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Flash Friday
In Log Run, a children’s picnic is interrupted by a group of young recruits carrying a felled tree trunk. The children fall silent. So do the mothers.
We had set up the picnic things on the grass outside the house. There was a checked blanket with leather backing that kept out the damp. On top we laid out cheese sandwiches made from white bread and cut into little triangles, Tupperware boxes filled with Wotsits and Skips, raisins in miniature cardboard boxes and miniature cereal packets with added vitamins. There was chocolate cake, but that was hidden in case the children tried to skip the savoury food. It was a mild day, with a clear sky. We were comfortable to sit outdoors in a thick jumper without the need for a coat.
The children sat down excitedly and shared around paper plates and small plastic cups filled with squash. Our location placed us next to a road that was rarely used, it followed a sharp decline that would take you down to the playing fields and the shooting range. The medical centre sat a hundred yards away. A miserable building devoid of all character and good cheer. It was a cube made with dull bricks and a flat roof. Inside, miserable doctors would see patients inside poky windowless rooms that smelt of mildew.
The children devoured the crisps and took reluctant bites out of their sandwiches. They looked hopefully at the linen bag that concealed the chocolate cake. The weather felt cooler and we tucked our legs underneath us and sat a bit closer together.
At that point, a group of twenty young male recruits came jogging round the corner. They wore shorts and some had green T shirts whilst other ran topless. They carried a huge tree trunk, cut down into a neat cylinder. They took turns to rotate from the front to the back of the group, passing the log to their colleagues as they switched places to better share the weight. The children fell silent at the sight, transfixed by the rotation of soldier and log. The mummies fell silent too, watching the men run by and remembering who they used to be.
For writers
One piece. Finish it and send it.
Log Run turns on a small interruption: a picnic, a road, a group of recruits passing through, and one final sentence that changes the room.
If you have a story, essay or short piece that is close but not quite there, the October Submission Sprint works on one piece across three Thursdays — what still needs fixing, what can come out, whether the ending is doing enough, the cover note, and where the work might actually fit.
Live online · 8, 15 & 22 October · Limited places
