'follower' of blogs here there and most certainly everywhere.
Peace.

Hello and welcome

 

Welcome to Charlotte Smith's stream of consciousness/train of thought. Let
me tell you what I'm all about. I'm an aspiring writer/journalist, avid reader,
socialising enthusiast, and a part time synchronised swimmer for events company http://www.aquabatix.com/ on the side.
Welcome to my blogging bit!