I’m going to give this ago offline and then post my effort later this week. Go have some fun, follow the link and get writing!
Love a challenge!
I HAVE REPOSTED HERE http://awritersfountain.wordpress.com/2013/02/03/repost-format-attempt/ EASIER TO READ FORMAT
I have finished my edit and here it is. Have struggled with formatting – copied from Word doc.
Cianna tried to move away, Paulo held her firmly.
“Don’t do it,” he pleaded into her hair, “please not today!” Cianna forced him to loosen his grip so she could see him,
“Come on Paulo, you know I have to…” she couldn’t bring herself to hold his stare, his eyes told her everything he was not willing to say. He was too scared he would lose her, appear too vulnerable, yet she had to understand he did not condone her actions. He would rather live in a smaller apartment without the threat of eviction; he’d live in a basement room if it meant he could live with her. He couldn’t help himself, she knew how he felt anyway.
A primal whine escaped his lungs and in an attempt to mask his feelings he pulled her back towards him, inhaling the smell of her peach shampoo and Versace perfume. Cianna could feel Paolo’s heart beating through his thin t-shirt, her head against his chest. She had to go, get out of here, and get into the city before it was too late. Confusion surrounded how she felt about Paolo, she was definitely attracted to him, the butterflies dancing inside her told her that, this was never meant to be. It was a mistake, he would never understand.
Paolo knew once he was back in their empty apartment he’d stand in the bathroom just to smell her scent again, he was obsessed. He was intrigued and equally disappointed by Cianna’s willpower. He liked a woman to feel she needed him. With Cianna, once her stubborn head was fixed on an idea, there was no stopping her. For better or worse.
Reluctantly he let her go, watching her as she made her way down the hill to the tram stop into the city. She skipped along happily in her flip-flops, another part of her disguise. Sensing he would still be watching her, she turned to wave and smile at Paolo. Poor boy, he was addicted to her, her every move, she hadn’t meant that to happen. She knew she was in too deep this time. Since the incident Cianna had wanted the security and protection of a man. She hadn’t considered the complications, could she still walk away? Probably, after all he had started life as just another mark.
Paolo stood still as a bustling group of tourists sang and puffed their way up the hill behind him, calves burning, cameras swinging and excited chatter shielding them all in ignorance. Ignorance of how harsh this city can be to its citizens, great as a destination, not as good as a living space. Especially not here, in the small tram infested streets. Tourists always. He wished Cianna wouldn’t but he knew he was powerless; she’d never change, even when she got caught. He waved and grinned as she turned to wave at him, replaying the passion shared that morning as she caught him with her smile. Lured in.
Paolo turned and made his way up the shallow steps of the hill, back to their apartment. Letting himself back into their tiny home, he slipped off his flip-flops and stood on the cooling ceramic floor. He inhaled. He didn’t need to reach the bathroom to smell her, her perfume lingered in the hall, through the living room and onto the kitchen.
Cianna stared through the people sitting opposite into the moving walls of the city, her Zen like trance a protective act to prevent her from interaction with anyone, especially a tourist. She must remain faceless, just another olive skinned, petite, longhaired nymph flittering through the bright city streets. Her large Chanel shades hid her eyes. Sparkling diamantes helping her blend perfectly into the backdrop of young twenty-something city folk. She slowly closed her eyes and leant her head back against the cold window, desperately trying to block out the chitter chatter, the motion of the tram, the bustling noise, the tramlines connecting, herself. Preparing for a days work.
Walking anonymously, a living ghost Cianna slipped through the streets to the square, where she settled herself at a table of her favourite café. She ordered a Frappe and pushed her Chanel sunglasses back up the small bridge of her nose. Leaning back into the mesh seat she smiled to herself. Sometimes people watching was the best bit. Before they open their mouths, talk to her or become real. From her seat in the café she played God and felt like she was in charge. If only we were given such opportunities.
The bench was empty. Cianna thought back to the man she had met on the bench last time. Scouring the centre pages of the local paper, looking for a place to go. He had been an easy choice. Cianna admired the clockwork organisation. She could sit here and order her first coffee of the day, on any day of the week and see the same things happen, the same people, all the population it seemed had somewhere to be. Occasionally she would wonder if she was missing out. The doubt was only ever fleeting and had usually gone before she reached the bottom of the coffee cup. Glazed and watching on autopilot, Cianna saw the same people turn up for work, go in and not come out! That confirmed her true feelings. She was glad she didn’t have to answer to anybody else, and equally happy that she still had her conscience.
Cianna ordered a second Frappe, biding her time until the tourists started to pour in off the trams.
Originally posted on The Daily Post:
For some of us, blogging is personal. Others are trying to educate or entertain; many more are hybrids. Yet we’re all storytellers. Creative Writing Challenges help you to push your writing boundaries, show off your blogging chops, and, hopefully, spark more post ideas.
To participate, tag your post with DPchallenge or leave a link to it in the comments. (It would also be great if you could link to this post to encourage people to take part – the more the merrier!) Your post should be specifically written in response to this challenge. We’ll keep an eye on the tag and highlight some of our favorite posts on Freshly Pressed on Friday.
You had a lot of fun with the A Picture Is Worth 1,000 Words challenge, and we had a lot of fun reading your entries – so let’s go for Round Two. Your challenge this week is to write a post based on this picture: