Finish the Story IV

Question

As promised, here's the fourth instalment of the "Finish the Story" franchise. As with previous challenges, I'll start you off. After that, it's entirely up to you. Here's an opening for you:

"The table was set for one: One knife, one fork, one napkin. A solitary glass stood silently sentinel, filled to precisely two thirds capacity with water. From hidden speakers, the softly sibilant strains of Pachelbel's "Canon" drifted through the house. The lights were dimmed, and the embers in the fireplace glowed softly."

Word Limit: Minimum - none. Maximum - 350.

Timescale: I tried to speed things up with the TW challenge, and accordingly set a response date of 1 week. I got one reply. With that in mind, the date to reply by has been set as 25th January, a fortnight from today.

Good luck!

Comments

Well, there we go. Challenge up for a fortnight, and not a single response. No comments to say that there was anything wrong with the opening paragraph. Disappointing. And reminds me why I stopped using the site in the first place.

The challenge will remain open until midnight (UK time) and then removed from the site.

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Think Write has gone very quiet altogether. We will be upgrading the site in the next couple of days and contacting all contributors, so would appreciate it if you could leave this challenge up for a bit longer. Thank you.

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How nice! Thanks for still thinking of us!

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Morshy, I'm writing something, so don't close it yet, I just need a bit more time to finish it properly. I'm sure others will join in soon as well. It's been quiet here recently. I myself haven't been participating, because I had very little time and very little inspiration to write, but I've been keeping an eye, so I know how slow things have been. I see many new users so things are looking up. Don't lose faith in us. =)

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I'm working on something as well, and hopefully I'll be able to have it posted within the next couple of days. I'm one of the new users, and I'm hoping to contribute a lot to just about everything. :)

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I'll extend the deadline on this one, to include a further weekend. A winner will be announced Tuesday 7th February. Good luck everyone.

Answer 1

The knife smacked sharply against the grains of the cutting board, surreptitiously slicing the last celery stalk. It was an automatic motion for a man who, at the moment, was more automaton than conscious being. This day had become a routine for him, for several reasons. He had been preparing it the same way for seven years, and accounting for one third of his lifetime he had worked hard on this dinner for ten years to the day.

Seven long years. He sighed, reaching for an oven mitt. Pulling out the roasting pan, the savory smells of pork wafted through the air, meeting his nostrils head-on. Holding back a wave of nausea, he added the celery to the pan. A brief glance at the ceiling as Pachelbel’s Canon restarted, then it was right back to work on the meal.

Once he finished all the prep, he set the timer for twenty-five minutes to finish the roasting pork and vegetables. There was no escaping the moment now. He edged two inches at a time towards the dining room, the shadows cast by the embers dancing upon his memories. As he reached the table, he pulled the chair out and gestured for a guest to sit. He shuffled to the side without a place setting, and sat wearily while eyeing the knife and fork. Noticing a spot, he reached across and grabbed the knife to clean it. Resisting the urge to do the same to the fork, he leaned back in his chair and allowed his head to drop and his shoulders to slump.

He stared blankly at the table while he waited for the timer to expire on dinner. After seven long years, he had always set the table for one, but across from his customary seat. He hated Pachelbel’s Canon in any iteration, and was horrified of fires. After all, his fiancée had died in a fire seven years ago to the day.

Comments

Wow, I wasn't expecting this. I suppose this means I get to set the next challenge? I'll have a bit of a brainstorm and see if I can't have something posted by the weekend, perhaps Saturday the 11th.

Answer 2

She sat down and waited. His voice would come soon and she anticipated it like the birds that woke her each dawn. She had never saw his face, nor felt his touch, nor known anything beyond the sound of his voice each evening. She had been promised to him by the match maker; a tradition long since forgotten but her parents had dredged up. She wondered what would be served. The food was always perfect and as her parents had promised; he was richer than beyond her dreams. She had every whim at her disposal and yet, she longed to see her husband, to touch him, to know the man behind the deep honey voice.

“How are you tonight my love?”

“I am fine, and you?”

“I am well since my nightingale is here, will you sing for me tonight?”

“I will, but when will I see you?'

“tonight or tomorrow, but first eat," and with those words he clapped his hands. The servants whom she knew very well and had talked to began to bring her supper. They had answered all her questions, until she had asked about the master of the home and then they become tight lipped and silent. She ate listening to the music behind her. He rarely spoke while she ate. Her life had become a chapter out of beauty and beast; and yet she found herself strangely happy and content. When she had finished, she waited for him to open the music room doors and go before her into the music room.

“it will be easier if you see me for the first time in this partial light. “

As she turned, she braced herself to see some hideous creature from the Dark Lagoon or something like Frankenstein. She imagined the wort scars, and disfigurements. At first, she looked at his chest and had to will herself to look up.

Upon meeting his gaze she gasped in shock. There wasn't a flaw about him. He started to turn away when she gasped but she reached out and gently stayed him with a touch, “your beautiful,” she breathed.

He looked at her confused and she knew there was much more for her to discover.

Comments

I like the idea you went with and its execution. The only thing I noticed is that there are a few spelling/grammar errors (first letter of sentence not capitalized, your instead of you're). Otherwise, great job. : )

Answer 3

     The table was set for one: One knife, one fork, one napkin. A solitary glass stood silently sentinel, filled to precisely two thirds capacity with water. From hidden speakers, the softly sibilant strains of Pachelbel's "Canon" drifted through the house. The lights were dimmed, and the embers in the fireplace glowed softly. The fragrance of dinner just barely tickled the nose from under the silver dome on the sideboard and waltzed elegantly with the scent of the magnolias in the centerpiece on the table.

     He went through the checklist in his mind. Everything had to be perfect. And it was. Even the tablecloth looked new, not a trace of last nights fiasco. He looked through the glass french doors to the solarium and sighed. Soon she would be sitting here, eating the meal he had prepared, in the gown he had chosen, listening to the music he had recorded, at the table he had set in the house he had built for her. It had to be perfect; she was perfect.

     He risked stealing one extra moment to appreciate her beauty as she slept on the chaise in the solarium. The colors from the evening sun complimented her complection and seemed to make the gown glow. She was an angle. His angle. She was perfection and it was his purpose in life to provide her with the perfect envronment inwhich to bloom. She began to stir from her drugged slumber. It was time to disappear.

     The hidden door in the dinningroom wall silently closed and locked as she awakened. He loved that moment of awakening when she seemed like an angle must,.innocent and trusting. The moment before she came fully awake and remembered....

      ... remembered that she was abducted, that she had not dressed herself in this hideous gown or put on this awful layer of makeup, that every bit of food or drink was drugged and that the drug induced sleep was not restful but filled with nightmarish dreams that were part reality and part drug-fog, that there were no exits from this place, and that when she did not do as she was told the consiquences were painful...

     The artificial voice announced “It is time for dinner.”

 

Comments

I was going to go in a similar direction, but it somehow went terribly wrong. xD
I really like this.
One thing - and I can't believe I'm correcting everyone's spelling today - an angle is part of a triangle, what you wanted to use is "angel".

Answer 4

 

I do apologize if the topic is not for all ages. If you think it's inapropriate, I will remove it.

The table was set for one: One knife, one fork, one napkin. A solitary glass stood silently sentinel, filled to precisely two thirds capacity with water. From hidden speakers, the softly sibilant strains of Pachelbel's "Canon" drifted through the house. The lights were dimmed, and the embers in the fireplace glowed softly.

A woman, dressed in a blue summer dress and white satin gloves reaching up to her elbows, was dancing to the  tune, spinning through the rooms with a glass of red wine.

She settled at last in the chair at the table, setting the wine next to the water. The music died down, giving way to a deathly silence that crept over the house like a smokey veil. She paused in thought.

Behind the couch, a body lay flacid on the thick white rug, staining it burgundy red. Its eyes and lips were spread in shock and fearful disbelief.

 

Two hours ago, Greg rang the doorbell with a smile on his face and a bouquet in his hand. When she answered, he complimented her appearance and stepped inside. She was silent and distant, but did not seem distracted. Confused, he gave her the flowers.

She took them with a quick smile and put them in a crystal vase. It was then that he noticed the table set for one. It occured to him that he may have confused the dates. That would explain her behaviour. Apologizing, the man wanted to leave, but she assured him he was there just in time.

While he was trying to grasp what was happening, she went into the kitchen in silence and came back holding a knife. He didn't understand at first, not until he felt the pain, as if someone was trying to rip his heart out.

 

The wine tasted nice with the salmon and brie. The flowers, however, did not match the decor. Without a second thought, she got up and threw them away.