I have just now submitted an old short story of mine called 'Adam' to Dr Samantha Matthews from Sheffield University for their online creative writing, Route 57. When writing it I tried to engage with something a little deeper than just writing a story, but I feel silly saying what that was and would probably sound really pretentious, or just like a prick.
Let's hope she enjoys reading it, but I think, considering the numerous emails they've been sending out about extending the deadline for submission and PLEASE SUBMIT WORK OH GOD PLEASE SUBMIT WORK I think I stand a pretty good chance of it being included.
Anyway, I'll post again when I hear back from them, for now here's the opening paragraph, perhaps I'll post a bit more if they accept it . . .
It rained. Adam stood by the side of the grave as it rained and felt the moisture advancing through the layers of his suit. It infiltrated the tight cotton weave of his unpressed shirt to rest against the skin of his shoulders and back, and he allowed his eyes to peer through the rain streaked lenses of his thick-framed glasses around at the collected mourners. Black umbrellas shielded dresses of black and he thought of the seeming impropriety of the service’s solemnity, considering his father’s nature. He had not been a religious man, and had asked to be burned in a boat on the sea like a Viking: he had said theirs was a noble race, and he would like to walk in the halls of their dead. However, in the presence of his newly-devout-catholic sister, Adam observed a Christian burial, committing his father into the hands of her God. He felt the priest’s words as they vibrated the air around his head and in his ears, where a multitude of small bones vibrated in kind, like a thousand tiny hands tapping a message in Morse-code. This sent an impulse to his brain which told him a man was talking about his father.