Archive for June, 2013

HaystackHouse

I kicked in the back door. Before me was an empty room. Torn pull-shades covering the narrow windows allowed a delicate amber light into the interior. On my left was an open doorway to a smaller room, and to my right a sagging smoke-stained fireplace. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw some of the walls in the main room were covered in newspaper, mostly old movie ads. The remaining walls were covered in what was once a cheerful rose patterned wallpaper, now yellowed and peeling like an onion skin. It gently quivered when wind puffed up through the gapped floorboards. Against this wallpaper, lived the ghostly impression of an old iron bed frame. Apparently the bed had blocked bleaching rays of afternoon sun and left its indelible imprint long after being removed.

To my right, fastened with rusted thumbtacks, a calendar hung open to April 1939 with an illustration of Jesus at his last supper. Rainwater from the sagging ceiling had spilled over exactly half of it, leaving the calendar tightly curled on one side just to where Jesus sat. I stepped into the smaller room.

Here was a wooden counter covered in peeling oilcloth with a pump handle attached. Beneath, a chipped enamel washbasin held a tortoiseshell hairbrush whose bristles had been gnawed by something.

On the wall above, a plank shelf was veiled in cobwebs. An empty stand-up picture frame stood beside a black book lying on its side. I picked up the book. Elastic strands of cobweb came with it.

The cover was embossed in gold with the words: “Holy Bible”. When I blew across it, a massive dust cloud spiraled above me and settled onto the long strands of web. Thumbing through its dry puckered pages, I found that the front half had been torn out. It was a jagged rip, not quite following the spine of the book, as if all those pages had been violently ripped out at once.

Words: 328

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Last month, 330Words ran a writing workshop for the young people at the Reclaim Project. This story was produced by one of the writers during the event. Photo kindly provided by Shirley Wootten

BLYCS0nCIAE97skThe manor house was set with flames.

The boys sleeps, drained. ‘The smoke,’ he thinks, ‘will set me free.’

He awakes. The fire didn’t take him. He is set free. No more living in the manor; tired, sleepy, in pain. The parents are finally gone. ‘All that’s left is you and Me.’

Me is the dog; the only thing that treated him right. Better than parents could. Little Me. As cute as could be.

In the freezing cold winter, he begins to rebuild his manor. As it gets bigger and he gets older, the weather changes.

*

The manor is finished, finally. The days get hotter. Coming from a boy to a man, from a man to a king. But, power taking over leaves him like his parents.

‘It is finally time to take a stand,’ thought his servants. Treason it will have to be.

Words: 146

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Last month, 330Words ran a writing workshop for the young people at the Reclaim Project. This story was produced by one of the writers during the event.

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Walking over billions of years of the past. Buried under shells, sand and stone.

The girl wanders over the sandy beach. No treasure has been found for quite a while now. And now, she sits alone on the shells, sand and stone.

She glances over to her family; using spades and trowels to make patterns in the sand. The girl will dig no more.

Words: 99

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Last month, 330Words ran a writing workshop for the young people at the Reclaim Project. Bill came into the workshop late and so decided to describe a scene from Fast and Furious 6. He also wrote a story based on a photo, kindly provided by Natalie Bowers.

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The car span around to face the oncoming traffic. A ramp lowered on the criminal’s car.

The police car flew up and over the vehicle, twisting and turning.

As the driver died, so did the police car’s siren.

Words: 39

*

Scruffy shoes

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Scruffy shoes. Sat on the floor in a blanket. Where would he go?

Words: 13

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Last month, 330Words ran a writing workshop for the young people at the Reclaim Project. This story was produced by one of the writers during the event. Image kindly provided by Natalie Bowers

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Dun. Dun. Dun. 7.05am.

The glimmering, hot red sun rises from east to west. With no energy in me, I awake again with the same hope that keeps me going. The clock strikes. Tick. Tock. Like a sulky sail, I stretch to strive for my daily routine.

8.25am.

Running through the valley, a beauty caught my eye. A fascination that stimulates my past.

“These are the shoes. Have them. It’s only you that can bring them back alive.”

I snap back to reality, to why I live. The whole earth fills my heart. I pass the old, ridged statue of Saint Benedict the Third.

The same destination where millions of seconds have passed.

Words: 144

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photo (2)

This week, 330Words held a workshop at Reclaim, a Manchester charity that works with young people across the North West to develop skills and confidence.

The workshop saw 330Words’ Tom Mason help a group of young people write their own short stories, using one of several photographs (what else?), kindly submitted by a few of our followers on Twitter, as inspiration. During the workshop, each young person worked on several writing exercises about their chosen photo, before penning a short story about the picture. At the end of the day, each young person read their story out to the rest of the group.

Over the course of the next week, we’ll be posting their short stories onto the blog, so keep an eye out for those.

Words: 139

330Words would like to thank the following for letting us steal their photographs for the workshop,

Natalie Bowers
Shirley Wooten
Jo Mortimer
Dave Hartley
Laura Maley

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