Short Story - Goats.

This is a short story I wrote for creative writing, I'm going to submit it for my portfolio so if you could take just a minute to give me a little bit of feedback that would be amazing. The outline was: Write a short story in 500 words in a world that involves creatures other than humans, in a world where there are psychic abilities, with the characters partaking in a rite of passage. So here you go.. it's a bit far fetched...

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this” I sighed to the choir master. “He’s the second black spot this week. We couldn’t even finish the ceremony on Thursday!”

“Perhaps we can distract the guests, and more importantly the bride?”

“They’re bound to notice it. And it’ll grow more prominent with every lie he tells.” I turned to the window and watched as the limousine pulled up outside the church. The goat-people had been honest souls for thousands of years. Most had complex psychic abilities so lying was pointless. Lies and betrayal brought the young men of the species out in a rash that was known as the black spot. It began in the fur between the horns and could be groomed in such a way that is was not as obvious, but in consistent liars it could spread like wild fire, across the face, out over the shoulders and down over the entire body. It was common knowledge that the rashes could only be eradicated by the sinner overcoming one of the significant rites of passage of life. Hence the rise in Black Spots desperate to marry. I nodded absent-mindedly at the choir master.

“It’s time.” We left the small room and parted ways. I approached the altar and stood next to Black Spot Bill.

“You better know what you’re doing” I whispered. He gave me a sly wink and produced a top hat from behind his back. He positioned it on his head, guiding his long yellowing horns through the tailored holes. It almost completely covered the black rash growing between them. He then dug his hooves into the pockets of his tuxedo and stood nonchalantly watching as the door to the church swung open.

            The hat seemed effective for the majority of the service; his bride was far too occupied with her big day to notice the blackening fur on his forehead.

            “Repeat after me,” I said to him, “I, Bill Grayson take you, Ann Peters, to be my lawfully wedded wife”. He choked on the last word and as he turned back to face me I saw the black spot growing with every lie. He’d struck lucky, found a girl without psychic abilities so he could live his sordid, cheating lifestyle without being caught out by the power of the mind. But he couldn’t hide the black spot. It wasn’t long before she’d notice; almost his entire head was an ominous dark hue now. A couple of guests were fidgeting; they’d seen.

            “To have and to hold.”

            “To have and to hold.” His voice was shaking, he could feel himself changing.

            “For better or worse.”

            “For better or worse.” She was watching his every move from beneath her veil. Her expression concealed whether or not she had noticed; she was focused, but not furious. And it was spreading to his shoulders. I was unsure if I should carry on the ceremony; I could see him willing me to hurry up and say the words that would set him free. His large front teeth bit his bottom lip between repeating my words.

            “I now pronounce you goat and wife.” I said, hesitantly. There was a static that filled the air surrounding him, and before she had lifted the veil, the black rash had vanished. 

Short Story - Feedback Please!

Right, here's a short story I wrote for Creative Writing, I've been editing it but I'd really like some constructive criticism from you all, it would really help me. Have a read and let me know what you think, what needs changing, which bits you like, which bits you hate, anything! We had to take the first line from a short story that already exists and carry the story on from there. Comment with your suggestions or tweet me at @missfranklin on Twitter! :)

Lily, the caretaker’s daughter, was literally run off her feet. She ached to sit down but she hadn’t time. She had been left, once again, to right her father’s shoddy work, whilst he lay snoring heavily in his basement bedroom. She had received a predictable phone call at 3am; her father slurring and hiccoughing between pleas for a favour. A favour that she hadn’t minded too much on the first couple of occasions, but that had become a great burden to her over time. The morning light was beginning to creep in through the windows and she knew she’d be hard-pressed to get the house cleaned thoroughly before Mr Sullivan and his perfectionist wife returned. They had been to one of their company balls and would undoubtedly return a little worse for wear a few hours after sunrise. Lily’s father had taken the rare opportunity of having the house to himself to invite a couple of his old drinking pals over for a party of their own. He had always been an opportunist. It was incredible how much mess three sixty year-olds could create in one evening.

The house reeked of alcohol wall to wall; beer had been trodden into the shagpile carpets and bottles lined the windowsills. It looked as if twenty men had been drinking there last night, but Lily knew her father didn’t have that many friends. There was a large amount of salt poured over the dining table, almost as even as a fresh blanket of snow, only three names had been traced into it with a drunken fingertip. Beside her father’s name were the names of his partners in crime, Terry and Bill. Together the three were a lethal combination and always managed to cause a considerable amount of trouble. She shook her head. Lily was used to cleaning up after her father, but this was definitely the worst she’d seen it. Her father’s drinking had become completely out of hand; she threw her bucket to the floor and decided that this would be the last time she’d cover for him.

Lily wondered how her father had managed to afford such a large quantity of alcohol on his basic wages. She rolled her eyes and feared the worst. She darted into the kitchen, where the cupboard doors were flung open, and the bare insides told her everything she needed to know. She cursed him under her breath; he was fast becoming a wreck of a man that she could barely recognise.

She scrubbed at the walls and mopped the floors, wiped the table clean and picked up countless bottle caps. She knew their game; they flicked them across the room purposely, competing on distance and sniggering hoarsely at each other’s efforts. She collected all the bottles and threw them into a black sack. She sprayed the kitchen and dining room with air freshener in a last attempt to mask the stench and rehearsed the scolding she planned to give her father. Rolling her eyes she mopped her brow and took a step back. Looking around the room she deemed it almost passable. She was just straightening the chairs around the dining table as she heard the front door swing open in the hallway and ricochet back off the wall. Lily froze in the dining room.

“David!” Mrs Sullivan screeched. “Try a lighter touch. My head is already pounding.”

“I’m aware.” He replied. “You’ve been moaning about it for the entire journey.” Mrs Sullivan sighed heavily. Lily bent down to pick up the cleaning supplies, biting her lip in an attempt to remain as quiet as possible. As she heard footsteps nearing she pelted across the room. Just as the door opened to the dining room, Lily closed the door to the basement behind her, and stood with her back against it, mop and bucket in hand. She muffled her panting with a fist and listened intently for the reaction of the Sullivans. There was a lingering silence and Lily held her breath. But after a few seconds she exhaled, hearing the staircase above her creak. As they climbed, she descended, down into the basement to yell at her letdown of a father. With each step she thought of more insults to shout at him; her anger inside her was boiling over. She’d almost been caught and she was fuming.

            From across the room Lily saw that the duvet was pulled up around him and the overpowering smell of alcohol stung her eyes. She blinked, adjusting to the dim light and then the thunderous silence hit her. He wasn’t snoring. She grabbed a corner of the duvet and pulled it away, revealing a large pool of vomit. It smelt vile, almost toxic. Crouching down she stared into his glassy, vacant eyes. Dropping the bucket by his bedside she offered a tentative finger out to his cheek and stroked his cold, unshaven white face. The usual purple hue had drained away. Lily gulped back her own vomit and picked up the vodka bottle from the floor. She swigged it, replaced it, and left, never looking back.

Please let me know what you think!