Attempt #1

Ok, this is pretty rubbish, but I wrote it in 15 minutes. Any feedback is welcome.


Today is the day that Hans is going to tell one of his clients that he is in love with her. He wants to tell her that he loves everything about her: her slightly crooked front teeth, the fine hair above her lip, the fake laugh she does whenever he says something vaguely amusing, her habit of tipping him despite the fact none of his other clients did. She seemed more interested in him as a person than the other women did. They’d get him round once a week, let him go about his business, rarely saying anything to him and when he’d finished they’d let Hans leave with nothing more than a perfunctory ‘thank you’. It was different with Irma though.

He stands in the garden, occasionally peering into the well kept flowerbeds, rehearsing his speech over and over in his head. She is nowhere to be seen but he knows that Irma, his Irma, is in there somewhere. Hans picks a flower for her and waits for the chance to make his confession (sometimes one declares love other times one must confess it). He is not considering the possibility of a rebuffed advance, he is sure she feels the same. There is something in the way she glances at him, he thinks, something that lets him know that the relationship they have is more than a simple boss and employee situation.

Fifteen minutes pass, Hans is beginning to worry slightly. Perhaps she’s gone out for the day (he had let himself into the garden)? What if she’s avoiding him? No, no he reasons, she has no reason to do that. He thinks about leaving, begins to walk towards the gate. She knocks on the window, he smiles and waves over at her. She is beckoning him inside. They are sat in the kitchen together. Hans wants it all to come out now, he is stopping himself from blurting everything out, love, marriage, children, eternal happiness, everything. Irma offers him a cup of tea which he declines. He is sitting watching her prepare a drink for herself. He says nothing. She turns to him, opens her mouth to talk. The words aren’t coming out and she looks down at her shoes.

‘Yes, Irma?’
‘The thing is, Hans, well,’ Irma pauses, unsure of what to say next. Hans is looking directly at her praying that she is going to say what he hopes she will, ‘I think I might have to find someone new. You know, to replace you. I’m sorry. I want the modernise the garden. You would be better suited to a less contemporary woman.’

Hans says nothing, places the flower he had picked for her on the table, reaches for his trowel, doffs his cap to Irma and leaves. He vows to never fall in love again. He is too old for this shit.

MISSION STATEMENT

Hi

This blog will provide me with a space for my creative writing stuff. I aim to limit myself to writing complete short stories that are five hundred words, or less, long. They probably won't be great, but I need to keep myself writing over the summer. Hope you enjoy them.

Have a photo of my looking like an author hard at work: