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  • Listening to: Hard-fi
  • Reading: The Girls
  • Watching: The Walking Dead
  • Playing: Red Dead Redemption - Undead Nightmare
  • Eating: Chocolate
  • Drinking: Flavoured Water
Hello everyone,

I am completely overwhelmed. I have been working really hard full-time in a bookshop for the last few months, and whilst I haven't stopped writing, I haven't given it my full attention. Life has gotten in the way. And then I wake up this morning to discover that my short story "Who's At The Window?" has been awarded a Daily Deviation!

I am completely over the moon. It's easy to lose motivation with writing, but receiving such a brilliant accolade really pushes me to carry on writing. I have a massively supportive family and lots of encouraging friends too that would love to see me realise my dream of writing my first novel in the near future. Receiving this award has reminded me just how important writing is to me.

I want to thank everyone for their wonderful feedback and comments. And say hello to my new watchers too! Here is a link to the winning story if you're interested:
Who's At The Window?'Tiptoe, through the window, by the window, that is where I'll be'
                                                                                                                                                         


The first story I wrote which won a Daily Deviation is here too if you would like to read it:
Mr SnideyMr Snidey slowly lowered himself into his worn old armchair, the seat indented to fit his shape, for so long had he occupied it. His knees creaked like ancient tree trunks as he descended. As he settled himself down, he spread his arms against the armrests luxuriously, much like a king would on a grand throne. Every movement he made appeared to occur in slow motion, his body no longer able to deal with life at what most people would describe as normal speed.
He slowly removed his brown slippers and lifted his legs to rest on the footstool before him. Getting up to turn on the television was an arduous task for Mr Snidey, and he tired easily. He exhaled deeply, and closed his eyes briefly, savouring the calming few moments when his aged muscles began to relax.
His face was deeply wrinkled; marking the many years he had inhabited this Earth. His skin was yellowed with age, much like the pages of a worn book, and was scattered haphazardly with liver spots. His pale eyes radiated kindness;


Thank you everyone once again :heart: I'm sure I will have a brand new story up before long.

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Anna unbuttoned her work shirt in front of the mirror. It tried to stubbornly stick to her damp lower back as she took it off; the perspiration evidence of a long and tiring day. She unzipped her black skirt and stepped out of it as it fell to the floor. She could hear the distant sound of the bathtub filling up with water. The beginning of her post-work routine.


Still in her underwear, Anna scrutinised herself in the full-length mirror. Looking at herself from top to bottom. Noting all the flaws, all the imperfections. She had the hint of a double-chin at certain angles. Her arms were slightly too thick. Her breasts were not quite the same size. Her stomach had a subtle bulge that indicated she liked food a little more than was acceptable. She turned her body to the side. Her butt was far too large and was home to too much cellulite. She turned back to face the mirror. Her thighs were thick and consequently her legs touched each other. She felt disgusted with herself.


Anna looked at her outline. She was curvaceous. But she hated how much fat there was on her waistline. Her ‘love handles’. She hated that informal term. What is there to love about them? They looked horrible.


She longed to have a body like all the models she saw on TV and all the toned heroic women she read about in all the books she loved so much. What she saw in front of her, she detested. She would always look for things to criticise about herself.


She had a boyfriend. A wonderful and loving man who adored everything about her. He loved who she was as a person. A compassionate and caring young woman. He also loved her body. He saw it for what it was: a natural and perfectly normal healthy body. But no matter how many times he tried to reassure her, Anna felt as though he was giving compliments out of obligation. And pity. She wanted to believe him. And sometimes, for a moment or two, she did. But only for a moment.


She was rarely naked. She didn’t feel comfortable without something covering up her body. Without something covering up her imperfections. When they went to bed at night, she wouldn’t allow him to touch her unless the lights were off.


Anna longed her flesh to be made out of plastic, like her childhood Barbie dolls. That way she could mould her body to the perfect fit. She could melt down the excess fat, give her a slimmer figure, narrow the width of her legs. She could slice away any parts of her she didn’t want. She would never be happy until she looked perfect. She would never be happy.


The noise of the water running into the bath snapped her back to reality. Anna rushed into the bathroom. The water was overflowing onto the tiled floor. She gasped in shock and turned off the taps. Her feet were soaking. She looked down at them. Her toes were too long and the nail varnish was chipped and untidy. A surge of frustration and anger coursed through her. She hated herself.


She grabbed the pair of scissors from the bathroom cabinet she used to cut her fringe. Her eyes were flashing with anger. She positioned the two blades around the fat hugging the left hand side of her waist. The disgusting lump of fat. Her fucking love handles.


The scissors glinted silver in the light. Goading her to do it. To cut away her shame. She took a deep breath. She would be perfect.


She would make herself perfect.
Plastic
This is a little piece I wrote today. A few days ago I had a distinct image in my head of a woman staring at her imperfect waist (imperfect by society's standards) and wishing as though she were like a Barbie doll. I think it's a really interesting concept and is especially relevant at the moment with so much pressure being put on what size we are and what we look like - for both men and women.

I have flagged this as Mature Content because I do drop the f-bomb once.

I really hope you all enjoy this piece. Please do leave feedback if you wish! I love hearing what you all think.
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'Tiptoe, through the window, by the window, that is where I'll be'

                                                                                                                                                                             - Tiny Tim.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

I open my eyes sleepily. I am lying in bed on my side facing the window, my body curled up into the foetal position. I feel my boyfriend's warm body behind me, our legs overlapping one another, his arm protectively holding me and making me feel safe. I can hear him breathing deeply. He is fast asleep. My George. I slowly sit up so as not to wake him, reach for my phone and touch a button which lights it up and informs me that it is 2:04am. I smile. I still have five whole hours before I have to get up for work. I love waking up in the middle of the night and realising that I still have hours of precious sleep to enjoy. I rest my head back on the pillow and pull my boyfriend's arm close to my chest, completely enveloping me in his warmth and security. Instantaneously I begin to fall asleep.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

I sit bolt upright. I register the noise this time, too sleepy before to take it in.

Someone is tapping at the window.

Despite the fact that we have a perfectly good set of curtains, we never draw them at bedtime. I like to look out at the night sky when I go to sleep, and because it is the middle of January, there is no risk of the sun waking us up at some god-forsaken hour. I know that my boyfriend George would rather have them closed as he feels disconcerted watching the trees in the woods beyond our one-floor flat sway wildly in the dark during this stormy winter, but I find comfort in them, and so he humours me. I like the idea that within our flat we are completely cocooned from the chaos outside. Safe within in our little bubble. 

I feel my heart start to beat faster against my chest. Instinctively, I keep as still as I can and squint my eyes at the window, trying to distinguish something. Anything at all. My eyes are taking time to adjust, but even as they get used to the darkness, I cannot see anything. Through the window I can just see the trees in the distance and the flower pot on the outer window sill, but that is all. There is nothing else out there.

I start to relax, conjecturing that it was a noise from next door perhaps. Even though this theory makes little sense, seeing as it is 2am, it is the most rational explanation I can come up with. I stare at the window a while longer, reassuring myself that there is definitely no one outside, and slowly start to lie back down. I still feel slightly uneasy but with every second of silence that passes, I am more and more convinced that it is nothing to concern myself about.

And then I hear the flower pot smash against the concrete patio.

SMASH.

I gasp uncontrollably with shock. I am too scared even to sit up now. I squint my eyes shut and refuse to look up at the window, too terrified at what may be looking back at me. I start to shake George's arm, imploring him to wake up.

"George.....wake up. There's someone outside the window. Please. George!"

My urgent whispering does little to wake him. Trying to wake him is like trying to wake the dead. I am scared to keep whispering as I don't want to be heard by whoever - or whatever - is outside the window. Besides, George has been unwell all day and he needs to sleep. I'm on my own now. Irrationally I think that maybe if I keep quiet then they will lose interest and go away.

I dare to open my eyes a crack. At first I see nothing. But then. Movement. I see a shadow move away from the window. Away from the flat. Away from me. Despite feeling frightened that someone is definitely outside and it wasn't my imagination, I feel a wave of relief wash over me as they are going away.

I lie awake for the next few moments, trying to fathom who it could have been, why they were outside our flat at this time of the morning and what they wanted. My mind is riddled with potential explanations: a locked out neighbour, someone who has knocked on the wrong house, a mindless yob. But none of them convinces me entirely.

And then I hear a noise at the front door.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

Now I am really scared. Unlike the previous two times, this knocking seems urgent. Panicked.

I slide out of bed and slowly and carefully walk out of the bedroom and through the living room. I peek around the living room door and look at the front door. The door is primarily made of frosted glass so you can see if there is someone on the other side of it.

A shadow stands behind it.

I wait with baited breath to see what the shadow does. The seconds tick by. Eventually, the figure leans forward, puts it's hand to the glass door, and closing it into a fist, knocks again even faster and harder than before.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

I am frozen to the spot. Paralysed with fear. The figure takes a step closer to the door.

I run back to the bedroom.

I slide into bed and pull the covers over my head, somehow feeling protected by this layer of fabric. I shut my eyes and curl myself into a ball facing George. He is still breathing deeply beside me. I start to shake him roughly, desperate for him to wake. He still doesn't stir from his sleep.

"George! George! Wake up!" I hiss.

And then I hear a voice at the door. An urgent whisper with the weight of fear underlying it.

"Charlie! You need to get the hell out of there. There's something in there with you!"

That was George's voice. He is outside. Not sleeping next to me.

I slowly pull the covers down and open my eyes to see what is in the bed next to me.


And all I can do is scream.
Who's At The Window? ALTERNATE ENDING
I originally wrote this short horror story a few months ago and uploaded it to deviantART then. However, this version has a different ending. My sister - Lubrian - suggested this alternate ending to me and I liked the idea of it and so decided to write it.

Here is a link to the original story I wrote: cupofcharlie.deviantart.com/ar…

Here is a link to the eerie song referenced at the beginning of the piece:
Tiptoe Through The Tulips - Tiny Tim: www.youtube.com/watch?v=_eQQKV…

Side note: The name of the boyfriend has changed in this version because my real-life boyfriend - called George - kept asking me why I didn't use his name and wanted to know who "Mark" was haha.

As always please do leave comments and favourite if you enjoyed it. Love a bit of feedback!
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'Tiptoe, through the window, by the window, that is where I'll be'

                                                                                                                                                                              - Tiny Tim.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

I open my eyes sleepily. I am lying in bed on my side facing the window, my body curled up into the foetal position. I feel my boyfriend's warm body behind me, our legs overlapping one another, his arm protectively holding me and making me feel safe. I can hear him breathing deeply. He is fast asleep. My Mark. I slowly sit up so as not to wake him, reach for my phone and touch a button which lights it up and informs me that it is 2:04am. I smile. I still have five whole hours before I have to get up for work. I love waking up in the middle of the night and realising that I still have hours of precious sleep to enjoy. I rest my head back on the pillow and pull my boyfriend's arm close to my chest, completely enveloping me in his warmth and security. Instantaneously I begin to fall asleep.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

I sit bolt upright. I register the noise this time, too sleepy before to take it in.

Someone is tapping at the window.

Despite the fact that we have a perfectly good set of curtains, we never draw them at bedtime. I like to look out at the night sky when I go to sleep, and because it is the middle of January, there is no risk of the sun waking us up at some god-forsaken hour. I know that my boyfriend Mark would rather have them closed as he feels disconcerted watching the trees in the woods beyond our one-floor flat sway wildly in the dark during this stormy winter, but I find comfort in them, and so he humours me. Small sacrifices for the one you love.

I feel my heart start to beat faster against my chest. Instinctively, I keep as still as I can and squint my eyes at the window, trying to distinguish something. Anything at all. My eyes are taking time to adjust, but even as they get used to the darkness, I cannot see anything. Through the window I can just see the trees in the distance and the flower pot on the outer window sill, but that is all. There is nothing else out there.

I start to relax, conjecturing that it was a noise from next door perhaps. Even though this theory makes little sense, seeing as it is 2am, it is the most rational explanation I can come up with. I stare at the window a while longer, reassuring myself that there is definitely no one outside, and slowly start to lie back down. I still feel slightly uneasy but with every second of silence that passes, I am more and more convinced that it is nothing to concern myself about.

And then I hear the flower pot smash against the concrete patio.

SMASH.

I gasp uncontrollably with shock. I am too scared even to sit up now. I squint my eyes shut and refuse to look up at the window, too terrified at what may be looking back at me. I start to shake Mark's arm, imploring him to wake up. He starts to groan unintelligibly.

"Mark.....wake up. There's someone outside the window. Please. Mark!"

My urgent whispering does little to wake him. Trying to wake him is like trying to wake the dead. I am scared to keep whispering as I don't want to be heard by whoever - or whatever - is outside the window. Besides, Mark has been unwell all day and he needs to sleep. I'm on my own now. Irrationally I think that maybe if I keep quiet then they will lose interest and go away.

I dare to open my eyes a crack. At first I see nothing. But then. Movement. I see a shadow move away from the window. Away from the flat. Away from me. Despite feeling frightened that someone is definitely outside and it wasn't my imagination, I feel a wave of relief wash over me as they are going away.

I lie awake for the next few moments, trying to fathom who it could have been, why they were outside our flat at this time of the morning and what they wanted. My mind is riddled with potential explanations: a locked out neighbour, someone who has knocked on the wrong house, a mindless yob. But none of them convinces me entirely.

And then I hear a noise at the front door.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

Now I am really scared. Just like the previous two times, this knocking is not urgent and rushed. It is slow. Deliberate. Intimidating.

I slide out of bed and slowly and carefully walk out of the bedroom and through the living room. I peek around the living room door and look at the front door. The door is primarily made of frosted glass so you can see if there is someone on the other side of it.

A shadow stands behind it.

I wait with baited breath to see what the shadow does. The seconds tick by. Eventually, the figure leans forward, puts it's hand to the glass door, and closing it into a fist, knocks once again.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

It's hand movements seem very exaggerated. It knocks slowly and almost theatrically. Like a mime artist. I am frozen to the spot. Paralysed with fear. The figure takes a step closer to the door.

I run back to the bedroom.

I slide into bed and pull the covers over my head, somehow feeling protected by this layer of fabric. I shut my eyes and curl myself into a ball facing Mark. He is still breathing deeply beside me. I start to shake him roughly, desperate for him to wake. He groans and pushes my arms away.

"Mark! Mark! Wake up!" I hiss.

And then I hear another knock.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

But this time, it is not from the window.

It is not even from the front door.

It is from under the bed.

It is beneath me.

I realise there is no escape.

There is nowhere left to hide.

There is no one left to help.


Death has come for me.



Who's At The Window?
So it has been a while since my last story. Apologies for the delay. I have recently started a new(ish) job and have been working really hard. So writing had to take a little bit of a backseat. But, I am back and here is my first short story of the year! Woo!
Inspired by my own fear of someone outside my bedroom window, this is "Who's At The Window."
I really hope you guys enjoy this piece! I worked hard on it.

Here is a link to the eerie song referenced at the beginning of the piece:
Tiptoe Through The Tulips - Tiny Tim: www.youtube.com/watch?v=_eQQKV…

As always please do leave comments and favourite if you enjoyed it. Love a bit of feedback!

Also, I have released an alternate ending for this story which you can read here: cupofcharlie.deviantart.com/ar…

Thank you all :heart:
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4 days to go until my new horror story is out!
  • Listening to: Hard-fi
  • Reading: The Girls
  • Watching: The Walking Dead
  • Playing: Red Dead Redemption - Undead Nightmare
  • Eating: Chocolate
  • Drinking: Flavoured Water
Hello everyone,

I am completely overwhelmed. I have been working really hard full-time in a bookshop for the last few months, and whilst I haven't stopped writing, I haven't given it my full attention. Life has gotten in the way. And then I wake up this morning to discover that my short story "Who's At The Window?" has been awarded a Daily Deviation!

I am completely over the moon. It's easy to lose motivation with writing, but receiving such a brilliant accolade really pushes me to carry on writing. I have a massively supportive family and lots of encouraging friends too that would love to see me realise my dream of writing my first novel in the near future. Receiving this award has reminded me just how important writing is to me.

I want to thank everyone for their wonderful feedback and comments. And say hello to my new watchers too! Here is a link to the winning story if you're interested:
Who's At The Window?'Tiptoe, through the window, by the window, that is where I'll be'
                                                                                                                                                         


The first story I wrote which won a Daily Deviation is here too if you would like to read it:
Mr SnideyMr Snidey slowly lowered himself into his worn old armchair, the seat indented to fit his shape, for so long had he occupied it. His knees creaked like ancient tree trunks as he descended. As he settled himself down, he spread his arms against the armrests luxuriously, much like a king would on a grand throne. Every movement he made appeared to occur in slow motion, his body no longer able to deal with life at what most people would describe as normal speed.
He slowly removed his brown slippers and lifted his legs to rest on the footstool before him. Getting up to turn on the television was an arduous task for Mr Snidey, and he tired easily. He exhaled deeply, and closed his eyes briefly, savouring the calming few moments when his aged muscles began to relax.
His face was deeply wrinkled; marking the many years he had inhabited this Earth. His skin was yellowed with age, much like the pages of a worn book, and was scattered haphazardly with liver spots. His pale eyes radiated kindness;


Thank you everyone once again :heart: I'm sure I will have a brand new story up before long.

deviantID

CupofCharlie's Profile Picture
CupofCharlie
Charlie
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United Kingdom
I am an aspiring novelist from the UK and would love to share my work with the world and hear what you all think. I get most of my inspiration from music which is why I reference music in my written work :) I hope you enjoy my work as much as I enjoy writing it!

I accept literature requests, so if you would like a story written about a character, theme, song e.t.c just drop me a note with the details and I will get back to you very shortly!

Please don't be afraid to say hi :) Drop me a note or post a comment on my profile if you like :D

Why not follow me on Twitter to keep up to date with what I'm up to? My name on Twitter is: Cup_of_Charlie
Why not give me a like on Facebook: www.facebook.com/CharlieVinall…
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:iconthirteen4one:
Thirteen4one Featured By Owner Sep 29, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
Here, a llama for an aspiring novelist. :hug:
Reply
:iconkubeti:
kubeti Featured By Owner Mar 25, 2016
thank you for llama.
Reply
:iconroadkillkitten:
roadkillKitten Featured By Owner Mar 15, 2016
Thanks for the Watch my darling, very much appreciated!
Reply
:iconcupofcharlie:
CupofCharlie Featured By Owner Mar 15, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
No problem! :D
Reply
:iconroadkillkitten:
roadkillKitten Featured By Owner Mar 15, 2016
:hug:
Reply
:iconepicaracacy:
Epicaracacy Featured By Owner Mar 5, 2016  Student Writer
Thanks so much for the fave Charlie :) I'm so glad your back.
Reply
:iconcupofcharlie:
CupofCharlie Featured By Owner Mar 6, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
You're welcome! I'm so happy to be back :)
Reply
:iconmalco735:
Malco735 Featured By Owner Jan 2, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Hey there Charlie. Just want to wish you a Happy New Year! :huggle: Hope you have a lovely 2016
Reply
:iconcupofcharlie:
CupofCharlie Featured By Owner Feb 29, 2016  Hobbyist Writer
Happy New Year!
Very late I know haha.
You too!
Reply
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