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 :)
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Prompt: This was something I quickly wrote instead of making homework (procrastination much), based on the song 'Perfect' by Simple Plan. Kudos if you find the other Simple Plan references (none of which were made on purpose, they just... happened. Fangirl problems)
“I’m sorry I can’t be perfect, Dad.” The words were spoken long after they should have been, after he’d left once more, after he’d shut the door, and probably after he’d entered the pub down the street. It went like this night after night; and at times, I felt like it would never end. No matter how hard I tried, I was never good enough. Ever since Mom had left, he’d transferred all his attention to me. There was a time where I would have been happy with that. A time when my Dad was my hero, and where I’d do anything just to be like him. But that time had passed a long time ago. I didn’t want to be like my Dad anymore; he was always and only pointing out mistakes people made. Not even in a nice, constructive manner; he’d just be down right rude. Especially to me. It felt like he expected me to fill the hole that Mum left; but I was just a kid too, and I wasn’t exactly up to that task. It had started when he expected me to have done the dishes and laundry when he came home, completely forgetting that I’d been to school the entire day. He simply didn’t care anymore. He didn’t show up for the annual parent-teacher meetings, and every year I was left finding an excuse, ensuring the teachers that everything was alright and that he’d simply fallen sick. “It’s his job,” I’d say, “always being outside in this weather”. The looks I got grew sceptical as more years passed, but nobody ever called me out on it. I’d realized a long time ago that they pitied me; something that came in handy when I hadn’t had time to finish my homework. That often happened; my dad always had something to do for me, while I tried to keep up with my education. And now I was in my senior year, and I knew that Dad would never let me go off to college, or to university. I was certain I would pass; I’d been working hard, and my grades were good. I was, at times, surprised at how good, since I did little to no work for them. But I was glad, because it gave me an opportunity. Using the school computers, I applied to a university, and got accepted. I managed to hide the letters at home, and as I came home from graduation, Dad still in the pub, I packed my bags and left silently. There was something magical about theme parks. The way you’d feel giddy whenever you visited them, no matter how old you were. The smell of fries, sunscreen and nappies, the screams and laughs everywhere, the grandparents and children with sticky fingers, foreign tourists and groups of teenagers, parents with homemade lunch and maps of the park in front of their faces.
It started with the entrance. The big, pointy roof could be seen from miles away, and it gave you this sense of excitement, the feeling that you were in for a great day. As you stood in the que, you’d look up, and see all sorts of birds nestling under the rooftop. There would be no litter on the ground, and the soft music played already set the mood. As you made your way into the park, there would be the big discussion. No matter how often you’d been here; it would always be the same: where to go first? To the rollercoasters, hoping to escape the long ques early in the morning? To the water slides, so you had all day for your clothes to dry? Or start with the most boring things? Today, it was decided that you would all take the prescribed route. You started with a walk through the fairy tale forest, reliving your childhood dreams of becoming Cinderella. You smiled at the children who shuddered at the wolf hunting the little goats, pointedly not remembering how you used to be the same. It was past noon when you arrived at the action heavy side of the park, that featured several rollercoasters. You weren’t a big fan of them usually; you had a fear of heights. But you didn’t want to be the odd one out, so usually you would go along with your friends. Thus, you’d already seen most of the rollercoasters here. The first one was a haunted rollercoaster, based on an old folk tale. It was scary as hell the first time, but after that not so much. The second one was your favourite; it had no scary elements, it was just the fastest one of them all. Two trains would race each other on a wooden track, and you loved it. The feeling of the wind through your hair, the slightly off feeling in your stomach, the ridiculous photo’s at the end of the ride. The third one used to be the worst; with a double looping, a double corkscrew and a dazzling view. You could handle it; if you didn’t look down. But recently, a new one had been opened. Even higher than the first, it went up for over 20 meters, only to fall straight down, into the ground. The sight of it alone pulled the colour from your cheeks. But your friends were persistent, so you went with them, in the long que for your nightmare. You never once backed out, not even when a large sign said This is your last chance. You went along, stepped into the train and gave the cheerful employee a watery smile. You didn’t look down until you had no other choice, and you screamed as you fell down. You barely had time to realize that the train wasn’t supposed to come loose from the rails. He’d always loved her room. He found it inspiring, and it used to cheer him up. Her walls were filled with quotes and pictures. Philosophical questions, cheeky one-liners, cheerful selfies and carefully taken pictures; the walls of her room had a little bit of everything. She had numerous bookshelves, and even if half of the books were unread, it said so much about her. He could see the books that she’d read multiple times, even if she tried to keep them as neat as she could. There was a collection of bookmarks; she’d never fold a page. There was her trophy shelf: it contained the entire biography of her favourite author, along with some of her favourites. There were statues, too; one of the Eiffel tower, another of a lighting house in her hometown. She used coke cans to collect her perfumes, and her door was filled with anything she found interesting. A newspaper article, a ticket to see the movies, a card from her grandparents, and even a small receipt her co-workers had been drawing on.
Even now, he could still be found sitting in her room, staring at her face in the pictures. He’d see the word ‘forever’ in his own handwriting, sprayed onto the wall above her bed. It had been a promise, made on midsummer eve, when they had spent the evening in her parents garden with a bottle of wine and a barbecue. Her parents had left for bed around midnight, but they had promised themselves they’d sit through the entire night. He remembered the feeling of the slightly moist grass, tickling against his bare shoulders, as she had curled up against him, looking at the stars. He remembered how he’d promised her forever, and how she’d returned the promise, giving him a kiss. He had so many happy memories with her. But she broke her promise, and now it was time to break his. Prompt: It was the third creative writing assignment, one that had to describe a character in detail. It's autobiographic. Title from Kids in the Dark by All Time Low.
One of the things I liked best about Sarah was how she always kept going. I’d known her for a long time; my parents always jokingly said that Sarah had already been reaching for me when we’d still been lying in the incubators. We practically grew up together, and it was only after her parents divorced and she moved away that we saw each other much less often. Yet even if we didn’t see each other that much, I could always count on Sarah calling, or coming over. She and her mother had moved to the other side of the country after the divorce, but she had surprised me and my parents multiple times, by suddenly standing at our front door bringing a gift for my parents and her kindest smile. I loved those surprise visits. In hindsight, I should have probably realized something was wrong. I never questioned how an eight-year old girl travelled for two hours by herself to come find her best friend. I never questioned the bruises; I just took her to be a clumsy girl. I never questioned the divorce of her parents, never thought about the fights I could hear when I was staying over. I should have realized something when Sarah matured so much faster than I did; but that was exactly the problem. Sarah had to grow up, while I didn’t have to; and so, while Sarah was doing the groceries when she was eleven, I was still playing outside with kids from the neighbourhood. I knew that was the reason why eventually our contact was minimalized to a monthly phone call. And still, that was all Sarah’s doing. I never called; it was always Sarah, always asking how school was, how my parents were. I never asked her. We lost contact in high school, but at some point she added me on Facebook. I followed her updates on life as she went through high school, graduating with the highest marks of her year. It was a coincidence that we ended up going to the same university, but it was a good coincidence. We became close friends again, and I could always rant about anything to Sarah. We spent a good amount of nights in her dorm room with a bottle of wine, talking. Although, if I’m honest; I was doing the talking, and Sarah was mostly listening. Very slowly, I discovered that Sarah perhaps wasn’t the happy girl I had always made her out to be. It started when I realized that for a student, she worked many hours. It felt like she was drowning herself in work and her classes; but I didn’t necessarily think of that as a bad thing. Only later I realized that Sarah was avoiding things. Being alone, mostly. She surrounded herself with people, evident in how she asked me over on a daily basis. At a certain point, after we’d both had a stressful week filled with exams, we spent the night in her dorm, getting drunk. It started with Sarah telling me how her mother hadn’t bothered to make it to her graduation. That night, I learned the reason behind her parents’ divorce, and so much more. I realized that in all those years where I thought I knew Sarah, I never truly knew her. |
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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. |