The Writings of Oscar Beasley

COOKING  He had looked forward to this special day, for he had finally found a way to show his appreciation to his wife, who shined brightly as the light of his life, in a manner he had never done before which would make her delighted for sure. Now of course he always provided, financially and lovingly, but he confided to himself that there was something missing, throughout all their love, happiness and kissing - he had never cooked her a wonderful meal; he'd only prepared her the odd bowl of cereal. It's not that he had purposely avoided cooking; lack of confidence and skills stopped him from looking at those things called recipes, they were a stranger to him until he decided to stop being so kitchen-dim. So with a little help from his friends, he was now ready to make tasty amends. After some secret cooking tutoring here and there, where he learned even not to drop hair, he was ready to cook something that would make him a winner: a scrumpti...

Eating Out I've got sauce on my fingers, got to wipe them clean. I slurp some more Coca-Cola as I think back to those times, once again . I was off to uni! Life was great. And it was exciting! Excitement for life, for growing, for education, for pretty much anything, but above all, for theatre. I was to commence my bachelor's course in theatre. Oh, theatre, the most precious passion I could have ever found. As a young teen, I attempted to find myself in sports. I had always admired the sight of team players on the field. They appeared so confident, so commanding, so strong… they were in total control. I found myself longing to be on that field. However, after several broken bones and with no spectacular feats in any games to show for it, I was forced to find my calling elsewhere. Besides, there always seemed to be tempers flaring with the sports players and unpredictable results. A lot of them called me names. It was not for me. So where else could I belong? It...

P L A N T S Tom woke up, disgruntled, to the sound of his alarm clock at a time that he felt was much too early for him to be woken up during his summer holiday. Might as well be waking up for school, he thought to himself grumpily as he groggily reached out for clothing. Today was to be the first visit to Mr Abaddon's home. Mr Abaddon lived at the top of the road, and required somebody to stop by his house to water his indoor plants while he was away. Word had reached Tom's dad, who suggested Tom do it, and also insisted he do it in the mornings so as to give him some sort of routine. Tom disliked this insistence. What use is a holiday if he's still following a routine? He cheered himself up upon remembering that Mr Abaddon would pay him, as well as realising that he could be back home and in bed again in half an hour. Tom gobbled up a couple of bananas and went out, taking the spare key that Mr Abaddon had silently put through their door. As he walked up to Mr ...