This was a short piece of creative writing I had to do. The brief was to place your character in a heaven or hell scenario. Enjoy.
Sheila sat at her table, the nylon upholstery of her chair prickled the backs of her thighs and she wondered how soon she could politely retire to bed. Her dress was tight and uncomfortable; her feet ached in a pair of nosebleed heels, and her Spanx underwear was causing her considerable discomfort. The function room was dark but illuminated by glitterballs and the odd roving laser from the apparently impressive and state of the art, live from Las Vegas, lighting display. A corner of the room had been remodelled as a stage for enthusiastic executives. Buoyed up by their recent awards they were singing along to Pulp or Abba or Black Eyed Peas. On no occasion, so far, had a single version been improved upon.
A wandering magician headed towards her table, taking pity on her single status. No doubt, he thought, she was unable to join the others due to some terrible affliction. One look at the very threatening glare in Sheila’s eyes and he revised his opinion and veered off towards a more welcoming table.
She stretched her legs out and leaned her body back over the chair flinging her arms out in a grimace. Such an overt gesture might have caused more comment had it not been for the fact that two girls were dancing on chairs at the next table, and over by the bar, the Head of Global Acquisitions was attempting to dance with a pole. As the pole was, in reality, a door handle, the dance was proving less than successful but also quite moving. It was the highlight of a low, low evening, watching Julian pull and grind as the door swung open, knocking him to the wall. If his intoxication was not already demonstrated by the fact of his initial choice of dance partner, it was further advanced by the fact that having hit the wall, he continued with the dance.
As an award winner, Shelia had had no choice but to attend. Had she known what award she had actually won, “True Grit”, she would have developed a migraine or a tummy bug or Ebola. Anything to avoid standing in front of a crowd of people sympathetically clucking at her and then giving her a standing ovation. If she heard the phrase “dear of her” one more time she was convinced she would punch someone.
Two sales execs banged into her table on the way to the bar
“Cheer up love, it might never happen!”
In a panto whisper, his friend shouted her name to him “That’s Sheila Dunlaney you prat.”
“Oh, my bad.” and in a fit of giggles, he stumbled on to the bar. His mate looked embarrassed on his behalf but also unsure of how to proceed given his own inebriation. “Come and have a drink with us, it’ll be fun.” His relief evident, as she declined with a tight smile.
Suddenly all eyes turned to the podium as the Sales Department took to the mikes and the opening bars of “New York” boomed out across the room.
Sheila exited stage left.
Liz Hurley as well as being the owner of this blog, runs a bookshop in Cornwall, right by the sea and writes books. You can buy them in her shop (of course), Waterstones and other outlets, as well as Amazon.
When she’s not reading, she’s writing and when she’s not writing, she’s walking. And when she’s not doing any of that she’s binging on box sets and sleeping.
This website is for her fictional works. Her Cornish non-fiction titles and walking guides can be found at www.dreamingofcornwall.com