The Pen #TwitteringTales

The lawyer set himself up, clicked on his pen and began to write as his client talked. Suddenly, he noticed that his words were disappearing on the page. Frowning, he looked at the pen, it seemed normal enough but it wasn’t, it was filled with invisible ink and his client’s demands had vanished.

 

(Inspired by; https://katmyrman.com/2019/07/16/twittering-tales-145-16-july-2019/ with thanks).

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The Train Station (Part 6)

Train Station

Bridget returned to the train station the next day. Nothing had changed, expect for the people. As she walked along to the coffee shop, someone was playing the piano. Slipping her headphones off, she heard the end notes of a song that sounded like it came from a Disney movie. Trying to figure what it had been, she went into the shop and joined the queue.

It was busy today. The smell of coffee drawing everyone in and the sight of snacks tempting even the strong willed. Bridget fiddled with her headphones, wanting to put them back on but knowing if she did that it would be her turn to order. So, she fell into people watching without really meaning too.

The old man in front of her was holding his glasses to his eyes and looking at the menu. He was leaning slightly on the handle of a suitcase, though trying to act like he was not needing any support. His skin was tanned and wrinkly and there was golden wedding band on his finger. he was wearing cool, loosing fitting cotton clothes and comfy shoes that sort of looked like slippers, but could not have been. He was also muttering the menu under his breath.

Leaving him and looking further down, Bridget saw four other people, one of whom person  seemed to be holding up the line as they could not make up their mind. Bridget started with him, noticing the blue suit he was wearing and the neat hair cut. She thought for a second, she reconsidered him, but then he turned and he was a stranger.

After him were three people waiting for their drinks. They were all woman and two of them seemed to know each other. Bridget could not get a clear view, but she thought they sounded like they were from London. The third woman was wearing a bright summer dress and looking unhappy. Or maybe she just really needed some coffee.

‘Hi, can I take your order, please?’

Bridget snapped around to the man behind the counter and said the first think to come into her head, ‘a caramel latte please.’

‘Size?’

‘Medium with cream,’ she added.

The man nodded and told her the cost. Bridget handed the money over and went to join the small group of people waiting. Once she had her drink, she hurried outside and grabbed any empty chair she could. Sitting down opposite the teenage girl who had let her have the chair, Bridget relaxed.

She looked around the station, hoping to spot Drew or Sas or someone else she had recorded in her notebook. The people before her seemed alien. They were hurrying about in that way she had  become use to, heading to the trains or out of the station. The hum of voices mixed with the sound of trains and also the background sounds of the city that the strong wind was blowing in. The smell of coffee, mingled with engine oil, people and fast food.

Bridget wrapped her hands around her coffee cup and wondered why she had thought she’d ever see them all again. The train station was just a gateway for these people. They came from their homes or places of work, went to wherever they were going in the city then headed back again. Or the other way around. She sighed and without thinking of it dipped a finger into the whipped cream on top of her coffee and licked it off.

The teenage girl soon left, not saying anything else to her, even if she had seen Bridget licking the cream and sipping burning latte nosily. Bridget drew out her notebook and pen. She glanced around, sadly and tried to pick out someone from the crowd.

She just could not do it though. Her head was filled with a vision of those two men meeting and hurrying off. Their story had to be told and somehow she was the one who had to do it.

The Train Station (Part 4)

Train Station

The train station was just as busy as it had been yesterday. Bridget sat at the same table outside the coffee shop, notebook and pen awaiting her. This time though, she was sipping an ice fruit smoothie. Lost in thought, it took her a few seconds to see the man indicating to the empty chair opposite her.

‘Is anyone sitting here? Sorry to trouble you,’ he added.

Bridget glanced to the tables either side of her and saw that they were both occupied. The one on her right had a very large lady reading a thick book sitting at it and the one on the left had a teenage couple, both playing on their phones. Bridget nodded at the man and gratefully he sat down.

‘I was thinking,’ Bridget spoke.

The man looked questioningly at her.

‘That’s why I didn’t notice you,’ she added.

‘Oh. Its fine,’ the man answered.

Bridget smiled and took him in. The man was in his mid-thirties, with black wavy hair and a sculptured face. His nose, cheeks and chin, reminded her of Roman busts. He was wearing a plain t-shirt and jeans and carrying a single bag. He was holding a takeaway coffee cup and taking the lid off the top.

‘Are you waiting for a train?’ he asked.

‘No…I’m…waiting for a friend. Her train is late,’ Bridget answered.

The man nodded, ‘I’ve got a few minutes till mine.’

Bridget stopped herself from asking where he was going and instead put his face into her memory so she could write him up later.

The man turned from her, looking at the train time table board then at the ticket barrier. A train had clearly just come in and a crowd of people were coming through.

Bridget also drew her attention to them. Many seemed to be coming for a Friday night out or to spend the weekend. There were large groups of only men and only women, followed by a small mixed group of barely old enough teenagers. Bridget spotted a Hen party. All the women were wearing sashes that were pink and had silver writing on. They towed small suitcases and were chatting loudly.

Someone started playing chopsticks on the piano. The musical notes rising above the voices and the engines of trains.

Bridget sipped her drink and shot shy glances at the man. There’s no harm in asking him where he’s going, she thought.

A barking dog drew her attention away and she looked up. A woman was running to the ticket gates, holding two dog leads in one hand and suitcase in the other. Her dogs were racing beside her; a boarder collier and a smaller cross mix. She approached the wide gate, waved her train ticket in the guard’s face and was let in. Bridget watched her running to platform six, the dog still barking.

‘I have to go. Hope your friend gets here soon,’ the man said.

Bridget snapped her head back to him, ‘yes. Me too, thanks,’ she muttered.

The man stood, gave her a small wave and left. Bridget’s eyes followed him, noticing how nice his bum looked in those tight jeans.

Placing her drink down, she flipped open her book, wrote the date and title on the top line and started jotting down his description. She recalled as much as possible, adding in the question of where he was going underneath. Finishing up, Bridget looked up and saw a young man pacing before her.

He was checking his phone and when he reached the entrance to the pub he turned and came back. As he reached the entrance to the coffee shop, he turned and walked back again. Bridget watched him, fascinated. He was wearing a t-shirt that was too big that had some cryptic logo on and baggy jeans with scruffy trainers. There was something about the way he was pacing, it was frantic and clearly he was desperately waiting for someone.

Bridget dropped her eyes away and drew a line under what she had just written. With another look up, she began writing about the pacing man. Letting her pen flow across the lined page, she did not think too much about what she was writing. Stealing more glances, she noted down his clothes and how he looked. He had flat, wide cheek bones and a slight tan to his skin. His eyes were dark and constantly on his phone. He was so fixated that he did not notice his longish hair moving downwards over his face.

He stopped suddenly, looking up at the barrier as if he had heard something.

Bridget paused her pen and stared too. A new train load of people had arrived and they were all barraging through. There were too many faces and brightly coloured summer clothes mixed together for her to just focus on one person. So many had come for a night out, yet it had barely hit the afternoon. Families drifted passed with young children and large suitcases. Two middle-aged women stepped off to the side near the pub and began waving the rest of their group over to them.

Bridget regarded the pacing man. His back was completely turned and he was watching the crowd. Or at least she guessed he was. Whilst she studied him, a tall man peeled himself away from everyone else and came over. The pacing man jumped a little on the balls of his feet and slipped his phone away. As the man approached, they hugged and the pacing man went to kiss the other.

‘Not here,’ the other man whispered and quickly withdrew.

‘No one cares, Sas,’ the pacing man muttered.

The man nodded at Bridget, who quickly turned away and grabbed her drink.

‘Well, I don’t care!’

‘Calm down, Drew,’ Sas said quietly.

Bridget slurped the rest of drink and put it down. Her fingers were wet, so she rubbed them on her jeans before picking up her pen again. Moving her hair back with her other hand, Bridget looked secretly at the men. The second one was a lot taller than the first and more muscular. He also had softer cheek bones and plum lips. His hair was a rich brown and floppy. He was wearing tight, low slung jeans and a half open midnight blue shirt.

‘I don’t see why I should! Why are you so later anyway?’ Drew snapped.

‘The trains,’ Sas said with a quick shrug of his shoulders, ‘Do you want to stay here for coffee?’

‘No…let’s find a wine bar,’ Drew demanded.

‘Okay, fine, whatever…’ Sas trailed.

They began walking away, their footsteps mingling with the countless others and becoming lost in the background noise.

Bridget got back to her notebook and began writing furiously.

 

To Be Continued…

Wondering Writer

Writing, Writer, Notes, Pen, Notebook, Book, Girl

She had all these ideas in her head, but every time she tried to write them down they fled like small birds. Pressing her head against the trunk of the tree, she looked up at the chilly February sky. She had hoped that being outside and freezing her bottom off would have removed all the distractions, but the notebook resting on her knees was still empty.

Rubbing her numb fingers, she gripped the pen and wrote a to do list for tomorrow. It’s still writing, she thought, even if it’s not a story. Finishing, she then turned the page and looked around. The park was windswept and no one in their right mind was hanging around this evening.

She spotted an old bent over man walking a small dog. She watched him rounding a bench then heading away. Her mind turned and she wondered about him. What was his life like? What did his past hold? She tapped the page then taking a deep breath just began writing.

The old man could feel the wind biting at his bones. He huddled in his coat and tried to urge the small dog trailing behind him on. Shuffling to the bench, the old man looked with half blind eyes at the plaque nailed to the wood. He couldn’t read it, but he knew by heart the name and date etched into the metal. He let out a deep puff, but secretly inside he uttered a prayer. Tugging the dog on, he headed for the park’s exist and to the memories of what once had been.   

Post It Note #19

You have to live for yourself, Addy wrote on the post it note. She tapped her pen on the desk then added underneath, No one else is going to do it for you. 

Starting Over

Writing, Write, Person, Paperwork, Paper, Notebook

Minty opened her diary and looked at the first page. Her scrawly handwriting in glossy blue ink glared up off the lined paper at her. Eyes skimming the words, she turned the page and flipped through the thirty days of January. Letters blurred before her and she could only pick up a few words; ill, writing, work, night, sleep, mum. 

Reaching the next blank page which was labeled Sunday thirty-first January 2016, Minty took up her pen and began writing. She pressed the fine nip onto the line and created loopy letters. Sighing, she poured her mind onto the paper, not pausing once. The blank lines filled up before her until there was no room left to write.

Minty stabbed a full stop at the end and looked back over what she had written. Putting the lid back on the ink pen and setting it aside, she let the ink dry before closing the fake leather bound A4 book. She tapped the cover then turned to the first page again. She pinched the top edge next to the spine and made a little tear. She held her breath, pressed her lips together as slowly, she ripped the page out.

Holding the loose leaf in her hand, she looked at it then the jagged strip of paper left behind. A sense of doing wrong crept across her, but she shook it off. Setting the page aside, she repeated the pinch and tear on the next one and ripped that out too. Placing the second diary page on top of the first, Minty looked at the third page.

With more determination, she tore the page out and flung it away. The paper fluttered then landed like dying butterfly with only one wing. Quickly, other pages followed, creating a white and blue cover across the carpet. The loud ripping sound all that could be heard in the quiet apartment.

Minty reached January fifteen and paused. Her breathing came out in a rush, her heartbeat echoing in her ears. Trying to stop herself from reading the page, she turned it over and gathered the next four together. She ripped them out as one and sent them scattering behind her.

Another four followed. Falling like autumn leaves to the floor. Minty looked at the date she was now on; the twenty-fourth. The ink glowed across the page, a true record of her thoughts and feelings. She fingered the bottom of the page before sliding over to the other corner and tugging it away from the binding.

Minty ripped the page upwards and out. Setting it on top of page one and two, she gathered the next five together and started to pull them. She struggled against the combined strength of the paper and the tear threatened to jag across instead of up. She stopped, divided the paper with clenched teeth and removed three sheets together. Dumping them on top of the three beside her, Minty found the next two pages came out easily and cleaning.

Placing those down, she tore and yanked out the thirtieth. Letting that fall from her hand, Minty lingered over the page she had just wrote upon. The letters looked slightly smudged on the last few lines. She pressed her fingers underneath and re-read what she had written.

I wish I could start the year over again. Nothing has gone right since that first day. But I don’t know how to do it. How can you remove a whole month from your life without the use of some fancy un-invented science fiction mind device? I need a clean start. Perhaps, there is another way though…

Minty tore out the page and sent it fluttering amongst the others on the floor.

‘And now its done,’ Minty whispered.