Hi there.
I'm new to the forum but have been browsing for some time now. This story is in its infancy as far as detail is concerned, but the plot is there.
Criticism is good! Thanks for reading
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The girl is one year old. As she sits, the car door violently crumpled to her left, unconscious and with a streak of crimson blood dripping from her nose contrasting with her pale complexion, firemen desperately attempt to peel away the metal coffin that encases her. The loud zing of the saw cuts through the witnesses ears, as well as the deformed car frame. When finally freed, the paramedics take over. She is put on to a stretcher, her neck secured with a brace. But it's too late. She has passed away and is pronounced dead upon arrival at the hospital: "the time is 5:23pm" says the doctor in a slow, solemn voice, before bowing his head.
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"It's either today, or I can't go until next week," said the man to his wife "this is my only day off 'til next week, you know how it is". His wife sighed; yes she thinks as she rips the slice of bread in to small chunks, I know how it is.
She is stood in her garden on a cool January morning; around half of a loaf of bread sits in its plastic packaging on top of the table in front of her. The table, a dark wooden structure, usually reserved for the human species in the summer months, has become a feeding platter for the many birds that ritualistically patrol the garden looking for their feed: robins, blackbirds and magpies to name a few. She meditates on the conversation just passed. So let's get it straight, she thinks; he wants to go fishing today, while I, yet again have to pick up the kids, feed the kids, help the kids with their homework, without
any assistance from him. Yes, that's right, she answers in her head. And why, she asks? Because he puts his hobby before his family and because he can't wait a week and go then...yes, that's it. It's like he's having an affair, only without the mistress, or the sneaking around.
She changes her train of thought. Nice day today, she thinks optimistically. The ground isn't frosty and it's unusually warm for this time of year, which means that it would be easier for the birds to feed on their own. She questions then, why she is giving them a 'free lunch', if there is such a thing. But, she lays out the chunks of bread on the table anyway, as she does every day in the winter months.
A magpie is first on the scene, as always, and from the kitchen window the woman observes the other birds gather around the garden. The magpie is undisturbed, however, and the inferior birds wait their turn. Full up, the magpie takes off with visible effort and flies away, and as she does, catches a glint of light shining on the lawn of the garden, tantalising evidence of a succulent worm. Usually the magpie would swoop down, take the defenceless worm and carry on her way; but she's just too damn full.
"Okay," the man says "I need to get some bait". "The ground isn't frozen today," his wife says "so it's promising that the worms would be easy pickings". He smiles and kisses his wife, "thank you, darling". He takes his bait box and scouts around the garden.
15 minutes later or so, he returns to the kitchen, bait box in hand. "Easy pickings, love. Look at this one; I'm gonna save it 'til last" He holds up a particularly fat worm level with his eyes and grins maniacally. The light glimmers off the worm as he rotates it between finger and thumb. "Nice" the wife says with a forced smile adequately disguising her grimace.
As the man sits on the bank of the lake on his fold-out chair, the sun begins to warn of setting as it appears bigger and a dark gold colour, so much so that the man can look directly at it. As idyllic as this setting appears, the man thinks, it could be made
a lot better if I hooked a fish. With not even a bite all day, the man grows irritated.
His face rests on his palm as he stares into the distance, the movement of the tip of his rod snaps his attention. A pull. A harder pull. He snatches his rod from its stand and strikes into...water.
The fish took his bait from the hook and came to the surface slapping its tail fin; a kind of middle finger to the fisherman.
"gah!" exclaims the fisherman as he reels the hook in, a determined look etched upon his face.
Holding the hook between finger and thumb he glances round for his bait box. The last worm wriggles alone. He plunges the hook into the worm, with a twist, he hooks it again. Double-hooked, he thinks, good luck Mr Fish.
He casts out and hits the spot perfectly.
Mr Fish takes the bait, again. The man feels the line tighten and strikes into...water, again.
With a horrible curse, the man throws his rod to the ground.
With a heavy-handed kind of violence he throws his fishing gear into his van and sets off home more than doubling the speed limit in the residential area.
Through rush-hour traffic, that serves only to irritate him further, the man negotiates his way across from the sub-urban area through the town. With no regard to the rules of the road, he weaves in between traffic with the green light in sight. He speeds up to catch it. It changes to red. He pretends not to realise it changed and carries on through...straight in to the left hand side of another car.
The world slows down, for the man, at least. He looks at the red light and a flash of fear creeps down his spine and adrenaline pumps through his veins. He feels so alive. He sees the car: a bright red SUV making a right turn in front of him. His van slowly approaches the car, like a predator stalking its prey, the predator, like a lion off a rock, pounces on to the defenceless buffalo. Then time speeds up for the man; until time, for the man, ends.
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The woman put the phone down with her left hand and with her right, covers her mouth and sinks to her knees.
"Mother, what's wrong?" the little girl asks.
She grabs the child in her arms, holds her tight and begins to sob.
After what she perceives as an eternity of tears, the thoroughly confused child is released from the frantic woman's grasp.
"Where are you going Mother?" the child asks incredulously.
"To feed the birds dear...to feed the birds."