At Royston Writers’ Circle last night we had a fun exercise –
to write a story that ended in a famous last line. Harder than it sounds! Starting off is easy,
but finding your way to that last line… well it provided some entertaining
stories from the nine members present. A lost dementia patient, a delightful vision of aging, to a sci fi adventure
as man lands on a new distant planet … that’s what I love about RWC. Always
plenty of variety.
The line we chose to finish with was from Margaret Attwood’s
“Cat’s Eye”. Here’s my story – but I
must add the caveat that as you don’t know where you are going when you start writing
(usually). After reading out the story to the others (we all read out if we want to), I changed the main character’s name on the group’s
recommendation. I called him Greg, but
from here on, it’s Grug! Written in half
an hour, here it is, warts and all, unedited.
A thousand years away one day
Grug was a Shagi. That meant he was bottom of the social
pile. He was pushed brutally out of the was by a Casquer. Their powerful arms, impressive of course, but
even so a Casquer would have been no match for a Shagi in a good fight. Nonetheless Grug gave way, allowing the higher
status female to move down the narrow tunnel ahead of him. He grunted a brief dissatisfaction and
immediately she turned to glare at him.
He dropped his head low, avoiding her gaze, and avoiding a fight that he
could win – but dare not.
Grug was young and inexperienced and it showed. But he was
also growing angry as he grew up. There’s
nothing like learning your place to learn that you don’t like it. Grug had asked his elders why
they must always acquiesce to the Casquers, and they always said “They are the
keepers of light. Without them we are in darkness and lost”. A bitter litany.
It had always been so amongst the tunnel people. If you had a light, you had power. But this confused Grug, who like most Shagi
could navigate well enough without light.
He was also more curious than many of his peers, and indeed his betters.
The fish, the spiders, the other creatures that shared their world, they did
not even have eyes! They did not flock to the light or the warmth of the
Casquers’ lanterns.
It is as if, Grug thought, we should know light better than
we do. All of us, not just those high born. Grug had learned to keep these questions to
himself though. Overheard comments had earned him punishment rotas in the deep
pits. He didn’t mind the dark, but he hated the cold water and the multitude of
bones – stark reminders of the Hypocaust Wars.
Once the Casquer has gone, Grug took a rock and threw it
with all his might against the wall. His frustration must have given him
greater strength than he knew, for a cascading rumble and a rock fall ensued. And then, something new appeared.
The Casquer and her lantern had gone – no other Casquers
were about, no one but him. And yet… and yet he knew his world had just
changed. The air tasted different and it
moved strangely against him – like his mother’s hand ruffling his hair. He
stared hard. The shape of the rocks and the path were clear. The moving air
drew him closer to where the rocks had fallen and, he realised, they revealed a
new tunnel.
This new tunnel was huge – so big he could not see the
sides, so big he could not see the roof. But he knew there must be a high roof
as he could see light – a myriad of small lights not harvested by the
Casquers. It was a strange sight - and
it moved him. Hi heart quickened,
excitedly. This dim, distant miracle
might lift him up very high indeed.
“It’s old light, and there’s not much of it, but it’s enough
to see by.”
Critique away! This story is very naive and there’s plenty
of opportunities to improve, but I thought I would share what we do for fun
once a month at Royston Writers’ Circle.
