IMPORTANCE OF SETTING AND PLACE New month New writing exercise

For June, Matthew Naqvi, our Wordsmiths of Melton tutor for 2015, set this exercise. We were required to email it him before we meet on Wednesday the 3^rd of June. 

I made some notes and wondered how I could apply what I'd written to Joe and Laura's story, in Les Gillespies Gold. 

It might not make it, but I've had fun writing this piece. I have made a couple of changes the Wordsmiths suggested and hope you enjoy my take on setting and place.

IMPORTANCE OF SETTING AND PLACE.

Write a two to three hundred word short story, describing a setting and place. Make it as strong as possible, while keeping it integral to the story. It must be pivotal and move the story forward.

SLEEP WANTED

Joe laid there, eyes closed. The bed was warm, cocooning them like a lover’s embrace. He knew it was 4.55 am; Harry over the road opened and closed his car door with care. The headlights lit the room. Joe supposed they did again today, just as they had every morning since Harry and his family moved in.

Joe felt Laura move a little and settle again, he wanted to touch her. He wondered about psychic ability and the power of suggestion when her foot probed for his leg. He smiled as she rubbed his calf in her sleep. She always did that about this time every morning. Her breathing had a comfortable rhythm and a smile crossed his lips. Just knowing she was his made him warm. He thought about their current problems and decided they were nothing to worry over, so long as she was there to face them with him.

Should he get up, close the door and go to the shed? The bed and being beside Laura tempted him to stay a little longer. Joe lie there focused on the shadow cast by the ceiling fan. His eyes adjusted to the dark, he eased up onto his elbow to peer over Laura’s shoulder. The clock grinned green at him. He squinted trying to read the digits, he needed his glasses, but the squint worked enough to see the dial to click over to proclaim, 5.11am.

He closed his eyes again to read the negative print of the time on his eyelids. The light coming from the window framed the curtains, like an old black and white photo. Les’s poem, his map and the fear of something wrong rolled around in his mind. If only he could get back to sleep.

Outside the rubbish truck made its way down the street Joe listened until it reached their address.

Without looking he knew the clock was grinning 5.23.