Creative writing day: write a (very short) fictional story that starts with this sentence: "To say I was dreading the dinner party would be the understatement of the century."
The story does not necessarily need to have a conclusion - you can leave your readers wishing for more!
To say I was dreading the dinner party would be the understatement of the century.
I hated big social occasions. They made me feel claustrophobic. So many faces, all laughing and smiling and joking, pretending to share a mutual bond over the latest runway show they had attended in Paris, or gloating over the fact that Margaret had to get corrective surgery again on her nose after the surgeon botched the first job.
It was all a load of crap. The falseness. The lies. The bullsh*t.
But I was there for Simon. Playing my part of the dutiful wife. It was important I did. He needed me. Put on the make up, zip up the cocktail dress, and paint on the smile for one night and then it would be over.
Reaching for a flute of champagne as a waiter floated past, I headed for the balcony. I needed air. Oh who was I kidding? I needed a cigarette. Alcohol and nicotine. They were the only things that would calm me down.
The cool summer breeze caressed my cheek and I instantly felt soothed. Fumbling with the clasp of my purse I scrambled inside to find the pack of cigarettes. To my luck there was one solitary soldier left. I fished him out with relish, then dug back in to my bag in search of a lighter.
"Do you need a light?" His voice. Soft, and smooth, like honey, drifted into my ears. I would know that voice anywhere. I put the cigarette to my lips and let him light in. I inhaled slowly, enjoying the taste of the nicotine. It calmed me instantly.
"I'd hoped I'd catch you out here," he murmured. The sound of his voice send a shiver up my spine.
I felt him draw closer to me. It made me nervous. He made me nervous. I took a long, hard drag of my cigarette and kept my eyes forward. I couldn't catch his eye. I couldn't let him sense my fear. Half-scared and half-excited I was glued to the spot.
The sound of the balcony door sliding open made us both turn. For a moment I caught a glimpse of him. Pressed grey suit, emerald tie, two-day-stubble. He looked like a god in the dusky haze.
"Oh there you are you two. You'd better finish off your sneaky fags. There about to serve dinner. And you know how David gets when dinner is served late."
The door slid shut.
That was Rachel for you. Always a stickler for time and routine. Always desperate to stay on the good side of her husband. Living on tenter hooks trying to be the perfect housewife, the perfect hostess. But in reality, she was just a robot.
"Come on, we'd better get back." His dulcet tones filtered into my ear and I gasped in delight. His whispers sent another shiver through me. He moved his lips from my ear and gave me a singular kiss on the cheek, his hand running up my arm slowly.
"Your husband will wonder where you've got to."