I’ve talked a lot about LGBT characters in the last couple of weeks. This is the last post, promise. But I figured, given the amount of moaning I have done, I had to use this as a writespiration.
So here goes, this week your challenge, should you choose to accept it, and I really hope you do… is to write a story, poem or piece of flash using an LGBT character as the protagonist.
I’m not playing this week because I am writing a competition story, plus, my bounce piece from last week kind of, sort of, covers this.
Allie P was first in this week, with a short, but sad story that will make you feel for that little egg.
When grandma tested them in the water, the others rose to the surface. He sank to the bottom. He was,… the bad egg.
Geoffle next with a sense of going back to school.
‘…Iain Robinson Independent 21,412. I declare Iain Robinson is duly elected to be Member of Parliament for Rushworth North.’
Iain looked at his new shoes. First day of the new term – worse than first day at school. And as lonely too, the only Independent member in this intake.
‘Mr Robinson? If you have a minute the Prime Minister would like a word?’
Iain blinked. Well that was unexpected, the flattery still ringing in his ears. ‘You can help your constituents – that bypass, for instance – if you support our plans.’ Iain smiled. He’d replace ‘support our plans’ with ‘prop up our minority government.’ Still nice to be wanted.
‘Mr Robinson? If you have a minute the Leader of the Opposition would like a word?’
Iain straightened his tie. This time he was prepared, this time he had a shopping list in his head. Maybe he wasn’t going to be so lonely after all.
Museum, cathedral, botanical gardens… car park. It should be here but it isn’t.
I turn the map upside down, face back the way I’ve just come and try again. The spire’s on the left, the cedar of the botanical gardens is poking up over the wall on the right, car park should be…
Where the fuck has it gone?
I’m swearing in my head which is a bad sign. Why do they even need a car park in this god-forsaken hole? It’s dead! Museum’s closed, cathedral’s falling down, and the botanical gardens have gone wild. Not surprising there are no tourists. Just the ugliest housing estate I’ve ever seen, and this awful smell.
Funny. One of those terrible houses, one like a pile of boxes, the roof, I’m sure, it sort of lifted. Another one, other side of the street. Christ! Rumbling! Is it an earthquake, or what?
Where did that fucking car park go?
There, more roofs flipping up, and there’s something inside, big green eyes staring. The boxes, they’re full of… Not rumbling. Growling. I recognize the smell now—cat shit.
I start to run.
A catnip mouse the size of a pony hits me in the back.