Creative writing: Men

I don’t need men. I can get on better in life without them. No trouble or stress. And it’s cheaper to pay someone to do the odd jobs when you factor in the injuries and mistakes usually made.

I went along to the local hardware shop to see if Mr Jones knew of any reliable handymen (tsk, I know, a reliable man!) and he gave me the number of David.

When I called him he agreed to come straight round to have a look at all of the jobs that had been bodged by my ex.

When I opened the door, I was speechless. He was beautiful.

I needed this man and was going to make him mine. I asked him a few questions whilst leaning across the table as he drank his tea.

The gist of it is that he isn’t single and “her” name is Geraint. Bloody men.

Creative Writing: Black Gold

The dark descent into the mouth of the beast. All of us squeezed together, closer than any man should be to another. Eyes adjusting, our pupils get wider. At the centre of the earth Dai lets us out.

“There you go boys.”

Lamps on, and white faces shining back. The sound of trams running down the tracks. There are men shouting, and the clinking sound of pick axes meeting the glittering black coal face.

On I walk through the winding tunnels, which get smaller and smaller, and I need to hunch my shoulders even more.

Finally, we make it to our area. My office for the day. I start chipping away at the black gold sitting under Wales. And then it happens.

One awful, terrified shout and I knew that was it.

“Boys, get out. The canary is dead.”

Panic. Followed by a deafening roar. Then it all went black.