"advertising
is about telling stories. the ability to see potential from
seemingly nothing, and then develop it into a great idea, is a key attribute
for anyone wanting to work in advertising."
as part of our application process we were given this photo as a starting point and asked to tell a story in 500 words. here is mine:
It was 6.37 on a Sunday morning and Mr Stabby’s eye twitched
with every screech of Mrs Higgins’ cat.
“It shall die.” He hissed, rising from his bed. Mr Stabby
had had enough, every morning that wretched cat was yowling from the rooftop of
the garages at the bottom of the garden; the time had come to do something
about it.
Three days had gone by with no sign of Schubert. Mrs Higgins
believed she could still hear his shrill yells in the early hours of the
morning but she put it down to her tinnitus; this wouldn’t be the first time
that her ears had deceived her. Her poor little Schubert, what if that awkward
neighbour of hers had done something to him? He had clearly taken a disliking
to Schubert and had been round several times knocking on her door. She had kept
the door on the chain and had never let him in as he had a slightly deranged
look about him. She had heard them talking about ‘Mr Stabby’ at the
greengrocers.
Mrs Higgins steadily wheeled her trolley along the blustery
sea front, pausing at regular intervals to carefully put up a poster, which
read “MISSING, My beloved cat Schubert.” along with a description of Schubert,
a copy of the photo of him that she kept on the mantelpiece and her contact
details. Mrs Higgins had retired to Eastbourne over ten years ago but had kept
herself to herself preferring the company of the crackle of Radio 4 to that of
the outside world. Once the posters were in place she walked the twenty-minute
journey back to her house, she was fit for a woman of her age.
Mr Stabby’s real name was Duncan. He was hurt by the
nickname that the kids on the pier had given him. His astigmatism had left him
with an unfortunate twitch and a slightly deranged look, making friends had not
been easy in a new town. Having ruled out the option of obtaining a pellet gun,
Mr Stabby went round to Mrs Higgins’ to once again try and reason with her and
ask her to ensure that her cat was shut indoors for the night. For the first
time Mrs Higgins invited him inside.
After pouring a cup of Earl Grey into a dainty china cup,
Mrs Higgins shuffled over to the mantelpiece, the picture of Schubert smiled up
at her. A tear pushed from her eye as she cast her malevolent gaze around the
myriad of trinkets. Her tiny raw hands settled on a heavy lead cast of a cat.
“Lovely tea Mrs Higgins, I do hope we can come to some
agreement.” Her hands ravaged by time, twisted around the ornament’s neck as
though she was wringing that of a chicken.
“I’m sure we can.”
Mrs Higgins steadily wheeled her trolley along the blustery
sea front, pausing at regular intervals to discreetly rip down the posters,
which read “MISSING, local man by the name of Duncan Osborne.”
