For these excercises we were given two phrases and two objects from which to make stories:
Objects: Unisex toilets, Desk tidy
Phrases: "Not now, maybe next week, Sandra.", "Fire in the disco."
I walked into the unisex toilets as Elvis Costello and the Attractions blared from the speakers- surrounding me with "Armed Forces." I had initially wondered how exactly a unisex toilet would work- whether there would just be row upon row of cubicles standing at attention read for their unisex prey. I was disappointed to find it was just a toilet- a single toilet with no real defining features to set it apart from other toilets, not ever a name.
I stared intently at the pale seat. This toilet is far too special not to have a name I thought. I decided I would call it Sandra as she began to beckon me- reaching out for me- wanting me. Craving. She wanted me to give her something. "Not now, maybe next week, Sandra." I whispered soothingly as I stroked her porcelain bowl. I gave Sandra a quick peck and left.
The disco felt empty without her, the coolness of her breath and her sweet cinnamon scent. I had not appetite for dancing now, I just sat in the corner and sulked- determined to stay there and leave for no one, not even a fire in the disco could have shifted me. I checked in my bag for my lucky desk tidy and felt relieved to feel it’s knobbly goodness against my clumsy, clammy hand. Running my fingers down its length and into the diverts at the bottom- for rubbers or something… And I was lost in sensuality.
Objects: Spatula, Encyclopaedia
Phrases: "I’m going to have to be a communist again.", "You’ve got to give him credit for style."
I stared across the table at myself. My eyes looked weary and hungry. It wasn’t often I came to visit but it was always a sobering affair. I laid the spatula down on the counter and poured the pasta I had cooked into two bowls; one for me and one for me. I had only made enough for me but I couldn’t let myself starve. "Oh well- I’m going to have to be a communist again." I thought as I poured I looked over at me again and saw myself staring at my centrepiece. An old encyclopaedia- for lack of anything better to use. My tired eyes burning through the cover with their intensity. I brought the past to myself at the table.
"Well, how am I?" I asked myself.
"I’m fine." I replied.
"Have I seen Chris, recently?"
"No, she’s off with this fellow." I showed myself a photo.
"You’ve got to give him credit for style." I said
"Mm." I replied.