The Written Word Group

  The blindfold was yanked off, pulling at strands of my hair.  I was pushed down onto a hard chair. “How many times do you have to be told? This is not your patch, it’s ours.  I don’t want to hurt you but you leave me with no other option” the man said calmly. “No, no, let’s discuss this, I’m sure we can come to some arrangement” “Nope, I’m done with talking. You’re taking the piss and now you need to be taught a lesson” He pulled a coil of thick rope from his backpack and threw it to the other man  who had been standing behind me all this time. “Tie him up”  “No, no, please, this is crazy, can't we just talk?” I sounded pathetic. I surged forwards, desperate to get off the chair. I couldn't let myself be tied up.  I wasn’t quick enough. I was grabbed and pulled back down. “Jesus christ, really? Are you serious?” I screamed. I had to find a way to stop the situation from getting worse. “Look, Simon is it? I’m sorry, okay? I messed up.  Only, I hadn't ...

  I did not want to get in the car.  I remember thinking clearly, this is not a good idea.  But he was very persuasive and seemingly so inoffensive, the heat was intense and my feet were hurting .   I clambered into the passenger seat and we took off.  Neither of us spoke for what seemed an age, until I began to feel a little uncomfortable.      “ So what have you been doing since university, Charles?” i enquired, more from politeness than interest .   We had been at the same school , though he was more into the sciences while I definitely leaned towards  the humanities .  We had had very little to do with each other throughout our years there and I was somewhat surprised but not unduly bothered to find him in the same college as me at Cambridge .   Again our studies kept us separate – mercifully, I thought unkindly – because I found him rather strange , not at all my type.   “I’v got my own co...

  NEXT OPEN MIC FOR WRITERS. The next Open Mic event, organised by The Written Word Group, is Wednesday 8th May at 1.30pm, The Kubatin - behind Hostal Mesón, Arboleas. Please contact us if you would like to read out a piece of your original work. Maximum 500 words. Entry is free. The Written Word Group is a supportive space for any writer, at any level, to be part of. There are no ego's, no one has an agenda, it really is a place for open, honest communication.                                                             Email: thewrittenwordgroup.albox@gmail.com

                The Performance.   A short story by Charles Roberts   “How did tonight’s performance go?   Was it a good?   Did the audience enjoy it?   Did you get a standing ovation?”           “All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages. At first the infant, mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.   And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel, And shining morning face, creeping like snail unwillingly to school. And then the lover, sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, seeking the bubble reputation even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice, i...