Below is the second of the 2 short stories I came upon when looking for inspiration recently, that I wrote and entered into a city living competition back when we resided at our old apartment where the tiny balcony upon which we spent much of our free time overlooked neighbouring terrace houses, notable of which was the green house. As with most of the short stories I write, they’re based on actual events.
I thought I’d share them this week as they inspired the beginnings of a series of blog posts about housemates.
Short Story 2 – Proposal for New TV Series: Across the Street
Summary: 10 part series. Before Big Brother and Backyard Blitz, there were iconic Australian TV and radio classics such as Neighbours, Sylvania Waters and Blue Hills. Set in a terrace house in an inner city street, this new program mixes and reinvents those styles and utilises the everyday and the door-step to entertain. The architects of this series have swapped formula for an eclectic mix of audio-visual: there are no regular screening times or duration, episodes may be repeated without notice and it’s up to the audience to put it all together, guessing at plot and what is happening behind the scenes. IT’S VOYEURISTIC AND ADDICTIVE.
Looking for inspiration I came upon 2 short stories I wrote and entered into a city living competition back when we resided at our old apartment where the tiny balcony upon which we spent much of our free time overlooked neighbouring terrace houses, notable of which was the green house. As with most of the short stories I write, they’re based on actual events.
I thought I’d share them this week, as they inspired the beginnings of a blog post about housemates, which I’ll follow with a little later.
Short Story 1 – The Green House
The endless barking of dogs which hindered my earlier attempts to sleep, intruded in the small hours of morning into the victory of my slumber and finally roused me. I staggered out of bed, down the stairs and out to the balcony. The street below was motionless and otherwise silent. I stood, barefoot on the cool tiles, staring in frustration across at the moonlit source of the barking. The green house.
Time had almost stood still for the green house, a rambling three storey terrace with a rusty roof and faded green paint over cracked rendered walls. Ivy cladding and stained glass windows were its only redeeming features but flanked by a dull paved courtyard they redeemed it little. Only heavy bars on the windows acknowledged the passing of time and changed fortune of the neighbourhood.
I woke again to daylight and the dogs’ continued barking. The dogs were fox terriers belonging to a curious and audibly identifiable household. As far as I had been able to ascertain from the auditory vantage point of my balcony, the green house was peopled by two older women who I took by the similarity of their voices to be sisters, a man of indeterminable age with a deep baritone, as well as the dogs.