Lucia Whitely

“The Car” by Lucia Whitely

Submitted to Contest #209

 There was nothing really special about the car until you stepped inside it. From the outside it was just another plain matt black car with a slight dent on the left hand side of the bumper nut when you entered the car it shone but not in a glossy way. It shone from the love that had gone into the car from its owners. You could instantly tell by looking at the car that it was a car that had been religiously taken into a drive-through car wash every Sunday and then rubbed with a chammy cloth by its owner until not a miniscule speck of du...

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“The Dysfunctional Family” by Lucia Whitely

The twenty-year old was reading a book of proportions, so magnanimous was its meaning that he could not understand what was being said, the elusive meaning, but he read it, most words going over his head, but to everyone around him he seemed to be understanding what he was reading, judging by the odd chuckle and eyebrow raise that emerged from his reading corner, quite like a hermit’s cave, whilst he imagined his summer that just past and his unfortunate return to university and the lectures that he also did not understand what was being sai...

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“The Dysfunctional Family” by Lucia Whitely

The twenty-year old was reading a book of proportions, so magnanimous was its meaning that he could not understand what was being said, the elusive meaning, but he read it, most words going over his head, but to everyone around him he seemed to be understanding what he was reading, judging by the odd chuckle and eyebrow raise that emerged from his reading corner, quite like a hermit’s cave, whilst he imagined his summer that just past and his unfortunate return to university and the lectures that he also did not understand what was being sai...

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“Pretentious” by Lucia Whitely

Submitted to Contest #162

The leather-bound menu card was starting to show signs of my sweaty fingerprints. My knuckles were slowly going white from the exertion of trying to sit still and not run around crying, 'FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.' My friend watched me anxiously. I did not want to let her down as I had so many times before, embarrassing her in public with my actions or words. I felt beads of sweat pouring down my face like I was standing in a lukewarm tepid shower and knew that it was any second before my make-up was going to mingle with that perspiration. I neede...

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“One foot in front of the other” by Lucia Whitely

Submitted to Contest #160

Balancing across the cracked ground. A thin line to walk. Feet burning hot, soles pressing firmly onto the cracked baked surface. Another one hundred yards, roughly to go. Sounds of your breathing only. Pain racks you from head to toe but you walk on. You must. Your mind cannot wander as one false step and the precious drops of water you have been carrying will trickle away. Sucked into the dehydrated ground and again thirst will come for you. The thin stretch of ground you balance on acts as a bridge across the dried-up ravine, which has ...

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“One What?” by Lucia Whitely

Submitted to Contest #141

Marshall thought that this week's extravaganza was an excellently exotic exacerbation of the portrayal of the human mind. He believed that every stop of the show-stopping stoppers had been pulled which had achieved a show-stoppingly beautiful show. It was to be graceful and ginormous, gargantuan and gorgeous. His mouth salivated at the thought of the applause. Nobody could ever exceed this festivity that was festooned with money and a ghastly sense of taste and could bring about as much joy as a moist, muggy, damp sock in a child's Christmas...

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“The emails about my grandmother” by Lucia Whitely

Submitted to Contest #140

Dear Charlie, There is something not right with me. I’m not sure what it is. The doctor keeps telling me but I never remember what he says. It is not right that they are keeping me here. It is like a prison, they are watching me every day, every moment forcing food down my throat every second. Why can’t they just leave me alone? I can look after myself. Why don’t you ever come and visit me? Anyway, love to your mum. Hope to see you soon.  Love,  Gran  Hi Gran,  Don’t worry you are not in prison. You are in a care home...

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“The Dog That Was Called Butter” by Lucia Whitely

Submitted to Contest #139

The Dog That Was Called Butter 12th June xxxx Today was meant to be the day. The day that I had marked on my calendar with a massive red circle and had poked a hole through with my pen forcefully by mistake. Everyone kept asking me questions and it all became very stressful very quickly. My equanimity went out of the window. My friends laughed at me as I first went brick-red, then a sort of eggplant purple before ending up as a crumple on the floor like a crushed drinking can, who had to be given a glass of water and a biscuit while a ki...

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