Showing posts with label Lesley Whyte. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lesley Whyte. Show all posts

Monday, 3 February 2014

Gravity by Lesley Whyte

"I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation you're in. You can't expect..."

My brain goes spinning off into space. It's a stupid expression, really. What IS the gravity of a situation? I mean, seriously, what does that actually mean? Where does it come from? It's a stupid expression. If we really were in space and there was no gravity, I'd be able to swim away from her super-fast. She'd never catch me. She'd never have managed to get me in her office. I bet I can air-swim a thousand times faster than she can. Of course, I'd have nowhere to go, but still.

She's still talking.

"I'm sorry, what?" I say.

Her lips pinch together. Her eyebrows pinch together. "I think you should probably be paying attention. I mean, you have been arrested for murder."

"I know. And the gravity of the situation is like...super gravity-ish."



Memento by Lesley Whyte

She left her cellphone in my room. A little souvenir, a memento of our time together. Of course, she didn't just leave it on my nightstand or dresser like a normal person would have done. Oh, no, she had to tape it to the underside of my bed. Where I wouldn't see it. Where I wouldn't even know about it until after the cops found it.

Well played, Cass. Well played.



Seven by Lesley Whyte

TO DO
1. Shower
2. Eat breakfast
3. Prep garden
4. Kill Arthur
5. Bury Arthur
6. Shower
7. Wine



Stoker by Lesley Whyte

I walk around and around the dregs of the fire. The heap of ashes are hot, I can feel the heat on my legs from a foot away. They're smouldering gently. I drag the poker behind me, drawing an almost-perfect circle in the black sand. My feet itch and sting, but I have to draw the marks while the ashes are still hot. I can't wait for them to cool. The circle is drawn. I take a breath and then close my eyes as I cross it, my feet sinking into the burning dust. It has to be done. It has to be done. I cross the circle again and again, dragging the poker behind me until a star is drawn in the ash. A pentagram. I stand in the centre and drop the poker. I open my eyes and look up at the starry sky.

And then I wait.



Monday, 27 January 2014

Friends with Kids by Lesley Whyte

"So, what do we have planned for the weekend?"

"Well, Marcy's boy is having his Christening on Saturday morning, then we're supposed to skip out early to go to lunch with Helen and Joel to celebrate their upcoming bundle of joy. Saturday afternoon, we have to go buy a gift for Lena, and we'll have to spend a lot of money because her college friend is getting her the pushchair. You know, the one I showed you online? They don't even talk anymore. We're going to have to really step up our game. I was Googling for ideas all day, but I've got nothing. Anyway, it's her co-ed baby shower on Saturday evening, so we both get to go. Which is kind of nice, actually, and it means we only have to give one gift, unlike at Sarah's shower, when she and Ethan expected separate gifts at their stupid separate parties. And then there's Sunday, which is just-"

"You want to go away this weekend?"

"We can't. People are expecting-"

"So tell them I surprised you. Blame me, I don't care."

"I...really?"

"Yeah. I'm thinking somewhere with a beach that serves cocktails."



Hereafter by Lesley Whyte

"And then you just need to sign here and then we're done. You're completely signed over to us - you don't have to worry about doing anything for yourself anymore. We'll make all your decisions for you, we'll take care of everything. You can just relax and enjoy things. Hereafter, we'll make sure you don't make any mistakes. Won't that be nice?"

I hesitate. I booked my holiday for the wrong weekend. It cost me an absolute fortune. I simply can't be trusted to do things on my own. This is for the best. I don't care that everyone says they want control of people for nefarious reasons. I just know I can't be trusted as we go forward.

I sign the paper.

"There. That was easy, wasn't it? From now on, nothing will be more difficult than that. We'll take care of you, we'll take care of everything."



Clash of the Titans by Lesley Whyte

"We'll come around from the left, they won't be expecting that. Look, see how they've set up ninety per cent of their defences on the right side? Protecting the moutain pass? That's the obvious way into the capital, because it's the stupid answer. I know that sounds silly, but that's warfare for you. Why would we attack them head-on? We'd try and sneak around through the mountains, surprise them, so they'll expect us to do that and in fact they're there, waiting to ambush us. We need to surprise them by doing the obvious. That's how wars are won."

"Dude, it's just a game."

"So?"

"So...stop acting like we're saving the world or something."

"You just don't get it."

"True. Very true."

"I don't think I want to play with you anymore."

"Really, because I'm sure I don't want to play with you."

"Fine, go away, then."

"No. I can sit here."

"I'm on the computer."

"And I'm just sitting near it."

"I hate you. Get away from me."
"No, screw you."

"I'll tell Mum."

"And I'll unplug your stupid game."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

"MUM!"



In Time by Lesley Whyte

I finished the test in record time. Seriously, like twenty seconds. All the other suckers spent aaaages filling in the little circles. Like it's hard. You just have to pick one of the four at random, right?

Right?



Notes on a Scandal by Lesley Whyte

The defendent looks confident. At ease. He's looking around the courtroom as if he owns it. The judge looks bored. From here, I can see him scrolling through Twitter on his phone. From the rest of the courtroom, it probably looks like he's asleep. The key witness is clearly ruffled. Her skin is flushed a bright red as she answers questions. She is clearly uncomfortable discussing the nature of her relationship with the defendent. It's not her fault, she didn't think anyone would find out. But then, I suppose, neither did he, and he looks perfectly comfortable with the way this is playing out.

God, I hope they find him guilty. Slick son of a bitch.



The Lives of Others by Lesley Whyte

Melanie is wearing a green dress today, with strappy sandals. She looks like she's ready for a date, a summer date, despite the fact that it's January and below zero out there. Her skirt wafts around her knees every time the door opens. She keeps checking her phone, anxiously, while she waits for her coffee. He hasn't arrived yet. He's late. She's getting a coffee so that she doesn't look like she's waiting for anyone, she's embarrassed by the fact that he's not here yet. She sat for ten minutes, looking at her phone every few seconds, before she decided to get up and grab a coffee. It's not Melanie's fault that nobody loves her. She's pretty and friendly and fun and outgoing. She should have someone that loves her. There must be something actually wrong with her. Something that chases men away and leaves her sitting alone in coffee shops on Thursday evenings.

David, however, is in a rush today. He's dressed in a suit, but he's undone the tie and his top button. His cheeks are decorated in black stubble, but his hair's greying at the temples. His cheeks are pink from the cold, but his skin is grey everywhere else. He's been struggling recently, since losing his job. Nobody is hiring right now. He can't afford that triple-shot expresso he's waiting for. He used to jiggle his keys in his hands while he waited, but he doesn't anymore. He sold the car. He sold his pride and joy, a silver Ferrari. He's stopped wearing his wedding ring, too. Poor David. He grabs his coffee without thanking Hayley, the barista who works at the coffee shop and the music store downtown, when she's not studying for her psychology degree.

"Natalie!" A shout comes from the kitchen.

Hayley hurries through the door, and I hear someone, a man, telling her to take the muffins out before they burn. Huh. I always thought she looked like a Hayley.



Saturday, 25 January 2014

Easy A by Lesley Whyte

It was so easy.

Too easy.

I can only imagine what would happen if I actually worked hard and studied for class. I'd be unstoppable.So, okay, yes, I got caught switching my paper with Emily Taylor's, but spotting the opportunity to do it was pretty damn special. Not everyone would have had the intellect, the quick wit, the fortitude to erase Emily's name as she passed her test forward and write my own on it.

Okay, so I don't technically know what fortitude means, but whatever.



The Lion King by Lesley Whyte

"Why's it called The Lion King?"

"Because the lion is the king of the jungle."

"Lions don't live in the jungle."

"I...shut up."



Sunday, 19 January 2014

Watchmen by Lesley Whyte

The dials spin and click and tick. Tick tick tick. No tock. Never a tock. Just tick tick tick. Everything fits together, each piece a perfect piece. The dials spin and click and tick. It looks so delicate and intricate, and it is, it truly is, but it's also maddeningly simple. Anyone could put this together if they took the time and the care to try. But they won't. Because people are maddeningly simple. I spin the dial and all the others move, ticking around and around and around. Tick tick tick. They said it couldn't be done. They said I was mad. But it's ready. They're ready. My clockwork army. Ready to take on the world. Just listen to them click and tick. Tick tick tick.



Saturday, 18 January 2014

The Conjuring by Lesley Whyte

When he produced the rabbit from his hat, we applauded.

When he cut the lady in half, we cheered.

When he impaled Uncle George, we laughed.

When he levitated Aunt Miriam, we gasped.

When he made Great-Gran crawl out of her own grave, we screamed and ran until our legs hurt and our lungs felt like they were going to burst.

When we saw on the news that Great-Gran ate the magician and then disappeared, we decided it was time to change our surname and skip town.



The Rum Diary by Lesley Whyte

DAY FOUR
Things are getting tense. We're running out of food, but there's still plenty of rum. Jimmy's decided we need to ration it, he says we won't survive if we keep drinking but don't eat enough. We'll be sick and then we'll be stupid and then we'll die. I think we should eat Jimmy first.


DAY EIGHT
Amelia and I had sex. Running out of rum, too.


DAY FIFTEEN
The food is gone. I hope I never see rum again. Amelia's being a clingy bitch. Something about her being the last woman on earth and how I should feel privileged that she chose me from the group.


DAY SEVENTEEN
New arrivals. No food. No water. No rum. Four new women.


DAY TWENTY-SEVEN
We had to eat Amelia.



Leaving Las Vegas by Lesley Whyte

The dazzling lights, the tinkling of slot machines paying out, the cheering people crowded around the craps tables. The whole place is bright, colourful, dizzying. Magical. It's packed tight with people and the noise is unbelievable. I've been out here for a year now and I still haven't gotten used to it. I weave through packs of guests, distributing colourful cocktails and clearing empty glasses. I'm as much a part of the place as the dealers, the pit bosses and the pirate ship.

I'm nobody, just another face, but I'm a part of things.

Without me, that high roller wouldn't get his champagne.
Without me, the bride-to-be would remember this trip.
Without me, lounge singer would lose her voice.

I've never been important before. I've never been an integral part of anything. I might be a small part, a very small part, but I matter. I do. And I've never had that before. It's an amazing feeling. So amazing that even after a year of being out here, sleeping in grubby motel rooms and serving drinks to people who don't even glance at my face, I still feel excited every time I set foot on the casino floor.

I just hope my parents don't track me down.

I'm not ready to go back home to Indiana just yet.



Wednesday, 15 January 2014

Gone in 60 Seconds by Lesley Whyte

This is torture.

"What was that? What? I can't hear him. What's he saying?"

"I don't know, I can only hear you."

Seriously, they could use my father to torture dictators into giving up their secrets. Or, you know, killing themselves to end their suffering. It's not a bad idea. I think longingly of the Remington 783 in our garage. Assuming they haven't changed the combination for the locker, I could have that sucker in my hands in seconds. I could end this torture. I could be gone in just sixty seconds.



Tuesday, 14 January 2014

127 Hours by Lesley Whyte

127 hours.

That's how long the journey takes. It sounds like a long time, but that's what...like, five days? Five days is nothing. A blip. And you'll be asleep for most of it. If you think about it, you won't even be aware of what's happening. You'll be fast asleep and dreaming. It'll be nice. Peaceful. You'll feel so rested when you wake up, ready to face anything. You'll wake up fresh and ready to face the brand new world when you arrive.

At least, that's what I've been trying to convince myself of. It all goes flying out of my head when they approach me with the tube that fills my lungs with that horrible cold gunk. Cryogenic liquid, they called it in briefing. Horrible cold gunk is more appropriate.

127 hours.

Five days.

Just five days, Mags. You can do it.



Monday, 13 January 2014

Harsh Times by Lesley Whyte

It was just so unexpected, really. I mean, I can't believe he'd do that to me. What kind of father just cuts up your credit cards? I know things have been difficult since he lost his job, but really, what am I supposed to do now? He told me to get a job. A job. Can you believe that? He doesn't even have a job and now he expects me to get one.

Watermelon Sunrise, please.

He says I'm going to have to start paying my own rent, that I'll probably have to find a cheaper place to live. He wants me to leave my home. I've had to sell everything. Everything. My car, my jewellery, my couture. It's barbaric. This is the last luxury I have left, getting my nails done. Who knows when I'll be able to afford it again? I might have to start painting my own. I mean, can you imagine? What kind of lawless heathen actually paints nails?

Oh, no offence, Mara.



Sunday, 12 January 2014

The Next Three Days by Lesley Whyte

The next three days are vital. Everything has to be perfect. You have so much to plan. You don't have much time to do it in. You can't allow this stuff to go unplanned. Can you imagine what will happen if you do? Can you? You can't let that happen. You can't. It will ruin everything.

EVERYTHING.

So, with that in mind, which centrepieces do you prefer?