first page of a short story

alfa beta

OK - simple question - if this was the start of a short story (probably 4,000 words or so) would you want to keep reading?

If I get more yes's than no's I'll keep writing!

One word replies only please. I'll ask for proper critiques if and when I develop the piece further - it's too early for that at this stage!

Cheers
AB
..........


The End of The Affair

When I was young I knew what was right and what was wrong. It was easy then. It was obvious. You know the type of thing yourself. Stealing was wrong. Telling lies was wrong. Taking the Lord’s name in vain was wrong. Things your parents told you were wrong, were wrong. And if you did them you ended up in confession mumbling to the priest about them and he said something like ‘say ten Hail Marys’ and then he let you off. And you skulked out and sat in a pew for a few minutes rattling off the first six or seven before thinking ‘that’s enough, shur Jesus will think I just missed out the last three by accident’ and then you went back out into the daylight and kicked a football around with the lads. And all was forgiven.

But that was when I was young. And now I’m not young anymore. I’m not young at all.

“What are you thinking?” she asks.

Her voice is as soft as the skin on the back of her neck. And her words float in the perfumed air like petals gently blown from a beautiful flower.

“Nothing” I say.

She’s not looking at me. We are both looking in the same direction, towards the half-drawn curtains and the hazy shafts of light that spill through the gap between them. Under the sheets our bodies touch at the hips and the feet.

“Are you thinking about us?”

I am, I think. I am thinking about ‘us’. I am nearly always thinking about ‘us’.

“No, not really” I reply.

She waits and says nothing for a long moment. There’s no need. The conversation is punctuated perfectly by the gentle rise and fall of our breathing. It’s not one to be hurried.

Her head turns towards me, just a little. “You are thinking about something. I can always tell when you are. You get all tense.” She prods me gently in the arm with her index finger and in the sound of her voice I can sense a growing smile.

I keep my lazy focus on the window. The curtains are lilac with a leafy pattern. We’re in her room. A rented room in a shared house.

If I look at her now I’ll see the most beautiful face in the world. And I’ll see my own guilt reflected in her eyes. I want to see neither so I say, “You really want to know what I’m thinking?”

“I do”, she says.

“Okay then.” I pause. “I’m thinking about how me and John Troy used play football off the side of the church after confession when we were young.”

She laughs. “Who’s John Troy?” I love her laugh. It’s elegant and light and carefree. It’s all the things I want it to be.

It makes me smile.

“Just a kid,” I say, “Just a kid from a long time ago.”

EileenG

The first paragraph nearly put me off, but I was hooked after that. I'd lose that, and jump straight in with the woman. The title is enough to tell me that all is not well.

Poppy78

Yes

Mayoegian

No

CurlieSue

yes

pickarooney

Yes, but change the title so it's not the same as a famous, existing novel and film.

Dublin141

Yes

Raiser

Yes

geuro

Yup!

Antilles

Tuesday.

Wait, I mean yes.

pauline fayne

yes , but change the title please.!

afaphoenix

alfa beta wrote: »

OK - simple question - if this was the start of a short story (probably 4,000 words or so) would you want to keep reading?

If I get more yes's than no's I'll keep writing!

One word replies only please. I'll ask for proper critiques if and when I develop the piece further - it's too early for that at this stage!

Cheers
AB
..........


The End of The Affair

When I was young I knew what was right and what was wrong. It was easy then. It was obvious. You know the type of thing yourself. Stealing was wrong. Telling lies was wrong. Taking the Lord’s name in vain was wrong. Things your parents told you were wrong, were wrong. And if you did them you ended up in confession mumbling to the priest about them and he said something like ‘say ten Hail Marys’ and then he let you off. And you skulked out and sat in a pew for a few minutes rattling off the first six or seven before thinking ‘that’s enough, shur Jesus will think I just missed out the last three by accident’ and then you went back out into the daylight and kicked a football around with the lads. And all was forgiven.

But that was when I was young. And now I’m not young anymore. I’m not young at all.

“What are you thinking?” she asks.

Her voice is as soft as the skin on the back of her neck. And her words float in the perfumed air like petals gently blown from a beautiful flower.

“Nothing” I say.

She’s not looking at me. We are both looking in the same direction, towards the half-drawn curtains and the hazy shafts of light that spill through the gap between them. Under the sheets our bodies touch at the hips and the feet.

“Are you thinking about us?”

I am, I think. I am thinking about ‘us’. I am nearly always thinking about ‘us’.

“No, not really” I reply.

She waits and says nothing for a long moment. There’s no need. The conversation is punctuated perfectly by the gentle rise and fall of our breathing. It’s not one to be hurried.

Her head turns towards me, just a little. “You are thinking about something. I can always tell when you are. You get all tense.” She prods me gently in the arm with her index finger and in the sound of her voice I can sense a growing smile.

I keep my lazy focus on the window. The curtains are lilac with a leafy pattern. We’re in her room. A rented room in a shared house.

If I look at her now I’ll see the most beautiful face in the world. And I’ll see my own guilt reflected in her eyes. I want to see neither so I say, “You really want to know what I’m thinking?”

“I do”, she says.

“Okay then.” I pause. “I’m thinking about how me and John Troy used play football off the side of the church after confession when we were young.”

She laughs. “Who’s John Troy?” I love her laugh. It’s elegant and light and carefree. It’s all the things I want it to be.

It makes me smile.

“Just a kid,” I say, “Just a kid from a long time ago.”

Took a little while then I just loved it. Keep it up I will come back to you as I am also starting to write.
Good Luck
A:D