Perfect Crime
He’d dabbled in fiction. Wrote numerous short stories. Half novels. Story ideas. Tampered in dreams, followed threads of voices of characters in his head. Voices of life, cacophony of humanity clamoring to get out, have their stories told.
But daily life kept them trapped. His daily life. Children. Wife. Society’s demands. He’d met most of those demands head on, scrimping time away, time to write. But never finished.
Until one day he’d finally finished something.
And the time presented itself.
He looked out from behind scruffy brows, haunted eyes.
Prison guard handed him his 8X10 writing pad. A pencil.
Wrote.
- Category: True Stories Told As Fiction
4 comments add one below
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Richard Charles Davidson about 7 years ago
As we all don't have enough time to write, (I know I don't) I started something here. If any one wants to continue this theme, tag it Time To Write with the # and it might be interesting. If no one is interested, leave this can be a one off theme piece.
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Alex Munro about 7 years ago
Thoroughly enjoyed this. Wonderfully told, and I'm sure it'll ring true with a lot of struggling writers. Particularly liked the line 'cacophony of humanity clamoring to get out'. If I can get my finger out of wherever my finger is buried, I may well try to continue this theme.
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D.M. about 7 years ago
Almost a luxury to be somewhere with no distractions and nothing else to do but write! You've presented an interesting challenge here.
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Alex Munro about 7 years ago
Ok Richard. Have risen to the challenge and written number 2.
