Friday, May 29, 2009

Twitlit 9: Separated at birth. A story in 10 chapters, 1,400 characters about the wild west, lollipops, a Comedy of Errors and midgets

John and Waynetta, midget twins born to an unfortunate frontiersman and his hard-drinking wife, didn’t have the easiest start in life.
The frontiersman died, an arrow through his left lung and soon after, in grief or in a slip, the wife drowned herself in a barrel of bourbon
Waynetta, after a mix up in Oregon, was abandoned to be raised by wolves. John was sent to a Boston aunt with an ice-lolly addiction
John never knew he had a sister but years later, having sailed east to start a new life in the Old World, he was reading the Porto Bugle.
‘Come see the amazing Wolf Girl’ said an advert on the page for potential pioneers. It stirred a memory deep inside
Apart from Wolf Girl’s hirsute face and strong hind legs, she looked just like him. I must meet this midget, he thought and set sail again.
His wife, also a midget, was happy to move to the US but felt uneasy about Wolf Girl. Not jealousy. It too stirred a memory deep inside
John and the Wolf Girl didn’t hit it off. She looked different in the flesh and had terrible table manners. The peculiar bond was imagined
He thanked his tolerant wife. She was so special. They really did have a bond. Except once a month when she insisted on howling at the moon.
Something to do with her childhood, of which she had little recollection. Orphaned as she was. Something about wolves and a ship and. Whoops

Friday, May 22, 2009

Twitlit 8: Brad and Angelina from Bolton's 10th anniversary

Things hadn’t been great between Brad and his wife Angelina recently but today was their anniversary. Brad was determined to make a mends.
‘Don’t worry, honey. I’ll do the washing up,’ he said after they’d finished the pasties he’d picked up from Angelina’s favourite pasty shop.
He had it all planned out. Pasties. Dancing. A fine bottle of Chablis. Just like when they first met on Canvey Island 10 years ago.
‘I’m just going to freshen up,’ yelled Angelina from the stairs. She’d had such a soft, sexy voice back then but it had hardened with age
Other things had softened with age. Like her bottom. Back on the funfare on Canvey, he remembered how pert it had been.
Pert enough, in fact to make him throw caution to the wind and leave his beautiful, lovely, witty first wife. Who also had a nice bott-
Just get on with dishes. Stop thinking about her. It was 10 blimming years ago. Trouble is, seeing her again last week brought it all back
‘Surprise!’ It was Angelina, standing there in her naughtiest lingerie. The pasty and Chablis had worked. He was forgiven for meeting the ex
They hadn’t made love on the settee like this for a long time. It was exciting, intoxicating. ‘Oh Brad’ shouted Angelina with abandon.
‘Oh Jennifer,’ groaned Brad without thinking. Angelina froze. Brad was in the doghouse again. A pasty wouldn't get him out of it this time

TWITLIT 7: Green eggs and ham: another true story

'I am Sam. I am Sam. Sam I am'
'That Sam-I-am. That Sam-I-am! I do not like that Sam-I-am. What's happened to the waitress from last week?'
'Do you like green eggs and ham?'
'I do not like them, Sam-I-am. I do not like green eggs and ham.'
'Would you like them here or there?'
'I would not like them here or there or anywhere. I don't like green eggs and ham. Can we move on?'
'Would you like them in a house? Would you like them with a mouse?'
'Not in a house or with a mouse. Not here, there, anywhere. Jesus.'
'Would you eat them in a box? Would you eat them with a fox?'
'Not in a box. Not with a fox. Not in a house. Not with a mouse. Enough already.'
'Would you? Could you? In a car? Eat them! Eat them! Here they are.'
'I would not, could not, in a car. Or anywhere else for that matter.'
'You may like them. You will see. You may like them in a tree?'
'How's eating green eggs and ham going to be any better in a tree?'
'A train! A train! A train! A train! Could you, would you on a train?'
'Look, I'd like to see the manager. You're ruining our evening.'
'In the rain? In the dark? On a boat? On a goat? It is today's special after all.'
'Ok, I'll bloody try it. Give it here, for Christ's sake.'
'So, what do you think, sir?'
'Disgusting. I mean, the eggs are green. Send it back and get me a salad like I asked for in the first place.'
THE END

Saturday, May 9, 2009

#Twitlit 6:  The owl and the pussycat: the real story
A story in 10 chapters and 1,400 characters
The owl and the pussycat went to sea in a beautiful pea-green boat. They took some money and plenty of honey but were otherwise ill-equipped
The owl looked up to the stars above and sang to a small guitar, ‘Oh lovely pussy, oh pus-’ ‘Did you pack the compass?’ interrupted the cat.
‘No’, said the owl, lowering his guitar defensively. ‘I thought you said you were going to. I packed the honey and the money.’
‘Well what good’s the honey going to do us on a year-long boat trip? Especially since you wrapped it in a five-pound note. It’s all soggy.’
‘Couldn’t find a Tupperware container. You've moved everything round in the kitchen. Anyway I know where we’re going. Don’t need a compass.’
‘Don’t need a compass?!? Typical. I knew this was a bad idea. I’m a pussycat. I don’t even like water. Have you packed the waterproofs?’
‘Oh, that’s so predictable. Blame it all on me. This is going to be a long year and a day if that’s the attitude you’re going to take.’
The cat looked out to sea in a huff. It was the owl having the midlife crisis, not her. ‘Lets stop and ask directions,’ she said eventually.
‘No,’ said the owl resolutely. ‘That’s Orion’s belt. Which means it’s a left and then straight on to the land where the bong trees grow.’
‘He’s a lovely singer,’ thought the pussycat as they zig-zagged towards the horizon. ‘I’m just not sure he’s marriage material.’

Friday, May 1, 2009

TwitLit 5. It's called 'Get Stuffed' or 'Why Certain Parts of Wales Aren't Ideal For a Romantic Bank Holiday Weekend' (another adaptation).

A story in 10 chapters, 140 characters each

Bank holiday and Peter had splashed out on a romantic break. Okay, it was mid-Wales. But the hotel? Highly recommended. On the internet.

‘It’s a long way, isn’t it?’ said Janet unhelpfully, seven hours into the drive. ‘And it’s getting dark.’

‘When did you elect yourself Girlfriend Who States the Bleeding Obvious? snapped Pete because he was worried too. Wales isn’t safe after dark.

The hotel was more a house. The house was more a shack on the outskirts of a remote village. An owl hooted as Pete rang the bell.

The woman who answered eyed them suspiciously with her one eye. ‘Hotel Panoramic?’ said Pete. ‘You’ll do nicely,’ said the woman. ‘Come in’.

‘Where did you find this place?’ hissed Janet as they followed the women down the hall. She hadn’t even noticed the animals yet.

‘Are these all real?’ asked Pete. ‘Taxidermy’s my hobby,’ said the old woman, playing with the soft hair on her chin. ‘Cup of tea, my dears?’

She left them in the front room which was stuffed with stuffed animals. An eagle, rabbits, a mournful badger. Janet, a vegetarian, shivered.

‘Matter of fact,’ said the woman, pouring the tea, ‘I’m about to start my most ambitious work yet.’ ‘Oh,’ said Pete politely. ‘What is it?’

 ‘It’s called Adam & Eve,’ she replied, her one eye surveying her subjects. Janet grimaced. The tea was very bitter. ‘More sugar, my dears?

The end.