I (sometimes) call myself Mr. Pondersome. I'm a rather wordy, weirdy person. I say hullo a lot. I write a lot more. While you're here, why not give some of it a read?

Wednesday, 7 August 2013

LITTLE WINE GLASS (a.k.a. Can I Write a Believable Woman? Can I Make Strawberries Scary? Umm....)



Found a lonely little wine glass already washed on the drying up rack. Colin?


            She walked into the kitchen, ducking past a half-opened cupboard door. She reached inside and pulled out the one remaining bowl, the chipped bowl. She filled it to the brim with cornflakes. She filled it with milk and the cornflakes went everywhere. She yawned and knelt down.

            She picked up half the cornflakes and tipped them into the bin. The bin was overflowing with party hats. She moved her attention onto the drying up rack and saw the little wine glass. It was immaculate, the only thing that had actually been cleaned.

            She looked to the other side of the kitchen, the rest of the wine glasses were either tipped over or smashed on the floor. She yawned again.

            She grabbed a spoon and took her cereal through to the living room.




Little wine glass again?


            She stuck her nose into the glass. Her right nostril was bunged up but she got more than a hint of strawberry.

            She turned it over in her hands. There were lipstick marks on the base, thin warm pink lipstick marks. She didn't touch them. Trailing her fingers across the neck she turned the glass right side up again. She flicked the rim twice. It wasn't cracked.

            She laid it down on the rack again and backed away. She remembered her sister waiting outside and ran off to get changed.




But why would Colin break in?


            She tightened the belt across her dressing gown. The little wine glass was back on the rack again.

            The lipstick was gone from the base. Her fingerprints were gone too. When she washed the dishes yesterday, she had moved it onto the counter. She had forgotten about it.

            It was warm and still smelled distinctly of strawberry.

            She went over to the drinks cabinet. The strawberry wine was still half full, it's lid tightly screwed on. She pulled out her phone and scrolled down to Colin's number. Her thumb rested on the call button. She eventually tucked it back into her pocket.

            She stared at the little wine glass. Carrying it over to the fridge she filled it with milk and drank from it. She took it through to the living room with her and left it there.




Maybe it's the neighbours.


            As soon as she saw the glass, she grabbed it and examined it. It was just as clean as ever. The smell of strawberry was now overpowering.

            She stomped over to the drinks cabinet and pushed it right to the back. She pulled out the strawberry wine and poured its contents down the sink. She turned on the taps and looked out of the window.

            Across the way she saw the older of the Watson boys pulling the curtain across. They were filming their videos again. She didn't like the younger Watson, Don. She thought his jokes were creepy. He kept telling them at her New Year's party. He kept talking about feminism in relation to lipstick lesbianism.

            She pulled the wine glass out of the water slowly and glanced at it. She stared at her neighbours' window.




Locked the windows too, just in case.


            She walked past the little wine glass without looking. She could smell the strawberry from outside the kitchen.

            She checked the lock on both windows. They were firm. She unlocked the back door and stepped out onto the fire escape. She tightened the belt on her dressing gown, sniffed and walked back inside.

            She picked up the glass and threw it down onto the back alley. It shattered so loudly that the Watson boys sat up in their chairs. She smiled at them.

            She returned to the living room to call the police.




I'm moving out.


            The glass was still gone. No other little wine glasses had appeared on the drying rack overnight. She yawned and stretched.

            She pulled out the chipped bowl again and filled it with cornflakes. She pulled out the milk. There was nothing else inside the fridge.

            She ran her hands across the top and bottom of each shelf. There was nothing tucked away or covered up.

            She glanced at the milk bottle. It was half empty. She had bought it just the other day. She raised it up and looked at its bottom. There were lipstick marks: very thin and warm pink. She dropped it on the floor.

            Milk soaked into her slippers. She didn't react. A minute later, she waded out of the kitchen to call her sister.

            An hour later her sister came to pick her up. She didn't mop up the milk. It stank of strawberries.

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