Combined writing exercise: Emotion expressed through an object and an example of how life carries on as normal in the face of adversity.
Emma glared at the water feature on her way in from the garden. Not, that it was the trickle, the swooshing, splashing trickle as it flowed into the bowl. No. It was a part of the familiar cacophony of a late summer afternoon of birdsong, droning lawn mowers, the odd car accelerating off a driveway and the occasional clippity-clop of horses’ hooves with girls in saddle from the local riding school. Not that she actually listened but she heard it knowing unconsciously that it was woven into the fabric of her life. It was sight of the bloody thing that was irksome. Mike had given it to her for an Anniversary present and she hated it. It was a contemporary design incongruously placed in the replicated Victorian garden. An eyesore that had offended her sense of the aesthetic for twenty years.
It didn’t matter now and the truth was it never had mattered. Her life was like the paper she’d ripped into shreds and scattered like bread on the lawn. She would have to stick the pieces together and admit her madness to Mike. He would have to see the evidence with his own eyes, the full horror of Pascal’s threat. It had arrived in the morning post in an innocent manila envelope and simply said: ‘I will destroy you, I will destroy your family. Do not think of going to the Police, if you care for your granddaughter.’
Emma was in the final process of sticking the message together when Mike, looking anxious, burst through the kitchen door.
‘What the hell is the urgency, Em? I had to cancel an important meeting. Whatever it is, it better be good.’
‘Oh, how often do I call you, at work? If you don’t think this is important, then I doubt your judgement?
Emma thrust the tatty paper into Mike’s hand.
The colour drained from his face as he absorbed the words and disguised his quivering hand as he slammed the offending paper, on the kitchen table.
‘I wish to God. I wish to God you hadn’t tried to level with Pascal, Mike. Look what it has achieved.’
‘We have to protect Katy.’ Said Mike. ‘We can’t go into what if’s? ‘We have to do, what has to be done.’
‘Yes. We both know what that is.’ Said Emma. She had a momentary vision of the scattered shreds of paper on the lawn, her life. ‘I’ll call Shelley and ask her to pick Katy up from school. I’m going to have to tell her, we need her help and you call Tara. Don’t expect me to but of course, it’s me that she will never forgive. I’ve lost her. I’ve lost Katy and you because I can never forgive you. I pray that, Jack at least, will sit on the fence.’
Mike, didn’t answer but took his mobile ‘phone from his pocket and keyed in Tara’s number.
The familiar cacophony of the outdoors drifted through the open back door and as Emma stared blankly out of the kitchen window, the bloody water feature hideous as ever, stared back in a staggering attitude of utter defiance. Unchanged.
Exercise 2: Emotion expressed through colour.
It was early evening and the sky visible, through a gap in the curtains, was darkening from pale mauve to violet. Lights twinkled from the street lamps and the neighbouring houses. It was quiet, the rush hour was over and the inhabitants were settling down for their evening meal, watching television or discussing their day. Perhaps they were bickering over some trivial matter. It was like the life she had once lived but decried. It was preferable to being lonely, impoverished and frightened. Her existence was mostly her fault, she knew, but that made it harder to bear. Her hands were mauve, she shivered from the cold. The room swathed in shades of violet reflected from the sky, swirled around in her head and epitomised her despair.
She pulled the duvet under her chin to keep warm but the icy air penetrated through it and the two blankets underneath. Her pangs of hunger dissipated to give way to a raw pain below her ribs when she coughed, her mouth was dry and she longed for the comfort of a hot drink. There wasn’t as much as a tin of soup in the kitchen cupboard but only a used tea-bag and a crust of bread saved for breakfast. Would she wake up to see the morning and if so would she be too weak to get out of bed, she wondered? The violet shades that swirled around her head, turned to black.
******************************
Shelley, checked her mobile, there was nothing from Emma. She had not returned the calls or texted her back for several days. Perhaps she’d run out of credit, nothing more serious than that but she was concerned, something didn’t feel right and she decided to pop round before going to work that morning. Shelley rang the doorbell and waited. When there was no response decided to use the key she held in case of an emergency. The tiny flat was on the first floor of an Edwardian terraced house situated on the edge of town. It was sparsely furnished and clean. The walls were painted white, rag rugs were placed randomly on stripped floorboards. Green gingham curtains hung at each window which had been purchased enthusiastically by Emma, in a sale, shortly after moving in.
Shelley’s breath was a fog in front of her it was so cold in the flat, she almost hoped Emma wasn’t there freezing to death but it was only a few steps into the bedroom before she discovered the pitiful sight of her friend lying in bed. Shelley feared the worst but she was breathing, although it was frighteningly shallow and the hand that poked out of the bed cover was motionless and mauve.
Nervously, Shelley patted her gently on the shoulder to see if she would wake up. Emma stirred slightly and attempted to mumble something.
‘Shush, Em. Don’t try to talk. I’m afraid you’re not well and I’m going to call an ambulance.’
‘No, no don’t.’ Said Emma, weakly.
‘Your doctor, then.’ Said Shelley, anxiously.
Fumbling around for a number was unnecessary as Emma and Shelley used the same doctor’s surgery, it was on her contact list and the call for an emergency visit was soon arranged. Hurriedly, she located and fed the electricity meter with the loose change in her purse. The two barred electric heater in the living-room and a fan heater in the bedroom only served to take the chill from the air. Shelley, wanted to make a cup of tea but was shocked to find the used tea-bag and the single crust of bread in the kitchen but this was no time for shopping. Shelley took Emma a glass of water and offered it to Emma who had now woken up and was looking slightly better.
‘Em. Can you managed a sip of water, your mouth looks, so dry?’
Emma shook her head and Shelley propped her up on the pillows. As she finished sipping the water, there was a knock on the door. It was the doctor.
Shelley, sat on the sofa in the living-room and awaited the verdict. A painting perched on an easel in front of the window, it wasn’t finished but it caught her eye. It was of the view from the window looking out to the sky painted in several shades of mauve darkening to violet with a scattering of stars like pin-pricks. The reflections from the sky were depicted in swirls on the walls of the room and it made Shelley feel dizzy. Emma had even painted the shabby chic upright chair that stood to the right of the window on which sat a blank silver frame. In reality it framed a photograph of her family which she cherished. The concept of the painting was chilling but the colours, the vibrancy of the colours that danced off the canvas and the tangible atmosphere touched Shelley and she thought it the best painting Emma had ever done.
Dr. Miller was standing in the doorway of Emma’s bedroom………………….
Emma glared at the water feature on her way in from the garden. Not, that it was the trickle, the swooshing, splashing trickle as it flowed into the bowl. No. It was a part of the familiar cacophony of a late summer afternoon of birdsong, droning lawn mowers, the odd car accelerating off a driveway and the occasional clippity-clop of horses’ hooves with girls in saddle from the local riding school. Not that she actually listened but she heard it knowing unconsciously that it was woven into the fabric of her life. It was sight of the bloody thing that was irksome. Mike had given it to her for an Anniversary present and she hated it. It was a contemporary design incongruously placed in the replicated Victorian garden. An eyesore that had offended her sense of the aesthetic for twenty years.
It didn’t matter now and the truth was it never had mattered. Her life was like the paper she’d ripped into shreds and scattered like bread on the lawn. She would have to stick the pieces together and admit her madness to Mike. He would have to see the evidence with his own eyes, the full horror of Pascal’s threat. It had arrived in the morning post in an innocent manila envelope and simply said: ‘I will destroy you, I will destroy your family. Do not think of going to the Police, if you care for your granddaughter.’
Emma was in the final process of sticking the message together when Mike, looking anxious, burst through the kitchen door.
‘What the hell is the urgency, Em? I had to cancel an important meeting. Whatever it is, it better be good.’
‘Oh, how often do I call you, at work? If you don’t think this is important, then I doubt your judgement?
Emma thrust the tatty paper into Mike’s hand.
The colour drained from his face as he absorbed the words and disguised his quivering hand as he slammed the offending paper, on the kitchen table.
‘I wish to God. I wish to God you hadn’t tried to level with Pascal, Mike. Look what it has achieved.’
‘We have to protect Katy.’ Said Mike. ‘We can’t go into what if’s? ‘We have to do, what has to be done.’
‘Yes. We both know what that is.’ Said Emma. She had a momentary vision of the scattered shreds of paper on the lawn, her life. ‘I’ll call Shelley and ask her to pick Katy up from school. I’m going to have to tell her, we need her help and you call Tara. Don’t expect me to but of course, it’s me that she will never forgive. I’ve lost her. I’ve lost Katy and you because I can never forgive you. I pray that, Jack at least, will sit on the fence.’
Mike, didn’t answer but took his mobile ‘phone from his pocket and keyed in Tara’s number.
The familiar cacophony of the outdoors drifted through the open back door and as Emma stared blankly out of the kitchen window, the bloody water feature hideous as ever, stared back in a staggering attitude of utter defiance. Unchanged.
Exercise 2: Emotion expressed through colour.
It was early evening and the sky visible, through a gap in the curtains, was darkening from pale mauve to violet. Lights twinkled from the street lamps and the neighbouring houses. It was quiet, the rush hour was over and the inhabitants were settling down for their evening meal, watching television or discussing their day. Perhaps they were bickering over some trivial matter. It was like the life she had once lived but decried. It was preferable to being lonely, impoverished and frightened. Her existence was mostly her fault, she knew, but that made it harder to bear. Her hands were mauve, she shivered from the cold. The room swathed in shades of violet reflected from the sky, swirled around in her head and epitomised her despair.
She pulled the duvet under her chin to keep warm but the icy air penetrated through it and the two blankets underneath. Her pangs of hunger dissipated to give way to a raw pain below her ribs when she coughed, her mouth was dry and she longed for the comfort of a hot drink. There wasn’t as much as a tin of soup in the kitchen cupboard but only a used tea-bag and a crust of bread saved for breakfast. Would she wake up to see the morning and if so would she be too weak to get out of bed, she wondered? The violet shades that swirled around her head, turned to black.
******************************
Shelley, checked her mobile, there was nothing from Emma. She had not returned the calls or texted her back for several days. Perhaps she’d run out of credit, nothing more serious than that but she was concerned, something didn’t feel right and she decided to pop round before going to work that morning. Shelley rang the doorbell and waited. When there was no response decided to use the key she held in case of an emergency. The tiny flat was on the first floor of an Edwardian terraced house situated on the edge of town. It was sparsely furnished and clean. The walls were painted white, rag rugs were placed randomly on stripped floorboards. Green gingham curtains hung at each window which had been purchased enthusiastically by Emma, in a sale, shortly after moving in.
Shelley’s breath was a fog in front of her it was so cold in the flat, she almost hoped Emma wasn’t there freezing to death but it was only a few steps into the bedroom before she discovered the pitiful sight of her friend lying in bed. Shelley feared the worst but she was breathing, although it was frighteningly shallow and the hand that poked out of the bed cover was motionless and mauve.
Nervously, Shelley patted her gently on the shoulder to see if she would wake up. Emma stirred slightly and attempted to mumble something.
‘Shush, Em. Don’t try to talk. I’m afraid you’re not well and I’m going to call an ambulance.’
‘No, no don’t.’ Said Emma, weakly.
‘Your doctor, then.’ Said Shelley, anxiously.
Fumbling around for a number was unnecessary as Emma and Shelley used the same doctor’s surgery, it was on her contact list and the call for an emergency visit was soon arranged. Hurriedly, she located and fed the electricity meter with the loose change in her purse. The two barred electric heater in the living-room and a fan heater in the bedroom only served to take the chill from the air. Shelley, wanted to make a cup of tea but was shocked to find the used tea-bag and the single crust of bread in the kitchen but this was no time for shopping. Shelley took Emma a glass of water and offered it to Emma who had now woken up and was looking slightly better.
‘Em. Can you managed a sip of water, your mouth looks, so dry?’
Emma shook her head and Shelley propped her up on the pillows. As she finished sipping the water, there was a knock on the door. It was the doctor.
Shelley, sat on the sofa in the living-room and awaited the verdict. A painting perched on an easel in front of the window, it wasn’t finished but it caught her eye. It was of the view from the window looking out to the sky painted in several shades of mauve darkening to violet with a scattering of stars like pin-pricks. The reflections from the sky were depicted in swirls on the walls of the room and it made Shelley feel dizzy. Emma had even painted the shabby chic upright chair that stood to the right of the window on which sat a blank silver frame. In reality it framed a photograph of her family which she cherished. The concept of the painting was chilling but the colours, the vibrancy of the colours that danced off the canvas and the tangible atmosphere touched Shelley and she thought it the best painting Emma had ever done.
Dr. Miller was standing in the doorway of Emma’s bedroom………………….