Email: f.puttnam@googlemail.com
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About Me:Hello my name is Anastassia Puttnam and I am one of the writers for kings news.I am always smiling and tremendously determined to do anything that is thrown at me. Furthermore people describe me as a quirky character with whacky ideas...that's why I now write these stories. However when I grow up I have always really wanted to be a doctor/heart surgeon, so thats my aim :)
Outstretched, his legs. Covered in a thin layer of tailored fabric. Crossed, his arms. Wrapped in a white piece of cotton, slightly darkened by the numerous washes it had incurred. A black hat sat slanted on his greased back hair, whilst it prevented the stray smoke from reaching the sky. It hung half out of his mouth and it slowly creeped down to the different toned part of the cigarette. An amber light edged closer to his mouth and the smoke continued to rise, until eventually it went out. Visibly, John had deep lines imprinted across his forehead, the stress of his daily job urged him towards alcohol that took impact to his features.
Sitting outside the pub, he inhaled the stale beer fumes that slightly numbed his brain, causing him to lift the drink to his mouth. The bitter taste kissed Johns lips and meandered down his neck, casting a relaxing spell every time he took a sip. He watched the sun begin to fall, with the array of colours painted in the sky. A few minutes passed when all you could see was the light grasping on to any remaining life that it could. At this point, John struck a faulty match against the side of a cardboard box. As the wooden stick snapped between his fingers, he mumbled unclear words under his breath. He then pushed the box out of its case to reveal his last match. Repeating the movement, he swiped it against the box again, resulting in the same outcome. Two halves of a wooden stick. A fresh fag was ready to be burned in his mouth, but with the lack of lighting tools his frustration grew. He started to scan the area looking for someone to ask for a lighting implement, when out the corner of his eye he saw a frail looking lady.
Her eyes were closed, her back was hunched and her hand rest on her head. He slowly rose to his feet and with a strong voice asked the lady for a lighter. He heard no response. Then with a limp hand, carefully nudged the lady's arm to see if she answered. Her head rolled backwards and her supporting arm fell to the table, the colour and life was drained from her face, although it had been stolen with the sun. The cigarette dropped out of his tightly pressed lips as he unpeeled the lady's hand from the table. He held his fingers on her wrist to feel for a pulse. There was none.
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