Now and again when reading a book, you come across a sentence that you wished you’d come up with yourself! I am currently reading ‘One Week In December’ by Sebastian Faulk and I admit to being overawed with each turn of the page; not simply the choice of words, but the turn of phrase employed therein.
I’m not into plagiarism, though having said that, I would be flattered if someone was to use words of mine to enhance their literary piece! But on this occasion I’ve decided to extract part of a sentence from Mr. Faulk’s delightful tome in order to give my humble effort a little more zazoom! As recompense I’m sending you on a quest! I’ve decide that the first person to single out the words I’ve stolen should receive a copy of his wonderful book with my complements.
Your suggestions please!
She always complained that the bed was too small. Too small he asked? Too small? Then get a bed of your own he said, and then you can have it all to yourself.
If only he could turn back the clock. If only he’d realized how things were to turn out.
Two in the morning and he was feeling alone. Three in the morning and the empty space beside him was cold and vast. Four in the morning and he longed for the day to break. Six in the morning…
The call of the alarm clock didn’t fill him with pleasurable anticipation. The endless night was over and the endless day was about to begin.
No one said it would be a walk in the park. She’d said something about love not being easy. She’s used a phrase; something about the course of love not running smooth. Not running smooth? If it wasn’t so true, it would be funny!
She sat in front of a blinking screen. In a cold and unfriendly office. The day job. It put food on her plate, but not much more.
Two in the afternoon and there were four hours to go. Three in the afternoon she was free to get coffee and a biscuit. Five o’clock and she was longing to leave. Six and she was released; able to escape, into a life ….a life that was empty. Empty. So empty. So very empty.
A verse ran through her mind. Something that Shakespeare once said. Something she’d said to him before she left. Something about true love ‘not running smooth’ – he said it should it have read smoothly! It ran through her mind. And through, and through, and through.
Two in the morning and she was feeling alone. Three in the morning and the empty space in the bed beside her was cold. Four in the morning and she longed for the day to break. Six in the morning and the birds in the trees sang a melancholy tune.
At seven, the call of the alarm clock didn’t fill her with pleasurable anticipation. The endless night was over and the endless day was about to begin.