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.
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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. Prompt: This was the second assignment for my creative writing course. I had to write two different POV's, telling about the same event. I chose to use the characters from the last assignment (see my previous posts)
It was near morning when Kate came home, and her exhilarated feeling quickly passed as she walked into their perfect suburban street. Glancing at her watch, she knew John would be up by now, no doubt waiting for her. He started telling her off before she’d even had the chance to take her shoes of, and she noticed his disgusted look when taking in her appearance. She knew he disliked her loose hair; he thought it was messy. She felt like a child who had stolen candy from the cabinet by the way he reprimanded her, and in a strange way, John reminded her of her dad. Calmly, in that irritating voice of him, he told her she was being irresponsible and that she had to go to work tomorrow. Like she didn’t know. She was perfectly aware of it, and it had been the reason she’d run off for the night in the first place. She was sick and tired of the office, of the led-lights, the constant rumble of the copying machine and the smell of bad coffee from paper cups. She was pretty sure that if John from Secretary would as much as glance at her for being late with her files, she’d step into her boss’s office and resign. She knew it for certain as John finished his reprimand, and she lost her temper. She was sick and tired of this perfect suburban life that was laid out before her for the coming years. She started yelling at him, but he simply walked away, softly shaking his head. Richard had been right. John was impatiently walking around the house, cleaning up the magazines and tea mugs Kate had left behind on the strangest places. He was annoyed at the woman who would be his wife someday. She was carrying a child, damnit, and she had work tomorrow! She couldn’t just go out with friends anymore whenever she felt like it, without regarding her responsibilities. She could be so wild and irresponsible at times. He knew that it was the reason he’d fallen in love with her so many years ago, when she was still with that idiot, Rick or Rich, whatever his name was. He liked to believe that her friends had persuaded her to stay long after she should have gone home, but deep down he knew that Kate had been worse lately. He’d even seen her drinking wine one evening. The thought alone! As his future wife stepped into the kitchen, he realized that her neat knot had fallen out, and her hair was now a mess. She missed an earring and the buttons on her jacket weren’t done. Calmly, in the voice he used with interns at the office, he told her that she was being irresponsible, that she should remember that she still had to go to work, that she should care more about the baby she was carrying. He regarded her as she started to yell at him, but he didn’t listen. Blaming it on pregnancy hormones, he left the kitchen to get ready for work. Prompt: This was the final assignment for the dialogue part of my Creative Writing course; take your dialogue (see previous post) and make it a short story, maximum of 500 words.
The bar Kate had chosen was a little shady, but he knew why she’d chosen it. It wasn’t a bar her friends or family would visit, not a bar where she’d run into anyone. “It’s great to see you again! You really haven’t changed.” He turned around and there stood Kate. He quickly hugged her, taking in her features. The same features he’d hugged so often many years ago. “Well, you definitely have. How is being pregnant treating you?” “It’s not really a problem yet. I’m past the morning sickness, but no back pains yet, so I’m good. Everyone is spoiling me though, and I am enjoying it way too much.” “So your husband is treating you well, I take it?” “Technically, he isn’t my husband yet.” This took him by surprise; he’d figured John had proposed to her right now. “I think he’s waiting for the baby to arrive’, Kate explained. “But don’t you worry, you’ll obviously get an invite! I wouldn’t marry without you there.” “Does John agree with that?” he muttered, knowing how John felt about him. “What?” “Oh, never mind. So, what would you like to drink? Share a bottle of red wine, like the old days?” He changed the subject as the waitress approached. “I really shouldn’t drink, what with the baby… But I guess one time wouldn’t hurt.” “One bottle of your finest red, please” he told the waitress, checking her out as she turned her back on them again. “So what are you up to these days?” “Me? Nothing much, really. I’m not settling down like you are; got myself an apartment on the other side of town. You know me, one job, then another, some travelling if I feel like it.” “You really haven’t changed at all, have you?” “Not really, I guess. I suppose at some point, I might have to find a wife, but and settle for a career, but not right now.” “I don’t think you’ll ever grow up, Rich.” “That’s why you like me” he said grinning. “Certainly, or I wouldn’t be sitting here.” The waitress approached again, and he gave her a broad smile. “Here’s your wine, sir. Would you need anything else? “No, thanks darling”, he replied, giving her a wink. Kate raised her eyebrows at him. “You truly haven’t changed. Flirting with the waitress, really?” “As the youth say; you only live once.” “We’re not young anymore, even if you pretend to be.” “We’ll see about that” he said, as they drowned the first glass. A few hours later they were both drunk, sitting in an old motel room, with sheets that were white once. “This was a mistake.” “Why? It feels great. Just like old times. You still have it, girl.” “It’s a long way back from seventeen, you know.” “When did you become this boring?” “People change.” “That’s just what you like to think. You need to find a reason for yourself, an explanation. Well, let me give you one. You just wanted to live a little.” “That’s not what it is, Richard.” “Yeah, it is. You’re just convincing yourself that all of this is a good idea. And I don’t mean us. I mean John in his grey suits, the baby, your office job. You’re trying to convince yourself that you’re not making a mistake, because deep down you know you are.” “No, I don’t. You’re misinterpreting everything.” “The scratches on my back prove otherwise, dear Kate.” Prompt: This was an assignment for my creative writing course: writing 500 words of dialogue only, with a conflict in the subtext. The story itself was inspired by the song Bored to Death by Blink 182 (specifically the line "It's a long way back from seventeen").
“It’s so good to see you again! You haven’t changed at all, I see.” “You definitely have! How is being pregnant treating you?” “It’s not really a problem yet. I’m past the morning sickness and not at the back pains yet, so it’s pretty good, actually. It’s like the stage where everyone is spoiling you and you are enjoying it way too much.” “So your husband is treating you well, I take it?” “Well, technically, he’s not my husband yet.” “Really? I would have thought you two would have been married by now.” “I think he’s waiting for the baby to arrive. But don’t worry; you’ll obviously get an invite! I wouldn’t marry without you there. All of you guys.” “Does your future husband agree with that?” “What?” “Oh, never mind. So, what would you like to drink? Share a bottle of red wine?” “I really shouldn’t drink, what with the baby… But I guess one time wouldn’t hurt.” “One bottle of your finest red wine, please!” “Certainly, sir.” “So, what are you doing these days?” “Me? Nothing much, really. I’m not settling down like you are; got myself an apartment on the other side of town, not far from Claire’s, in fact. You know me, one job, then another, some travelling if I feel like it.” “You really haven’t changed at all, have you?” “Not really, I guess. I suppose at some point, I might have to find a wife, but and settle for a career, but not right now.” “I don’t think you’ll ever grow up, Rich. You always were the most immature of the group.” “Maybe, but also the most fun, wasn’t I?” “Certainly, or I wouldn’t be sitting here.” “Here’s your wine, sir. Would you need anything else? “No, thanks darling.” “You haven’t aged a bit, I can tell. Flirting with the waitress, really?” “Well, as the youth say, you only live once, my dear Kate.” “You’re not young anymore, even if you pretend to be.” [3 hours later] “We really should stop doing this.” “Why? It feels great. Just like old times. You still have it, girl.” “It’s a long way back from seventeen, you know.” “When did you become this boring? Live a little! And don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it.” “Things changed. People changed.” “That’s just what you like to think. You need to find a reason for yourself, an explanation. Well, let me give you one. You just wanted to live a little.” “That’s not what it is, Richard.” “Yeah, it is. You’re just convincing yourself that all of this is a good idea. And I don’t mean us. I mean your husband in his grey suits and maching ties. The baby that’s growing in your belly. Your work from 9 till 5. You’re trying to convince yourself that you’re not making a mistake, because deep down you know you are.” “No, I don’t. You’re misinterpreting everything.” “The scratches on my back prove otherwise, dear Kate.” Prompt: the song Remembering Sunday by All Time Low
He refused to believe the news. He ignored the pitied looks everyone in the room suddenly gave him, he ignored the shouts after him, he ignored the whispered “Leave him be, he needs some time. God, I would need some time after news like that”, and thus he left everyone behind, running from the ugly words, running from the truth. It couldn’t be true. She’d just lost track of time or something, lost her car keys, or her phone, or her phone had died and she was lost, those things happened! In real life, and too her even more, because she was his clumsy girl. Even more reason to start looking for her, instead of standing here. He hadn’t realized that what started as a real search, as he strodded her favourite parts of the forests with a flash light taped to his forehead, would eventually end up in a pub, as he drank heavily. He couldn’t find her, hadn’t been able to for the past ten days, and the only reason he still knew how many days it had been was by the receipts the bartender gave him. He never looked him in the eye for he would see the same pitied look he’d run from, and that pitied look reminded him of the reason he’d run from that room. He hadn’t been running from the truth, as he heard the bartender whispered at some point. He’d just been running to save her, and he was failing. But he left after those words, slurring a goodbye, grabbing the bar to keep standing. He stumbled through the dark streets, not really caring about the trail he was leaving, the trail of empty cans, crumpled paper, and bitter tears. At some point, he ended up in the small cemetery. It wasn’t big; the village wasn’t big either. He knew most of the names carved into the stones, but for an inexplicable reason, he found himself reading every one. He realized that he had been running from the truth when his eyes found her name, carved into the stone, and suddenly, he wasn’t drunk anymore. Prompt: Dialogue only
“How can you be so irresponsible?!” “It’s not like I had another choice!” “Oh if you ask me, you had loads of other choices. Loads. You just didn’t think, did you? Again. You haven’t changed a bit in all these years, you know.” “Look, I know you don’t believe me and I realize it may seem weird, but I didn’t have another choice. I need your help to clean this mess up, okay?” “Yeah, you always need my help. It’s been years, Jonathan. Years. When are you going to clean up after yourself?” “I do that all the time, but this one is just too big. Come on, Jude. You never minded helping me out before.” “Yeah, when you were still young and innocent and naïve, and frankly, unable to take care of yourself. You’ve grown up now, Jonathan. You have a proper job, a house, you’re supposed to take care of yourself now. That’s part of life. You can’t just rely on others to come running if you mess things up again.” “It’s just this once!” “No, it isn’t. This is the third time you called me this year and every time it’s the same story.” “Okay, even if that is true, this time, I really really need your help, Judes. I can’t do this on my own.” “Maybe you should have thought of that before you started taking rash decisions. You need to learn to think before you act. Not afterwards.” “I had to act in the moment!” “You fucking killed him, Jonathan. You could have at least tried and think of another way, but you just jumped in and now I have to clean up your mess. Literally. I’m sick of it, Jonathan. Goodbye.” “Judes, please-“ Hello! Welcome on my blog!
Let's start this with a confession. I'm a time traveler. For, if you scroll down, you'll see posts dated earlier this year or even last year. However, I started this blog only today. But I figured an empty blog would be stupid, so I went back in time and posted some stories on the day that I finished them. (Or, there's this handy tool where you can date blog posts in the past, but yeah, whatever you prefer. I'm just going to stick to the time travel option.) So, welcome on my blog! I'm going to post my stories here, which will mostly be short ones. Perhaps, in due time, I'll post my attempts to lyric writing as well, and all of that will occasionally be interrupted by something like this: a personal message, where I muse about stuff, or something like that. We'll figure that out later. If you see this on the day I posted it: Apologies for the bad lay-out. I'll change that, somewhere in the future. Or I'll use the TARDIS and change it in the past, whatever. I'm still trying to work out a way to make some sort of archive with all the stories that I've posted so far, but for now you'll just have to scroll down. I'll leave you to that, and thanks for giving my new blog a visit:) |
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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. |