Apartments Prague

This is an activity from the A215 Creative Writing Course that I’m doing with the OU. In a third-person limited omniscience point of view I have written about one of my own memories, so that I can practise distancing myself from my own experiences when writing fiction. The content is a mixture of fiction and non-fiction (8.1 part 2).

It was a bitterly cold twilight night with brilliant white flakes of snow falling all around as Chris, Derek, Sean and Mark landed at Prague airport. As they stepped off the cosy warmth of the plane, the intensity of the chilling, but arid air hit them with the suddenness of a driver braking to avoid hitting a cat.

After collecting four identical sized small-wheeled cabin cases they headed towards the airport entrance, where Sean believed they would find a queue of taxis waiting. Sure enough, he was right, as there were several white, partially snow covered, Mercedes Benz taxis, all complete with snow chains; a necessity for the icy roads in -15 Celsius weather.

As they sat in the heated comfort of a large white taxi, the passengers glanced at one another with a confused look of excitement and trepidation as the driver appeared oblivious to the dangerous road conditions and sped along like an expectant father racing to get to the hospital in time for the birth.

As the little hand rested on eight and the big hand pointed to the twelve, the mad taxi driver who spoke very little English and smelled of tobacco pulled up outside a large building with the name ‘Apartments Prague’ emblazoned upon its frontage.

‘Bloody hell it’s 60 Euros lads,’ said Chris will a tone of resentment in his voice; ‘each of you give me 20 euros, so I can pay the robbing bastard’.

The taxi driver placed the cases on the snow covered payment with haste that matched his driving; he was clearly in a rush to pick up his next fair. Sean remarked about how boring and convenient the apartment name was: its rather obvious and uninspiring name was clearly chosen to appeal to the English speaking world, he uttered. Inwardly, he envisioned its real Czech name; something quirky looking to a Brit; a name with several consonant clusters and hard to pronounce guttural sounds. The more he thought about it the more the boring name made sense from a business point of view; it was after all an apartment in Prague.

The reception area of the Apartments Prague was a spacious affair, occupied by two people: a short, burly man with a grey and white moustache, and an attractive mid thirty-year old woman, with high cheekbones, auburn hair and a voluptuous figure.

‘There aren’t too many of them to the pound,’ whispered Mark to Chris, as he grinned, whilst going slightly red-faced. Sean and Derek must have overhead the comment as they were nodding; presumably because they were in agreement.

Sean pulled up his shirt sleeve and tapped his watch gently, before moving the hour hand forward to match that shown on the bright red clock, situated on the wall behind the reception desk.

Having completed the check-in the four lads made their way to their respective rooms via the large, red carpeted staircase, immediately to the right of the reception desk. Thank God the rooms are only two flights up, he thought, as he clutched the room key in his right hand, whilst holding the travel case in the other and set off.

‘Right lads, let’s drop the cases off and hit the bars. What do you reckon?’ said Sean. They nodded before entering their respective rooms.

About Sean

I live in my own thoughts, chat to imaginary friends, and survive primarily on Snickers and Nescafe. I work full-time and study part-time for a BA in English Literature with the OU. Home is the North West of England, and my heroes are those authors that can make miracles out of paper and words…… “The man who does not read has no advantage over the man who cannot read.” – Mark Twain.
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