Explanation kills art - Wibblesfield
Writing, like any art form, is open to interpretation and creating a piece that demands reader participation is something I always seek to achieve.
'Wibblesfield' is dialogue-heavy with minimum description. The dialogue is colour-coded.
Wibblesfield
“Stop it.”
“I’m not doing nothing.”
“Do not use double negatives. Yes, you are.”
“No I’m not.”
“You are annoying me.”
“That’s not my fault.”
Newborn lambs lay next to their mother in the field beyond the trees. The train hurried past.
“Take your feet off the seat.”
“I need the toilet.”
“Follow the ‘WC’ signs.”
Some sheep didn’t have lambs.
“I couldn’t go.”
“Why not?”
The girl shrugged.
The train slowed to a stop at Wibblesfield.
“Wibblesfield. Wibbles field. Wib-balls-field.”
“Stop it.”
A man got on the train, opened the door and sat at the table adjacent.
“Do you live in Wib-balls-field?”
The man smiled, “I do.”
“Sorry about her,” the woman frowned at her daughter.
“No problem.”
“Are there wibbles in Wibblesfield?”
“Eliza do shut up!”
The train accelerated.
The man smiled at the girl snared in her mother’s stare, and shook his head.
“Aren’t children your age supposed to ask questions like ‘are we there yet’?”
The girl shook her head.
“Eliza isn’t like most children her age.”
“Lucky you.”
The woman returned her attention to the fields.
“Mummy says if I ask that question I’ll get a smacked bottom.”
“Eliza you must not tell lies!”
“Truth can’t be lies.”
“Your lies are not truth.”
“Instead I say ‘we’re not there yet, are we?’ which mummy gets annoyed at.”
The man smiled. He looked at the woman. “Maybe it would be better if you didn’t say that.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t tell my daughter how to behave.”
“I was just-”
“Well don’t.”
The train rattled.
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