Rob Watson
Bio
I love writing, and I love sport. So, many of my stories will be about sport. But I also love writing fiction too, so there will be short stories, extracts from novels and maybe some scripts and even some poems too.
Stories (43)
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Nurture
Nurture Chapter 1 In Warrington in Northwest England the quiet in the high school staff room was interrupted by the door being flung open by a young female staff member, who marched quickly over to the water dispenser, grabbed at a plastic cup and in her haste three of them came out. She let two of them fall to the floor and half-filled the one in her hand with the cold water. After gulping down that water she crushed the cup and threw it in the general direction of the bin. She put both hands to her long hair and pulled on it as she let out a little scream of exasperation.
By Rob Watsonabout a year ago in Fiction
What it's Like to Be Me
What it’s like to be me. Remember primary school? That was cool. At least it was for me. I was nothing special, just a regular primary school kid with a few friends. On sports day though it was different, that was when I ruled the school. Any running race I had, I won. It was the one lap that I loved the most and the one I would get so nervous about, even though I always ended up winning easily. Running was so much fun, I felt so free and as if that was what I was supposed to be doing. I joined an athletics club the summer after primary school finished, the world seemed like such a great place.
By Rob Watsonabout a year ago in Fiction
Fastest Girl on the Track
Olympic Showdown I look around the room at the other seven girls. I have been looking at them in waiting rooms like this for the last few years. This time it is different, nothing is the same as an Olympic final. What on earth am I supposed to do for ten minutes before the biggest race of my life? Looking around at the other girls, they are all doing something different. Mila the German is prowling round like a panther, she has a stare that would completely shit me up if I was not already as nervous as I can be. Layla the Kenya is also walking around, but much slower looking far less angry and intimidating than Mila. Ebba the classically blonde Swedish girl, wait are all Swedish girls blonde? No, I don’t think so, now I am trying to think of a Swedish girl who was not blonde, what about the girls from ABBA? I know it is the colours of their flag, but if a fashion designer had chosen the best colours to suit classically blonde Swedish girls, they would have chosen their bright blue and yellow one that she was proudly wearing. It looks like Ebba has no clue what to do either as she is doing a completely superfluous stretching routine. Buffy the crazy American, sorry eccentric American, is bizarrely going through an intense shadow boxing routine. I get the impression that she wears red, white, and blue and stars and stripes virtually all the time, whether she is about to compete or not. The American flag is painted on both her shoulders and the side of each thigh. She is always the most patriotic person I have ever come across, but this week with the games being held in her home City of Los Angeles, she has been more American than Elvis Pressley, eating apple pie whilst playing baseball on the fourth of July. If she was not here as a competitor, I am sure she would have found a way to be here as a cheerleader. She has her headphones in, I cannot hear her music, but I imagine she is listening to Born in the USA by Bruce Springsteen. In case you are wondering, she was named after the Vampire Slayer. Femi from Jamaica is one of my friends, she has done so well to make her first Olympic final, after a few niggly injuries earlier in the year. She is bouncing around on her feet like she could break into the Charleston or the Jive at any moment, but instead randomly jumps up and down every now and again. Somehow, she still makes that look cool in a way I never could. Are Jamaican’s born cool or is it on their national curriculum at school, or do the only let the cool ones leave the Island? My best friend in here is Roxana from Romania, she is doing what she always does before a race, throwing a rubber ball, that is slightly smaller than a tennis ball, against the wall with one hand and catching it with the other. Her repetition of that can be almost hypnotic to watch and she tells me that it helps her stop over thinking about the upcoming race. The only other girl who is sat down is the impossibly gorgeous Roos from Holland, she is easily good looking enough to walk into a role as a Bond Girl as soon as she is finished winning medals at Major Championships. The Dutch Orange uniform perfectly goes with her lightly tanned skin and long black hair, but Roos would look stunning if she was wearing a bin bag. Then there is me, the skinny rock chick from Carlisle. So pale that at airport security they are likely to check if I am a vampire, maybe that’s why Buffy and I don’t get along. I am sat down too, but completely lacking in the calmness that is oozing out of Roos. I have my headphones in, working my way through the same pre-race playlist I have listened to or the last few years. Right now, I don’t think I could stop my legs from bouncing up and down even if somebody paid me to stop.
By Rob Watsonabout a year ago in Fiction
The Artist
The Artist He does not remember me. That is probably a good thing. As he sits in judgement of me, I know he is the sort of person that would not admit to being wrong about me. Judging me the way he had done when I was a kid would not be good for me right now. I cannot believe he became a Magistrate.
By Rob Watsonabout a year ago in Fiction
Outlines of 4 of my Published Books
Book Outlines Stories for Cash This is collection of eleven short stories, all based on songs by Johnny Cash. The reason I have written this collection is to try and raise some money for Alzheimer’s Society. That is in honour of my Dad who had Alzheimer's for years before he died, and Johnny Cash was his favourite music artist.
By Rob Watsonabout a year ago in Fiction
Forgetting but not gone
He used to be my Dad. As I look at him sat on the sofa I don’t know who he is now. Still looks the same, but I’m not looking at my Dad I’m, looking at the thing that’s killing him. If he thinks, behaves and talks differently, can he be the same person?
By Rob Watson4 years ago in Fiction
It's Okay not to be Okay
A youth work residential trip. Picturesque setting in North Wales. A group of fifteen to seventeen-year olds coming to the realisation that it is possible to enjoy themselves without Wifi. Rock climbing, abseiling, raft building, team challenges, problem solving and games of rounders and casual kickabouts. Long summer days perfect for evening campfires. A great chance to have old fashioned fun, leave all the stresses of the modern world behind, make new friends and allow the true version of themselves to flourish. The previous night this particular trip had taken a sickening turn for the worse.
By Rob Watson4 years ago in Fiction
Searching for Scarlet - Part 4
Chapter 15 Sandi Lords Journal Sun 2nd April This morning Scarlet is out for her run for at least two hours rather than her usual one. When she gets back looking sweaty, red faced and injury free, our conversation goes something like this:
By Rob Watson4 years ago in Fiction
