Concrete Elephants and Coffee Steam

Hello Darling… Is that the best way to start this letter? Maybe Dear Darling would be better? No, that’s far too formal, considering the amount of years we have known each other (that’s twenty by the way, just in case you have forgotten, again).  I could possibly start with: I'm sorry. But I think that would be too negative, and you would get flustered like always and read this so quickly that you won’t really take any of it in. No, I think I was right the first time.

Hello Darling

When you read this, I will no longer be laying next to you, or in the house, or anywhere near Sittingbourne for that matter. I will be gone; just like a misplaced memory, niggling in the back of your mind that you can’t quite summon forward. I finally realised that I can’t be all you want, and I can’t be all you need. Maybe I should have said this to you sooner? But our twenty year illusion was far too good… Change is a scary thing, but I have dispelled the magic now, I know that there is no going back.

Do you remember when we first met? I hope you do. The memory still remains in my mind, like that leaky tap in the bathroom that won’t stop running; every now and then a small splash of memory will ripple in my mind, a tiny drip of emotion will make my body shudder sweetly.  I will probably be thinking about it as I leave our bed today and place this letter on our dresser; even when I'm walking out of Sittingbourne, that tap will still be dripping. (You need to get that fixed by the way; the water bill has gone up a lot recently… But I suppose that’s your problem now).

Friday 18 January, 1993. That seems like another life now. I was hobbling down the road, just back from shopping and carrying those four monstrous bags. They might as well have been concrete elephants that I was carrying!  I remember seeing those heavily pregnant clouds in the morning, but me being me I still forgot my coat. To this day I have never seen such heavy rain as that: sheets of water pouring from the sky, as if a waterfall had been placed directly above our heads; I say I hobbled down the road, but it was more like swimming, or for me, drowning. Then you came hurdling around the corner- late for work as always- and smashed straight into me! The concrete elephants took to the sky and performed a perfect dive into the newly formed pool, while I completed my best belly flop to date.

It was that smile that spun me into your web; it was both charming and innocent at the same time. I never did see that smile again after that day. Then you helped me up and took me to the coffee shop next to the bank, you carried those elephants all the way there! Then we sat and talked nonsense for hours, I remember how the steam from the coffee slowly curled and twisted into the atmosphere, like acrobats performing in the background. Days could have past in that haze of coffee steam, and I wouldn't have cared. I still can’t believe you missed an entire day of work just to talk to me! I can feel the same guilt creep over me now, those tiny spiders scuttling through my veins; how you didn't get fired I will never know…  

I'm sorry that I don’t have the patience of your boss. I wish I knew his secret to his twenty year endurance; maybe then I would still be laying next to you now, getting ready to wake up and make your coffee: no milk, two sugars.

But those bottles were everywhere. Ever since I declared: I do I have been lost within that maze of glass, tumbling through the obstacle course of cans.  

‘It wasn't your fault’ was my mantra: it was the vodka that gave me that black eye, the beer that screamed at me, the cider that broke my arm… Or was it? I loved you after all, or rather, I loved the man in the coffee shop. Are you the same person I wonder?

I think it was hope for the coffee shop man that carried me through these last twenty years. He was there somewhere, drowning within those glass bottles. If only I could dive in and draw him out; then the coffee steam would come back, the acrobats could perform again. But, I failed. I know that man is too far away now; but finally the steam has disappeared and I can see clearly again. It’s taken me a while, but I know now that you can’t be all I want, and you can’t be all I need.

Even with my cuts and bruises that you created, I can carry my own concrete elephants now.

There is one last thing that I will ask of you though: please say goodbye to the man in the coffee shop for me. 

What did the first traffic light say to the second traffic light?

What did the first traffic light say to the second traffic light?

“Wow! This is the worst crash yet!”

“Hasn't been one like that in years,” replied Amber, who was just getting ready to glow again.

“Look at the state of that car! Serves them right really, I was clearly glowing but they just ignored me anyway-“

“Oh stop complaining Red,” retorted a voice from below. “You always moan when people ignore you.”

“Shut up Green,” spat Red. “It’s ok for you; people love to see you glow! All I ever get is abuse when it’s my turn. For once it would be nice to see a smile when I’m glowing.”

“It’s not easy for me either! I always feel guilty when I have to stop glowing to let you have your go!”

“Well I am sorry; I’m just trying to do my job!”

As the two lights continued to argue Amber remained quiet like she always did, silently content with her job.  Experience has taught her that it was best to let them exhaust themselves, interfering would only spark more argument meaning peace would slip even further away.

Amber looked out onto the road, the wailing and screaming soon drowned out Red and Green’s puerile squabble; she did not know which noise was worse. Before her sprawled a scene of twisted metal and blood stained tarmac; a blue car lay on its back, its wheels still gently spinning from the vehicles previous somersault. The remains of its windscreen littered the road, transforming the area into a sea of sharp, jagged shards ready to shred and pierce anyone who dared to swim its waters. Some of the fragments caught the dying light of the sun, casting eerie rainbows over the crash site. A woman floated within the sea of shards, her body contorting into painful positions; her head was bleeding causing a tributary of blood to flow into the glass covered road.

“Why didn't she just stop?” Amber sighed.

A pair of tyre tracks flowed away from the blue car and stopped at a perfectly still, perfectly intact yellow car; the people inside, however, were not so perfect. A man sat petrified at the steering wheel; his hands white from clutching the wheel so tightly, his eyes set on the woman floating on glass. The woman next to him was not so deathly tranquil; her whole body convulsed with fright and fear as she screamed. Her words were inaudible as she thrashed around, possessed by the memories of the blue car driver hurdling through the air and splashing into the pool of glass.

Something stirred within Amber, “Will you two just shut up?!” she snapped. Red and Greed stopped their quarrel, surprised at the break in Amber’s normally concrete composure.

The sound of ambulance sirens crept in from the distance as night began to shroud the crash scene.  

What did the first traffic light say to the second traffic light?

“Don’t get me started on them bloody ambulances!” Red moaned. “They never take any notice of me!”

“Idiot,” breathed Green. “You know they have a job to do, look you can see them now.”

Blue lights ruptured the dark as the ambulance approached the scene. The woman in the yellow car reduced her screams to violent sobs, comforted by the ambulance’s arrival.

“I hope the paramedics can help everyone.” Worry began to tinge Amber’s voice as she watched the scene unfold.

“I don’t know why you are bothering,” mocked Red. “After all, they deserve to be hurt if they don’t follow me when I glow.”

The sirens were silenced as the ambulance came to a halt; its piercing melody echoing into the distance. The first paramedic rushed out of the vehicle and to the side of the yellow car, while the second ran to the blue car driver, splashing waves of glass as he ran. He knelt down beside the woman and checked her breathing.

“I think she is still breathing!” exclaimed Amber.

“Oh who cares?”

Amber ignored Red’s remark, her anger becoming increasingly difficult to restrain.

The blue car driver started to whisper something into the paramedic’s ear; she gripped his arm as pain seared through her body. She would have screamed at him, she would have shouted; but a whisper was all she could muster.  

Suddenly, the paramedic turned and left the woman, sprinting towards the overturned car. He collapsed to the floor and crawled through the broken windscreen, the sharp fragments of glass clawing at his clothes.  After a minute, the paramedic emerged from the wreckage carrying a small bundle; slowly, he approached the blue car driver. The woman began to stir. Her fingers scraped the road as she tried to sit up, but the pain was too much. She fell to the floor, her chest heaving as she gulped down the cool night air.

The paramedic’s face was stone solemn as he looked at the woman. He slowly shook his head whilst mouthing the words: ‘I’m sorry.’  

The woman’s face twisted with agony. Tears spilled down her face as short sobs burst from her mouth.

“My baby!” she roared, her screams shaking the night’s atmosphere.

“Maybe next time she will listen to me!” said Red, almost revelling in the woman’s suffering.

“How dare you?” screamed Amber. “Is that all you can think about or say? That woman has lost someone she loves, and all you do is make it about yourself. You sit there wrapped in your egotistic world, only caring about who looks at you and does what you tell them to. For once, just forget about glowing; forget about your jealousy toward Green and focus on what’s important. Without Green and I you’re just a single red light, telling people to stop. Like that woman needs her baby to be alive, you need us as well; otherwise, you are nothing. We are nothing. You need to change.”

What did the first traffic light say to the second traffic light? Don’t look now, I’m changing.

    

Don't Call Me Human

I'll be your Rag Doll:
You can play with me till your amusements flee
Rip my seams with your rough play-
Don't worry, you can fix me again
For another day

Just call me your China Vase;
I'll collect your tears
Fill me with your sorrow and pain-
My pattern may fade and my corners chip
But your tears will fill up to my very tip.

I can be your Life Jacket
As you drown into the depths of despair;
Wrap me around you until you float back to the surface...
Throw me away when you are safe.

Just please, don't call me human,
Don't treat me like an equal.
Don't speak to me like I understand.
Don't believe I have emotions;

After all, who will be
Your Rag Doll,
Your China Vase,
Your Life Jacket?
                                       

Beautiful Mercy

A fragment of you still remains-

Taunting my past, our history entwined-

Your shadows still grip-

Where the light ought to shine-

Your face still reflects-

In water, glass, my mind-

Your imprint still burns-

Upon the hole you used to reside-

Please be kind-

Let these memories unwind. 

The Shining

You stand there,

Shining amidst a sea

Of bodies floating

Endlessly throughout existence.

All our words were whispered willingly-

Entire souls were spilled securely.

All but ash now; ravaged by the flames of absence.

Now dawns the evanescence

Of past, present and future.

Yet, I must strive on.

I stand here,

Fading into a sea

Of bodies floating

Endless throughout existence. 

C'est La Vie

Ok guys, here is the second piece for my creative writing portfolio to university. As I am restricted to only four pages in total, I have had to limit the amount I write for this play; this is not all of it! But I hope you enjoy it all the same! 

Production Notes

The Screen Device: Throughout the play, this image must be stationed hanging in the air, to the back of the stage. It should be large enough so that every member in the audience can see every detail, down to the very last car. With this, I hope that the main focus of the play remains with the audience throughout its duration; additionally adding to the visualisation of the play’s location. No other scenery must be used as the minimalism contributes to the plays reception and meaning.  

The Music: When the audience arrive, throughout the duration of the play, and until the audience leave, the sound of a traffic jam should be played. This should include: the constant humming of many engines, the sound of horns tooting in frustration, the distant shouts of angry, weary travellers. The music should not be too loud, more like one would reminisce a distant memory: quiet and not overbearing. Much like the Screen Device, this will provide a greater depth of realism and minimalism.

Costumes: Every character must wear a combination of black and white clothing. The only character whose clothes must be comprised of specific attire is Teller: who must be garbed in black trousers, black shoes, a white T-shirt and a long black Mackintosh. The other characters attire is not specific, just black and white.

Lighting: The lighting of the play should be dark, with only spotlights to illuminate characters when talking. The Screen Device should be lit at all times.

The Play

Act one-

Teller enters the stage, seemingly ignorant of the audiences’ presence. He motions towards the image at the back of the stage, sauntering in a lazy fashion. He stands sideways to the audience and the image, as if torn between the two, yet does no lift gaze from the image.

Teller: Good evening everyone! I say good evening even though we may be in the midst of a blazing summer afternoon, or the beginning of a bitter winter’s day; yet here, we are shrouded in evening’s dying glow… I apologise if you find my speech drowned amongst this sea of engines and horns, but who am I to prevent all these people of their futile journey?

It is humorous! We live in a society where man can traverse the globe in hours; but here, even an inch of advancement is enough to celebrate… [Whispered] C’est la vie! [He moves swiftly from the image and stands at the front of the stage] I apologise! Where are my manners? My name is Teller; I am not part of this play as such, although you may refer to me as your humble narrator, your director of direction, the composer of dreams. [He bows, then hurries back to the image and continues to stare at it] Whilst I have been alive on this Earth, I have learned a great deal. Yes the typical things: five times six is thirty, Shakespeare wrote many plays and the world has engaged in two world wars (so far), but the most valued aspect of life in which I have learnt a great deal about, is this: human beings have a large aptitude for ignorance. [He turns away from the image again, and runs to the front of the stage] All through life we float from cloud to cloud searching for a multitude of things. For some it may be fame, others wealth, while few will just be content with acceptance… We drift through our stages of life focused on our needs and wants, concealed within our self-contained bubble of naivety and greed. Take these people for example [He throws his hand towards the image] each is concerned with reaching their final destination, entrapped within their metal shells. They sit amongst an expanse of beings in the same situation yet; have no consideration for their fellow human…

This evening I shall present to you a slither of life, a fraction of non-fiction, a piece of the picture. [He runs back toward the image] You will experience the lives of a few of these people the very second this image was captured in time. [Slowly exists off stage] I shall return when your journey has ended, farewell for now… [He exits the stage, the music grows louder]

Act 2-

The stage is dark, with only the image illuminated. The music begins to return to its original volume as three characters enter the stage, lit by a single spotlight. A man, Simon, precedes the trio, with two children, Elizabeth and George, following behind. They stop in the middle of the stage: Simon standing at the front, his hands clutching onto an invisible steering wheel, with Elizabeth and George behind him standing side by side. The formation forms a sort of triangle.

Elizabeth and George are arguing loudly, their words blending together to create an incomprehensible din. A look of frustration and fatigue contorts Simon’s face.

Simon [glaring into the non-existent windscreen mirror]: Will you two just shut the fuck up for two seconds? I have had it with your constant arguing! It’s bad enough to be stuck in this traffic, let alone with two screaming kids making my migraine worse as well!

Elizabeth [Sounding as if she will burst into tears]: We, we, we’re sorry Daddy! George won’t stop poking me-

Simon: I don’t care what George is doing! Just shut up!

George: Don’t talk to her like that! She’s only five!

Simon: You can shut your mouth as well! Don’t you dare talk back to me like that!

[They sit in silence for a few seconds; Elizabeth sniffs loudly attempting not to erupt into tears. Simon exhales deeply before beginning to talk]

Simon: Look, I’m sorry for snapping and swearing at you. I’ve just been a little touchy recently and this traffic is not helping. Once we get to Grandma’s and get the funeral stuff sorted everything should be back to how it was.

George: But how can it when Mum’s not here?

Simon: I know it’s been difficult these past few weeks, but we need to be strong for each other. [Simon turns around to face his children] You need to be a responsible big brother for your sister. That means trying not to annoy her. Before you know it everything will be better, just wait and see…

[The spotlight on the characters dims down, and they exit the stage.]

Act 3-

A woman enters the stage with one hand to her ear as if on the phone, and the other on an invisible steering wheel. She stops in the same place as the previous characters.

Ann [Shouting in a rage]: Tell them I want it finished by Monday or they can find another job to waste their time in… [She is silent for a few seconds] I don’t care if he’s already over seeing two other projects, we can’t afford to lose these clients; they account for over a quarter of our revenue! [Becomes silent again] I have had enough of these excuses! If I don’t see any plans on my desk by tomorrow, he can consider himself unemployed!

[She takes her non-existent mobile from her ear and dials another number] Yes? Hello? Is Mr Weller there? He’s already in the meeting?! Tell him I will be right there, I'm stuck in traffic… [She becomes silent for a few seconds] I'm sorry? He said what? Look this isn't my fault! No! Tell him I can sort this out! No, please don’t do this! I need this contact otherwise how can I continue the business? Hello? Are you still there? [She screams and throws the non-existent mobile to the ground, then begins to sob.]

The light dims out and Ann exits the stage.

Growing into Existence

Let me explain this poem first, before you all think I'm mad! For one of my applications to university I had to provide a creative response to "A place where I grew up" Well I took it literally... Take a look! 

 I lay floating, drifting, turning within human existence,

My undeveloped thoughts embrace me, concreting my near subsistence.

How long have I remained amongst the void and gloom?

I have waited, grown and prepared; when is my time to bloom?

 What lies beyond this isolated world?

Success, happiness, excitement, all I have dreamt, floating here curled.

… It’s dazzling, pure, breath taking and blazing!

This light that engulfs me, simply amazing!

Now is my time, to leave this transitory place

Never to return again, to this growing base…