It's a miracle! Another story, so quickly after the previous one! This one is based on a song by a band that I recently discovered. They are called Hunger, currently supporting Against the Current on tour, and although I couldn't go to the show, I absolutely love their music. That's why the coming story is based on their single "Gravity", but I was also inspired by the music video and the blurb on their website: "Gravity describes the force of attraction in ourselves to both the dark and the beauty. We all tend to break out sometimes and fall back in schemes and habits that we actually abhor. We are just blinded by the beauty of self-destruction."
The story is a bit dark, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Gravity Her The bridge had always been one of my favourite places, even when I was a child. I’d lived in this town for my entire life, watched all my friends leave to the city, but somehow, I remained behind. Perhaps it was the bridge. Perhaps it was something else. The bridge connected the southern part of the town to the northern part, since both were separated by a high way and a river running through. The bridge went over both of them, which is why it was one of my favourite places. There were always people walking on the bridge, but you could also watch down and count the red cars, or look down on the people walking their dogs on the river banks. You had the beauty of nature on one side, and modern life on the other; it was perfect. As a child, I loved to take walks with my family, because we’d often use the bridge to cross to the other part of the town. I’d always lived in the north, but most of the shops and restaurants were in the south, which meant that I used the bridge very often. My mom would never leave me alone on the bridge when I was young, afraid that I’d fall off. But every now and then, I’d sneak out and spend hours on the bridge, thinking, sketching, listening. That never changed as I grew older, and in those days of puberty when you hated everyone and just wanted to get out, I went to the bridge. It calmed me down, made me think. The only thing about the bridge was that as I grew older, I only came here when I felt bad. When life simply became too much, when life wasn’t enough, when my boyfriend broke up with me, when I fell in love with someone else but he wasn’t who I thought he was, when my brother left town and changed his number, when my mother was admitted to the hospital, when I lost my job, etcetera. Slowly, the bridge became a place of sadness. The only upside to it had always been that whenever I went to the bridge, my friends would eventually figure it out. They might not know what was wrong, but they knew something was wrong, and that was enough. Often, one of them, never more than two, would show up, bringing a coffee and would sit down next to me, in silence. That was enough. But eventually my friends all left, and their pleas “you should come too, the city will be good for you” left with them. I didn’t blame them for leaving, although I sat longer on the bridge than ever on the day my best friend left. I understood why they left, and although something in me wanted to follow them, I never did. Somehow, the pain and misery that came with this small town pulled on me stronger than the excitement of starting a new life in the city, where nobody would know my name, or my family. So I stayed behind, alone. Nobody around who’d sit with me at the bridge. On days like this, I wished I’d followed them. I didn’t know the hour, but I didn’t really care. Deep down, I knew that I should leave; the rain would do nothing for me if not give me a cold. But I kept sitting on that bridge, alienated from the world. Nobody was crossing the bridge, the high way was practically empty, and the only movement on the river banks were some birds. Not even the dogs wanted to go out in this weather; let alone people. But I’d always been the odd one out. Slowly, I had stopped talking to people. It wasn’t intentional, but people left. I hadn’t seen my mother in days, and she’d taken her syringes, so she probably wasn’t coming back any time soon. My friends had been gone since forever, and none of them answered my messages. I’d even tried to call James, although neither of us ever really called anyone. He didn’t answer. I left him a message, but I knew he wouldn’t listen to it. He’d found his life it the city, and maybe it was better this way. He wouldn’t miss me if I left. It was weird to look at people. There was nobody here now, but I could easily imagine. Families sitting in a car driving over the highway, on their way to see grandparents, or perhaps going away for the weekend. One of the children would see me sitting on the edge, and they would wave at me, the way children wave at everyone. Maybe their mother would see me, and she’d look away, because people sitting on the edges of bridges were usually not happy people. And they were a happy family. On the other side, near the river, two elderly people were walking, hand in hand, happily married for over 50 years. Perhaps their health was slowly failing them, age having its influence, but they were happy to be still walking there, without a cane. They’d sit down, eat their sandwiches and drink some coffee that they brought from home, look at the children playing, and they’d talk about their youth, about how they had played at the river side, how the high way hadn’t been there yet. A young couple would take their dog for a walk, as they talked about their jobs, about how moving to a small town was the best decision yet, about how maybe they were ready to start a family, about how Joey and Charlotte were already expecting a baby, maybe they should too? But the bitter reality was that everything was deserted, and there was nobody to notice the girl sitting on the edge of the bridge. Him If my best friend had taught me anything, it was that life was often disappointing. I’d never looked at it the way she always did, but my new life had shown me that she had been right all along. She was so much more mature than I would ever be. I’d moved out of our home town optimistically, thinking that I’d find a better life in the city. I left my friend and my family behind, but I knew that I’d find new friends, and stay in contact with the people back home. Neither of that had become true. It was hard finding a job, fitting in, making friends. These people didn’t go out for drinks after work, but they went home. They all had a life for themselves, and they didn’t include other people. Life in the city was mostly lonely. I’d tried calling my old friends, who’d all left way before me, but they were busy. Had their own lives. They had tennis clubs, work meetings, yoga and book clubs. I wasn’t included in anything, and it felt like they didn’t want to include me. But I was stubborn. If they had made it here, then I could, too. I was going to make friends. I became more socially active than ever. I joined a running group in my neighbourhood, helped the children of my neighbour out with their homework, brought coffee for my co-workers until they invited me along, joined a gym and then another one. I was busy, and eventually, it worked out. But I didn’t pick up my phone. Not when my parents called to see if I’d come home for Dad’s birthday, not when she called to see if I wanted to hang out. I regretted many things when I did finally drive back home. I regretted not having checked in with my parents more often, not coming home for dinner every now and then. I regretted that maybe, I would never be able to talk to my Dad anymore. I regretted that it took my mom four calls and three messages to tell me Dad was in the hospital, and that it was urgent. That he wanted to see me. I hadn’t replied to the calls, because I was supposed to go jogging with my neighbours and I didn’t want to miss it. It seemed so unimportant now. But in hindsight, I regretted one thing more. My dad recovered, I made my apologies, and we became a close family again. In that aspect, I got a second chance. I didn’t get that chance when it came to her. She’d called me, the day that I finally drove back home. I hadn’t answered. She never called, so it was probably urgent. Important. But I didn’t answer. I listened to her voicemail, days after she left it. She talked, but I could barely hear her voice. It shouldn’t have surprised me when my eyes were pulled towards the bridge, driving back, and I saw here there, on the edge of the bridge. Perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised me that when my Dad was out of the woods, and I went to the bridge, she wasn’t there. She wasn’t home, and her neighbours told me that neither her mom nor her had been home in the past weeks. It shouldn’t have surprised me that I never heard from her again. I was supposed to keep her safe, should have made her stay, but she faded away.
0 Comments
Hi there! First of all, happy new year, even if I'm incredibly late with that. It took me a while to write something new, but I'm really happy with this one (even if I wrote it in like an hour). There's no real prompt for it, but I did use some inspiration from a song halfway through (it concerns the character Emily, if you know the song you'll probably know what I'm referring to, but I mostly used the name and some inspiration for her background story). Anyway, I'm writing my bachelor thesis these coming months, which either means you won't see much of me, or you'll see a whole lot of stories showing up that deal with stress, deadlines, stuff like that. We'll see. For now, enjoy this story :)
Coffee Time The café was quiet, although there was a steady stumbling in and out of customers. It was still early, and the only sounds were the coffee machine, and orders being mumbled. An espresso, a latte, just a black coffee… The tables in the café were still mostly empty; but you knew that by lunch hour, every seat would be taken. Right now, the only table that wasn’t empty was the one in the far corner. Two people sat there, fresh mint tea in front of them, although both glasses were still full. As you waited for your order, a large coffee with an extra shot of vanilla, you had an exam today, you tried to imagine what the strangers were saying, focussing on the movement of their lips. “Listen up, I need to tell you something.” “I know, you told me that already. Just get on with it; I need to tell you some stuff too, and I have other places to be after this.” “You do? I thought you said you quit your job last month?” “Yes, I did. Does not mean that I suddenly don’t need money anymore. I’m still looking around, trying to find something. If you happen to come across something, do let me know.” “Of course. Something that has little social contact, I assume?” “Don’t be a dick about it, and just get on with whatever you want to tell me.” “Hey, you started. But sure. I ran into Alice earlier this week, and you will not believe what she told me.” “Have I ever not believed you before? I was the only one who believed your story about the bridge before you found the photos.” “It’s just a figure of speech, don’t get all jumpy. Anyways, she said that she hadn’t seen Dave for a while, so she went to check up on him, and –“ “Wait, are we talking about Dave-I’m-better-than-you-Dave or Dave-does-not-care-about-anything-but-the-environment-Dave?” “The first one. Anyway, she’d sent him some texts, tried to call him, didn’t respond to anything. He hadn’t even posted on his Instagram for an entire week.” “This really isn’t the way to tell me that he died, you know.” “Shut it, he didn’t die. So Alice went to check up on him, since she was a little worried, and you will never guess what she found.” “If I could guess it, I wouldn’t be sitting here. Continue.” “That girl of his? I keep forgetting her name but you know who I mean, that chick he brought with him to Jessie’s birthday?” “The trashy one who’s got a serious alcohol problem? I thought they broke up months ago.” “Yeah, so did I. And apparently, they did, but here’s the thing; he got her pregnant.” “No. Way.” “I’m serious! Alice went over to his place, found his chick there, nursing a little baby. She asked if it was his and apparently she laughed like a maniac while saying that it was.” “Maybe she was lying?” “Yeah, that was my first thought too. Even though she was staying at his place, maybe Dave was just being nice, didn’t realize what a train wreck she was? So I asked Alice, but she said she spoke to Dave as she left, and it’s indeed his. They broke up, but about four months ago she called him, in tears, about how he got her pregnant and now she was drowning in bills and had a baby coming up.” “And of course Dave never realized that it probably wasn’t his?” “Well, she said it was,” “Yeah, but she seems like the kind of girl that would sleep with lots of guys. Who knows what she does when she’s hammered.” “Fair point. Anyway, the creepy thing is: remember that Dave changed his phone number a few months ago?” “Yeah, just like you did, because of you-know-who.” “Exactly, although Voldemort wasn’t involved. But I just wanted to leave the entire incident with that fucking creep behind, so I changed my number.” “But Dave wasn’t involved in that, right?” “He wasn’t, not really. But he showed up when I kicked him out that last time, and after I filed a restraining order on him and changed my number and everything, he found Dave’s and send him a text. Nothing serious, but with the entire history behind it, Dave and I thought it was better to be safe than sorry.” “Jesus, I can’t believe you never told me any of this! I didn’t realize it was this bad.” “I was just trying to get over it myself, at that time. Anyway, Dave changed his number, and we properly kept it secret, you know.” “Yeah, makes sense.” “But here’s the catch: how did that pregnant bimbo get his number if he changed it?” “O my god!” “I know right! She totally stalked him and he probably never even realized that.” “Didn’t Alice talk to him about that?” “She hadn’t realized, I pointed it out to her.” “I can’t believe this.” “And I haven’t even told you the best part!” “Oh god, do tell me.” “Dave told Alice, I’m literally quoting Alice here, that he’s going to try and be a great father to his son.” “Are you sure we’re talking about the same Dave here?” “Yeah, can you believe it?” “The dude never properly grew up! Last time I saw him, he was gushing about some sort of conference he went to where everyone dresses up.” “Yeah, one of those comic cons. Admittedly, my inner geek is so jealous of him, but still.” “Wow, by comparison, my news is barely news.” “Well, do tell me!” “Okay, do you remember Emily?” “The ex of Lydia? Yeah, of course I remember her! And if I ever run into her again, she’ll surely remember me too because I’ll let her know exactly what I think of her. That bitch, breaking Lydia’s heart like that.’ “Yes, exactly, that Emily. Well I really don’t want to make your wish for revenge worse, but…” “Don’t keep me waiting girl!” “She totally did it with James.” “But she works for James now… Oh. No. No way! Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” “I’m totally saying what you think I’m saying.” “Oh she’s dead. She might as well start planning her funeral now, or find a very good hiding place. Does Lydia know about this? She’d be so devastated.” “No, she doesn’t, and I think we should keep it that way. I ran into her the other day as she was on her way to a date, and she looked so happy. It would totally ruin her.” “Agreed. But I can’t possibly believe this? She got that job like what, a month after she broke up with Lydia? If you can even call it a proper break-up. More like she just abandoned her out of nowhere.” “I wonder if she was already sleeping with James when she was still with Lydia.” “Probably, I wouldn’t be surprised at this point. Maybe she was just with Lydia to get a job, and when she realized Lydia was never going to be that kind of girl, she just left.” “I always knew that girl was shady, but I’d never imagined this…” “To be honest, we should have known. But we can’t blame ourselves for this; it’s not our responsibility.” “You have a point. I just feel so bad. I didn’t even tell you everything yet, it gets worse…” “Miss? Miss, your coffee.” You blinked with your eyes, and realized you were still standing in the café. You looked back to the barista, who was calling to you, looking almost concerned. You grabbed your wallet, but he shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, it’s on the house. You look like you need it; I had to call you three times. Here, good luck with those last exams. Try and get some sleep.” You smiled at the barista as he handed you your coffee. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.” As you turned and walked away, the comfort of a warm coffee in your hands, you noticed that the table in the corner was empty. Maybe you should try and get some sleep. I know, I know, it's been forever. I've been busy, stuff like that. I completely failed to get the 50K words needed to finish Nanowrimo (end count was somewhere around 12K), and the following story is very short too. But hey, it's something.
The story is based on my favourite song by my favourite band: Forward or Crazy by Call It Off. You ought to check them out ^^ Anyways, enjoy. I wrote this in both third person point of view and first person pov, but I like the latter more. It just gives more room to express emotion. Prompt: Forward of Crazy by Call It Off I ignored my shaking fingers as I lit another cigarette. It was a terrible habit, and I really should have quit a long time ago. I just couldn't find the energy for such things lately. I stared at the blank screen in front of me, the document that was still disappointingly empty for something that had to gain 3000 words within the coming six hours. Because for some reason the deadline was at 9AM, which was absolutely ridiculous. It proved that my incredibly boring lecturer probably had a life as boring as his voice, and he’d never finished a deadline the night before. Something which I did frequently. And it was never a problem, if deadlines were at midnight. You could easily finish it and still get a somewhat decent amount of sleep. But this time I started somewhere around midnight… Well, I hadn’t been sleeping for weeks now, so I might as well add another night. If I ever was going to finish this essay. Even my usual last minute savior, wine (you really could write the most amazing things when slightly drunk, but you needed to make some time for a thorough spelling check the next morning), hadn’t worked this time. It had been one of those cheap bottles of red wine that cost me less than the pizza I had ordered earlier, and I really shouldn’t have been surprised that I ended up with a headache. Next time I was drinking beer again. But first, I had an essay to finish. I mean, I knew this was entirely my own fault. My sleeping schedule had been fucked for weeks now. If you could still say I had a schedule. I just slept whenever I could; that meant rarely. I’d never slept through classes before, since I usually was quite the responsible student (except when it came to deadlines obviously) but lately I’d happily skip if that meant a few hours of sleep. It’s not like I never had time to sleep; I just wasn’t able to fall asleep. Last semester had been terribly busy. I had a thesis to write, and on top of that, I made more hours of work than I had ever before. My life consisted of class, work and thesis; and if I had a spare hour, I needed to get groceries. Do some laundry. Take the trash out. My social life had been reduced to occasional calls with friends and family. It had paid off, somewhat. My thesis came back with an 8.5, which was higher than I ever expected to get. But my boss fired me at the end of the semester; she felt like I wasn’t ‘making an effort anymore’. I left without a word, figuring that she’d find out how much of an effort I had made when I was gone. But when I called my best friend to rant about it, she didn’t pick up. And as I checked her social media, I realized that I’d been neglecting my friends way too much. So much, that I hadn’t been invited to parties (maybe I shouldn’t have been late to Katie’s party) and they had changed the day for our weekly coffee dates without telling me. It was a hard blow, but knowing that I was entirely responsible for my own despair made it even worse. I’d fallen into some sort of rabbit hole without even realizing it. While I would have given anything for some hours of undisturbed sleep the previous semester, I now couldn’t sleep even if I wanted to. Last semester had been exhausting, but satisfying. This semester was exhausting, but miserable too. I spent most nights up on the roof of the building, watching the night life in the city, blanket wrapped around my shoulders. It was calming, looking at all these people that were awake on ungodly hours too. But tonight I couldn’t exchange the bright screen for the flickering street lights. I had a deadline, and so far, I wasn’t getting anywhere. I sighed, shoving my chair back too loud. The guy living downstairs was bound to complain again, but I didn’t really care. Nobody liked him anyway. His 'culinary diners' could be smelled everywhere in the flat. I made my way over to the coffee machine, my last resort and my only friend lately. While the machine was running, I made an attempt to tidy up my desk. There were articles and books everywhere, with random marked pages. It seemed like I was some sort of genius, but really, I was just as much of a mess as my desk was. I sorted the articles by subject and brought my coffee over to my desk, wrapping my cold hands around the mug as I opened Spotify. Perhaps some good music would help; I couldn’t focus without, and Muse always helped me focus. I glared at my screen, muttered some very inappropriate words, drank my coffee in one gulp (which was a mistake since it was still very, very, very hot) and took a deep breath. I wasn’t going to fail this course. No matter how tough things had been, most of that was my own fault, and if I wasn’t going to do something about it now, I might never. 3.54AM on a Sunday night was as good a time to get myself back together as any. I picked up my book, and suddenly it hit me. In bold letters, I typed “The restlessness of the American people portrayed by Jennifer Egan”, and the hours that followed were one blur of words. But at 8.55AM, Monday morning, I stood at the office. Bloodshot eyes, hands trembling, a worse headache than before, but a finished essay in my hand. I handed it in and went straight back home. Time to catch up on some sleep. Good evening! So, twenty days of Nanowrimo have passed (if you're unfamiliar with that, it's an event where writers all over the world write 50.000 words for their novel in one month), and I'm stuck somewhere in the 8000. This is partly because I started a new project (more about that in a minute), because I've been a little busy but mostly because I'm lazy. Guess that book is not going to be published any time soon; but on the bright side, I'm so much more happy with how this rewrite is turning out that it's okay. It's going to take a lot more time than anticipated but hopefully it will be worth it when I one day hold my own book in my hands. I'm also posting a short story here, but it's got somewhat of a background. The story I posted previously inspired me to write something that resembles James Joyce's The Dubliners, I suppose; because I'm trying to write a series of short stories that are all connected, one way or another. I'm still toying with this idea and as long as I haven't figured it out exactly, I'll just keep posting them as short stories. But if you feel like you've come across something before; you probably have. With that said, here is the story that followed the previous one, simply named 'Sharon'. Sharon “Sharon, are you coming down for diner?” she called, for the second time. Her wife was in the office upstairs, working. On the one hand, she knew she should leave Sharon alone, as she hated being disturbed, but there was also a part of her that figured that if Sharon didn’t want to be disturbed, maybe she should start working at the same hour as Janet herself, rather than staying in bed until 10. Besides, nobody liked to heat up grilled chicken and fried potatoes. Eventually, she had been forced to take the chicken out of the oven; better to eat it cooled down than dry. She walked around the living room impatiently, cleaning up a bit when she finally heard footsteps coming down. “Smells lovely, I hope it tastes just as good. Let’s sit down, shall we?” Janet knew how to hide her annoyance and sat down at the table, wearing a smile as she carved the chicken. She gave Sharon the biggest piece, and gladly set her fork in her own. “It’s not really hot anymore, Janet. You should know now to keep it in the oven a bit longer.” Janet didn’t mention that it would have gone dry if it had been in the oven any longer. “So how was work today darling?” “Oh, it was alright, I guess. Dave was being am intolerant jerk, but there’s nothing new there, right? Oh, John came back to work today. I’m a bit worried about him though. He doesn’t look like he’s dealing with it so well. There are these bags under his eyes, you know?” Janet knew better than to ask Sharon about her work, and kept rambling about her own day instead. They’d been living together for three years now, and she still didn’t really know what Sharon did for a living. “Do remind me, what’s going on with John?” “Oh, his wife left him a few weeks ago. She never was right for him, I guess. So stuck up on the perfect image, while John is generally a very laid-back guy.” “A little too laid-back then, I guess.” “Perhaps. Anyway, his wife left him for another guy, leaving for the city two days before their wedding anniversary. He showed me a picture of her new lover that she sent him. Her new lover looks an awful lot like John. So distasteful.” “I bet he cheated on her too.” “No, you don’t know John like I do. He’s just the sweetest, always working extra hours because his wife dreamed of a bigger house.” “You should work some extra hours, Janet. Lord knows your sweet wife would love a bigger house. This office is just so small, I can hardly get anything done.” I’m sure that’s the only reason why your income keeps decreasing every month, rather than you not getting out of bed. “You know I try, Sharon. Stop pestering me about it.” “I’m just saying! Instead of coming home so early that the chicken is cold by the time I’m actually done with work, you could work a bit later too.” “I work six days a week Sharon, ten hours a day. Is that not enough for you?” “Apparently not, since I’m still busy by the time you let the chicken get cold.” “Perhaps that’s because I actually get up at a reasonable hour, whereas you only roll out of bed at ten, and start making waffles.” “Are you saying I’m not working hard enough, Janet?” “Yes, perhaps that is exactly what I’m saying. You never let me see anything you do, you won’t mention names, you’re always vague, and I’m not sure if you noticed, but your paycheck has been steadily decreasing for months. I know that I don’t have the highest pay check, but at least it’s paying the bills. I can’t even get the groceries with yours.” “You’re just mad because you have to get up early every morning. You and I both know that the work I do is much harder than yours.” “No, I don’t know that, Sharon. Because you never actually told me what you do for a living. Although you really can’t call it a living, I guess.” “What I do, Janet, is creative work. It is not a simple office job like you do. It’s very tiring and I have to be inspired in order to create something. We’ve been over this. You can’t keep pretending like you can compare your job to mine.” “Well, at least mine is paying the bills.” Hello there! It's been a while, but today I'm celebrating the start of Nanowrimo with a new short story. I'm mostly going to work on my novel during Nanowrimo, the one that is my only story in Dutch, and that I'm saving to send to a publisher. I've pitched the story before at a great Dutch publisher, and they were interested, so I'm hoping to rewrite/continue the entire thing this month, so that I can finally send it to them. But I'll also be doing short stories along the way, and perhaps something different entirely, as I always like doing too many things at once. If you're participating in Nanowrimo too, be sure to find me on the website: @RecklessKells. Let me know what you're working on!
Now, without further ado, my story Maybe... Prompt: The song December (Again) by Neck Deep featuring Mark Hoppus The fireplace reminded him of how she’d always put her sweater on top of it before putting it on, and how he would tell her to put it somewhere else before it would catch fire. The coffee machine reminded him on how on Mondays, she’d wake him up with freshly brewed coffee. He actively avoided their book shelves, knowing that the books there only annoyed him. He was not the type for the classics that sat on the shelf, feeling that the idea of buying books for social status was pure ridicule. He’d been sleeping on the couch, throwing the huge amount of little pillows on the bed, effectively hiding the blue bedsheets under a mountain of fluffiness. He used the microwave more than ever and put the pans, that he was supposed to ‘wash by hand', in the dishwasher. Defying her when she’s not even here. Even though he took away all photographs in their flowery frames, there’s no escaping the memories. How could there be, after all these years. Working late hours because she mentioned enjoying a bigger house. Maybe even one with enough room for her to practice her dances. Buying a fancy polo shirt rather than a new part for his car because her colleagues were coming over for dinner. He remembered how she had scolded him. That’s what you’re wearing tomorrow?! You do realise my co-workers are coming over, or did you forget again? If you asked him, there was nothing wrong with his Star wars shirt. But he knew he had to say that he’d forgotten about it. The next evening, he heard been complain to afore mentioned co-workers how she always had to be the one to remember everything. He’d always put up with it, accepted their differences in a way she never would, not minding at all because this was what love was. Right? He remembered their first holiday together as he stared at the wall where the photos had been. He didn’t need the photo to remember the moment. They had been for out for dinner and took the long way back to the hotel, walking over the beach to admire the sunset. She had needed a picture of the two of them, to send to their friends home. She’d initially wanted to use his phone because the quality would be better, but he’d left it in the hotel. He had expected to shake her head at him, because that was what she’d usually do. But instead, she had just pulled out hers, taking a happy picture. He looked at her, as the camera snapped; he hadn’t seen her smile so big since their wedding. On impulse, he kissed her, without realizing that she took another one. And then another one, both smiling happily in the camera, children playing in the sand in the background, the photo covered in the soft glow that comes with sunsets. The first one she’d taken was his favourite. She looked so happy, and he looked content, happy with the life he was living. She looked happier than ever, and he looked like he felt every day. Content. Because he loved her, more than anything, and happily made these little sacrifices for her. That was why he spent his money on books he’d never read, on movies they detested but knew their friends liked, why he was always looking at new houses that they might be able to afford. That was why he didn’t go out with to the café across the street anymore, and why he had given up gambling entirely. He wanted to make her happy, give her the life she had dreamed of as a small child, be the husband she had imagined as she was a teenage girl. He was looking out the window, looking at the cars passing by. Would he ever get out of this town? He could move back, buy a house not far from his folks, maybe even visit his brother outside of the obligated visits on birthdays. This had never been his town anyways; but she was born here and didn’t want to leave her family and lifelong friends behind. So, instead, he did. Now it felt like he was stuck here. He remembered reading one of the classics from their shelves once, figuring that since he spent money on those stacks of paper, he might as well try them. He had started with Dubliners, a collection of short stories. Figured it would be an easy way to start. It wasn’t, not really. The more he thought about the stories, the more he figured out, but he didn’t like to think in the evenings. He just wanted to be enjoyed, and he never finished the last story in the book. But he did remember this feeling that all the people in the book had. That they wanted to get out of Dublin, but they never did. He vividly remembers the story of the girl who had wanted to leave her terrible family and Dublin behind, but when a gentleman gave her the opportunity, she remained, watching the ship with all her dreams sail away. That was him. He knew that the moment he read the story, and it was even more true now. There was nothing that was keeping him here. He knew he’d find another job easily enough; he had skills. But it had been months since she left, December had arrived, and he was still here. Even she had left this town; she’d moved to the city, with the guy that was apparently much more responsible and fun then he ever was. Like those two ever went together. He wasn’t really angry. He couldn’t be. He knew that if he’d given alcohol up along with his gambling, that she would have stayed longer. But he also knew that he was never perfect for her. She wanted to live in a castle, with a ball room for her to dance in. He’d tried to fulfil her wishes; given her the master bedroom she wanted, changed their white doors to the rose-red ones that she loved. Maybe if he’d written songs for her, she might have still been there. Maybe if he didn’t spend his Friday evenings locked in the garage, playing with his guitar. Maybe if he had worked harder. Maybe if he’d gone to the clothing stores she wanted him to go to. Maybe if he’d chased after her instead of writing this song. He had tried, alright. He had called her thousands of times, but the picture she sent him back was enough. A selfie, her smile bigger than her smile on the beach on their first holiday together. And the guy. He didn’t even want to punch him for stealing her away, because he was everything he would never be. His hair was the right shade, his mouth had the right shape, he wore the right clothing, he wore the right watch on the right arm, he held her the right way, his body had the right shape. Her new lover was everything he was, but slightly better. He knew that the pain wouldn’t be permanent. He told himself that the moment he came home from work and all her stuff was gone. She was gone, leaving a hole in his life. And a hole in the wall, that had previously been covered by one of her mother’s paintings. Although he didn’t really miss those paintings. He never cared for them; they were way too abstract for his liking. Maybe if he’d liked abstract art, she’d still be here. Hi there! I know, it's been ages. But I'm finally back with another short story! Before I start that one, I just wanted to let you know that my dear friend Daniël made a blog, where he is going to post some of his stories and stuff like that too. You should totally check him out, he's a great writer!
www.patchwork-rabbit.weebly.com Now, without further ado, the story. I'm sorry it's so short :) Prompt: The Song Another You, Another Way by Against the Current. She’d ignored the nagging pit in her stomach for a long time. Too long, perhaps. She often ignored the so called ‘feminine instinct’, because it never brought her anything but misery. Even if her instinct turned out to be right. So had it been this time. She’d just been ignoring it, because she didn’t want to ruin her perfect little life. She was halfway through her first year of university, had a great roommate, still hang out with her high school friends, and she was still as tight with her boyfriend as ever. She was doing well enough in classes, her parents were proud, and she really didn’t have any reason to burst her perfect little bubble. Until it burst unexpectedly. She knew that even if he attended university in another town, their relationship would make it through. She’d never once doubted that, although many friends had told her otherwise. But she and Alex still hung out every weekend, spending late nights watching the stars, catching up and drinking warm beer. It was the same old melody, and she loved it. She lived for those nights, where they’d be reunited, and would have their endless conversations. She obviously understood, when he cancelled on her sometimes. She knew University was hard on him, and he often told her he was struggling with his classes. She was disappointed, if he cancelled another weekend together, but she understood. She didn’t want him to fail because of his girlfriend, no matter how much she wanted to be with him. But gradually, the excuses changed. There was a block party he really needed to attend, because all his friends would be there. She’d cheerfully told him she’d come along; but he’d come up with a row of excuses that never gave a solid reason why she would stay away. She did, anyways. Her roommate Charlie had yelled at her. “Don’t you see? He’s either using you, or he’s seeing someone else. Don’t be so ignorant, Ellie, please. He’s only hurting you. You deserve someone better.” But she didn’t believe anyone who told her so. He was her boyfriend, after all, and they’d been together for four years already. He wasn’t just going to cheat on her because they now lived in different towns. He loved her! But after New Years’, after he never showed to her family’s party, the excuses grew more frequent. And without ever wanting to admit it, she didn’t really believe him anymore. But at least once a month, he’d come. And they would sit in the park until the police sent them home, and it was just like before. The same old melody, and she lived for that melody. So she ignored the nagging feeling that told her he was lying. Truth caught up on her near the end of their first year. They were having this big celebratory party in their home town, their entire group of high school friends. It’d be at his house. They all invited some of their new friends, and it was bound to be the best party of the entire year. She had invited Charlie to stay over at her parents’ house, and they were dressing up together. Charlie had dropped the subject of Alex a while ago, but she never missed the looks Charlie gave her when he let her down again. But she was determined to win him back tonight, even if he’d always been hers. She’d bought a new jeans for the occasion, pairing it with a cute crop top. Charlie did her make up, but she left her hair for what it was; for he always said that he loved her hair. She was hell-bent on making this night the best one of the year. They were a little late; fashionably late. The party had already started, and the booze was already flowing. She couldn’t immediately find Alex, so she and Charlie grabbed drinks first, greeting old friends and friends from college. She met Jane’s new boyfriend, listened to Daniel’s account of his date, congratulated Kate on passing that terrible math course, before she excused herself to find Alex. At this point she’d already had a few beers, and she knew she was a lightweight. But when she found Alex, she was pretty sure she was completely wasted. Because Alex was in the kitchen, making out with a topless girl. And judging by the way she moaned, it wasn’t the first time. But when she realized she wasn’t wasted, she saw red. She’d never been this mad. All sorts of obscenities left her mouth, words that she hadn’t said since some asshole had hit Jane with his car two years ago and just kept driving. She didn’t register all the guests coming into the kitchen, nor the startled cries of the still topless girl. The only thing that came through was the look on his face. It wasn’t even remorseful. He was still smiling, like an idiot. She screamed at him. “What did I ever do to you?!” He smiled that stupid smile, the one she’d fallen in love with so many years ago. “You changed… You weren’t so much fun anymore.” Without blinking, she stepped forward and hit him with her fist. Thumb out, like he’d taught her. Then, not waiting for a reaction, she stormed out of the kitchen, out of the house. Without realizing it, she walked straight into the park near their old high school. She sat down at the bench when someone sat down next to her. It was Charlie, carrying both their bags. “Hey, you okay?” She just shrugged. Charlie opened her bag and took a bottle of wine out. “I figured we might need this. Come on, let’s drink and forget him for now.” Wordlessly, she accepted the bottle and took a few big sips. “He’s an asshole, and you deserve better. You’ll find someone else.” “I loved him.” “I know. And it hurts, and I know that too. But you couldn’t keep living like this, and you know it. You’ll find someone else.” “I never wanted to say goodbye to him, but it’s over now. I’ll find another guy like him.” Charlie laughed. “Well, not exactly like him. But yeah.” Prompt: The song Satellite by All Time Low
Kailey sat in the car, staring out the window. The radio was playing softly; and although the classical music that was broadcasted in the middle of the night was far from her kind of music, she endured it. Anything was better than having to talk to the person that was sitting beside her, driving the car. She’d told herself taking the ride that he had offered her was better than having to hitchhike her way to her parents; but now, she wasn’t so sure. It went against all her instincts, being so dependable on the guy that she’d sworn to never see again, but she didn’t have the money nor the driver’s license needed to make it otherwise. She sighed, glancing backwards. She tensed as she saw the police car driving behind them. She knew that the tail lights of Jake’s car were broken; and if the police forced them to stop, the tail lights probably wouldn’t be the only malfunctioning they’d find. Jake’s car was a poor excuse of a car; much like Jake himself was a poor excuse of a boyfriend, really. Unless you were into cheating assholes, obviously. Kailey exhaled as the police car drove past them, without giving any indication that they’d seen the lights. Or rather, hadn’t seen the lights. She went with her hands through her hair, adjusting on the seat slightly. Glancing at the clock. At least another hour to go, and it was already the worst trip of her life. The only good thing about the mostly deserted road was the lack of light pollution, which meant that for once, she could see a clear sky, filled with stars. She’d counted them, right when they left Portland, but now she just admired them. She liked the sky, and everything that came with it. Kailey was the kind of girl to sit outside in a storm, watching the thunder, enjoying the rain on her face and the wind playing with her clothes. According to Jake, it was one of the reasons she was just a weirdo, but then again, Jake probably wasn’t the best judge of character. She looked at a particular bright star, shining in the northwest; the direction that they were going. Shortly, she imagined that the star would light her way, much like the Bible, but no star would ever shine for her as long as Jake was in the car. She kept looking at it, making sure it wouldn’t blink, making sure it wasn’t a satellite. When the next song was introduced by a woman, who was probably way too old to be making radio in the night, she was convinced the star was an actual star, and kept gazing at it. She thought back to the events of the past evening. It was hard to believe that so much had happened in 24 hours. She’d been dreaming of breaking up with Jake for a long time, but she’d never imagined actually doing it. Until yesterday. Until the girl who spent way too much money on make-up showed up at their front door, their door, asking for Jake. She asked her where her brother was. Kailey had told her, with more pride than she should have felt, that Jake was her boyfriend, not her brother; and that he was out to find them a restaurant for the night. He wasn’t, of course, he was more likely out to get drunk, but the hoe at the door didn’t need to know that. But unlike Kailey had expected, Barbie girl had just laughed at her. “You’re way too ugly to be his girl, darling. Now, step aside and let me in, it’s freezing.” Dumbfounded, Kailey had let the girl in, and walked after her, straight into the living room. Kailey hadn’t even thought of it, but the girl was already staring at it; the big photo frame on their table, holding a picture of her and Jake, kissing at a beach in Hawaii. The girl gasped. “You whore! You’re dating my boyfriend!” Thinking back to it, it had taken Kailey a very long time to realize what was going on. She knew Jake wasn’t perfect; but she had always been sure she’d been the only one for him. It turned out that Jake had been dating the hoe for five months now, and had promised her recently that he’d move in with her. And where Kailey had been in tears at her lost relationship, Barbie had just walked out, saying that Jake would choose her over a girl like Kailey. Kailey had already packed when Jake came home that night, and the only reason that she was still there was the same as to why she was sitting in his car right now; she couldn’t get home on her own. She sat on the couch as he came in, surrounded by suitcases, and before he could say anything, she calmly told him that she knew. That she knew about the other girl, that she knew about the drugs, and that she was fed up with it. She wanted a ride home, tonight, and he was going to give it to her, or she’d empty his bank account and trash his car. He complied, and without another word, she tossed her suitcases into his car. He’d tried to talk to her, but in response, she’d just turned on the radio, louder than she liked, but loud enough that talking was impossible. And that’s what had brought them here, in the middle of the night, making the most awkward trip through the county in her entire life. She didn’t even want to think of what her parents would say, when she showed up at their house in the middle of the night. Or what her friends would say. All she was thinking of, was how she’d made a good decision. She looked back at the stars again, blinking when she saw a small dot of light fall down the sky. A falling star. Smiling slightly, she wished for a better judgement of character. To make sure she wouldn’t fall in love with people like Jake again. But as she looked closer at the falling star, she saw it blink. It was a satellite. Prompt: the song/music video for Wasteland by Against The Current
Your mind was drowsy, as if you’d just woken up; but rationally you knew it couldn’t be true. You were standing between trees, fully clothed, and as you looked down you were even wearing your ring, which you always took off before going to sleep. You were surrounded by trees higher than you could ever have imagined them to be, standing tall and swaying softly in the wind. You couldn’t see the sky clearly, and your eyes must have deceived you, as it almost seemed like the sky had turned a purple colour. Carefully, you placed a foot ahead on the stony path, crawling between the trees. You were standing in something that had once obviously been a beautiful cultivated garden; but now, it was a wasteland. The bench standing a few feet away had turned green, leaves replaced the timber, and the path you were standing on was barely recognisable as such. Nature had completely taken over, and you felt like an intruder. The garden was still beautiful; but it was the kind of beautiful that felt like it wasn’t made for eyes to see. Involuntarily, you shivered, and you found yourself almost calling out, before realizing that you had to be alone in the complete silence. Carefully, you followed the path, trying not to make a sound. The garden was unnaturally quiet; you could see the wind rustling between the leaves, but you couldn’t hear it. It was unnerving, and you found yourself wondering once more how you had ended up here. It was ridiculous, and you knew it, but you pinched yourself in the arm, once and then again, trying to see if you were dreaming. You weren’t. Deep down, you had known that; but you had had the slightest hope that maybe you were. You kept following the path, although it became increasingly harder to do so; the trees grew closer to each other and the stone was more often replaced by soft patches of grass. Going back wasn’t an option; you knew that in your bones. So you kept moving on, marvelling at the exquisite flowers that suddenly started to appear behind you. You tried to ignore how the grass didn’t bend at all beneath your weight, or how you felt the wind blowing harder, but the world was still utterly silent. You tried to ignore your worries, but as you moved on, you became scared. Suddenly, you stood still for a moment; as if you were listening for something in the silence. But you couldn’t stand still for long, because the wind was pushing you to move on, and you were tumbling over your own feet, trying to recover your pace. You quickly glanced over your shoulder, only to see that the path was disappearing behind you; everywhere you looked, tall and broad trees stood, branches tangled. You were surrounded. You knew thunder was rolling, lightning struck a tree not too far away, but the only sound you could hear was your own breathing, speeding up as you desperately tried to find a way out. A way out beneath the trees that were creeping up on you, the branches that felt like they were going to strangle you. You kept trying to find a way out, but you didn’t succeed. First off: I'm so sorry, it's been forever since my last update. I didn't want to post my last creative writing assignments before they'd been graded, because you have to upload them to check for plagiarism, and I was too busy finishing my essays to write new stuff. But I handed in the last essay today, and got my final grades for creative writing back, so here you go.
Prompt: There was no real prompt, but there are references in the story to the book/film Perks of Being a Wallflower, and to All Time Low songs. Graduation left us with a fuzzy feeling. We were invincible, victorious. It felt like our whole life had been moving towards this point: graduating high school. Life had never been better. We had a whole summer to enjoy with our friends, and anything could happen. Charlie was the last to turn 18, a few weeks before graduation, which meant that now all of us could drink and drive. Not simultaneously, obviously. But now that we could all enjoy the bittersweet taste of alcohol, all celebratory parties that followed would be even better. The first party, the night of graduation, was at Jessie’s. Jessie had always been the uncrowned queen of our year, so her party was a big happening. I’m certain that it was the only party in our high school period where everyone showed up, and when I say everyone; I literally mean everyone. That included the always-silent Oliver, who had probably never been out of his house past 5pm. It included John, whom we had all suspected of setting off the fire alarm last year and the stink bomb in the canteen a few weeks back. Almost everyone had been a suspect in the eyes of Mrs Winston, who never could enjoy a joke, but not John. John was great at fooling the teachers; and Mrs Winston always lovingly called him “her little student”. If only she had known. It also included the valedictorian of our year, Melissa. I was positive that she’d never been to a party before; she was always studying. But that night, Melissa probably drank more than any of us. That was a lot; because it was the only party that I can only partially remember. It suffices to say that we were all completely wasted; and it was a good thing that Jessie’s parents had left the house for the night. I’d never know if it was out of generosity, or if Jessie had just forced them. She seemed like the girl who could. Nevertheless, I pitied her parents, who had to clean up our mess the next morning, and shoo the drunken teenagers out of their front garden. Or perhaps they had a cleaning lady to do that for them. They seemed like the kind of parents who’d smile nostalgically at the mess, but not clean it themselves. It was the start of a great summer. We’d battled the monster called high school, and we’d won; from here, it could only become better, right? None of us had fully realized that after the summer, our lives would change drastically; we just enjoyed the summer high. I like to say that I had the time of my life with my friends that summer. Charlie kept teasing me, saying how it was a miracle that I had passed. It was, perhaps, a little bit. I was always too distracted; I preferred imagining things, writing. School just wasn’t a priority. Charlie didn’t understand; he loved the science classes. Patrick did though. The two of us, we were the creative ones. But I wasn’t talented; I just preferred writing above most other things. Patrick, on the other hand, was the real talent amongst the five of us. He’d make these colourful, abstract paintings, and then write music based on them. He’d put his painting on top of the piano and play for us; and I could somehow always hear the connection between the canvas and the sounds. It was marvellous. Summer progressed slowly but surely, and with that came the realization that in a few weeks, we’d move out; start new lives, laugh at our past with new friends. We didn’t mention it, but somehow we found ourselves visiting each other more frequently. We would stay until past midnight at Elle’s, because she had a pool in her garden. We’d find ourselves drinking another ice coffee at Starbucks; because Charlie worked there. We’d spent the afternoons in the forest behind Sam’s house, bringing beers and crisps, and Patrick would bring his guitar. We all hosted parties; not only our little group, but everyone from our year. None of them were as big as Jessie’s though, that first night. I wasn’t home much that summer. I often stayed the night at Elle’s or Sam’s place, never feeling like making the long trip home. I was the only one without a car; and even if we often weren’t sober enough to drive, it was something that I missed that summer. I was too stubborn to ask the others to drive me home, especially since I was the only one that didn’t live in town. My house wasn’t even on the outskirts, but in the nobody’s land between our town and the next one. I’d have loved the luxury of a car; but instead, I had to make my way over to my friends by bike. My parents were usually at work; they never had the ability to drop me off, so I was left biking through the flat countryside towards town. When I think about it, it was a little strange that we never held parties at my place. I had no neighbours for miles, and my parents were never home, so my house should have been the default setting for all of our summer parties. But for some reason, we never ended up at my house, not even when I proposed it. There was always a better place to go. Gradually, we started cancelling our meetings because there were so many other things to do. There were college applications that needed the last finishing touch, dorms that needed to be found and furniture that needed to be bought. Slowly we realized that our summer was coming to its undeniable, impending end. The shadow of that thought suddenly loomed over us. It was probably about three weeks before the end of summer that we spent another night at Elle’s. The two of us were lying on our backs, still in bikinis, in the moist grass. We had splashed around, and there was no dry area to be found around the pool, but we didn’t mind. The boys were still joking around, pushing each other under water. “It’s weird, that we’ll never see each other again after this summer.” “That’s not how it has to go. We can still see each other.” “Maybe, but that’s the way it will go.” “Why? We’ll all be back home for the holidays, right? We can hang out, like we do now.” “But we’ll have new lives.” “That doesn’t mean we have to forget the old ones. Besides, it’s only a two-hour drive between our universities. We can visit each other on the weekends.” “You don’t have a car, remember?” If I didn’t know Elle better, I’d say her tone was almost angry. But she probably didn’t mean it that way, so I ignored it. “But you do, and so do Charlie, Sam and Patrick.” Even if we had all picked different universities, or colleges in the case of Charlie and Patrick, we weren’t that far away from each other. It could have been so much worse. “How hard is it to understand that we’ll have new lives? We’re not going to drive over to your place every weekend.” “That’s not what I meant, Elle” I muttered. “I’m just saying that our friendship doesn’t have to be over.” Elle didn’t respond. I’d left that night, preferring to spend an hour cycling home in the dark than spending the night at Elle’s, as I had intended. After our conversation, the boys had joined us; cheerful, not having heard us over their laughter. I’d gone home shortly after that, feigning a headache. I’d left my laughing, tipsy friends behind, and for once, I didn’t mind. I wasn’t even angry at Elle; just disappointed. I thought of us as a very close group, bonded over shared differences, and deep down I had believed that moving away wouldn’t tear us apart. Maybe, I’d been wrong. After that night, there was always someone missing at our meet-ups. Often, it would be Elle. Just as often, it would be me. I briefly talked to her, as we ran into each other at Starbucks. She told me that she hadn’t meant it that way; she’d been drunk, and she told me that she feared college life as much as she loved getting away from this same old town. I told her it was fine, but I didn’t show up at Sam’s the next afternoon. Instead, I sat at home, surrounded by my favourite books and my journal, trying to describe how I felt. So it happened that our last weekend at home had suddenly arrived. We were all moving away on Sunday, so on Friday-night, we met at Sam’s for what would be the last time this summer. We’d all brought large, bulky bags, filled with booze and marshmallows. Sam, always the inventive one, had already lit a campfire in the woods, sticks and hamburgers lying beside it. We sat in silence, enjoying our beers and listening to the crackling of the fire. It was illegal, of course, but none of us really cared that night. We drank, we ate slightly burned hamburgers, and got to the point where we drank our beer with smores. We laughed, like we had laughed at Jessie’s. Louder than we had laughed in math class, when Patrick had made another hilarious doodle of our teacher. We had more fun than that time when Charlie crashed into Katie at gym class, because he had had a crush on her for the entire year, and he ruined all his chances by ruining her hair, as they fell down into the muddy field. I felt nostalgic; without knowing why. It wasn’t over yet; I still firmly believed that it didn’t have to be. Elle made out with Charlie that night. We’d all seen it coming, no matter how tough Charlie pretended to be. Patrick wrapped an arm around me, when Charlie and Elle had disappeared behind a tree, and Sam was taking a leak. “I’ll miss you, you know.” “I’ll miss you too. But this isn’t like the end of it. We’ll be home for the holidays, and we can come see each other in weekends. It’s not like you’ll be at the other end of the world. “You mean that we will come see you” Patrick corrected me, in the same voice he used with the juniors he helped with math. “Since you don’t have a car.” “You act like that’s a problem.” “No, I suppose not” he said, but then Sam returned, and Patrick changed the subject. After a while, Elle and Charlie returned, and I could see Elle’s lipstick on Charlie’s lips in the glow of the fire. “We both liked each other for a long time” Elle announced, as soon as they sat down again. She didn’t need to; we all knew that. “But we’re not going to act upon it. College starts next week, we’ll have a new life, and we’ll have forgotten each other within weeks. But for now, I want to toast, and then Charlie and I are going to find a bed.” I frowned at her statement, and when I raised my bottle to toast our new lives, it was only half-heartedly. Hiya guys!
So, I figured I might actually do a blog post again, since this is a blog. Basically, it's been getting more views, because I posted the link on my Tumblr (I didn't realize this actually worked until someone told me they had read my stuff, so thanks for that), and because I posted the link in a writing group on Facebook. That's cool :) I'll try to post something every week. Right now I'm wrapping up the last assignments of my creative writing course; they will be posted in a few weeks, after I got my grades back, because I don't want to risk getting a 1 for plagiarism. It will be a short story, of about 2000 words, and a play. We performed all the plays that were written in class today. It was really much fun to do, and mine worked out really well, I think. It's a tragedy, and I'm very happy with how it turned out. Writing something so different was a real challenge, since you have to include stage directions and stuff. Also, I acted in the plays of my friends; I've been both an alien who really doesn't want to be on earth, and a passionate vegetarian running after a meat lover and a chicken. It was a lot of fun :) Few more weeks of deadlines, and then there's the summer break! That will pose the real challenge, because I plan on writing more, but usually I end up watching series or something. And since I have seven more seasons of Supernatural to catch on... Anyway, thanks for reading my stories, and this short post, which basically was a lot of nonsense. Next story will hopefully be up in the coming week; I'm working on something quite ridiculous, and hopefully funny. Thanks for hanging out here, Seeya :) |
Archives
February 2017
About meWelcome to my blog! This is where I post my stories, occasionally accompanied by personal thoughts. I always post short stories, as I keep the longer ones for myself. My stories are often based on songs. I listen to music a lot (mostly pop punk / punk rock), and often get inspired by melodies, lyrics, or music videos. |