Showing posts with label Day Twenty-One. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Day Twenty-One. Show all posts
Monday, 27 January 2014
Easy A by Carolyn Glass
I have worked so hard for this moment; in the envelope is the result, the culmination of the effort of 13 years of formal education. If it is not what I hope for all will be lost. I open the envelope carefully, slowly, wanting to know but afraid of finding out, I unfold the sheet, and there it is, my passport to my dream course, triple A. Easy.
Saturday, 25 January 2014
Easy A by Lesley Whyte
It was so easy.
Too easy.
I can only imagine what would happen if I actually worked hard and studied for class. I'd be unstoppable.So, okay, yes, I got caught switching my paper with Emily Taylor's, but spotting the opportunity to do it was pretty damn special. Not everyone would have had the intellect, the quick wit, the fortitude to erase Emily's name as she passed her test forward and write my own on it.
Okay, so I don't technically know what fortitude means, but whatever.
Too easy.
I can only imagine what would happen if I actually worked hard and studied for class. I'd be unstoppable.So, okay, yes, I got caught switching my paper with Emily Taylor's, but spotting the opportunity to do it was pretty damn special. Not everyone would have had the intellect, the quick wit, the fortitude to erase Emily's name as she passed her test forward and write my own on it.
Okay, so I don't technically know what fortitude means, but whatever.
Wednesday, 22 May 2013
Accidentally in Love by James D. Irwin
I always thought of her as a sister to me, so it came as dizzying but pleasant surprise when I realised that I had--- quite accidentally--- fallen in love with her. But now, about three years later, it just hurts. It hurts, and there's nothing I can do about it.
Gatsby threw parties for the same reason I write stories-- I write them just for her.
She reads them, I think. But I don't know if she ever realises that they are all about her.
Gatsby threw parties for the same reason I write stories-- I write them just for her.
She reads them, I think. But I don't know if she ever realises that they are all about her.
Tuesday, 21 May 2013
Accidentally in Love by Sara Travis
It happened very suddenly on a rainy Tuesday afternoon. I remember it was Tuesday because I was supposed to be working, but the basement at the store had flooded so we’d all been sent home early. He said, ‘Let’s chill,’ and I said, ‘Sure,’ so he came over and we dug out our pyjamas and ordered pizza and stuck on some old Friends re-runs. We ate strawberry ice cream from the tub and sat under a wooly blanket and turned the volume up to drown out the rain pounding at the windows. And he sat close to me. And my gut squirmed when his hand brushed mine. And I liked it. And I noticed that he smelled of sawdust and cologne and coffee and something slightly sweet and musky that I couldn’t put my finger on. And I’d never noticed that before. Because he was who he was, and that was my friend, and you don’t really notice stuff like that about your friends, do you? Or do you? I don’t know, but I never did. Until Tuesday.
And then out of nowhere he says, ‘Oh hey, I’m seeing Celia this weekend. Like, you know, a date. Can you loan me twenty quid?’ And all of a sudden I was very cold, and my mouth was dry, and my heart was pounding in the back of my throat and I thought I actually might die. Because he was going on a date with Celia, and that meant he liked her and she liked him back. And it didn’t matter that I’d had an epiphany, that I’d finally noticed what had been staring me in the face for fourteen years, that I’d realised – holy shit – he smelt bloody fantastic and there was a very good chance that he was the one. And that everyday I’d thought about the future, every time I’d fantasised about jobs and houses and new cars and road trips, he was standing right next to me in a suit and tie, or signing his name next to mine on the deeds, or sat in the passenger seat feeding me biscuits, or taking my picture next to the Taj Mahal. And now he was going on a date with Celia. And he was going to marry Celia, and have a baby with Celia and there’d be no room for me in his new life with a wife and baby. Even though we’ve been friends since we were eight years old, and he calls my parents ‘Mum’ and ‘Dad’, and we’d holidayed together every other year since forever, and I’d seen him naked on two separate occasions that he may or may not know about.
And then I realised we were still sat on the sofa under the blanket, and the chill from the ice cream tub had made my thigh go numb. So I arranged my face to resemble a smile and said, ‘Sure,’ and I got my purse and I handed over the cash and I winked at him and said, ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,’ and he laughed and I laughed but really I was crying except on the inside.
And then out of nowhere he says, ‘Oh hey, I’m seeing Celia this weekend. Like, you know, a date. Can you loan me twenty quid?’ And all of a sudden I was very cold, and my mouth was dry, and my heart was pounding in the back of my throat and I thought I actually might die. Because he was going on a date with Celia, and that meant he liked her and she liked him back. And it didn’t matter that I’d had an epiphany, that I’d finally noticed what had been staring me in the face for fourteen years, that I’d realised – holy shit – he smelt bloody fantastic and there was a very good chance that he was the one. And that everyday I’d thought about the future, every time I’d fantasised about jobs and houses and new cars and road trips, he was standing right next to me in a suit and tie, or signing his name next to mine on the deeds, or sat in the passenger seat feeding me biscuits, or taking my picture next to the Taj Mahal. And now he was going on a date with Celia. And he was going to marry Celia, and have a baby with Celia and there’d be no room for me in his new life with a wife and baby. Even though we’ve been friends since we were eight years old, and he calls my parents ‘Mum’ and ‘Dad’, and we’d holidayed together every other year since forever, and I’d seen him naked on two separate occasions that he may or may not know about.
And then I realised we were still sat on the sofa under the blanket, and the chill from the ice cream tub had made my thigh go numb. So I arranged my face to resemble a smile and said, ‘Sure,’ and I got my purse and I handed over the cash and I winked at him and said, ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,’ and he laughed and I laughed but really I was crying except on the inside.
Accidentally in Love by Nick Trussler
‘You’re so beautiful,’ the boy smiled to the other.
“You’re so beautiful,” the other replied.
The boy stared at the other dreamingly. He tried to reach out and touch him but the other boy disappeared.
‘Who are you?’ he asked the boy.
“Who are you?” replied the other.
There was silence between the two, but a happy silence. Both smiled the exact same smile
‘I wish I could be with you,’ the boy said.
“I wish I could be with you,” the other replied.
The boy could not bear the pain of separation any longer. He leaned forward, getting closer and closer to the other boy’s face until he fell into the water and was lost to its depths.
Accidentally in Love by Lesley Whyte
"It wasn't supposed to happen this way. I wasn't supposed to fall in love with you."
"What was supposed to happen?"
I sigh. He isn't taking this the right way at all. You'd think I'd just confessed some sort of crime instead of telling him I was in love with him. I mean, sure, starting the conversation with 'I'm running away to Mexico and never coming back, please don't call me,' may not have been the best way to go. But I maintain he's focusing on the wrong thing.
"Just a bit fun, really. You were a distraction."
"Well, I'm glad I could help you out."
"Aren't you listening? You didn't help at all. You completely fucked everything up. You made me fall in love with you."
"Oh, I am so sorry." He snatches up his jacket and leaves.
I don't follow him. It'll just make things worse. I should have ended things weeks ago, when I realised what was going on. This is my fault. But then, he shouldn't have made me fall in love with him.
That's never happened before.
"What was supposed to happen?"
I sigh. He isn't taking this the right way at all. You'd think I'd just confessed some sort of crime instead of telling him I was in love with him. I mean, sure, starting the conversation with 'I'm running away to Mexico and never coming back, please don't call me,' may not have been the best way to go. But I maintain he's focusing on the wrong thing.
"Just a bit fun, really. You were a distraction."
"Well, I'm glad I could help you out."
"Aren't you listening? You didn't help at all. You completely fucked everything up. You made me fall in love with you."
"Oh, I am so sorry." He snatches up his jacket and leaves.
I don't follow him. It'll just make things worse. I should have ended things weeks ago, when I realised what was going on. This is my fault. But then, he shouldn't have made me fall in love with him.
That's never happened before.
Monday, 21 May 2012
Golden Rambler by Sam Smith
'And the Golden Rambler goes to...' she said. A short drum roll before the very attractive host opened the shiny envelope. She read the name and didn't look too surprised. 'Benjamin DeClement!'
Benjamin stood up and looked so proud of himself. Walking up to the podium on the small stage, he waved at a couple of his friends and gave a cheeky wink at the woman he was almost flirting with.
He held the small, plastic trophy in one hand and started his speech.
'This is the biggest thing that's happened to me since my...'
And it just went on from there.
Benjamin stood up and looked so proud of himself. Walking up to the podium on the small stage, he waved at a couple of his friends and gave a cheeky wink at the woman he was almost flirting with.
He held the small, plastic trophy in one hand and started his speech.
'This is the biggest thing that's happened to me since my...'
And it just went on from there.
Golden Rambler by Emily Chadwick
The first time I laid eyes on him, he was lying in a clearing. The sun spun his blond hair into sunshine, dappling his fair skin with puddles of molten gold. He was like something out of an oil painting, the brush strokes that created him too perfect to be real. He had a stalk of grass held between his soft pink lips.
At first, he had his eyes shut, but, as I shimmied on my branch to get a better look, they flew open. I was so startled I almost fell out of the tree. Bright blue eyes blinked once, and then twice.
“What are you doing up there, little one?”
I didn’t answer, just cocked my head to one side and mustered my best attempt at looking puzzled.
The man smiled.
“I’m sorry if this is your tree. I’m just taking a rest, and then I’ll be on my way.”
I shrugged, and the man closed his eyes with another smile.
It shames me to admit what happened next. I should have left quietly and took care of my business elsewhere, but instinct took over.
And I pooped on his face.
The man leapt to his feet with an almost inhuman scream.
“Fucking pigeon!”
At first, he had his eyes shut, but, as I shimmied on my branch to get a better look, they flew open. I was so startled I almost fell out of the tree. Bright blue eyes blinked once, and then twice.
“What are you doing up there, little one?”
I didn’t answer, just cocked my head to one side and mustered my best attempt at looking puzzled.
The man smiled.
“I’m sorry if this is your tree. I’m just taking a rest, and then I’ll be on my way.”
I shrugged, and the man closed his eyes with another smile.
It shames me to admit what happened next. I should have left quietly and took care of my business elsewhere, but instinct took over.
And I pooped on his face.
The man leapt to his feet with an almost inhuman scream.
“Fucking pigeon!”
Golden Rambler by Lesley Whyte
"I've got it! I've got it. The Golden Rambler. Huh? How good is that?"
"I don't even...what...what is that?"
"The name for your villain."
"Wait, hold on, let me make sure I understand." She took a deep breath, trying to focus on how eager he looked, how proud he was of his fucking awful contribution. "You want me to name the killer in my oh-so-serious crime drama The Golden Rambler? Seriously?"
"Yeah, why? Don't you like it?"
"He sounds like he should be wearing yellow spandex!"
"I know, but that's what's great about it. It'll really liven things up. I mean, the guy kills what...thirty-four people in the first chapter? There's got to be something about him that people can like, and a cool superhero like name would really help."
She set down her pen and took another deep breath.
"So, what do you think?" he asked, still beaming.
"It's the worst fucking name I've ever heard. Seriously, what are you, twelve? Do you not understand what I'm trying to create here? This is not a joke. You just don't understand what it's like to be a serious artist."
"And you do? You're sitting in the kitchen in your pyjamas talking about this great masterpiece you're working on. How many words have you even written?"
"Well, I...I can't start until...the number of words...that's not the-"
"Get over yourself. You're just some chick who wants to write the next great novel, but it's never going to happen until you put some words on paper. Until then, my suggestions, fucking awful as they may be, are just as valid as yours. I'm going to work. Some of us actually have proper jobs," he said, and then stalked out of the kitchen.
She waited until she heard the front door bang shut before allowing the tears to well up.
"I don't even...what...what is that?"
"The name for your villain."
"Wait, hold on, let me make sure I understand." She took a deep breath, trying to focus on how eager he looked, how proud he was of his fucking awful contribution. "You want me to name the killer in my oh-so-serious crime drama The Golden Rambler? Seriously?"
"Yeah, why? Don't you like it?"
"He sounds like he should be wearing yellow spandex!"
"I know, but that's what's great about it. It'll really liven things up. I mean, the guy kills what...thirty-four people in the first chapter? There's got to be something about him that people can like, and a cool superhero like name would really help."
She set down her pen and took another deep breath.
"So, what do you think?" he asked, still beaming.
"It's the worst fucking name I've ever heard. Seriously, what are you, twelve? Do you not understand what I'm trying to create here? This is not a joke. You just don't understand what it's like to be a serious artist."
"And you do? You're sitting in the kitchen in your pyjamas talking about this great masterpiece you're working on. How many words have you even written?"
"Well, I...I can't start until...the number of words...that's not the-"
"Get over yourself. You're just some chick who wants to write the next great novel, but it's never going to happen until you put some words on paper. Until then, my suggestions, fucking awful as they may be, are just as valid as yours. I'm going to work. Some of us actually have proper jobs," he said, and then stalked out of the kitchen.
She waited until she heard the front door bang shut before allowing the tears to well up.
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