Alicia BeavisPosted by Alicia B. 24 Apr, 2009 10:13AM
Her dark blue eyes slowly turned to the crooked window, as the wind whistled past on a dark winter’s night. She couldn't sleep; she closed her eyes only to daydream. This often happened to her. Insomnia. She always had that same dream, she dreamed of him. A tall, slender man with jet black hair and glowing green eyes. He was young, her age she guessed but he never spoke; only looked at her. He had a kind face and he was always sitting in that same old chair. A rustic, wooden chair covered by a thin blue blanket, like the sort your grandma might make for you. The room was of a fair proportion, in a simple square shape, with plain white walls and thick wooden floorboards. There was a dim light emanating from a small candle placed on the window sill, illuminating the left side of his face. His skin was so pale it was almost translucent, emphasising the green in his mesmerizing eyes and the black in his thick hair even more. He often smiled to her, a slight curve spreading across his thin red lips and a slight glimmer appearing in his eyes. Just at that moment that same smile spread across her lips.
She arose to the sound of rain pounding down onto the roof. She must have drifted off to sleep in the midst of her waking dream; she was refreshed despite the apparent lack of rest, and pulled the brown, heavy blankets off her smooth, sweating skin. Her feet gently pressed against the soft matting as she walked over to the window. She often looked out the window in the morning. She knew she was waiting for something, she often thought about what it was but she couldn't find the answer. At that moment the thought was banished from her mind as her mum's wavering voice met her ears.
She reluctantly left the window and began to clamber down the stairs. As she descended, she contemplated the view she had been admiring through the window. It had looked to her as if the world was covered with a thick blanket of snow; there were dots of green spread around the vast, empty space that surrounded her village. She couldn't wait for spring, when the snow would finally melt as if it was the world cleansing itself for another year of life. Spring would be when colour came back to the world, and most of all spring was when winter was gone. She couldn't bear the coldness of the bitter snow and the chill that always hung in the air. The thoughts abated as she felt the warmth of the fire. She sat down in a large rocking chair; it was swaying loudly despite the weight of her meagre body, creaking. She was short, with long brown, winding hair. Her skin was honey-coloured and soft to the touch; her beauty was far more extraordinary than anything anyone in the village had ever seen. She was quite the opposite to her mother, though they were both short her mother was more on the heavy side of things, with short, black hair and bright brown eyes that looked as though they could see right through you. Her skin light in colour and her hands made rough by endless years of hard work. Her mother rushed through into the room where she was sitting, and handed her a bowl of stew, with two thick slices of bread on the side. The bowl was very old, chipped with age and discoloured with the food stains of generations gone by. She slowly and graciously ate the soup, every now and again tearing a small piece of bread off. The soup tasted thick and every now and again a small chunk of chicken broke the salty taste that lingered in her mouth. When she was finished she strolled through to the kitchen and left the bowl on the side for her mother to clear up. She rushed to the bathroom, slowly peeling the clothes from her body; she shivered as her snow-like skin descended into a pit of warmth. The iron bath securing her body into place.
She had a long day, filled with all the bitterness of winter and the tough work she did at school. By the end of the day her mind was racing with numbers, letters and pictures. She wished she could break free, free from this world and the people in it she hated with a passion. There were always girls picking on her because they all knew she was more beautiful, more desired and most of all because they knew she would be more successful. Then there were their mothers, just as envious as them. She thought about this, as well as her bossy teachers as she drifted into her waking dream, then into a deep, relaxing sleep.
EXERCISESPosted by Alicia B. 23 Apr, 2009 10:49PM
Choose two random facts from the book ‘BLABLABLA - Something to talk about when you don’t have anything to talk about: 600 completely pointless facts’.
Write a short story in thirty minutes incorporating 3 facts.
"A cat can jump to the height of 5 times the length of it's tale, straight into the air."
"Heinrich Himmler, the commander of the german SS during WWII, was a chicken farmer before becoming a soldier."
"You have more bacteria in your mouth than in your anus"
My grandmother once said to me y’know a cat can jump 5 times the height of the length of it’s tail, pretty incredible eh? I was thinking about the look of satisfaction old people get, y’know when they think they know something you don’t? I could picture my grandmother sitting in her old, tattered chair bellowing these words, as I watched the dark black cat leap into the air. Landing with a muffled thud onto the rather high table. The cat came strolling towards me with a swagger all it’s own, captivating me by how distinctly unique this cat was. It looked perfectly normal, a black cat with blue eyes, but there was something about it, like I knew it already. We only got it less than an hour ago, so that was damn near impossible. By now the cat, Max, had curled up onto the essay I was writing as if to say I should stop writing. No, no, that was just me wishing I could stop writing it. English of all subjects, the most difficult lesson ever created for me. I never understood what the big deal was with being good in English, I mean what about the foreign people? Isn’t it just a little bit harder for them to be good at the great British language?
Just then my mothers abnormally high pitched voice tore through the silence that writing about something you know absolutely nothing about brings, and she walked into my room. She’d been watching another world war II program; I always felt sorry for her when she did this, she only watched it so that, for once, we could discuss something we both knew about. Her dislike for history was far from hidden, no matter how hard she tried I always knew it never interested her, no matter what, and never would.
“Did you know that Heinrich Himmler fella’ used to be a chicken farmer ? And then he became commander of that German secret service group.”
“Yeah, we learned it along time ago. Fascinating isn’t it?”
“Yes of course dear.”
A look of embarrassment clearly signalled her distaste for the subject, like always. That’s one of the reasons I loved, and missed my grandmother so much, we actually had things in common. We didn’t have to pretend. She died a few years ago. Cancer. I gave my mum a reassuring smile, I loved how at least she cared enough not to dismiss my interests like my father, and even watched some programs with me, but though she watched them it was more than obvious she wasn’t interested, so often enough we would watch some overrated, overpaid and oversexed actor, American of course, attempt to act, and sometimes even worse, they attempted an English accent. I mean seriously, shouldn’t someone really tell them we don’t all speak like the royal family? Unless of course you work for the BBC, in that case you would probably get fired for not sounding like the queen or someone like that.
I carried on writing my essay until about 11pm when I decided it wasn’t going to get any better than it was, and that it was time to get ready for bed. I had school tomorrow. It was about 12pm by the time I’d had a shower, got my pyjamas on and got comfortable enough to begin to drift off to sleep.
My alarm woke me up, Whole lotta love was my alarm tone for this week. I liked to change it so it didn’t get too boring. It had been a week long holiday from school, so I woke up half an hour early.
“6am” I groaned miserably to myself.
By 8am school was beginning, and still I was nearly late, despite the 2 hours I had to get ready. Everyone, who was there, stared at me as I walked in. Then every couple of minutes more and more people filtered into the classroom. The last person to walk in was my friend Logan, and didn’t that surprise me. He looked so different. I never knew a week could change someone’s appearance so much, and I just hoped his personality didn’t change too. Luckily it didn’t, he walked over to me and told me another disgusting and utterly useless fact.
“Did you know you have more bacteria in your mouth than in your anus?”
“No, and thanks for sharing.”
Sarcasm blatantly crept into my voice.
“Ha, I know, don’t you just love seeing me everyday.”
Despite saying this I knew that in fact I did, we’d grown up together. We were best friends and everyone knew it, but still I kept wondering why he looked so different.
“What happened Logan? Why do you look so…different?”
“I met an old friend, you remember Shawn don’t you? From first school, well as you know I don’t have much luck with the ladies, and he does. He gave me a few tips, y’know to sort my problem.”
“It’s ok Liz, we’ll always be best mates.”
Liz was short for Elizabeth.
“Yeah of course.”
But I’d said that a little too fast, it made it sound so false.
School was normal. Do this, learn that, remember this, don’t forget that, but it was when I got home things changed. It was about 6pm when there was a knock at the door, a police man and woman stood there. I knew something bad had happened, I mean who doesn’t when the police come to your door with a look of sorrow clearly in their eyes.
“What’s happened? Who’s hurt?”
I began panic kicking frantically.
“Are you Elizabeth Sullivan?”
“Yes, yes, who’s hurt?”
“I’m PC Smith and this is my colleague PC Rogers, I’m sorry to have to tell you this. I’m afraid your mother was killed, she was in the wrong area at the wrong time and got shot. She was protecting a child.”
I broke down. I couldn’t control the pain. I’d lost my grandmother and now my mother. What was I going to do? I sure as hell wasn’t going to live with my dad. We didn’t get on and he had his own family to look after. The police woman helped me from the floor. She couldn’t look me in the eyes.
“Would you like me to take you to your dads?”
“No, no, no, no, no! Take me to Logan! He’s the only one who can help me!”
“Are you sure”
“Yes god damn it, my father doesn’t care! And no-one else does either.”
Anger consumed me, making the pain easier. We finally arrived at Logan’s, I ran to the door pounding as hard as I could for him to answer, and he finally did.
“Liz, what’s wrong? Logan, Logan it’s my mother. She’s…she’s…she’s dead.”
I began to sob and reached for him. Sure enough he hugged me tight, but he didn’t say a word. We’d been best friends for so long it was like we shared our parents. I knew he was feeling some of my grief. Finally after 5 minutes had passed.
“Are you going to your dads?”
“Oh please no, not yet!”
“OK, you can stay here for tonight”
I didn’t want to speak anymore, just to be comforted by someone who knew my grief.
Unfinished can't decide the ending.