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Paul’s Evening Creative Writing

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Paul's Evening Creative Writing Paul sighed as he watched his wife pour herself yet another drink. Within only a few seconds of pouring it out, she lifted the glass to her lips. In one quick mouthful, the whisky disappeared. She breathed heavily, and turned to her husband. "Get me that champagne I bought the other day. It wasn't just for any old occasion. I have some news." Sarah slurred, slumping down on the chaise longue with an unsettling, fake smile spread across her flushed cheeks. She stretched out, and looked at Paul expectantly. "One minute." Paul muttered, and shut his newspaper. He tensely placed it on the small oak coffee table at the side of his easy chair. The soft thud of the newspaper on the table sounded like thunder to him, and he felt his heart begin to beat faster. Biting his lip, he disappeared into the kitchen where he opened the refrigerator and scouted the shelves for the champagne. He lifted down the black, ice-cold bottle from the top shelf. ...read more.


He lifted his, and sipped it gingerly. "Well...what did you want to...tell me?" Paul asked her. "I've been..." She began, but interrupted her news by bursting into yet more fits of giggles. "Look, will you just tell me, PLEASE?" He shouted at her. "Well, okay, I'll start at the beginning. You know I've just got that new job, right?" She began. "Yes, I know that." "Well, you know that really nice man, Chris, who I brought home for lunch once...to discuss our latest task?" "Mmm." Paul murmured. He knew what was coming next. He hoped it wouldn't be. But he knew it. "Well we've been together now, ever since I started there. He's lovely, you really would get on like that" She smiled wickedly, crossing her fingers to demonstrate. Paul just stared at her. She was sick. His vision blurred. He felt tears welling up in his eyes. He blinked them back. He didn't know what to say to her. His gaze suddenly rested on the champagne bottle on the table. ...read more.


He stared one last time at Sarah. "Goodbye." He whispered, and dropped the empty can on the carpet. He reached into his trouser pocket, and patted his box of matches. He smiled, relieved as he realised they were still there. He picked up the small suitcase he had packed full of his most important belongings, and walked to the front door. He opened it silently, and stepped out onto the stone step outside the house. A fresh breeze cooled his hot cheeks. Walking backwards, he took a few steps back, and took one last look at his house. He would miss it, definitely, but he couldn't stay there. Even if Sarah was still alive, he would have had to leave. It would kill him, living like that. He reached into his pocket, and carefully lit a match. He took one last step back, swung his hand back, and then flung the match into the house. Straight away, the house burst into flames. Thick black smoke filled the air, making him cough. A small bird sitting on the roof cried out, and flew away quickly. Paul began to walk away, a satisfied grin spread across his face. ...read more.

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