This isn’t happening

Another short story inspired by reading a short story.

This isn’t happening – by Chelle Obayda


I was sitting in an armchair in a nearby coffee shop on a Saturday afternoon reading a book, one of my favourite things to do. It was the early afternoon in the winter, when the sunlight started to sail away too quickly, long before you felt the day should be ending. The cafe wasn’t too crowded but there were a few people sitting and drinking, some on their own too, armed with a book in hand, some with a friend, catching up on their latest life stories. I barely noticed them.


My position in the comfy armchair, the oversized mug of hot tea in my hand, the lack of any pressing engagements, I should have been completely relaxed.


I couldn’t have been more on edge.


A young bride merely seventeen years of age was being swept away by a French millionaire. I didn’t trust this French man, I know the young bride didn’t either. Why did she marry him? He was a lot older than her, and I could feel the pressures of an age where young women had to marry older men for financial security. With a mixture of gratitude and disgust I shuddered. I pulled my mug of tea closer. As I read the young girl’s description of her vulnerable position, a loud crash of plates on the ground snatched me back to the coffee shop. I snuck a glance to my side in search of the source, and noticed instead an oversized middle-aged man walk past me. He buttoned the top of his coat up and I thought I saw him shift a sneaking glimpse in my direction. I quickly turned back down to my book. My stomach a little uneasy, I look up again just in time to notice the middle-aged man pass a woman on his way out, looking her up and down before stepping out of the door. Another shudder, I pulled my tea closer.


Returning back to France, now to the castle, I’m engrossed, and sitting a little more upright than the soft cushioned chair would invite. Details of grandeur, of loneliness, of isolation. I started to sink into my chair, into a slump, empathetic gloom. I heard a woman scream loudly in laughter and it took me a couple of seconds to realise that the noise was coming from the table nearby. I sank back. Now the housekeeper, her suspicious temperament, her coolness, the way she cruelly laughed at the young bride for not knowing what she had gotten herself into. I felt the sting of ridicule, and then jolted up to the woman’s screaming laugh again. I looked over somewhat nervously at the woman who was sitting with a friend. She was completely engrossed in her friend’s story, the friend had said something funny and she responded in a joyous cackle. My initial reaction slowly calmed, as I realised that this woman’s laugh wasn’t cruel. She wasn’t the housekeeper in the castle. I settled my eyes back down. I tried to calm down.


A couple of paragraphs back in and I was overcome with anticipation. What I awaited may not be pleasant, in fact I was becoming more and more certain it wouldn’t be. My chair shook a little, and I was unsure if it was me or a customer clumsily walking behind me. Again a little shake, this time it was definitely me. I turned my head round for reassurance, and saw nobody behind me. The story started heating up and my tea was getting cold. Movements round the castle were abrupt, the girl was in a hurry. I clutched my mug of tea tight before realising the content was empty. As I placed the mug onto the table, I looked around the coffee shop, allowing myself a moment’s breath to escape the tension. Nobody was moving much. I saw other people engrossed in their books and newspapers, so blissfully unaware of this young bride’s impending doom.


My left arm grabbed my right, clutching it hard so I wouldn’t find myself in the puddle of blood that this young girl has found. My heart rate was increasing, pounding, as she was running through the dimly lit corridors, trying to find the key. She was running. He was coming. The table vibrated and my phone started ringing. It took me four rings to realise this was my phone, and I quickly answered it, heart still pounding.


“Darling, is that you?”


Heartbeat now slowing.


“Hey baby, you ok? You coming home for dinner soon? I’ve just put the chicken in the oven.”


“Yes, yes, I’ll leave now sweetie. See you soon”


I hung up, rose to my feet, and as I put my overcoat on thought to myself, “… if I ever make it home alive!”

The Bucket Woman

Hey short story fans, today (yes, today) is your lucky day!! I have written some stories which I will put up here, in case some passing soul in search of some (very) light entertainment turns their attention here.


The Bucket Woman – A short story by Chelle

Amelia is a woman, but sometimes she turns into a bucket.

This transformation tends to only happen on Wednesday evenings when she is walking home from work, and if she manages to leave work on time and catch the early train, she can get through the front door of her flat before she becomes a bucket. If Amelia is late, then becoming a bucket becomes a bit more difficult. It’s hard to open her front door as a bucket. If someone sees a bucket just standing in the middle for the pavement, they tend to put it away somewhere, which makes it hard for Amelia to get where she is going. sometimes someone will see the bucket and start putting things in it, and this is what Amelia hates the most. When she transforms back into a woman, she finds her pockets full of random things, usually peoples’ rubbish.

One Friday morning, something terribly awkward and embarrassing happened. Amelia became a bucket in the middle of a very important meeting. Amelia is a criminal defense lawyer, and the meeting was with her client, an elderly man who had been wrongly accused of armed robbery in his local fish and chip shop. The man was very distressed in the meeting as he was explaining his story to Amelia and her colleague Jane, and just as he started to explain what kind of sauce he had ordered with his chips, Amelia became a bucket and fell back into the chair she was sitting on. Jane was so engrossed in the elderly man’s description of the beer-battered haddock, and the man was so involved in telling the story, that thankfully neither of them actually saw this happen. It was only when the man stopped to fetch a tissue to dry his eyes that they both turned to see a big blue bucket sitting in the seat where Amelia had sat just a minute before.

Jane, who is 12 years younger than Amelia and still a junior, looked very confused, assuming that Amelia had left the room, left her with this blubbering old guy. Jane wasn’t very sympathetic as she wasn’t much of a fan of fish and chip, and she secretly thought he was guilty anyway. The man finished blowing his nose, ready to start explaining how soft the chips were, when he noticed the bucket in Amelia’s seat. Jane picked the bucket up assuming it was rubbish, opened the door to the street and put it outside, closed the door again, and carried on listening to the part about the ketchup.

Amelia sat on the street for a few minutes as a bucket, hoping to turn back into a woman soon. She was quite close to the backdoor of a kebab shop, and suddenly someone opened the door and placed a mop into the bucket. Amelia got very annoyed. The mop was soggy and smelled of cooked meat. She let out a big sigh, and was surprised to hear a deep voice sigh back, and say “Tell me about it”.





So my excellent friend on the other side of the world called Liz told me about this really beautiful idea called 100 Happy Days… Check it out!

The idea is that you find one thing every day that makes you happy, for 100 days, so you see more beautiful things around you and in your life.


I have installed an Instagram app on my site here, so you can follow my 100 happy days, if you’re fancy.

Remember City of Lost Souls?

I just got an iPad for sketching, and trying to figure out why I didn’t get one earlier!! I miss my Shoop de Doop days, doing COLS comics about any song that got stuck in my head. Tammy, Dan and I recent.y had to bid farewell to our beloved City of Lost Souls, in the hope of a possible resurrection and a different address. Maybe here? Watch THIS space.
So here’s a quickie I did yesterday. CAN’T get this song by The Killers out of my head! Don’t let her stick it to your heart so hard.

Just Another Girl by The Killers

Remember Rusty and Mango?

Those loveable little fish? Remember? Rusty was trying to find what was outside his tank?

What do you mean you don’t?! It was only… ah… erm.. many years ago.

Well well well, here’s some good news. Rusty and Mango are coming back! I’m on a mission to finish the story, picking it up where I left off and hopefully making some improvements on the way. I will be posting up the pages again in case you have forgotten them (I forgive you). Check out the CRAZY merchandise you can buy with those loveable rogues. And here is a little reminder of what the heck I’m going on about.


Work in Progress

I am currently working on an image that popped into my brain one day and decided to show an image while it is still in progress.

Work In Progress[Modelled in 3DS Max]

Whilst writing this title, I thought it might be a good title for the image, which depicts the hard-working cogs inside that power the pretty lights outside. You can take the metaphors you want out of this; the hard workers not getting credited for their work (ahem, VFX), or the poor struggling at the bottom to keep the wealthy looking glamorous and beautiful above. A bit like the Titanic!

But really, I think I just like cogs. And metal. And my name.

So… I have to finish this now.


R.I.P my eyesight

My eyesight finally gave up the struggle and decided to hand in the towel… It went crawling to the opticians for a helping hand. Oh dearest eyes, we had a good run didn’t we?

Who knew finding a pair of glasses could be so difficult? (Every single person who wears glasses, you say?) It was tough. I tried on a thousand million pairs that looked pretty much the same to me.

Come on, they all sort of look the same!

I snapped all these photos and more, while in the shops. I had gone by myself and couldn’t decide on a pair. Eventually I did decide on one.


Not these


There we go! Aaahhhhh, aaaaand we can relax. I do feel like I’m incognito though. I mean, has there ever been a better time to get a moustache?


Birthday Blue


It was my birthday yesterday! And what a beautiful time I had, half the day lying lazily in bed, the other half drinking with my friends. I feel like a lucky girl.

I made a cake to take into my office, as I’ve been told it’s traditional to do that on your birthday. I decided to bake a lemon cake, and decorate it blue.

Then I decided to put glitter on top. Basically I made a cake that 13 year-old Chelle would have loved. This got me wondering why we feel we need to act our age. It also got me wondering why we don’t eat more blue food.

The cake was eaten up, I turned another year older, the last year of my 20’s, and I decided not to try and act my age. When you approach 30 a lot of people discuss the pressures and expectations that suddenly appear at this ripe old age. So I decided, sod that! Put glitter in your food, why not? If you act as crazy as you want, one day, if you’re lucky, you will actually be OLD, old enough for the craziness to become acceptable again.

This is not a meaningful post, just a big old hands-in-the-air celebration of being forever young. Woooohhoooooo! The only thing blue about my birthday this year was the cake.

*laughs hysterically, throws shoes into the air and runs away maniacilly*

Christmas Colours

Well, Christmas has come and gone, I am back living in London, and I haven’t posted in a while. Hello!

I got an i-phone 4s at Christmas, and have been exploring the photography possibilities of it’s beautiful camera. This was my main reason for choosing an i-phone over all the other smart phone choices; to have an HD quality camera on me at all times. How exciting!

What I have also been late-in-the-game with is this Instagram app… I am loving the quick quirky effects you can get with just a few taps!

Here are some Christmassy colours I have for now. Ho ho ho!