Ode to a Dead Swan

“Look, a dead swan”. Rupert had been dragged on this cruise down the Thames by his support group at the local community center. His sponsor had thought the outing would air his increasingly dark thoughts and misanthropy, and perhaps provide a hiatus in a series of breakdowns. The day had been uneventful until a dead swan came floating by, clad in death and no longer white. This had deeply agitated Rupert. While no one was looking, he’d snuck over the railing of the boat, looked back at the others with a wide grin, deployed his arms as if holding on to a parachute, and jumped. To everyone’s surprise, they looked out the window to see Rupert surfing on the back of the dead swan, sporting the latest dude attitude.

[In loving memory of that beautiful swan that chose its resting place by my house at chelsea bridge]

House of Diamonds - part 2

[the aim of this exercise for my creative writing class was to write the opening page for a story entitled House of Diamonds]

No sooner had he pronounced the 'op' in shop that a disastrous crash shook the walls of our backroom studio – not yet soundproofed. The shatter of glass and Adele’s squeals provided great atmospheric sound for our recording as Marc continued taping his live account of the happenings:

“a fantastic event has occurred at the House of Diamonds today, as the notorious Kent robbers stoop into our place of business like hungry pterodactyls to their prey. The first casualty is Adele Bremner of Seven Oaks, Kent”.

Interrupted by the belligerent interlopers, Marc looked up to find them searching the corridor leading to the backroom. There were three men in red hoods, their faces hidden by animal masks from our newsagents’ Halloween stock. They didn’t seem interested in the till which they’d skidded past, over the debris, at the entrance of the shop. Instead, they appeared to be in search of a hidden treasure unknown to us.

As I wondered what Aunt Marnie could well be hiding from us, and as Marc resumed his commentary, I heard a deep voice emerge from one of the masked figures. He was repeating a word that at first sounded to me like Garamond, or was it almond. Marc too picked up on this unfamiliar sound, and as he repeated it into his microphone, it all of a sudden struck me that the word was in fact diamond. Yes, these effete gatecrashers seemed very much misinformed as to the nature of our trade. They never suspected us to be hairdressers, or talented radio broadcasters, or even air freshener designers, but had, for some obscure reason, deemed us to be diamond merchants!

Along with my realization, came theirs, and they instantaneously about turned and traipsed out leaving behind them a collapsed front window and Adele Bremner.

The following story – should Adele ever be revived – will recount the adventures of investigators extraordinaire Marc , Shirley (myself) and Mrs Bremner of Seven Oaks, Kent, as we attempt to track down the House of Diamonds intruders.