The Fantastic Murder Of Lawrence Pearce:
-Here lies Lawrence Pearce. This is the story of his murder-
A bearded figure stands on the balcony. He realised that trying to escape the lashings of coldness served by the brutal London weather was a pointless mission. The four days he had been indoors, lying amongst all those crumpled A4 sheets, had not sparked the return of his muse. She stayed away, leaving him pining for her.
On this particular cold and dreary day, he stood on his balcony holding a cup of Earl Grey. He had been standing there for about an hour. The rain took the snow with it to the floor from the roof above him slushy like a pulp of semi-frozen mashed potato. His tea, had grown cold, yet he took a sip from the cup, his eyes fixated on nothing – something in the distance. Something, unseen. Something, that swam around in his soul, unspoken.
He looked down at his tea, which somehow, emanated its own cold bitterness – as if scorning him for not drinking it while it was hot. He looked back into his apartment, at the floor, strewn with paper. Slowly, he raised his gaze to the torturer of his soul. Lucy – that’s what he called the Mac that stood proudly atop his desk, silently reminding him how it could emasculate him with its intimidating blank blinking.
He knew he was imagining it. The sinister presence the laptop seemed to possess. He couldn’t stand it. It burned through him that he had been trying all methods of writing, trying not to have Lucy remind him that he had reached a writers-block. He had thrown countless pens and pencils across the room. Tore through many notepads, yet there she stood victorious. Ridiculing him, ready to claim her spoils.
He knew how it worked with her. He would lie dying, barely grasping the bridge between life and death. Then only – as if relishing the pain he suffered – then only would Lucy allow her blinking to quit for a moment where they would get lost in the ecstasy of their companionship.
He gulped down the tea. He walked into the room softly, shutting the rain and its crocodile tears out as he walked towards Lucy. She blinked at him. Right then, he typed in the words: “Lawrence formatted her– and as his words faded he decided to take the term ‘writers arm yourself’ quite literally. He picked up a pen and drove it into his neck… he crumpled to the floor as she watched with her blinking fading eyes – she savoured every moment… but his was the greatest victory and loss.”
Lawrence tells everyone who comes to the pub where he works as a barman this most fantastical story… Many have suggested he go into writing, he looks at them with scornful eyes when they do. Others just think he has an over imaginative mind. I just think the murder-suicide that took place that cold Sunday morning, will forever be shared- maybe.
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Almost two months ago Lawrence Pearce, novelist and film director, posted a tweet on the social network Twitter challenging his followers to ‘murder’ him. He presented this writing challenge with the title ‘The Fantastic Murder of Lawrence Pearce’.
Essentially, if you were interested, you’d have to write a 500 word story in which you kill him in a most fantastical way. Unfortunately for me– because I was travelling from my hometown back down to Cape Town by car– I was on the road for two days straight and wasn’t able to finish the story in time.
All excuses aside, once in Cape Town, I took my time to complete the story to some form of ‘perfection’ and have been sitting with it… I’ve now decided to share it here on my blog. Hope you enjoy it. Please do leave comments…
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If you would like to follow Lawrence Pearce see @LawrencePearce and to follow myself @bopzybee on Twitter.
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