Miss Havisham

He didn’t feel like writing.  Dickens that is.  It was a dark winter’s morning, Charles was sat at his desk with his head in his hands, shoulders slumped, he sighed deeply.  Sometimes he just wished he could walk away.  This feeling didn’t happen very often but when it did it was overwhelming.  

He re-read the scribbled notes on his writing pad; 

Miss Havisham jilted at altar by Compeyson.  She’s read his letter.  Letter seals his future.  She’s waits in the shadow.  Death was imminent.  Gun loaded.  All she had to do was watch while time passed.  And it did.  Compeyson walks out of the building.  Grin on his face was about to fade.  Finger on trigger she aimed… Compeyson dies.

The ringing of the doorbell interrupted Dickens’ thoughts.  Slightly irritated he rose from his chair he hated being disturbed, especially today his mood being shadowy and dark.  Opening the door, he was greeted by his life-long best friend, ‘Hello there Charlie, are ye letting me in now?’  Stepping aside he watched as his friend walked in with an air of importance.  Slowly closing the door Dickens smiled and exhaled.  He knew his childhood friend could never be replaced but sometimes well…

‘Arghh I see you’re still scrabbling!  Great Expectations, if I remember right.’  Picking up the scribbled notes and reading them out loud, his buddy looked at Dickens and with an air of authority exclaimed, ‘Really Charlie, really?  Can’t you do better than that!  Miss Avisham with a gun, about to commit murder.  You do know she will have to be caught and hung.  End of Miss Avisham Charlie boy.  End of Miss Avisham.’ 

‘Her name is Havisham and Stop Calling Me Charlie!  My name is Charles!  I was christened Charles!  Charles Dickens!’

‘Oh yes I forgot, moving into an elitist world one has to change, if one is to fit in.  Charlie!  You’re such a snob.  Did ye not tell me, ‘Great Expectations’ is about, let me think now, affection, dependability and integrity that these are more important than social achievement, your words Charlie not mine.  And yet you mix with self-important, bombastic writers who criticise and demean who they see as lower classes.  Lower than them!  Isn’t that right Charlie!’

The silence in the room lay heavy for quite some time, not only was Dickens upset over being reminded of days gone by, when he did ans...

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Eileen O'Reilly
Feb 25 2021

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Comments:

Flows beautifully; love how I get pulled along with it!

Paul Sterlini
Mar 4 2021

I soooo want this to be a true account! In the words of Charly's BFF, I luvs it!

Tony Spencer
Feb 28 2021

An enjoyable and insightful read - very clever

Janette Ostle
Feb 25 2021