Sea birds swoop overhead, shadows in the ochre sky. Waves pull back, retreating from the shore as if to shame the figure slumping over the sand. Here, a man sits; an empty bottle lies nearby, traces of rum line his unshaven jaw. His navy coat is strewn across the land, lost to the depths of the earths. A red bandana sleeps on his head buried deep into his scarlet chest. Here, a man sits, swallowed by guilt, branded by sin. Here, a captain mourns the loss of his ship, himself to blame. The honourable, he is no more.
Oh my goodness! I forgot to spit out my gum this morning! What will Miss say? I'm gonna get into trouble...they'll call my parents...I'll be expelled for breaking a petty school rule...did I just call a school rule petty? I take that back, I TAKE THAT BACK! Alright, Trish, it's going to be fine, just breathe in, breathe out, don't chew. Don't chew.
"Miss Evans!" Trish freezes in mid-walk, one foot inside her English classroom. Oh no. Oh no. She totally caught me moving my piece of gum in my mouth. Oh no, oh no... "Trish Evans!" Trish walks into the classroom cautiously and asks, "Yes, Miss?" "I just wanted to tell you that your essay was exceptionally well written. Very nice job!" Trish lets out a breath of relief. "Thank you." Just as she sits down at her assigned seat, Trish accidentally chews down on her gum. Miss' eyes, as sharp as a hawk's, immediately noticed the action and called her out. "Trish, are you...chewing gum? In my classroom?" Trish gulped. "No, ma'am, it's just a mint." She had never lied to her teacher before - this was a first. Guilt immediately filled her throat. "Trish...you're a good student. Don't lie to me, dear. Go spit that gum out and come back, please." The lies, Trish could feel them bubbling out of her mouth, uncontrollable. "But I'm not chewing any gum!" Miss was mad, Trish knew it. What have I done? Miss was now walking towards her, the entire classroom staring. Trish Evans, the superstar student getting into trouble, and lying? That never happened. Never. "Miss Evans, i would like to speak with you after class on your attitude. But first, go spit out your gum. Right now, please." Trish slumped and felt newly formed tears starting to well up in her eyes as she slowly walked to the washroom, locking herself in a stall. Ghosts That Haunt You
She looks in the mirror. She can't bear it any more. No wonder all her classmates hate her, she is a know-it-all and looks like it too. Brace face, four eyes, knobbly knees, flat...Amanda hates herself. The mirror shatters, shards of razor-edged glass fall to the floor. For a moment she stares at the broken glass - her own broken body. She sees the person that everybody despises; she sees the person that makes her parents proud. She sees the person, weak, who cannot stand up for herself; she sees the person, strong, who does not let the taunts disable herself. She grabs a piece of glass and plunges it into her heart, only to realize her heart is diamond. Clear of wounds, she takes the glass and rests it in her hand. Either it will penetrate her veins or do no harm. Either way, she is ready. Amanda is loathed, despised, shunned. Amanda is loved. She knows that; everyone tells her so. Closing her eyes, Amanda falls to the floor, waiting for where her body will carry her. Hands held, frolicking. "I love you," she said to him. "I love you back," he replied. Together they sauntered into the forest, the place where they first met. She was tickled with joy, and he struck by love. Clasped in their hands, their wedding bands: till death do us part. Running across the plain fields, blades of grass underneath their wrinkled feet, the lovers giggled as they melted into the earths. The grave digger falls to peace. - bad ending "It was an accident, I swear!" But Frank was no longer here, They had found his shovel on the ground, mud covering the handle. The inspectors asked no more questions, the case was closed. The grave digger had fallen to death; simply stated, he had dug his own grave. RIP Frank. Amanda was loved. She knew that; everyone told her so. Top of her class, a hard-working and over-achieving student she was. Her teachers praised her for every piece of work (the "exemplar student"), her parents marvelled at their creation. Everyone loved Amanda. That is, everyone except for people her age. Amanda was loathed, despised, shunned. She knew that; everyone told her so. Poor Amanda; every time her work was graded with the red stamp of high approval - outstanding, A+! - the kids in her year would make it a habitual occurrence to take her down in any way possible. Poor Amanda; she came home every day, as early as possible, where her parents would put her up on a pedestal - a prize - not noticing her tear-streaked face or her looks of despair or even the holes in her stockings or her missing shoes. The kids at school had stolen them from her and threw them to God-knows-where. Amanda had to walk home in her socks. Poor Amanda.
A story I wrote for my school's October writing contest: Venerate the Villain. I wasn't planning on entering, since I don't enjoy writing short stories (I don't have the patience for it and it's more difficult to express your feelings in short stories than in poetry), but as a Writer's Craft student, I had to. So...here's my not-so-great short story, venerating the Evil Stepmother and Evil Stepsisters from Cinderella. Once upon a time, in a small town in France, there lived a king and a queen. The queen had just given birth to her first child – a precious baby boy by the name of Henri. Watching over Henri’s birth was the queen’s older sister, Agathe. Now, on the outside, she appeared to care much for her younger sister, but on the inside, she truly despised her. She was jealous that the king had chosen to marry her younger sister rather than her, the eldest daughter of their family. And now her sister had given birth to the country’s newest prince and soon-to-be king. Prior to Henri’s birth, Agathe had tried countless times to sabotage her sister’s pregnancy, but was always unsuccessful, though nobody ever suspected her. Eventually, she caught the flu and passed away, but not before she married a wealthy merchant and gave birth to a daughter of her own. Agathe had a pair of glass slippers in her possession – the only pair in the world. As a family heirloom, it has been passed down to the eldest daughter in the family for generations. And now, it belonged to Agathe’s daughter. Cinderella.
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Authori am just an ordinary teenage girl. my name and whereabouts are unimportant. this is my story. all written work is original unless credited. Archives
June 2014
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