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Writing Contest #31 Entries :)
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message 1:
by
✿Claire✿
(new)
Nov 01, 2015 06:40AM

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Hospitals are strange places. We go there to get healthier, but they are full of sick people.
It's the curtains that bother me. When the quacks and fuss-skirts want to do something unspeakably personal with your bodily parts - and they will - they draw a curtain around your bed.
I ask you, what earthly good is a curtain going to do? It’s not a wall, damn it. It's a flap of fabric.
Oh sure, the others in the ward and their grape-peddling visitors can't see you through the curtain. But they can hear everything that's going on. Especially their snotty kids with playstation eyes.
"How is your penis today?" asked the pretty nurse with the clipboard and the pens in her top pocket.
I know she means well. They all mean well. But a man needs his dignity and that isn't going to happen behind a bloody curtain. They can still hear everything, you know. Why don't you shout about it on the hospital radio while you are it?
"Is the swelling still painful?"
I'm sure they think it's a wall. A soundproof brick and mortar wall.
"Would you like me to put some cream on it?"

On quiet days, shouts of laughter could be heard drifting over the wall, making all those in earshot envious of their unseen neighbours. Life on this side of the wall was difficult, the conditions the government kept them in meant nobody laughed, no children played. In fact, there were few children to play or laugh.
Occasionally, graffiti would appear overnight on the wall, quickly painted over. Anything that provided cheer in the cold, dark, grey world they inhabited was quickly quashed.
One day, the sound of chanting came over the wall, thousands of voices, all along its length. Over the course of the morning it grew louder until the words could be heard. In defiance of orders, those listening moved closer, finding themselves softly chanting along. As the noise increased, so did their confidence, until they also began shouting ‘Freedom, Freedom for all’, in time with the hidden voices.
With an almighty crash, the wall shuddered and their chants turned to screams and then cheers as the wall came tumbling down and a flood of people scrambled through. With them came colour and light and the glorious sounds and smells of freedom. The other side of the wall was here.

The other side of the wall
It’s not what it was.
It’s what it is.
Every time I tapped there was a thud.
And with every thud did a whomp resound.
It’s only sound to some but to others like me it’s beat and beatdom rhythm and drawl.
The slow is the slow and the thwap is the thwap.
Jazz is groove.
That’s all.
Stay for the sway.
That’s what you do.
That’s what you did.
That’s what it was.
And…
…there’s a Duquesne whistle that blows and schmows and hoot toots with the hoot toots as the petticoats waft in the dim moon dark and the raucous rampants ramp up their ramparts 'neath the hoot toot maloot and the cool malarkey of olden deadtime days…
…break it on home and bring it on home for those philistine miniatures who see music as music only and not the heart of the beat and the bubble of the trouble that urges and gorges the good to rock and roll in the blues dark night where the sad birds sit in their faraway trees…
…where the forlorn meet the dawn all purple
on the other side of the wall.

It was a gorgeous day for a bike ride and I was tempted back into my cycling shorts and out into the sun-glittering countryside. After an hour or so, I realised that thinking about cycling doesn’t actually make you fit and I decided to call a short halt for a rest. The country lanes were edged with wild-flower-strewn grass which in turn was separated from the fields by low, grey stone walls. I leant my bike against the wall and, using it as a backrest, I closed my eyes to the sunlight and listened to the humming of insects around me.
I fell asleep but I wasn’t expecting to wake up to the grunting and panting which disturbed me half an hour later. It was like being in a cheap hotel with thin walls. I could hear everything, the heavy breathing, the sloppy, sucking kisses, the gentle groaning. It was very embarrassing. And the couple didn’t even know that anyone was eavesdropping. How was I going to sneak away without alerting them to my presence? Gingerly, I got to my feet. On the other side of the wall, a black and white cow extricated herself from the mud.


Oh good grief. Don't be so damn British.
Well done Will! YAY!!!!!!
Now come up with something brilliant for the next contest that will whet imaginations and get at least 50 entries.
No pressure.

Oh piffle.
Nothing to apologise for. The writers should be more aware.
We should flog them. Frequently.

Oh piffle.
Nothing to apologise for. The writers should be more aware.
We should flog t..."
I was one of the writers though!! And until last weekend was excited to see if I got more than one vote (I didn't but I'll just have to try again next time!). And then work came along and I got distracted. I will do better next time!

We should flog them. Frequently."
Is that going to be offered as a regular service? I'm definitely entering next time.