Friday, 21 February 2014

Afraid of spoons

Another 15 minute practice from The Write Practice


Photograph Creative Commons (Pearlzenith)

The prompt: For as long as he could remember, he had been afraid of spoons.

....
Their continuous lip sneering 360 degrees of sharpened steel. The threat of their pennywise concave reflection, promising horror and nightmares. Steven turned away from the table. Nausea tickled the back of his throat. 

"Eat your soup," she said, "it's delicious."

He smiled and wiped his clammy hands across his trousers.
"I'm not that hungry," he lied.

The soup spoon glinted in the light. Tracey scooped  a full spoon of bean soup and lifted it slowly  to her mouth. She sipped then slurped then wrapped her mouth around the  full belly of stainless cutlery.
Steven gagged. The knot in his stomach ground against his ribs. He looked to the door.

"I need to go," he said " I have things to do."
"Here try this it's delicious," Tracey leaned across the table, smiling, holding out a full spoon of steaming soup.

"No for goodness sake. Get it away from me." Steven swiped the leering lip of steel from Tracey's grip. Mixed beans slopped across the white linen and hot soupy stock sprayed across the floor.

"Keep that spoon a way from me. Keep it away," he hissed pushing away from the table. His chair fell backwards, Tracey shrieked and dropped the steel implement. The spoon landed on Stevens  cutlery, flicked the silver stem of his own soup spoon and pushed the concave steely head wobbling toward the edge of the table.

 "They're dangerous," he cried " you just can't trust them."
"Who?"
"The spoons, the spoons."
"What? Are you for real?" Tracey laughed and shook her blonde hair back over her shoulders. "You're crazy."

"I'm crazy? You're the one using a spoon." Steven's voice was almost a whisper.
"Get away from the table. Get away now."