Thursday, 31 July 2014

Short Story - The Unlikely Roadtrip

Sighing, I log onto ‘www.blindroadtrip.com’, I’ve never actually booked one of their long term blind dates, I don’t think I’ve got the courage. I only signed up last New Year’s Eve as an attempt to quench my loneliness and find a friend, whether for a holiday or for life, I’m not quite sure. My name’s Afia Makena Obama by the way. And before you ask, no, I’m not related to Barack Obama, in fact, I’ve never even been anywhere near America.

Scrolling down the list of road trips available, I come across one that catches my eye. England to Germany. I’ve always wanted to go to Germany but I can’t afford it, the only way I can ever foresee leaving England is if I win the lottery, and that’s even more improbable than digging up some dinosaur bones. I’m a rather unsuccessful archaeologist and I’ve been considering finding a different job for a while, but every time I approach my manager, I find some excuse to turn and walk away as fast as my stumpy legs can carry me. As unlikely as winning the lottery or discovering dinosaurs may be, going on this road trip is much more feasible as it’s heavily subsidised. The website knows most people won’t ever take on the challenge of travelling hundreds of miles with a person that they could turn out to hate, so the company can afford to offer hire cars and hotels for extremely low prices.

An hour of hesitation later and I’m already starting to regret my decision. I booked it. I booked the blind road trip and I’m getting the hire car next week on Tuesday. I have to drive it to Chiswick and pick up my blind ‘date’ for possibly the most excruciating holiday I’ve ever been on. Although that would be easy as I’ve never actually been on holiday.

It’s the big day and I’m driving the Nissan Beetle feeling a bit stupid. I want to put a notice in the rear window saying, “I didn’t choose this car, please don’t judge me.” I’d rather have no car than this one but I suppose walking from Hackney to Chiswick with my suitcase might not be a good idea.

I arrive at my date’s house and am surprised to find myself all in one piece. I was shaking all the way here and had to stop a few times in case of an accident. I swing my legs out of the car door and stand up, holding on to the frame for support. “Left, right, left, right,” I have to force myself to walk down the path of what appears to be the incredible hulk, in house form. My flat doesn’t have a patch on this mansion. I grasp the brass knocker and tentatively tap the imposing front door. A tall, lanky looking man opens it and I force a smile. I knew this was a mistake, already I can see that we have nothing in common. “Good morning, I’m Jeffrey Carlyle, what is your name?” Oh dear. He’s going to think I’m ‘common’. “Erm, I’m, Afia.”

“And your last name?”

“Oh, silly me, I’m Afia Makena Obama. And before you ask, no, I’m not related to Barack Obama.” I laugh but he clearly doesn’t get the joke. “I never said you were associated with the American President, what a preposterous notion.” His brow creases into a frown and I realise it’s my turn to speak. “Don’t worry, it was just a joke … Anyway, are you ready to go?”

“Well, yes I suppose I am, although I can’t say I’m very much looking forward to this trip. I usually prefer to fly when I go to Germany on business.” He picks up his smart, black bag and leads the way out of the door. I laugh nervously as we approach the car which looks even more out of place than it did when I arrived. “I promise I didn’t choose it,” I smile, “I hope your bag will fit in.”

“Just about,” he grimaces as he shoves it into the boot and then opens the passenger door to stoop down into his seat. I slip easily into mine and we set off on what is probably going to be the road trip from hell.

I find myself lost for words, so I decide to turn on the radio. Though, this causes more trouble than it’s worth as ‘Kerrang!’ clearly isn’t his cup of tea. “So, what music do you like?” I enquire, hoping for some harmless chit chat as I turn down the volume of the heavy metal background music. “Well, as a famous pianist, I’m more involved with classical and baroque music, although I do veer into the romantic era when I get the chance.” I was surprised by his reference to fame as I’d never heard of him before now. “Well-known, are you? What kind of concerts … erm, you know … music things do you do?” I was out of my depth. “I completed the Bachelor of Music course at the Royal College of Music in London and presently I’m travelling all over the world for films.” I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by films if he’s a pianist and not an actor but for once he clearly sensed my emotions and carried on with his monologue, “I’m the hands of characters in films if there’s any piano playing, such as Tom Selznick, the key character in Grand Piano; it was released in Spain in 2013. The film Shine, in which I played the hands of David Helfgott, was released in 1996 in Australia.”

“Oh, cool, so you’re doing well for yourself then,” I grin and he appears to stifle a sneeze. However, that could have been his attempt at a smile. “So whereabouts are you from?” I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel now for ideas of conversation topics; all I’ve got to do is keep this up until we reach Germany. As he starts to tell me about his house hunting adventures, I begin to zone out, until I hear about his obvious wealth, “I was born in Chiswick and when I began to earn large sums of money as a pianist, I purchased the house adjacent to my parents’ so that I could help them when they reached old age. How about you?” I was taken aback by his interest in my life but I started to tell him what some may call a brief life story. I’d never confided in anyone like this before, but to be honest, it was a relief.

I spoke of being born in Zimbabwe, Southern Africa, and my parents dying of starvation whilst trying to keep me alive; of my life in an orphanage until I was 20, then moving to Hackney, England. I informed Jeffrey of my studies on the History of Art and Archaeology at SOAS, University of London and how I developed an interest for archaeology. I told him about my fruitless search when I undertook the task of involving myself in an archaeological dig in Shoreditch Park, Hackney in 2006. I wasn’t sure if I was boring him with all these facts, but I certainly knew it was filling the silent void between us.

The sat nav interrupted my train of thought and I realised we had made it to Folkestone. Surprisingly, the drive to the Eurotunnel hadn’t been as excruciating as I first imagined it would be. My right foot slid over to the accelerator pedal as we inched forward into the train. I saw Jeffrey open his mouth to speak but shut it again when he noticed me looking. “Were you going to say something?” I kept my eyes on the queue as I spoke. “I was pondering whether to remark on your autobiographical speech or not.” I laughed, “Sorry, did I bore you?”

“No, not at all. In fact, sympathy was more at the forefront of my mind than mockery.”

“Why?” I was puzzled, why would anyone feel sorry for me? He explained, “You have no family, an unsuccessful job and are living in a dump.” His bluntness felt like a punch in the stomach, “When you put it like that,” I replied, “I suppose my life is pretty rubbish compared to yours.”

Some hours later and we were on the French motorway, with Calais a little way behind us. Jeffrey fell asleep when we were in the tunnel and I’ve got to admit, he is quite good looking. His hair’s blonde and brown all at the same time, yet each strand is individually visible. His eyes are turquoise, veering more into blue than green, and the rest of his face is quite pale. He looked so innocent sitting there, the air conditioning playing with his hair.

He seemed to have fully woken up and started saying, “I forgot to mention how much I admired your dress when I originally saw you,” he smiled kindly as he looked at me and I felt myself blushing. “Thanks,” I shuffled around in my seat as I felt his gaze still on me.

“I’m enjoying this trip more than I thought I would,” he began, “In fact, I think you’re more my kind of girl than I first imagined.” I was shocked, I knew I liked him and he clearly liked me, but I hadn’t ever expected him to say it first. “Despite all the odds, I think I don’t mind you either,” I replied. We both sat awkwardly for a bit until we reached the border to Germany and busied ourselves in the passport checking.

It was late evening now and we had come off the autobahn in Germany and were driving through some smaller streets, trying to find our hotel for the night. However, it was proving to be more of a difficult task than we had expected as the roads were poorly lit and I had no idea what our hotel looked like.

“There!” I jumped at Jeffrey’s exclamation and slammed on the brakes. “What on earth was that for?” I shouted. “Sorry, I just saw the hotel on the right. Look … it’s really … not German.” He was right, it looked like any other English ‘Holiday Inn’ but I didn’t care; we’d made it. 

“I’ve just thought of something,” Jeffrey said as he helped me with my suitcase up to the reception desk, “Do you want to come to a concert I’m playing in after this trip’s over?”

“Sure, that sounds great,” I was trying to sound cool but inside I was dancing and shouting, ‘I have a date! Yes!’ As nonchalantly as I could I enquired, “So where are you playing?”

“Oh, at the Royal Festival Hall,” he said it as if it was nothing, but it sounded really posh. What was I going to wear? Oh dear, I’d already fallen into the trap of trying to impress him, I just needed to calm down and think about whale music … Forget the whale music, that really didn’t help. Instead, I casually asked, “By the way, when is the concert?”

“A fortnight after we get back to England.”

“Fine. Ok. Yes. That’s great.” I was flustered and couldn’t quite think straight so I escaped by heading over to the reception desk and checking us into the hotel. “Night then,” I smiled as I pressed the button for the lift since my room was on the fourth floor and I certainly wasn’t going to bump my case up all those stairs. “Good night Afia, I’ve really enjoyed the journey, thank you. I’ll see you in the morning for some German sightseeing.” Jeffrey waved as he walked off down the corridor.

Sitting at breakfast the next morning, I started to daydream. Jeffrey and I could buy a house together in Richmond, a piano for him and a garden for me should suffice. His parents might take a little while adjusting to him not living next door to them and to me being with him a lot of the time but I’m sure I could change their minds…

“Morning Afia, so what do you want to do today?” Startled, my head whipped round so that I was looking up at Jeffrey. “Sorry, did I scare you? I must admit, you did seem to be in a world of your own.” He chuckled to himself as he sat down opposite me, “I was thinking to myself last night, if we … I mean I, have a child, I won’t be able to travel so much, so I should make the most of it whilst I can.” I heard his mistake and it made me smile, maybe my daydreams weren’t as far away from reality as I thought.

Thursday, 24 July 2014

Short Story - Dark Unicorn

“Why must I go to bed at 8:00pm Daddy?” moaned Emma.
“Because if you’re not asleep by 9:00pm the dark skies will swallow you up!” her father replied. Emma’s mum gave an exasperated look and told Emma to put her pyjamas on. However their daughter had already disappeared upstairs. She had a plan.

“Night-night mummy, night-night daddy.” Emma smiled sweetly. “Good night darling, we’ll see you in the morning” chirped her mum. But Emma wasn’t going to sleep; she was staying up until 9:00pm to see what would happen. All of her friends in year six went to bed at 9 o’clock, so why couldn’t she? She might have been the youngest in the class. A ‘summer-born’ as her mother put it, nonetheless the fact that they were eleven and she was ten made no difference.

“Chapter ten.” Emma had been reading for half an hour and already she was halfway through her book. Bored, she tiptoed to her desk and took out her notebook. “I’ll start a night diary. Every night I’ll keep a record of what I do” she whispered to herself. Settling down to write, she looked at her desk clock, 8:32pm it read. Her heart sank. Already she was bored and tired, wishing she had just gone to bed. Still, she had come this far now, there was no going back.

“It’s 9:00pm!” Emma sang quietly, shining a small torch on her clock. Looking out of her window, all she could see was the ever-hopeful moon, shining down on her. Smiling, Emma hopped into bed and started reading again. Yet it was impossible to concentrate, the apprehension was too much. She waited and waited. Nothing happened. The seconds ticked by, they became minutes, the minutes became a quarter of an hour. Still nothing. So she decided to go into the garden, where she would be fully exposed to the dark night sky.

Her feet sank into the wet lawn of the family’s back garden. Suddenly, everything went black. The moon had been blocked out and she could feel a presence in front of her, as her eyes adjusted to the darkness the silhouette of a unicorn became clear. “Hop on my back and I’ll give you a ride to eternity.” Emma jumped as the sentence left the horse’s mouth. “Can you hear me Emma?” the figure looked up to where the moon had been and everything was illuminated again. “How do you know my name?” Emma croaked, petrified.  “I know a lot of things, little girl” the tone of the unicorn wasn’t menacing, it was a soft melody to Emma’s ears and she liked it. She relented, “Take me to a wonderful place, oh white horse.”
“Jump on my back,” spoke the mythical creature. Emma clambered on and they flew into the dark sky. However the Unicorn wasn’t taking Emma to a wonderful place. The dark sky engulfed them. Emma was tumbling, falling, and never coming back . . .  

Thursday, 17 July 2014

Short Story - Cheating Death

I’m dying but I don’t know why. I can’t remember anything. Mum keeps reminding me of who everyone is. I forget. That’s all I seem to do these days, just forget everything I’m told. The only thing I don’t forget is my plan. That’s what’s kept me going, knowing there is hope yet.

“I love you mum, and you dad. I’m sorry for anything bad I’ve ever done and thank you for everything.” Mum hugs me for the last time. I can feel time slowing down, the beating drum of my heart stops and I close my eyes. Everything is black and I can feel nothing.

But then, gradually, I sense my whole body floating to the ceiling. ‘Oh my goodness’, I think to myself, ‘I’m on the journey to heaven. Quick! I must stop it; I know there is a way back down the ladder to the living.’ I try to wave my arms around but I have no limbs of any sort. I focus my mind on climbing down the ladder. Step by step, panic is rising, ‘I’m never going to make it.’ My mind is in a whirl. ‘Concentrate,’ I tell myself, ‘think about each tiny movement and each part of the spirit that you are.’ I begin to see, I have the use of my eyes, but I see only darkness.

I hoped my plan would work, I’ve always known that when I die I would try to cheat death and come back to life. Over the seemingly never-ending time in my confining hospital bed, I have been running the plan through my head. Mum would force a smile as other visitors gave pitying looks in my direction. Yet I would be off in my own world, developing my plan so that by the time I died, I would be prepared to steal death’s trophy of life. My confidence doesn’t last long though, a searing light blinds me. I was worried the gateway would be opened in advance; it will be harder to resist going to heaven than I thought.

I focus on the ladder again, but the sound of beating wings distracts me. A wave of bliss flows over me and I find it hard to escape the desire to float up to heaven. Yet I know I must not go and I struggle with the urge to relax and let go. I now have the sense of some hands. I move them down to a lower rung; they start to feel more like my own.  Moving my hands one after the other down the ladder, I start to descend. I have made it out of the dazzling light, I could laugh and cry.

Slowly but surely, I regain control of my body. I rush down the ladder and back into the real world. I open my eyes and out flow tears of joy. “I love you mum.”

“I love you too darling; we thought we had lost you. But you came back.”

Thursday, 10 July 2014

Book Review - The Fault in our Stars



After recently reading the tear-jerker which is 'The Fault in our Stars', I decided to do a book review. For those of you who haven't read it, here is a brief summary.

A seventeen year old girl called Hazel Grace Lancaster meets a boy of the same age, Augustus Waters, at her cancer patients' support group. She has lung cancer and he had one of his legs amputated due to his illness.

They give each other their favourite books to try out which triggers both of their interest in 'An Imperial Affliction' - the book Hazel gives Gus. It has an unfinished ending which torments them both and consequently, Augustus decides to spend his wish from the genies on a trip to Amsterdam. (All children who have cancer get one wish from the charity). Whilst in Amsterdam, they hope that the author, Peter Van Houten will answer their questions.

However, when they arrive, they realise he is an alcoholic who can't be bothered with their questions. They don't let this fact spoil their trip and fall deeper in love which is only tainted at the start by Hazel's reluctance as she doesn't want to hurt Augustus when she dies.

At this point, there is a plot twist which reveals that Augustus had a scan before the trip showing the cancer has returned to his body and spread all over. After they return to America from their trip, his condition worsens until he organises a pre-funeral for himself, in which Isaac (Augustus' friend who also goes to the
support group) and Hazel say a few words.

Eight days later, Augustus dies. Peter Van Houten turns up unexpectedly at his funeral and tries to explain to Hazel what happens at the end of 'An Imperial Affliction' but Hazel doesn't want to know and turns him away. It is later revealed that Van Houten and Augustus were corresponding with each other so that Peter could write a eulogy for Hazel. The book ends when Hazel reads one of the messages Gus wrote to Van Houten. "I like my choices, I hope she likes hers." Hazel speaks aloud to Gus, "I do, Augustus. I do."

I would recommend this book to an age range of 12-18 but anyone could enjoy reading it.

Whatever you like, The Fault in our Stars definitely has a bit of your genre:

  • Tragedy - Augustus dies and leaves Hazel heartbroken, "Augustus Waters died eight days after his pre-funeral."
  • Comedy - Jokes are interspersed throughout, cleverly balancing out the tough main topic
  • Romance - Hazel and Augustus fall in love, "I fell in love [with him] the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once."

Overall, I think this is one of the best books I've ever read and I hope you enjoy it just as much as I did.