Songbird - Write on Wednesday

Write On Wednesdays Exercise 16:

Hadge says:  Take a favorite (or even random play) song and write the story behind the lyrics, not something inspired by the lyric, but the flesh on the bones of the story. It gives lots of scope for interpretative writing. Use the lyrics or theme of a song  for a piece of flash fiction (50 to 200 words). To clarify, write your version of the story behind the lyrics in a song

I promised the back story to one of the men in Rock Chicks story and Hadge has given me the perfect prompt.  Thank you Hadge (I've included the link so you can play it if you like while you read the post). Can't work out how to embed the video, sorry and the song is more a projection of his feelings.

Biffy Clyro - Many of Horrors

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8m2ktcsfr78

She turned off the TV just as the familiar theme tune started to play and the credits began to roll.

'It’s true what they say' she thought tapping the remote thoughtfully against her chin as she pondered on the events that had just been played out before her.

'Sometimes real life does reflect drama, or is it the other way around?'

She cast her mind back to the first time she had seen him.

She rarely came to this park.  It was too perfect, too ordered, the flowerbeds looked like they had been created with cookie cutters.  The serried ranks of flowers and shrubs seemed to go against the course of nature.

Today she sat with her knees up to her chin, her arms wrapped around them, sheltering from the sharp, late spring breeze.  Hidden from view by the pillars of the war memorial.

He passed by her, the loaf of bread in his hand swinging as he walked with a long purposeful stride.  He glanced her way, she shrank back slightly, making herself smaller, tucking her head into her knees, not wanting to be seen.

“Come and feed the ducks with me”.  She looked up to see him standing in front of her.  From her position on the cold stone floor it was impossible to tell how tall he was but she guessed at over 6ft.

His eyes twinkled as he held out his hand.  “Come on, I can’t vouch for the ducks but I promise you, I don’t bite”.

Somehow she had felt helpless to resist and as she placed her cold hand in his and he pulled her up.  Her legs were stiff from being so long in the same position and she stumbled slightly resting her other hand on his chest, feeling the cool, smooth cotton of his shirt under her fingers.  She looked up into his eyes, deep blue and heavily fringed in lashes too long for a man.  Lashes that any woman would kill for.

He caught his breath slightly.  “Come on” he said, “lets stand on the bridge and feed those greedy sods”.

He handed her a slice of bread and she slowly tore it into pieces dropping it into the water to be fought over by the hungry ducks.  'What am I doing' she thought stealing a sideways glance at him only to find his eyes resting on her.

“Its ok” he said with a smile, “I don’t usually do this kind of thing either”.  “What, feed the ducks ?”she said returning his smile.  He laughed, “that too, but I meant asking women I don’t know to feed them with me”.

“Then why” she asked curiously, “why me”?  

“You looked so lost and lonely and ..... and  a little frail”.  At this she laughed out loud.  “I don’t think I’ve ever been called frail before”.  “And beautiful" he said turning his attention back to the ducks,” you looked so bloody beautiful ………….”

In silence they continued to throw the bread to the ducks, the breeze picked up again blowing tendrils of hair across her face.  She shivered slightly.

“Coffee” he announced as he threw the last morsel into the water shaking the crumbs from the bag before screwing it up and forcing it into his pocket.

They walked along the path that led to the golf course and the appropriately named Sand Wedge café.  The tables were set outside in the sunshine sheltered from the wind.

She had an urge to run, she didn’t understand why she was here, and she didn’t know what he wanted from her.

He began to talk, telling her about himself, his work as a solicitor, his love of cars of the countryside of music and films. He told her a little of his loss and his sorrow, opening up to her in ways she suspected he rarely did.  Gradually she stopped being afraid,  her hands wrapped around the steaming mug of coffee her senses soothed by the rough northern undertones of his accent overlaid with the clipped vowels of the public school he slightly self consciously, told her about.

She found herself watching his mouth as he talked.  Full lipped and sensuous.  His hair, so dark and cut very short but with a suspicion of curl.  His hands which he used expressively as he talked had long, square tipped fingers.  The fine hairs on his forearm exposed where he had pushed back his sleeves. The way his eyes crinkled as he smiled.  The furrows between them that told the tale of his sadness.

He asked her gentle probing questions about herself, moving on if she seemed hesitant in her answers.  Interested but not pushing her to places she didn’t want to go.

“Can I see you again” he asked as she gathered her things to leave.  The fear and the doubts returned, “I don’t know” she replied, “maybe”.  “Take my card” he said pressing it into her hand, “call me, please ……..”

She glanced at the card before tucking it into her pocket.  Impulsively she reached forward and kissed him on the cheek whispering, “I will”.  As she pulled away he turned his face and lightly kissed her full on the mouth, “soon, call me soon”.

She paused on the bridge to glance back at him still standing where she had left him, hands in his pockets watching her go.  He smiled and mouthed “soon”.


She couldn't know then how she would break his heart.

She couldn't know then that more than a year later he would still be waiting for her. Wanting to be the one to mend the broken pieces of hers.