[John Whitworth]

SATURDAY, 30TH JULY 2011
Four letter word

In Competition No. 2706 you were invited to submit an entertaining and plausible piece of prose using words of only four letters.

‘This must hold some sick joke!’ wailed Shirley Curran. ‘Lucy, show more pity next time,’ pleaded Barry Baldwin. But you are clearly a masochistic lot; despite the howls of protest and pleas for future clemency, the challenge generated a big postbag. I allowed contractions, within reason, but extra points were awarded to those who managed to avoid them as much as possible. The winners get £25 each. The bonus fiver is Alan Millard’s.

‘Poor Jack,’ Jill says, ‘sore head, huge lump, deep scar!’
‘Poor Jill,’ says Jack, ‘deep scar, huge lump, sore head!’
They knew they were both hurt. Both fell down that high hill. More fool them! What next — this pair, both here, both down, none near?
‘Jack?’ Jill asks.
‘Jill?’ says Jack.
‘What next?’ Jill asks.
‘What next?’ says Jack.
They look away. They look back. Eyes meet eyes. They gaze then grin. Does Jack love Jill? Does Jill love Jack? Will Jack kiss Jill? Will Jill kiss Jack? Time will tell.
When Jack, with Jill, came down that hill, they were very glad. What made them glad this tale must omit. They knew full well what made them feel glad. Each hill hike they took from then gave them much glee. Thus love will cure most ills. Will Jack fare well? Will Jill fare well? Fare well they will!
Alan Millard

Jane sees John next door.
Jane sees John take Dad’s Ford. John will take Jane away.
‘Come, Jane!’ ‘Cool,’ says Jane.
John goes very fast. Ride, John, ride! ‘Whee,’ says Jane. Jane sees road turn. ‘Don’t miss huge bend,’ says Jane. ‘John, pull back! John, mind that line! John, slow down! John, take care!’
Jane adds, ‘Also we’re lost.’
‘Shut your trap,’ says John.
Jane gets wild. Jane hits John. John hits Jane. Ford hits wall.
Jane says rude word. Then Jane sees blue lamp. ‘Look, many cops! Bolt, John, bolt!’
‘Shit,’ says John.
Jane sees John jump over wall into park. Jane sees John fall into very deep lake. John can’t swim. ‘Glub,’ says John. ‘Help! Glub!’
Sink, John, sink!
Jane gets cops back. They fish John from lake. Cops drag John down nick. Jane must bail John.
John gets Asbo from beak, plus vast fine.
Alas, poor John!
Brian Murdoch

‘Alex, dear chap, don’t rush away,’ says John. ‘Come over here, meet Kate; she’s very nice.’ Alex eyes Kate: slim, fair hair, long legs, soft skin. Kate eyes Alex: tall, dark, kind face, firm chin. Kate sips fine wine; Alex, cold beer. They talk long, stay late. From then, each week they date, gain hope, find love. Many days pass: fine, warm days. Then love dies. They part. Many more days pass: dull, cold days. Once more they meet, draw near, feel safe. True love wins. Soon, with lace veil, silk robe, gold ring, Kate weds Alex. Full pews hear them make fond vows. ‘Dear wife, ‘ says Alex. ‘We’ll love ever more. All’s well that ends well.’
Harriet Elvin

‘Good Lord, Roly, isn’t that your lady wife?’
‘Over that tall, dark, oily cove like moss. Well seen, Pogo. Fine pair they make, what?’
‘Roly, dear chap! What made Vita...?
‘Save your pity, Pogo. Time sees one’s sins wing home. Mine came thus — take note. Golf club trip last year. Faro. Pert maid, dark eyes, full lips, body like — well — lust dims one’s wits. Damn fool Roly fell into mugs’ trap. Nods, wink, back room, sofa, rugs, very cosy. Wine, then more wine. Kiss, kiss. Then more.’
‘Gosh, Roly!’
‘Long lens film. Kind chap will sell said film. Cash down. Sums duly pass.’
‘Then Vita...’
‘...only knew when one’s bank book fell open.’
‘Ouch!’
‘Head down time. Vivi went wild. Real fury — ‘hell hath’ type. Went Awol. Next hove into view with yond oily bird. Fair dibs.’
‘Hope this will soon blow over.’
‘Amen, Pogo. Amen.’
W.J. Webster

Paul rose over that huge band, hand held high, then said: ‘What does love mean? Love isn’t cold, love isn’t hard. Love does only good. They that live with pure love feel joys, have hope, bear hurt with calm. Alas, when love dies, life dies also. When life goes, love that isn’t lust will stay. Love will last when time dims your eyes, mars your face even; love will last when hair goes grey, when one’s step isn’t fast. Love will bend, love will wait; love won’t seek gain, will even give that last coin when fate asks. They that love well make life glow, make life rich. True love will find more than hate ever will. True love will gain what fear can’t. When folk show hate, show them love. Thus will they know what your good Lord said.
Frank McDonald

‘Look here,’ said Rafe, ‘kids want guts, gore, pain, fear. We’ll sell that, grow rich, live high. Kids like — make that love — wild, vile, ugly acts. What cosy tale does cute baby hear from Gran? Evil wolf, pigs. Huff, puff, blow, rage, howl. Door down, wall down, roof down. Wham! Bang! Boom! Wolf eyes pork. Then pigs boil wolf, romp, sing, leap with glee. Kids grin, beam, crow, clap. They love doom. They want more, more. True?’
‘Sure,’ Greg said. ‘Xbox game like that, pure gold.’
‘Good. High five! Let’s burn, kill, maim, make some real cash. We’ll need your best idea.’
‘Next week good?’
‘Next week?’ Rafe spat. ‘Uh-uh. This week! Let’s move fast. Fast wins. Slow dies. Lock, load, fire. Don’t fail, mate. This team can’t fail. Okay, then. We’re done here. Day’s over. Beer? Let’s kick back. Work hard, play hard — both fine.’
Chris O’Carroll