The following is an exercise I did for a Creative Writing Class, and I thought I would share it here. I set myself the task of constructing a story where every sentence had to have five words exactly, with one sentence allowed more than five words. The picture above is from a trip I took to Bennachie in Scotland.

The moor sucked us dry. Irritable, dependent, we drank juice. Mine balanced on the wheel. Hers clutched between her knees. The week had passed slowly. No electricity, no heat, nothing. We had got by, though. Baths in a copper basin. Tea was beans, cold, brown. Fused like dripping frost, hard. We were too far north. Her hands froze on the bedpost. Fire became the next goal. Ticking, ticking, the clock sighed. Soon we could go home. So here we are, now. I quite enjoyed it, actually. I don’t think she did. Her skin is papery, almost see-through. I pop the bubble quietly.

“Looking forward to a bath?”

“Hmm, let me think, Michael.”

“Look, we had fun, yeah? Something different, at least, darling.”

“I don’t want different, alright?”

“What do you want, then?”

“Something that doesn’t cut corners.”

“We didn’t cut any corners!”

“That’s because there were none! We nearly froze to death.”

“I’m good with the fire! Was like, I don’t know. Cold Mountain, snow coming down.”

“There wasn’t any fucking snow! Just rain, and Jim’s promise. ‘Snug as a bug, guys.’”

“Leave Jim out of this.”

“He sent us here, arsehole! He just likes to annoy-”

“He’s alright, he’s my uncle. And we didn’t die, so…”

“Great. That’s just great, Mike. “

The lane rolled out, promising. The A3 wasn’t that far.

She screamed first, I think. The child wore a hood. I never saw its face. All in red, blue shoes. I remember that, after all. Blue shoes, tights all torn. Right in the middle, waiting. Hands all limp and veined.

Next thing, no light above. Just black cuts and dripping. I managed to climb out. My leg felt sticky, webbed. My neck hurt, couldn’t bend. Where was the fucking kid? Where had she gone to? I heard a groan inside. I pulled her out, unconscious. There was a long gash. I couldn’t look at it. My phone had no battery. The car might make it. I was not too sure.

Why didn’t she move aside?

Did I hit her instead?

There’s no blood, no child. Only us, and the lane.

I think I see something. It moves, flickering, round the next bend, and dashes away. It’s dark for three o’clock.

I put blankets on her. She should be safe there. At least until I’m back.

I begin to walk, limping. I still can’t look down. But that’s absolutely fine, really. I’m just going forwards, uphill. Will there be a car? Where could she have gone? The hedgerow is completely sealed. No way she got through. She ran up the road. I will have to follow her. I move away, slowly, painfully.

Where could she have gone?

It’s like she wasn’t here.