The last part of a short story (well, short-ish) set along the Thames riverbank…
Okay folks, the final installment of my practise run. A little rough around the edges but I’m quite pleased with it. The point was to write something spontaneously, without all the months of planning that I usually put into a novel. Quite an experience, and I think I learned why I tend to plan stuff in so much detail: procrastination mainly, but also I need a plan so I have an ending. I’m not sure the Early Springer’s Book Club has an end; I think it might have just… stopped. What do you think?
Derek thought he was on a conveyor, one that was moving in the opposite direction to his feet. He was walking as fast as he could, and the school gates steadfastly refused to get any closer. His legs felt like lead, his eyelids drooped no matter how hard he tried to keep the open.
Eight times, he thought to himself. Eight times in one night. He yawned and his eyes watered. He had cramps, in both hands, and his Problem was quite sore.
‘My friend, you really need to lay off it for a couple of days.’
Tony Harrington-Speed fell in step beside him. ‘No what day it is today, Smithy old mate?’
Derek said that he had no idea.
‘Friday, sport; payday.’