The "Creative Writing" forum, which includes Retro Game Reviews, has been archived and is now read-only. You cannot post here or create a new thread or review on this forum.
“Close your eyes and relax,” said a stout lady in her gentlest voice.
“Breathe in… and out” she cooed, her audience sat on plastic chairs with faces angled up, poised towards their invisible deity.
“Let your troubles wash over your soul and be free” said the stout woman wearing her finest floral skirt and a baby-blue cardigan. As the audience sighed sighs of relief and enlightenment she picked uninterestedly at her cuff, which to her dismay had begun to unravel.
“Now I want you to imagine you’re in a room, completely white, with no doors or windows” she lit up a cigarette and took a long, careful drag. She exhaled heavily through her nose and through a white-grey mist continued, “This room represents your life at the moment, you’re feeling trapped and suffocated.”
A few uneasy murmurs came from the crowd.
She carried on, slightly enjoying the dissatisfaction she was bestowing on her entranced audience. “In the centre of the room there is a hatch, just big enough for you to fit through… I want you to open the hatch and climb inside”
She took another long drag on the cigarette, keeping her audience in suspense.
Her audience of around 20 people, an even balance of men and women, manic-depressives and obsessive-compulsives, bankers and shop assistants, fitfully waited for the floral-skirted woman to utter her next words.
“Through the hatch I want you to find your happy place”
Twenty-something smiles twinkled back at the women as she gazed down from her slightly elevated platform as the audience imagine rolling green fields and chirping birds, walks on the beach at sunrise and roaring log fires in winter. “I want you to picture yourself encapsulated in happiness, wallowing in its pleasure and warmth”
The audience stirred pleasurably, the way you do when you wake up on a Sunday morning and realise you don’t need to get up for work.
She picked now, more angrily, at the unravelling cuff of her cardigan. Trying to knot the loose string to stop it unravelling further, but tugging it too firmly and losing more of the sleeve in the process.
“I want you to find a hatch now, and crawl back to the white room” she said in a slightly irritable tone.
“You’re now back in the white room” she said, amid a few fleeting grunts and depressive sighs at the happiness being cut short.
She carried on, “You’re no longer in a white room but inside an egg” she took another drag of the cigarette, “I want you to break through the shell and be reborn. Hatch yourself into a new life”
A string of strenuous grunts emanated from the audience as they broke through their metaphysical shells.
“Good” she cooed, “now I want you to picture yourself in a happier life and figure out what it is that makes you so happy”
She cleared her throat with a sharp “um-hum”
“Is it your job, your partner or even yourself that is different?”
A large portion of the audience nodded dreamily
“I want you to gather up the things in this life that make you unhappy into a little box, and push them back through the hatch!”
Several of the more involved audience members made pushing motions with their hands, and followed them with gleeful smiles.
“You are now free to live your life without heartache or woe, you are free” said the woman in an excited tone. Somehow she seemed virginal to such a successful response. “Now when I snap my fingers you’re going to be back in the room, feeling relaxed and happy” she followed this with a sharp click of her fingers and the audience stirred again, squinting their eyes to combat the fluorescent glow of the over-lit room.
“Well class I hope you enjoyed that and I feel as if we’ve made some real progress” she said chirpily. “I’ll see you all again next week, but if you get worked up before then, remember to find your happy place, you’ll be safe there.”
The class streamed out of the room in single file, and a tall man in a blue suit strode into the room. He approached the floral-skirted woman with a beaming smile and, when he was certain the last of the audience had trickled out of the room, said “How were the psychos today, darling?”
“They weren’t bad, dear” she replied, snapping off the loose thread on her sleeve, “I fed them some crap about pushing their worries through a hatch”
The man let out a dry laugh, “and they swallowed it?” he spluttered
“Of course they did” she said with a wry smile, “they’ll believe anything I tell them.”
“Breathe in… and out” she cooed, her audience sat on plastic chairs with faces angled up, poised towards their invisible deity.
“Let your troubles wash over your soul and be free” said the stout woman wearing her finest floral skirt and a baby-blue cardigan. As the audience sighed sighs of relief and enlightenment she picked uninterestedly at her cuff, which to her dismay had begun to unravel.
“Now I want you to imagine you’re in a room, completely white, with no doors or windows” she lit up a cigarette and took a long, careful drag. She exhaled heavily through her nose and through a white-grey mist continued, “This room represents your life at the moment, you’re feeling trapped and suffocated.”
A few uneasy murmurs came from the crowd.
She carried on, slightly enjoying the dissatisfaction she was bestowing on her entranced audience. “In the centre of the room there is a hatch, just big enough for you to fit through… I want you to open the hatch and climb inside”
She took another long drag on the cigarette, keeping her audience in suspense.
Her audience of around 20 people, an even balance of men and women, manic-depressives and obsessive-compulsives, bankers and shop assistants, fitfully waited for the floral-skirted woman to utter her next words.
“Through the hatch I want you to find your happy place”
Twenty-something smiles twinkled back at the women as she gazed down from her slightly elevated platform as the audience imagine rolling green fields and chirping birds, walks on the beach at sunrise and roaring log fires in winter. “I want you to picture yourself encapsulated in happiness, wallowing in its pleasure and warmth”
The audience stirred pleasurably, the way you do when you wake up on a Sunday morning and realise you don’t need to get up for work.
She picked now, more angrily, at the unravelling cuff of her cardigan. Trying to knot the loose string to stop it unravelling further, but tugging it too firmly and losing more of the sleeve in the process.
“I want you to find a hatch now, and crawl back to the white room” she said in a slightly irritable tone.
“You’re now back in the white room” she said, amid a few fleeting grunts and depressive sighs at the happiness being cut short.
She carried on, “You’re no longer in a white room but inside an egg” she took another drag of the cigarette, “I want you to break through the shell and be reborn. Hatch yourself into a new life”
A string of strenuous grunts emanated from the audience as they broke through their metaphysical shells.
“Good” she cooed, “now I want you to picture yourself in a happier life and figure out what it is that makes you so happy”
She cleared her throat with a sharp “um-hum”
“Is it your job, your partner or even yourself that is different?”
A large portion of the audience nodded dreamily
“I want you to gather up the things in this life that make you unhappy into a little box, and push them back through the hatch!”
Several of the more involved audience members made pushing motions with their hands, and followed them with gleeful smiles.
“You are now free to live your life without heartache or woe, you are free” said the woman in an excited tone. Somehow she seemed virginal to such a successful response. “Now when I snap my fingers you’re going to be back in the room, feeling relaxed and happy” she followed this with a sharp click of her fingers and the audience stirred again, squinting their eyes to combat the fluorescent glow of the over-lit room.
“Well class I hope you enjoyed that and I feel as if we’ve made some real progress” she said chirpily. “I’ll see you all again next week, but if you get worked up before then, remember to find your happy place, you’ll be safe there.”
The class streamed out of the room in single file, and a tall man in a blue suit strode into the room. He approached the floral-skirted woman with a beaming smile and, when he was certain the last of the audience had trickled out of the room, said “How were the psychos today, darling?”
“They weren’t bad, dear” she replied, snapping off the loose thread on her sleeve, “I fed them some crap about pushing their worries through a hatch”
The man let out a dry laugh, “and they swallowed it?” he spluttered
“Of course they did” she said with a wry smile, “they’ll believe anything I tell them.”
Page:
Nice and very smooth. Thumbs up.
It was good. I liked the way they were all considered psycho's, and that she didn't believe a word of what she said. I thought the last bit of dialogue was a little sinister, and thought this could have been put to use somehow.
Disliked it!
Kidding, kidding. Loved it really. The whole concept and it was a pleasure to read :)
Kidding, kidding. Loved it really. The whole concept and it was a pleasure to read :)
And next time they'll go through the hatch to their happy places and find it crammed full of all the crap they just pushed through.
Insane Bartender wrote:
> A few minor criticisms, if I may:
>
> You say '“Let your troubles wash over your soul and be free” said the
> stout woman ', the third line of the story, after stating in the
> first that the woman is stout. It's an unecessary repetition, and an
> opportunity instead to mention somethng else about her, rather than
> saying what we already know.
I tried to refer to her as "the stout woman" or "the floral skirted woman" as a means of identifying her rather than naming her, or building up too much detail about her. It may also have got confusing if I called her "the woman". I'll rethink it though.
> The other criticism is that this room has in it 'shop assistants'.
> That just rings a little false, as I assume this 'therapy' doesn't
> come for free, and I've yet to meet a shop assistant with enough
> disposable income to flit it away on self-help motivation lessons.
> Bankers, yes, till plebs, no.
You're probably right there, I just wanted to make it seem like a broad spectrum of people. I'll have to muse over that.
Thanks for the criticism.
> A few minor criticisms, if I may:
>
> You say '“Let your troubles wash over your soul and be free” said the
> stout woman ', the third line of the story, after stating in the
> first that the woman is stout. It's an unecessary repetition, and an
> opportunity instead to mention somethng else about her, rather than
> saying what we already know.
I tried to refer to her as "the stout woman" or "the floral skirted woman" as a means of identifying her rather than naming her, or building up too much detail about her. It may also have got confusing if I called her "the woman". I'll rethink it though.
> The other criticism is that this room has in it 'shop assistants'.
> That just rings a little false, as I assume this 'therapy' doesn't
> come for free, and I've yet to meet a shop assistant with enough
> disposable income to flit it away on self-help motivation lessons.
> Bankers, yes, till plebs, no.
You're probably right there, I just wanted to make it seem like a broad spectrum of people. I'll have to muse over that.
Thanks for the criticism.
Till plebs.
Gahahaha
Gahahaha
A few minor criticisms, if I may:
You say '“Let your troubles wash over your soul and be free” said the stout woman ', the third line of the story, after stating in the first that the woman is stout. It's an unecessary repetition, and an opportunity instead to mention somethng else about her, rather than saying what we already know.
The other criticism is that this room has in it 'shop assistants'. That just rings a little false, as I assume this 'therapy' doesn't come for free, and I've yet to meet a shop assistant with enough disposable income to flit it away on self-help motivation lessons. Bankers, yes, till plebs, no.
Other than that, it reads quite nicely.
You say '“Let your troubles wash over your soul and be free” said the stout woman ', the third line of the story, after stating in the first that the woman is stout. It's an unecessary repetition, and an opportunity instead to mention somethng else about her, rather than saying what we already know.
The other criticism is that this room has in it 'shop assistants'. That just rings a little false, as I assume this 'therapy' doesn't come for free, and I've yet to meet a shop assistant with enough disposable income to flit it away on self-help motivation lessons. Bankers, yes, till plebs, no.
Other than that, it reads quite nicely.
Too hatchy. :-D
;-)
;-)
Interesting
ish
ish
I'm unsure as to whether it was a snipe at the voidness of people in general, or what.
I've just cleaned it up and got rid of a few typos, it reads smoother now.
Thanks for the comments.
I've just cleaned it up and got rid of a few typos, it reads smoother now.
Thanks for the comments.
Page: