By Katie Isham.
A few weeks ago we launched Words In Common – a regular themed writing prompt to encourage you to get creative.
The prompts have been pondered. The characters have been cultivated. The word count has been whittled down. The stories have been assembled, disassembled and reassembled. Until finally, the tales of Southampton’s Guildhall Square have been sent through the world wide web to find a home here at In Common.
Congratulations to all of you who found inspiration, in whatever form, in our challenge.
Maybe you fashioned your words into a flash fiction ready to take on the world. Mazel tov!
Maybe you mulled over an idea, an embryo of a character, a genesis of an event that wouldn’t quite come together. Equally well done! It’s not easy to adhere to the restrictions and create something that ticks all the boxes in such a short space of time. But it’s a step in the right direction. Did you have fun in the process? Did your brain sizzle with imagination? Great!
Maybe on the next challenge, you’ll find the right mix of ingredients and your writing will present you with beautiful bounty. The joy of writing is never knowing what will spill out of your brain. In a good way.
For now, revel in the joy of creativity and take a look at our familiar Guildhall Square from a different perspective. Settle down, put your feet up and read our picks from the inaugural Words In Common Challenge.
Never Too Old
By Hannah Barnes.
I’m too old for this, Helena told herself as she joined the queue that snaked around the square. Even in the early evening, the summer air was thick with humidity, and she tucked her silver curls behind her ears with sticky hands.
She had fallen in love with music as a teen, whiling away long afternoons with her record player: The Jam, David Bowie, Van Halen, and many others… They had been the soundtrack to her life, but, with the exception of a few cover bands in the local pub, Helena had never experienced the rush of a live show.
Which had brought her here, her sixty-fifth birthday looming, inching closer to the pillars that stood like sentries between the steps and the hallowed ground of the Guildhall itself. Her Harry was proud of her for pushing herself out of her comfort zone, though he had refused to come along, insisting that he would only ruin her fun.
Still, she wished he was there.
A large tour bus stood idle on the paving slabs, a strange sight in the midst of the pedestrianised square. Just the sight of it made Helena’s blood thrum with equal parts fear and anticipation.
‘Oh my God, I love your shirt!’
The voice from behind startled her from her tense state, and she cast a subtle glance over her shoulder to see who the speaker was addressing, only to find a teenage girl, her kohl-rimmed stare focused on Helena.
“Oh.” Helena blinked, staring vaguely down at her own chest, hugged tightly by the 2008 tour tee. “Thank you.”
“Were you there? All those years ago?”
Helena winced. All those years ago she’d already been in her mid-40s! Still, the girl was watching her expectantly, so she rallied herself and shook her head. “No, sadly not. My son got it for me.” She swallowed her anxiety and quietly admitted, “This is actually my first show.”
The girl grinned. “Oh man, I wish I could do my first Frank Turner show all over again! It’s like nothing else, I swear!” Gesturing to the woman behind her, she went on. “It’s Mum’s first show too. I play Frank so much that she knows all the songs now, so I said she should come with me.”
The other lady offered Helena an embarrassed shrug. “I kept telling her I’m too old, but here I am. She’s very persuasive!”
“I’m with you on that, but I so desperately wanted to come.”
“On your own?” the teen asked. “That’s so brave!”
“Yes, well, I’m obviously not as persuasive as you! My husband would rather watch the telly!”
“You can stand with us,” the girl decided, and her mother immediately agreed. “I can’t wait!” “Me neither.”
Later, with the echoes of the raw vocals still ringing in her ears and her bloodstream buzzing with the bass, a beaming Helena spilled out into the square, body bathed in sweat. She swore that her first show would definitely not be her last.
What the peck!
By Rebecca Goosen.
Corrugate happily preened her feathers as she settled into her nest, having just carefully turned her eggs.
From her nest, she observed every kind of human activity. Humans truly are fascinating creatures, she mused. Only yesterday, she watched a young human teach an older one how to glide atop a wooden board. Corrugate found herself utterly absorbed, cooing with delight as the humans erupted in cheers when the older one finally managed to glide unaided.
Today, Corrugate watched the humans swarm into the square below like an army of ants. She watched as they began assembling something that looked part nest, part enormous cage. Corrugate knew about cages. As a youngster, she had been blown off course and collided with a cage at a zoo. She had to spend a week in the zoo’s hospital with a broken wing. Whilst there, she befriended a skunk called Magic, who taught her to read the identity cards on his and her cages to help pass the time.
Corrugate became intrigued when the humans began hauling in large boxes, some of which they dangled high on the frame. Then they brought out tall, silver sticks, and when a human attached something with a fuzzy end to one, his voice suddenly thundered across the square.
“1, 2, 1, 2… Check, check.”
The humans, now happy with their nest, unfurled heavy sheets that hung high above and to the sides of the opening. Corrugate recognised just one word: ‘Skunk.’
When her mate Reg returned with the daily catch of bugs, they exchanged stories of their day. As they ate, Reg listened to Corrugate’s theory that the humans were preparing a special habitat just for skunks. They continued their watch until the warmth of the afternoon lulled them to sleep.
“WELCOME TO THIS YEAR’S SOUTHAMPTONS SUMMER SESSIONS,” a voice boomed.
Reg and Corrugate nearly toppled from their nest, ruffling their feathers to recover from such a rude awakening. They peered down and were astonished to see the square overflowing with humans, hands waving in the air like reeds bending with the river’s flow. The air pulsed with cheers, applause, whistles, and shouts. Scents of food, aftersun, perfume, and drifting cigarette smoke mingled in the golden sky, giving the evening air that familiar summertime funk.
“LET’S GIVE IT UP FOR SKUNK AND ANANSIE!” the human yelled into the tall silver stick again.
A moment later, a thunderous wave of sound blew Reg and Corrugate backwards, pinning them against the back wall of their roost, their feathers sticking out in every direction like static hair. When it was finally over, they peeled themselves free and staggered around, shaking their heads to clear the ringing as they flattened their ruffled feathers.
“WHAT THE PECK! BREED OF SKUNK WAS THAT?” Reg shouted, feeling like someone had stuffed cotton wool in his ears.
“I DON’T KNOW,” Corrugate shouted back, “BUT I LIKED IT!” They cooed with a manic delight.
- Look out for our next Words In Common creative writing challenge, coming soon.
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