Last
week Nottingham Writers' Club held their annual Manuscript Of The
Year competition.
A
piece of flash fiction is required with a maximum of 250 words.
Members bring along their entry and hand it in anonymously. They are
read out by a team of narrators and then we hold a secret ballot to
decide the winner. The successful writer then reveals who they are.
I've
never won this competition and this year was no exception. I was
beaten into 3rd place by two excellent entries and the
winning story can be heard here on our website narrated by BBC radio
presenter Graham Wright.
This
year the required theme was 'deadline' and I'm posting my effort
here:
Renaissance Builders
“These
bricks are no good, Giuseppe. The ones at the bottom will crumble
once the wall reaches its full height.”
The
master builder looked down on his apprentice with disdain. The new
chapel of Assisi was due to be finished by Christmas 1145 and was
already behind schedule.
“Don't
worry, Bono. We'll just put in an extra buttress or two.”
The
young lad was still learning his trade but he knew his boss was
cutting corners and using inferior materials.
“But
that won't fit in with the plans, Giuseppe. This is supposed to be in
the new Gothic style.”
“We
have a deadline to meet, Bono. I can't afford to waste time and money
getting new bricks.”
There
was no arguing with his master. This project had been a shambles from
the beginning. Even with his inexperience Bono knew the foundations
were too shallow, the walls weren't straight and the roof leaked.
“You're
a buttero, Giuseppe,” he mumbled under his breath.
“Anyway,”
Giuseppe went on, oblivious to his pupil calling him a cowboy. “We'll
be well away from here as soon as I've been paid.”
“Why?”
enquired the apprentice. “Which unfortunate community is about to
benefit from your construction skills this time, Giuseppe?”
“There's
a place up in Tuscany,” Giuseppe replied. “Pisa I think it's
called. They want me to build a bell tower next to the cathedral.
Should be able to knock that up in no time.”
“Oh
yes,” thought Bono. “What could possibly go wrong with that?”
