SUNDAY SCRIBBLES WRITING PROMPTS: 52 WEEK WRITING CHALLENGE, WEEK 4.
Welcome to Sunday Scribbles!
Today is week 4 of the 52 week writing challenge.
This week, I am doing something slightly different for the writing prompt.
Figment daily prompts are having a competition: Figment Internet Bestie Competition
In less than 2017 words, complete the prompt below:
My (excessively long) list of things to do in 2017 included entering competitions. This will be the first. Entries must be completed by 12th February.
I have included an excerpt from my attempt below. I will include a link to the finished, submitted, version in next weeks Sunday Scribbles post.
My attempt:
Sunlight streamed into the flat, and left in its wake a trail of dust. A young brunette, Brett, perched on the windowsill. Brett brushed his near shoulder length hair behind his ear, and he scrolled through the messages on his phone.
“Wrong, wrong, wrong,” Brett sighed. “Can no one solve a simple riddle?”
His flatmate Edward, who would appear smart, were it not for his untidy blonde hair, came to stand beside Brett at the window.
“Maybe if you made them more simple, someone would understand,” Edward suggested. He loomed over Brett’s shoulder and glanced at the screen.
“Go and be freakishly tall somewhere else, you’re blocking the sun,” Brett complained.
Edward ignored him and wiped his glasses on his tie. “It’s just a bunch of random letters.”
“It’s a cipher,” Brett grumbled. His phone vibrated with a new notification. Brett glanced at it, and a smile played at the corner of his lips. “Ah, so there are clever people left in the world.”
Edward rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response. I’m late for work.”
“You just did!” Brett retorted towards Edward’s retreating back.
Edward shook his head and exited the flat.
“Exit, stage right,” Brett muttered, as he slouched against the window frame.
Well played, but can you solve this? Brett typed out in reply. He accessed the gallery on his phone and uploaded another cipher.
Of course. The stranger, whose blog name was ‘you’ve been lawyered,’ replied.
Solve it then. Brett, under his user name of ‘take me_or leave me,’ sent back.
The response was instant. You do it. All you’ve done so far is post puzzles. You haven’t solved any yourself.
Brett grinned. “Challenge accepted.” He swung his legs around and got to his feet as he typed out a detailed reply.
— -
Every seat in the theatre was empty, save for one in the front row, where a middle aged woman with curly hair sat with a notepad. Brett took a deep breath, and he began to sing. He was halfway through his last performance, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Brett grinned and continued on. When his performance was done, he bowed, and rushed to the edge of the stage.
“Are we ready?” Brett asked, as he craned his neck and tried to glance at the woman’s notepad.
“Better hope so, sweetie. Opening night is only a week away,” the woman, Miranda, their unflappable director, grumbled. “Look, I know that you are excited, but could you tone it down a little on stage? We’re aiming for a mood similar to Les Mis, not Singing in the rain.”
Brett nodded, and his mouth was open to reply when his phone vibrated again. He grinned and pulled it out of his pocket. His blog was open on the very first message from ‘you’ve been lawyered,’ or Harvey, as he had revealed after a few messages.
“You’ve told me that every day for the past two months,” Brett directed towards Miranda, but he glanced at the date of the first message from Harvey when he continued. “Has it really been that long?”
“Whose counting?” Miranda grinned. She snapped her notebook shut.
Brett scrolled through his past messages and grinned at some of the puzzles he had exchanged with his best friend. He glanced at his watch. The notification that he received should be a new challenge. Brett checked the notification, and his face twisted into a scowl.
“Oh, is that our sponsor?” Miranda asked. When Brett nodded, she stood and straightened her hair. ‘Be sure to be polite, won’t you? I’ll be in the office if he needs me.’
“Fine,” Brett grumbled. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and glanced to the side.
A well dressed man with a briefcase made his way onto the stage. The man straightened his tie, and ran a hand through his short golden locks with a flourish.
“Always so dramatic. You should be on stage!” Brett retorted with a roll of his eyes.
“You should answer your phone,’ the man replied, voice smooth as silk. ‘I wanted regular updates. After all, I did fund this little hobby of yours.”
“I’m a rising star in the West End, Charlie. It’s not a hobby!” Brett exclaimed. He folded his arms over his chest and stared the man down.
“For the last time, my name is Charles,” Charles replied, affronted. His eyes roamed over the peeled paint and the broken lights of the theatre, before they settled back on Brett. “You are a minor actor, in a few lesser known musicals.”
“I play a major part. I have fans!” Brett protested.
“Family does not count,” Charles insisted. “You would be much better off if you applied yourself, and made use of your BA in Law. Of course, my firm prefers those with an LLB, but in your case, I could make an exception.”
Charles held his briefcase horizontal and undid the catches. He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Brett.
Brett took one glance at the paper and tore it up. “Not interested.”
“Oh for… You’ve never tried it!” Charles exclaimed.
“After three years in university, I didn’t want to,” Brett muttered. He glanced away towards the seats.
“You know where to find me if you change your mind,” Charles huffed as he walked away. He paused at the exit to the stage, and turned back to regard Brett. “Stay in touch this time.”
Brett rolled his eyes and walked off in the opposite direction. He moved past the changing rooms, and settled down on a table in the break room, phone in hand.
After he had trawled through a few images, Brett grinned. “Got it!” he murmured, and he posted a picture of a man with steam coming out of his ears to his blog.
In the next instant, a comment appeared. Obvious. Your nemesis again?
Brett let out a sigh, and he typed back, Correct. Harvey, King of games.
If we were to compete, it would be a tie. Harvey replied.
I know. Brett admitted. His lips twitched, and he asked, Who has the worst enemy?
There was a slight pause before Harvey replied. You. Mine is just stubborn. Needs to grow up.
Mine thinks he knows what’s best for me. Brett answered. He sighed and brought his feet up to rest on a nearby chair.
The pause was longer this time, and Harvey’s reply was close to the truth. You must have known him a long time, for him to assume that.
Brett leaned back to look up at the ceiling. He took a deep breath, and glanced at his phone as he began to reply. He’s…
Brett turned his head towards the door as Miranda dashed in.
“Did you hear the news?” Miranda gasped. She doubled over and took deep breaths.
“No,” Brett replied, as he pushed away the chair and dropped his feet to the floor.
Miranda straightened. “Really? You were talking to him for ages…”
“He never says anything important,” Brett retorted.
“Oh, behave,” Miranda scolded. “Our fantastic sponsor has arranged for us to perform our opening night at the Apollo!”
Brett groaned, but his eyes lit up. “If he thinks that will change my mind…”
Miranda cut him off. “I think that he’s being nice. You know how much his parents love musicals.”
“Only too well, Miranda,” Brett sighed. He waved as he left the room, and pocketed his phone for now.
— -
“Are you on that blog again?” Edward grumbled, as he gulped down a bite of rice. “Your food will go cold.”
Brett nodded and typed with quick fingers. Do you have a brother?
“Have you ever thought of meeting this guy in person?” Edward suggested.
Brett laughed and shook his head. “The internet is where you go to escape reality, not confront it.”
“Is it?” Edward frowned.
Brett shrugged and tapped his phone on his leg. It vibrated. Brett looked at it and scowled.
“Not Harvey?” Edward guessed. He shovelled some chicken into his mouth.
“No. It’s my sponsor. We had a disagreement.” Brett sighed and deleted the message.
Edward blinked at him. “Just so you know, the healthy way to deal with a disagreement is to talk it through.”
“People don’t talk to their enemies,” Brett insisted.
“Most people don’t even have them,” Edward complained. “You know, my rates are reasonable, if you ever…”
“I do not need therapy, Ed!” Brett stood and waved his phone towards the door. “Don’t you have people who do waiting for you?”
Edward nodded and glanced at the clock. “One day, I’ll finish work early enough to catch one of your shows. You know where to find me if you need me.”
“I won’t,” Brett insisted, as Edward left.
His phone buzzed, and Brett glanced at it with a smile.
Harvey had replied. Yes. Do you live in London too?
Brett hesitated and closed his eyes, before he typed, Yes.
Would you like to meet, Jo? Harvey asked.
Brett smiled at the false name he had given, and tapped his phone against his chin. He glanced at the table, and a flyer for his show caught his eye. Brett grinned, and he replied, Apollo theatre. Next week. 9pm. Wear a red scarf.
In the hall, after the show. You wear blue. Harvey suggested.
See you there. Brett replied. He hesitated, and then followed up with a : )
When he received a : ) in reply, Brett smiled to himself as he went to heat up his dinner.
— -
End Prompt.
There are obscure references to two TV shows in the above work, and one musical. Bonus points if you can spot them!
Sunday Scribbles will return next week!
