In English, we wrote a short narrative. The goal of this project was to learn how to use different perspectives and dialogue to tell a story. For my short story, I wrote about a young man named Winston. Coming from a small home in England, he takes a lengthy trip across Europe where he meets a man who recruits him to record a grand feat. As Winston finishes off this trip, he makes his final stop to the man’s lavender fields in France, 5 miles from the train station. Through minor preparations and a good night’s rest, Winston will be ready to take off for a truly spectacular experience.
To read or listen to the whole of my short story, just look down.
The Adventures of Winston
“You hear of all these people like the Wright Brothers or Henry Ford, right? Absolutely incredible, don’t you think?”
Winston was head deep in a weathered London Magazine. He has an article open in his lap.
“It’s just incredible,” he mumbles again, not taking any notice of the rather burly man next to him. Winston, in comparison, was a scrawny little man, with scruffy brown hair and patches of stubble across his face. He looks young for the age of 26.
“Someday it’ll be me on the cover of this rag. Photographers will be left and right with their little boxes– pushing and shoving to get the latest glimpse of me,” he says as he puts down the magazine. It was a chilly day in the low 50’s, just cold enough to warrant a scarf but not quite to the point where Winston could throw on his second jumper. He had on his normal sweater, tattered and grey with holes underneath each armpit, but it was still his warmest and he has had it for the longest he can remember. His blue jeans were faded at the knees and you could see that the seams of the crotch would burst open if only he so much as did a light squat. He wasn’t particularly strong, either, with a fair bit of muscle here and there on his legs. He got up from the bench and twisted in every direction to get his pack in place along the center of his back. A bird was watching him from a nearby branch.
“Hello, sir?” He turned back to face the bench.
“Oui?”
“Could you direct me to erm…l’arret de bus?”
“Ah ouais, you want to go to the bus stop? Well then, take a right just up here through the alley, and you should come to find yourself at Mr. Branchard’s Boucherie. The bus leaves promptly from there at erm, well, in about 15 minutes I should think,” the man replies in a thick accent.
“Cheers!” Winston yells behind as he starts his way onto the cobblestone road. He couldn’t miss this bus, as it was the last until Monday to get him where he needs. He has always admired the tiny little patisseries that lay strewn down the main road, just sitting in their places with steady plumes of smoke slowly rising from the chimneys. He walked through the little alleyways as he was directed, between the tall, medieval buildings that seemingly bent over his head whenever he went to catch a glimpse of the growing clouds above. A chilly late-afternoon breeze was blowing through, and Winston could feel Goosebumps rising on his arms. He tucked in a little tighter and tried to duck into a little shop’s door well but the outer gate was locked so he stood there in the shallow frame for a moment as he regained his warmth. He had to make the bus.
He arrived, as the doors were just about to close.
“Tenir la porte! Tenir la porte!” Winston yelled to the driver. He was jogging under the weight of his pack, trying his best not to set it off balance as he swung onto the bus.
“Merci– Merci beaucoup, monsieur,” he tried saying between breathes.
“Bien-sûr, mon amie! It’s my job of course. Have you got yourself a ticket on hand?” the driver asked. He was a large man, with a husky beard that was trimmed sloppily. He seemed happy to Winston.
“No, I was hoping I could purchase one.” Winston replied. He caught his breath.
“Of course! Where to, mon ami?”
“Les Champs de Lavandre d’Arseilles, it’s 5 miles west from the train stop.”
“Of course. That’ll be 50 francs, s’il vous plait.”
Winston shuffled around in his pocket for his wallet and pulled out the notes before he descended down the center aisle and found a seat on his own. The bus was nearly empty, with only four others scattered in different seats. As the driver took off, Winston stuffed his coat between his head and the window and drifted off to sleep.
It wasn’t until late afternoon when the sun slowly sank into the subtle undulations and the fields were a bright magenta that he arrived to the fields. Following broken pavement, he came up to what appeared to be an old, shabby barn where an old friend was waiting for him.
“Winston!” greets his friend. “Ça me fait plaisir de te revoir!”
“Ah, you bastard, you know I don’t speak french!” Winston returned. “So, where is it?”
“Suis-moi”
The two walked into the ruins where there lay a shackled plane. Along the broken concrete floor weeds were pushing through, and cobwebs were strewn about the wings of the machine.
“It looks a little worn, do you think it will it work?” Winston asked, marvelling at the rusty heap of metal.
“Of course. We just need to clean it up a bit.”
“I would like to begin, then.”
. . .
It was half past midnight when the two started to slow down. Winston could feel his arms starting to give out, and he couldn’t help find himself dozing off every few minutes.
“Hey, Bertrand! Wake up old man.”
The man slowly opened his eyes, “Had I fallen asleep?”
“You’re always falling asleep. Anyways, I think I’m going to retire to get some sleep. I might as well be fresh tomorrow before we go up in the air.”
“Ah, yes. I think we’ve done quite enough to fix this bucket into a working condition. I do quite agree with that. I trust you have your gear prepared?”
“Yes, it’s been made to unpack from my shirts. You should grab some sleep yourself.”
“Yes, I do quite agree.” Bertrand said, slowly slipping under. Winston walked over and threw a blanket over him.
“Sleep well.” Winston whispered as he walked out to the house.
The house was made of stone, and looked like it had been there for generations. There was a small fireplace in the center of the living room, a kitchen to the left and a narrow hallway that leads to the sleeping quarters. Each room could not have been larger than a jail cell, with just enough room for a bed, a nightstand, and some lamps. Winston ducked in through one of the doorways and threw his clothes on the floor, shuffling them around looking for something that would keep him warm overnight. As he wrestled his clothes for the blanket he sat down on the thin mattress, feeling the rusty bedsprings pushing through the fabric. He was happy to be settled into a room. For the last few years, Winston had been living on trains and buses, going from city to city all throughout Europe. He’s always had ambitions to go out to see the world, and ever since he received his first box camera he has had a passion for capturing it too. He knew that he was no professional like in the magazines, but he certainly did enjoy his Brownie. Of course, the expenses were large so Winston took the opportunity to make a small business out of it. As he ventured throughout Europe on a campaign, he would ask people along the streets if they would like their portraits taken for only a small share of their pocket money in return. It was a difficult trade, as he would never spend more than a day or two in one spot, but he found ways of getting the final product to his customers. It was quite rewarding too, because with every picture he captured he learned a new trick that would help him along the road. He hoped, by the end of his adventure he would be able to start up a small shop in his favorite spot along route and live out the rest of his days being able to explore. It’s all a bit too romantic he thought as he lied there, but he did like the idea of it and it was enough to keep him satisfied until he made his way into a dream.
Winston woke up and sat up on his bed. His hair was sticking straight up as he was trying to rub his eyes awake, but was unsuccessful. It was early in the morning, just after sunrise, and he walked out of his room to grab some breakfast. He needed to wake up if he was going to do his job today, so he brewed some tea to boost his morale. Today was the day that Winston was going to photograph a daredevil stunt that Bertrand and his partner have planned. Winston is not fond of daredevils, but Bertrand was a close friend that he met abroad at the beginning of his journey. When he and his partner found out that Winston was a photographer, they couldn’t help but mention their little endeavors that they had been planning for months. The conversation, one quite peculiar but new and exciting to Winston, goes as follows:
“You are a photographer? Chouette! We have been searching for a photographer to document a… how should I describe it… a project my partner and I have been working on.” Bertrand said.
“Well, I do believe I’d like to know.” Winston replied, openly interested in the offer.
“Listen carefully then, this is not one for the weak-stomached. We recently acquired an old biplane from my father, which has quite the capabilities. Come time, when the plane has been restored, we shall play a match of tennis atop its wings.”
Winston nearly spilled his drink.
“What was that?”
“It is quite what you heard it to be. You see, we are acrobats willing to do the unthinkable, and this is quite the unthinkable. This plane has been specially designed to support the weight of a full-grown man, quite like myself, atop each wing. We should come to fit ankle braces to them in time, and with our pilot we shall ride atop its wings.”
The way that he described it seemed as if it were something they did every year on holiday. Winston was quite unsure of this, but he wanted to see how it worked out and he quite enjoyed the fact that Bertrand thought of him capable enough of capturing such an astonishing idea. He accepted.
“Quite alright. I’ll tell you what; let me write down the location of my fields. Make your way towards us and we’ll get to work when you arrive. For now, I should get going. My partner and I have a flight we must catch.”
He never mentioned the name his partner, but Winston didn’t think to find out. He was quite stupid from the whole thing that he didn’t even notice the waiter drop off the check for his coffee. He watched Bertrand cross the street, and walk away.
That was over a year ago, though. Winston has been well prepared for this moment, and was just coming to terms with the morning. Bertrand walked into the kitchen and Winston greeted him. They started a friendly discussion, starting first with the colors of the fruit Bertrand was eating, and then to history of the lavender fields. There was a slight tension that they couldn’t shake off. The door opened, and Bertrand’s partner walked in and shook the morning dew off his jacket.
“Morning ol’ chap, I trust you got some good shut-eye?” He said with a thick English accent.
“Well, go on and get your boots on. I’ll go and meet you by the plane. Oh, and lovely to meet you mate.” He quickly threw to Winston. With that, Bertrand and Winston headed off to their rooms to get ready.
It was cold on the runway. The two pilots had already arrived and brought the planes out; the old biplane and a small acrobatic for Winston to ride in. After the preflight inspections were made, the pilots got into their planes, followed by Winston and the partners, and they took off one by one. Winston could feel the adrenaline coursing through him. This was a whole new experience for him, and it wasn’t until they were far up into the air that he could see Bertrand and his partner climb onto the wings. It was like watching synchronized swimmers with their precision, as they climbed over the top and strapped in. Winston prepared his camera. He had only three negatives that he could expose, and took full care not to ruin them.
So, here he was. The plane was travelling at least 100 knots through the rising clouds, and the visibility could not be more clear when they found gaps. He was cocked, ready to fire whenever he could get a shot. His camera, although not professional, was capable of enough speed to get the shot he wanted if he did it at the right time. Click! The first plate was exposed. As fast as he could, he grabbed the next one and shoved it in the back of the camera. Click! There goes the second. Winston could feel that the shots weren’t what he was going for. Meanwhile, the acrobats had a tennis ball out and they were volleying back and forth. Winston was still trying to comprehend the situation. He took his last plate, and placed it in. He tried composing the shot to the best of his ability, even talking to the pilot but the pilot could not hear over the noise of the wind blowing through the open window. It was up to perfect timing and Winston to get the shot. So, he waited. He waited for the two to be right below him, poised at an angle that would give him the maximum view of the two of them. They came into a clearing, and, click! The last shot was taken. Winston signaled to them all that he was finished, but it felt like they were up there for another hour. It was quite the spectacle from the ground.
When they landed, Winston went to go pack up. He had to move onto his next destination. His goodbyes were short, but they had known that they would get the print when the time comes. So, Winston walked down that broken up path.