At the beginning of this month I wrote two different stories for the Australian Writers’ centre Furious Fiction competition. The the first one, entitled Yeezy Does It, I did not enter into the competition, but did post to this site a couple of days later. The second one, titled Reservations, I did enter, though not until I had a go at a second draft.
Below is that second draft; the draft that I submitted. Unfortunately for me, I did not win the prize. Perhaps I should have submitted Yeezy does It? The first draft I have already posted to this site, you can read it here if you’re interested in comparing and contrasting the two. I think I prefer this one.
If you want a reminder of the criteria that needed to be met, they were as follows:
- Your story must begin in some kind of queue.
- Your story must include the words CROSS, DROP and LUCKY
- Your story must include a map
Having just typed them out again, I realise that my story, the one below, doesn’t actually include a map, only a reference to a map. Could that be why this story didn’t win?
Oh well.
“If you run away, you can go anywhere, be anyone,” she told me as we followed the lead of the couple in front of us and inched closer to the front of the restaurant.
It was a pleasant evening, and the line wasn’t all that long, though we still weren’t guaranteed entry.
“That’d be nice,” I replied after a beat, my thoughts somewhat occupied by the question of whether we would be lucky enough to get a table.
“You don’t think so?” she asked, genuinely curious.
“I think it might be a bit more complicated than that.”
“Complicated how?”
I thought about this for a moment. This wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have right now, but it looked like we were having it anyway. And there wasn’t much I could do about it without appearing rude. A lot of our conversations went this way.
“Maybe complicated isn’t the right word. Maybe I meant difficult? I think it might be a bit more difficult than that.”
“Difficult how?
“Are you going to have a stall at the market this week?” I asked reluctant to pursue topic any further.
This was another hallmark of our conversations. Whenever things got uncomfortable, for whatever reason, the person in the most discomfort would change the subject and nine time out of ten the other person would go along with it, no questions asked.
“I was thinking about it, but I don’t know if I’ll be organised in time,” she replied, “And don’t try to change the subject.”
We took another step forward and watched as a group of four people a couple of metres in front of us haggled with the Maître d’. I wasn’t sure where to take the conversation.
“If you want me to drop it, then tell me to drop it,” she replied, “I thought this would be an interesting thought exercise, but don’t want you to be in one of your moods tonight.”
It was a little too late, we were both already in a bit of a mood, but not so far gone that we couldn’t still salvage the evening. I decided to do the mature thing and fully engage her.
“Okay then, “I started, “the first thing I would need is a map.”
“A map?”
“Yeah, you can’t run away without a map!“ I replied with a cheeky smile.
I could sense that she sensed the change in my demeanour. It was one of those things that you pick-up quite naturally over the course of a long friendship.
“I can make you a map,”
“I would like that.”
“I’ll even put a cross on there. To mark the spot of the treasure, or whatever it is you’re looking for.”
“What am I looking for?”
We had reached the front of the line and the host motioned us forward.
“Well, that’s the real question, isn’t it?” she said as we walked right past the Maître d’ and the restaurant and kept on our way.
James Farish-Carradice
Small Tall Tales 