Ugur Akinci (via writingadvice)
Write a story about the life of a cat.
Promise
She tried to hold on; she tried to hold him. She concentrated all her might on keeping a hold on his hand as all the tangibleness around her faded away; soon she could no longer feel. She could not feel the sheets beneath her or the warmth radiating from the heater. She could not hear the cars outside or the machines whirring at her bedside. She could not see the mess of tubes spilling from her like octopus tentacles, or see the light glinting off the doctor’s spectacles. But she knew he was still there, beside her; he had promised, after all. She knew he was still there holding her hand; he had promised, after all. But she knew that when she eventually gave up the fight, when she could no longer hold on, he would not come with her. No. He had promised, but this was one promise he could not keep.
Short Story
Out on the porch the young girl walked. She took care to avoid the loose, squeaky boards. She knew how the sound angered the old woman. But she faltered, and the wood cried out. The slight child froze and peered down the porch at the rocking chair which cradled a decrepit woman swaying with the breeze. She watched the head of the old woman turn and felt the beady eyes bear into her from under her sagging wrinkled brow.
“What are you looking at?” hissed the woman, “Get your scrawny ass over here.” The girl, obeying her grandmother, padded across the porch until she stood completely still in front of her. The old woman glared down at the girl
“Fetch me my liquor.”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied the child as she scurried to the kitchen. She used a footstool to reach the bottle, which the old woman insisted be stored on the top shelf. On the way up she glanced out the window, a beautiful spring day, the reason she tried to sneak past the old woman. She brushed away the though and continued to reach for the drink. Her arms quivered as she held the heavy bottle steady and poured a glass of the foul liquid. The girl brought the alcohol to the old woman, who snatched it from her hand. She swirled the glass and took a swig of the amber drink. Her eyes turned to slits. She spat the drink in the face of the girl and snarled.
“You can’t even make a proper drink. Its no wonder your mother left you, you useless little cunt.” The girl looked to the ground to conceal her watery eyes, stinging from the hurt and the alcohol, but she let out a quiet whimper.
“STOP THAT!” the woman shrieked as she struck her granddaughter across the face. A thump echoed around the porch as the girl collided with the splintered wood. She lied on the floorboards and cried. The old woman slowly rose from her chair, towering over the distraught child, looking down with eyes of fire. A hard kick from the ancient woman’s pointed shoe landed in the abdomen of the fallen child. Her body curled in anticipation of more blows. A gnarled hand shot down and grabbed a handful of matted hair. The woman yanked the child’s head up and glared into the eyes of her defeated kin, burning holes into them.
“You’re pathetic,” she whispered and released the child’s head, with a thud, onto the unforgiving boards of the porch. The frail child lay curled up, shaking with suppressed sobs, bleeding and broken, as the wrinkled woman took her place in the rocking chair on the old wooden porch.
This is a great piece :) Thank you for submitting.
Our Feedback:
- We really like the ending. It just sort of stops everything in it’s tracks. There are little things you might want to look over though. For example, you don’t have to say “and released the child’s head, with a thud, onto the..” You could just say, “released the girl’s head with a thud onto the boards. Do you see? Just little things like that.
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Friday January 28th
