You can write a story in five minutes
I love reading and writing, and I instinctively prefer reading non-fiction — from delving into the history of different cultures to getting under the skin of people’s journeys across the world to recipes! All of my blogs are non-fiction too. At the same time, I love learning creative ways to do things, to stretch my imagination, so I’ve been on a creative writing course at London Met and this is my first attempt at the start of a fictional story…
A tale of two votes
Love at first sight she thought. They had met while queuing up for Greek souvlaki at West Norwood Feast back in the summer of 2016, chilli sauce for Dave, veggie for Flora. The cook had got the orders wrong and given her the spicy version and him the non-meat version.
He found the wrap relatively banal and she, well…she has gone as red as the chillies in the souvlaki and collapsed. Just behind her, he picked her up and asked if she was OK.
…She could barely breathe! He gazed at her longingly, visualising them holding hands, walking around the park, with a couple of children in tow and a dog. She looked up at him, imagining a knight in shining armour, saving her from the devil that was a malagueta chilli.
As they both looked at each other, their hearts pumping, an off duty nurse — Malia stopped in mid-song from the gospel choir she was singing in and rushed to the rescue of Flora. After giving her anti-histamine tablets and lots of water, Malia reassured Flora, “those malaguetas are killers and I know…they come from the same country I’m from”.
Flora, back to her senses, perked up “Where are you from?” Cap Verde, Malia responded. “but really I’m from the NHS”. Flora laughed “well then, you’ve won the jackpot, you’ll be getting £350m a week due to Brexit!” Malia laughed. Flora retorted “Only idiots who voted Brexit believe that“ and looked charmingly at Dave. Dave looked back, with dagger eyes and muttered “yeah…only idiots” and walked off with his head down. He’d had enough of Remoaners belittling him and his people. He couldn’t recognise his country anymore. It was time to get away from all of this, maybe exile to the Costa del Sol