Creative writing prompts #14 – Moving house


I didn’t go to university (I’m studying at one online now), and I don’t remember any scary encounters with any teachers at school, so that’s why I’m not doing #12.  I haven’t had any weird days at work, not that I can remember, so not doing #13 either.

So on to creative writing prompt #14.

The most memorable house move for me was before we even moved into the place.  I was 14 years old, and we had just had the good fortune to be given a council flat.

The flat was in the centre of the city.  It was part of a giant ring of flats, like a Roman gladiatorial arena, with a large communal space in the middle, and four great arches facing north, south east and west were the gateways to this granite edifice.

We had gotten the flat because my mother was a single mother with three kids (me, my sister and my baby brother), and because the old man that had lived there had shucked his mortal coil.  Before he had done so, the hoary fellow seemed to have sunk into a deep spiral of depression, and he had clearly wanted people to know this as soon as they crossed the portal of his tomb.

The walls were the deep, dark green of seaweed from the innermost recesses of  Cthuulu’s armpit; they seemed to absorb most of the weak grey light from the filthy windows, the remains reflected in a sickly sheen as if glimmering on slime.  The ceilings were all, without exception, piss-stain yellow as a result of the copious amount of cigarettes upon which the venerable coot had clearly been chugging, chain smoking himself into oblivion.  Perhaps the worms that fed upon his rotting carcass would take one mouthful and feel so damned depressed that they would just give up and rot away into the earth themselves.

So the most memorable part of that move, for me, was us and some of our other relatives scraping off the old paint, steaming off the nicotine-stained wallpaper that had been stuck to the ceilings, cleaning out the flat, and decorating it with new wallpaper and paint.  I remember it being fun actually, we all had a good laugh and it felt great to move into a flat that we had put so much work into and which had turned out to be a nice, clean cosy home for a number of years.

Based on a prompt from


About TheImaginator

35 year old sciolist living in Tokyo. I like swing dancing, Twitter word games, writing, using, reading, and watching movies. I write stuff on my blog occasionally.
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