Friday October 5th, 2012

The exercise:

Write four lines of prose about: the basement.

Because I was just digging around ours for winter clothing. The dark times are indeed upon us.

Even with half the garden killed by frost, there was still a lot of harvesting to be done today. Perhaps not in quantity, but certainly in weight. Pumpkins, squash, potatoes... really the only light thing I picked were the leeks.

Hoping for a good market with the Thanksgiving long weekend bringing people into town. We've certainly got enough apples in the back of the truck to feed them all.

Mine:

When Sally heard the door close behind her as she descended the stairs, she wasn't concerned. She'd forgotten to put the doorstop in place, but it wasn't like the basement door locked automatically or anything.

When she heard Owen, her four-year-old son, stomp through the kitchen on his way to the door she began to worry, as she didn't want him to take a tumble in an attempt to follow her.

But Sally's concern didn't fully blossom into panic until she heard Owen fumble the lock into place.

3 comments:

Greg said...

I guess it makes sense that the things that survive the frost are the large things and the things buried in the ground, but I know how heavy they can get :) Well, it can only be a couple of weeks now before you do shut up shop and start ploughing things under to rest for winter! Are you going to hold any of the squash back for Hallowe'en?
Sally's not having a lot of luck is she? And Owen's so well-behaved he even locks the door when it's not supposed to be open... that's a very careful child who's likely to end up an orphan!

The basement
"And your rooms will be B102 and B104," said the hotel receptionist cheerfully, producing two keys that looked like they'd unlock closets of cleaning supplies.
"Uh, B?" said Darryl, his heavy, jowly face starting to darken with blood.
"Basement," said the receptionist, stepping discreetly away from the counter and out of reach, "which is much higher than sub-basements one to four, cellars one to six, and the bilges. Which, incidentally, is where breakfast is held."

writebite said...

marc... chillingly real.
greg... nice one, i love the sublevels. reminds me of a hotel i once stayed at in London where, during breakfast, you could hear the trains on the Tube rumble on their morning journey. weird.

mine...


The Basement (dwp)

Every day I went in, sorting out the scarves, folding them as I liked to do and placing them in groups of  colours and textures. I repeated this motion ad infinitum during the day as non-thinking customers pulled my display apart as they rifled through the assortment and didn’t buy anything anyway.
One day I caught a credit card thief by ringing through a number I thought was suspicious and this brought me accolades from the store manager.
I was offered an apprenticeship in managament after that but kindly declined the offer because working in the bargain basement of a department store until I turned sixty would have done my head in, I think.

Marc said...

Greg - yeah, we're saving the bigger pumpkins for later in the month, as well as some of the funkier ornamental squash.

That doesn't sound like a hotel I'd want to stay in. Unless I was lucky enough to get an above ground room.

And didn't have to eat breakfast there.

Writebite - hah, that sounds like a pretty unpleasant hotel as well!

I think that would do my head in as well.

I always feel bad when I leave a display rack messier than I found it :/