Help wanted draft

Here's a little piece I wrote some year or so ago, it was the first piece of creative writing I attempted as an adult, before "Nome". It depicts Joel and Faye on an average day (well the start of one) it's unfinished obviously but acts as a stepping stone between help wanted and bedlam.

Anyway, enjoy. In many ways I prefer this over my attempts at writing bedlam, it was a bit more murky and depressing, which is great.


Joel rolled onto his stomach, coughing loudly without restraint. The previous night was a blur of wretched sights and disgusting odours but then again, he thought the same of work and his apartment so business as usual there. Lifting his head to peer out of the window across the room, he glimpsed the bomb, Bedlam’s largest structure and monument to the isolation of the town, through the haphazard slats of the blinds. Grasping wildly with the hand not pinned beneath his torso he found his cell phone, squinting painfully at its face, feeling annoyed that it showed so much life so early in the morning.

The new girl had started at the coffee shop a few days previous and had wasted no time in making him feel unwelcome there, not through hostility or distance, but by turning his shift into a half-decent experience which made him shiver. Working was the bane of his existence and the thought of looking forward to it turned him to the drink he was desperately trying to keep down. Tumbling from his single mattress he slid into the adjoining bathroom, knocking miscellaneous objects aside with his bloody feet. Aside from the familiar cracks and crunches a desperate squeak filled the air about his shuffling gait, signalling that the mice had come back. Joel didn’t mind the mice, they were company after all and anything they ate was something less to bundle into trash bags come the end of the week.

He wondered what day it was, but couldn’t bring himself to check his mobile. Its cheerful obedience reminded him too much of her so he fell into the shower and lit one of the many cigarettes he kept littered about the space he occupied. Leaning heavily against the cold tiles he closed his eyes, trying to remember what he had said to the new girl that sparked the drinking binge he was trying to desperately ignore. It was no use, he had become accustomed to shutting things out whenever things became too much, and besides, his head was making a spirited attempt at punishing him for his addictions. Slapping the walls with bandaged palms he found the faucet and turned it. It didn’t make much difference which he used as hot water was a luxury he didn’t have.

With a pathetic hiss his cigarette went limp. Allowing it to drop, he set about the arduous job of washing himself, noticing he hadn’t removed his clothes at any point. Pulling the drenched contents of his pockets out and placing them on the nearby cistern he proceeded to clumsily unbuttoning his shirt, hurling it at the pile of clothes lined up nervously in the corner of the bathroom. They smelled of mildew and Joel was sure something was living in them but evicting them seemed hypocritical to someone who didn’t belong in this god-forsaken town to begin with.
The walk to work was hell, not only did he feel like shit, he hated himself for walking faster when he thought of her waiting, panic-stricken at the door for him to let her in. She was always on time and insisted that they would get in trouble with the manager if they didn’t work hard. He remembered snorting at this remark as, knowing the manager, the place could burn down and attract more customers. Either way, she had set about “organizing” the place which meant he had nowhere to sleep as the stock room was now filled with boxes and chemicals instead of the trash bags of clothes he would prop himself up against.

He rounded the corner to the store, shielding his eyes from the sun now cresting over the bomb, a fake sunrise that was so brilliant as to overshadow its first attempt four hours previous. Painfully peering through outstretched fingers he saw her in front of the store, pacing and furiously mashing her phone. After a few steps the shrill sound of his own device filled the empty street, causing her to look up from her fervour and exclaim, half excited, half anxious that he was over half an hour late and that she wasn’t sure he was coming.

That sparked something in Joel’s mind but before he could chase it up she had closed on him and was grasping at his bandaged hands in a mothering way, muttering about the state he was in. His jaw half-opened he said nothing, staring blankly at her purple hair partially covering her face. Shaking himself mentally he was about to tell her to ignore it when they met eyes, causing his voice to shrivel and his stomach to drop. Swallowing, he brushed her aside and thrust both hands into his pockets, busying himself with finding the keys to the grille covering the service window of Bucks Coffee shop. She coyly pulled at his sleeve but he determinedly told her to get the machines ready, tossing her the keys and pulling a bent cigarette from a sadly squashed packet.

Her

This week we had to write a piece about someone we knew, using the contrast of poetic and realistic. I came up with the following

Her
By Samuel M. Curd


She was the late-night phonecalls
And the days spent wondering
She was the endless waiting
The self-doubt and the feeling of skin on skin
She was the swollen heart and the endless tears
The inspiration and the lurking shadow
She was the bedtime companion, the reassurance
And the grey clouds on the horizon

And now she's shacked up with some prick in Baisingstoke

Horsefeathers!

Horsefeathers.

By Samuel M. Curd



My name is Horsefeathers, sir, if you please

I hike in the mist, through snow-covered trees

With my white hair hanging in plaits by my knees

When I fulfil my mission, I can finally be free

And see so much more of the world



I'm a child inside, though twenty years old

I live in the wild, where it's wet and it's cold

There's wolves and there's dragons, or, so I was told

I trade furs and meats for handfuls of gold

Yes, I'm quite the peculiar girl



I was sent from my home, an outcast at ten

I was frightened and lost, and ever since then

I've had no interest in romance or pursuing men

That was, until, I came to my birthplace again

And I met a man stranger than me



I had wandered the wilds for my birthplace in vain

Since my Mother had left me on some distant plain

In the hopes of me never returning again

But by virtue of what memories I had retained

I located that house perched on the hill



I looked through the window, expecting to see

My mother sat, lazily drinking her tea

Or warming herself by the fire with glee

I had the axe in my hands, and was all but ready

But there was a man, looking lonely and ill



The man was so tall, and so utterly clean

With fantastic blue eyes that sparkled and gleamed

His fingers were long, his dark hair was preened

His skin was the whitest you'd ever have seen

His features were pointy and ruthlessly keen

I thought, perhaps it was all but a dream

As I fought inside to stay calm



But then, it seemed, he chanced me a look

I wanted to run, but found myself hooked

As I met his dark eyes, my bottom lip shook

But then, perhaps, I had mistook

Because my mother had taken his arm



I wanted to curse and break through the door,

To scream at my mother, throw her to the floor

Why was this man shackled to such a miserable whore?

Had he never been warned about witches before?

Or was he completely insane?



To fight back the rage, I turned and I ran

And I hid, and I started to brood on a plan

To exact my revenge, I would steal her new man

Break her heart, and have her understand

What it's like to live with such pain



But that night, I was sleeping, hardly dreaming

When all at once I heard a screaming,

My mother came hurtling into the clearing

Chased by the man, and the blade he was wielding

His white face was now shining with red



Then he laughed as he thrust the knife in her back

As she fell to the floor, he started to hack

And arranged all the pieces in a neat little stack

It was clear that at long last, the lover had cracked

And my mother was very much dead



I ran to the man and said "thank you, sincerely"

He was taken aback, but answered me "really,

It was a long time coming, but seeing you merely

Awakened my heart, which had grown wooden and dreary"

And with that, I knew I was in love



We threw Mother's remains to the great Northern river

And left the old house to crumble and wither

And had a white wedding with rings made of silver

When I think of my mother it still makes me shiver

But I know she's alone up above



My name is Horsefeathers, sir, if you please

My mission is done

Now together we run

And bask in the sun

Our lives have begun

As we dance in the mist, through snow-covered trees.