A House on an Island

It’s the last week of semester and I am totally run off my feet with Level 3 project marks and getting ready for exam boards amongst other things. But today I made the effort to attend the writers groups – seeing as we only meet once a month.
Last months homework was to write about a house. The Chair had provided pictures of houses cut out of magazines and newspapers and we had our pick.
Having chosen a small cottage I actually managed to find some time to write about it, although I didn’t get a change to edit it before the meeting.

My rough draft:

We didn’t see the house that first night. The fog was too thick; all we could see was the path leading to the door and our feet. I’ve always thought of fog as going from the ground up, so maybe this was very low cloud.
Frank had spent most of the journey moaning about the weather, and I hoped it would get better, but I didn’t really mind. At least we were away from work and the City and not stuck in some hot sticky place full of chavs.
That first night was so welcoming. Dinner left warming in the oven, a big fireplace ready for us, the bed turned down, the water hot. No people.
But that first night that was just fine, we didn’t want to see anyone either.

I was up early the next day, eager to explore the island. Frank was still asleep and I didn’t expect him to be up before lunch, we were on holiday after all.
The fog has gone leaving behind a damp island surrounded by blue sea and blue sky. In the distance I could see the mountains of Scotland, but the mainland felt miles away. In the early morning light everything seemed beautiful.
The island was unbelievably small; at one point I could see the sea surrounding us on all sides. This I had been expecting, but the fact there were no other houses I hadn’t. I didn’t think that Frank would like that, but the cottage seemed to have everything we needed so I didn’t mind.
I took my time getting back, looking at everything and thinking about what to make for lunch.
Frank wasn’t there when I got back. He must have gone on a walk of his own, although the island is small enough that I probably would have seen him.
I didn’t worry, just started to prepare lunch. He’d be hungry when he got back.

It is starting to get dark now and Frank’s still not back. I don’t know what to do. I’ve walked round the island again but seen no sign of him. He won’t have gone swimming, he hates water. Where can he be? I want this to be some elaborate joke, but Frank’s not the type. He can’t have left without me, I’d have seen the boat and all his stuffs still here…

I was trying to see if I could change the mood of a piece of writing which I think worked. The group seemed to like it. The big question; What happened to Frank?

Homework for next month: either write a poem about somewhere you are going to visit in the next month or write a story designed for a commuters journey.