Some shortzzzz

Just a couple of short stories that I had to submit for course work, that I thought I would share with you all!

Lonely:

Sabrina pouted and posed for all she was worth as she combed her newly dyed ebony locks in front of her vanity mirror. The large table she was seated at, was covered in such an array of potions, and powders, and collagen this and wrinkle reducing that, it would have put an alchemists' station to shame. Not that any of it worked. Nothing seemed to work any more with Shane. The mere thought of Shane stopped Sabrina in her tracks as she traced her ivory toothed comb through her hair for the recommended hundredth time. Any time she thought of him lately, it was as if her body just shut down, had some anaphylactic reaction, where she could not move, speak or do anything but think of him, rooted to whatever spot she was in until the memory subsided. Shane. For whom she had abandoned her old life of working as a dentist to follow to him to Hollywood. For whom she had given up her longing to have a family after he said in no uncertain terms that he didn't want the responsibility so he could maintain his playboy image. Shane. For whom she had kissed goodbye to her surfer girl blonde locks and gone over to the dark side, because that, she had recently discovered was the colour of hair Shane's newest mistress sported. Shane. Shane the Bane, ha! Pushing her crushed velvet recliner away from her illuminated beauty counter, Sabrina stood up slowly, idly wondering what to do today. She left her softly lit amber dressing room and strutted out through the glaringly white and minimalistic "bedroom". She shuddered as she walked through it, she hated that room, felt like she was back in Dentist’s college, all that was missing was the overpowering smell of fluoride and patients' fear. Sliding open the patio door, Sabrina stepped out into the midday L.A. sun. Hollywood: where everything that glitters, most certainly isn't gold. Glancing back into the bedroom, it looked even more sterile and soulless now that she was here in the well-tendered garden. She was bored of the house. She was bored of being a kept wife, both financially and in the dark. She was bored of Hollywood. What's more, Sabrina was lonely. She couldn't complain to her friends about how she was finding her new life tough. They would only snort into their £4.99 Londis chardonnay and put on the "poor me" voices that they all used when one member of the group was whingeing. In a heartbeat they would sell their souls to have one day of Sabrina's existence. To them, not only was she the apple of a Hollywood stars' eye, but she was ensconced in sunshine on a daily basis, and got to hob-nob with the glitterati of the Hollywood scene. Oh, and there was the endless hours of shopping potential, seeing as she was a mere 45 minute drive to Rodeo Drive. Rodeo Drive Baby! God above help me, she thought, I want to go home.

Stimulus for this piece: Funeral notices on my local radio station.

The static ripped through the silent kitchen like machine gun fire. This always happened when I moved more than 2 inches from the radio and its ever troublesome aerial. Fearing to breathe incorrectly as it might upset further the already perturbed reception, I reached out my ever shaking hand to turn up the volume. One of the joys of getting older, the nerves in my left hand had become so uncontrollable; I needed to take medication to keep it normal. Without my daily fix, everything I touched with my decrepit hand would shake and rattle as if I were auditioning for a role as a tambourine player. With it, it resembled a slight tic. I was seriously considering going without however, as the medicine cabinet was now becoming fuller than my food cupboard. Still, maybe a bit of weight loss mightn't be a bad thing. The news report ended on a sunny note. The presenter gaily informed me that there would be highs of 25 degrees with some scattered showers this evening. I might get some gardening in. Oh who was I kidding, I'd probably just sit in my comfy swing chair and soak up the sun. ‘Get some Vitamin D into you Greta’ I shouted to no one. I was on my own in the house, save for Geronimo, my Maine Coone cat who was currently getting some Vitamin D of his own on the mat just inside the kitchen door. The bottom panel of the door was glass, giving a greenhouse like effect to whatever happened to be on the other side of the glass. He opened one of his slanted eyes to glare evilly at me, not amused for having been disturbed during his afternoon snooze. The phone in the hall burst into life just as the death notices were coming on. Geronimo was even more put out, as he now opened both his olive eyes to glare even more evilly at me. If anyone knew me, they would know not to ring at this time, as I would be listening to the news, so it mustn't be that important. Death notices turned up to full volume to drown out the sound of the phone, I ease myself back against the counter to hear the solemn voice of the presenter.

‘The death has occurred suddenly following an accident of Thomas “Tommyboy” Hume of no fixed abode. Arrangements will be announced later'.

My heart stopped for a moment. The wind was taken from my lungs as I fought hard to breathe after hearing what I could only hope was a mistake. But I knew in my heaving heart that it was true. Thomas Hume could have been anyone! Millions of Thomas Hume’s scattered all around the place. But there was only one Tommyboy Hume. Only one buck-toothed, puppy dog eyed Tommyboy Hume, who would be found with no fixed abode. Tommyboy Hume would always have a fixed abode in 35 Reatham Drive if only he would come back. Tommyboy Hume would always have a fixed abode in my heart, for he was my son, my only son, my Jesus if you will. But he didn’t sacrifice himself to save the sins of the world. He crucified himself on the cross of syringes and squalor, because he loved heroin so much, he gave his life for it.