A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry. Write this scene.
Today’s twist: write the scene from three different points of view: from the perspective of the man, then the woman, and finally the old woman.
Winifred holds my hand tight, as though suppressing my blood circulation will enhance the conversation. Patience. She will get to the point soon. Once the thirty different threads of pointless stories run dry! Two sexy runners in tight hot pants and tans scooping down to their low tank tops pass me and I pretend not to stare. Wini’s radars are on high alert and I can’t cope with another lecture about how my wondering eyes make her feel insecure. After all, it’s her fat arse that makes me stare at other women!
Oh no! There’s that crazy lady with the knitting needles again. I bet Wini’s going to stop and ask her which cat she’s knitting for today. Please God, not again! These insufferable walks every evening, the ugly woman on my arm and the cherry on the cake…stopping to chat to stinking homeless old bags with a dozen cats named Kiki with woollen jumpers in blue, aqua, jade and bloody red!
“Be nice!” growls Winifred under her breath, relaying her beaming smile at the hag accompanied by a loud hello. I pretend to smile; my face muscles spasm and fail. I don’t care.
The hag continues knitting and I want to move on. Ah! A searing pain courses through my leg. Ow! What the hell? It’s her bloody cat and it has its claws stuck into my hamstring. Ahhh! I can’t shake it off! Blood is dripping down my leg and tears blind my vision. Swat! Yelp! The damn thing bit me and Winifred is clinging to my arm so tight I can’t fight back. One last swipe and this evil demon is going to die!
Marcus is like a mad man and it’s only a cat! I wish I had listened to my mother and not married this useless bag of fat and testosterone. One walk a day, just one walk together and he can’t stop complaining. I could smack the stupid off his face every time I see him gawking at those tramps jogging in their pants and bras. One day, I’ll show him how sexy I am and then I’ll leave him. Leave his sorry ass and that pathetic look he gives me when I try to talk to him.
Poor Mrs Hoover. There she sits, everyday, all by herself. Just five minutes of chat doesn’t hurt anyone, but this numbskull can’t even greet her with compassion. Look at him crying like a baby because Kiki is trying to cuddle him! If I don’t hold onto him, he’ll probably kill that poor cat. Time to get ‘stupid’ home again!
“Kiki, down girl!”
That darn cat of mine thinks she’s a dog and tries to dry hump any chump walking by. Of course she had to go and choose the schmuck from No. 64! I wonder what Winifred sees in the man. He’s as spineless as a jelly fish and she holds onto him so tight, one would think he might blow away without her as an anchor. Darn it, I dropped a stitch! Kiki had better behave or I will never finish this sweater in time for Baby Megan’s birthday.
Oh no, I do hope Winifred doesn’t try to make conversation whilst her husband gives Kiki a free rodeo ride. Chuckle! She does look like she’s stuck in there. That’s the first time I’ve seen any real expression on that fool’s face! Hahaha!
“Oh Wini, I’m so sorry about Kiki! I don’t know what came over her!” Chuckle! “Maybe it’s time I pack up and take her home.”
“Oh no, it’s no trouble Mrs Hoover! I’m so sorry Marcus smacked her like that. Is she okay?”
“Yes. Yes dear. Don’t worry about Kiki. She can take good care of herself. Is your husband okay?”
“Bloody cat! Of course I’m okay!” Sniff. Sniff. “Let’s go home NOW Wini!”
“Okay honey. Bye Mrs Hoover. See you tomorrow!”
“Hopefully not!” reply Mrs Hoover and Marcus at the same time.
Winifred giggles as she watches the two glare at each other and walk off in opposite directions. Oh how she loves her evening walks!