What’s Characterization? What a Writer Really Needs to Know

by Joe Bunting and Abigail Perry | 473 comments

How do you create memorable characters? What’s characterization, and how does a writer turn a name on a page into a person so vivid and compelling that you imagine they’re real?

what's characterization

In this article, you'll learn what characterization is, when it matters, and how to apply it to your characters and stories. You'll also see some examples of characterization, and explanations of when not to prioritize characterization over other story elements.

What is Characterization?

Characterization is the creation and development of a fictional character.

In a story, you might see two types of characterization: direct characterization and indirect characterization. Here's how they both operate.

Direct Characterization Definition

Direct characterization is when an author uses straightforward description to describe a character, leaving no more for ambuguity. In other words, the author tells the reader exactly what a character is, which can include specific details about a character's appearance, their wants and needs, their job, backstory, and more—as long as the narrative states these details directly and exactly.

Direct characterization prevents a reader from needing to draw their own conclusions about a character. Some direct characterization examples might include something as explicit as:

“Timmy was a quiet young boy who hated people but loved plants and animals.”

“Molly never left her house, not since the day she became afraid of the sun.”

Direct characterization differs from Indirect characterization.

Indirect Characterization Definition

Indirect characterization is when an author describes a character in a roundabout way; they imply the kind of character in the story through their actions, dialogue, or a internal monologue.

Compared to Timmy and Molly in the examples above, an author who uses indirect characterization would describe these characters with more ambiguity—a literary technique used to encourage a reader's imagination more.

For example:

Molly crept across the room to stare outside her window. Maybe today would be the day that she took a step forward—that she confronted the useless fear Dr. Warren told her would paralyze her life if she didn't make some changes soon.

With the curtains closed, Molly, sweating and shaking, slipped her hand through the slit in the curtains. She pressed the latch into her thumb as if trying to puncture her skin. Molly bit her tongue, annoyed that the place that once brought her so much joy now only caused her pain and worry.

Overall, indirect characterization increases the likelihood for reader engagement. However, a story without direct characterization will cause a reader to overlook important details.

A writer needs a balance of the two.

Approach to Characterization: How NOT to Develop Characters

Beginning writers often spend a great deal of time developing their characters. With this time, they spend time getting to know their cast on and off the page—and then more often than not make the mistake of include every detail in the story.

If you want to write a compelling cast and plot, you don't need every detail about every character. You do need to include enough detail that makes them sympathetic and interesting.

Before we get into characterization, here are some ways NOT to develop characters:

BACKSTORY

Do you introduce fictional characters with backstory, summarizing their life from childhood to the present for five to ten pages. This will not make them a realistic character, and it will slow the story down.

Backstory is fine, but a little goes a long way. A paragraph or two will do.

DESCRIPTION

Do not describe your key characters in too much detail. Readers don't need to know what a character looks like from the tips of their hairs to their crusty toenails.

Description is great, but it’s only skin deep. And a person is rarely who they say they are.

DETAILS AND MORE DETAILS

Do not spend pages telling readers every detail about a character's likes and dislikes. Filling your story with trivia like your character’s favorite ice cream flavors or which movie they saw three times in theaters won’t move the plot forward or show us who they really are.

Characterization is one of those topics they teach at the beginning of writer’s workshops and creative writing classes.

But I’m about to say something provocative, something that may alienate me to writing professors everywhere. Here it is. You ready?

Stories That Overdo Characterization Are Worthless

In fact, characterization can even be harmful to the writing of your story. Let me explain.

Good characters are the reason we read stories. We develop a relationship with Elizabeth Bennett, Holden Caulfield, and Harry, the boy who lived. Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy become our best buds, and when the story ends we’re sad they have to leave us.

Have you ever heard of fan fiction? Some fourteen-year-old from Iowa wants to hang out with Harry after Hogwarts so they write a story and post it in a forum.

Good, complex characters are why most people read, I think. However, in order to create a complex character readers want to be BFFs with, the characterization is secondary.

Plot: How to Really Develop Your Characters

In fiction, plot reveals key characters.

Don’t believe me? Here’s an oft-repeated explanation of the three-act structure:

You have to throw rocks at your characters. You have to find elaborate ways of making their lives hell. You have to stymie their desire and fail to meet their basic needs: food, shelter, companionship, significance.

That sounds like a plot, right? It’s the events of your story, the problems and hurdles your character encounters.

But it’s actually characterization. Or really, it’s both plot and characterization.

Why? Because causing your characters problems is how you reveal their character.

What do your characters do, then? Not where they grew up or what color their eyes are or what they say their favorite food is. What do they do?

Best of all, when faced with major problems, issues that threaten to derail their goals, crises that will cost them, how do they choose to respond?

As Viktor Frankl says, “A human being is a deciding being.”

We remember characters because they do interesting things. We forget characters whose favorite food is pizza.

Start With Problems

You don’t start writing a story with characterization. You do what Allie Fox did to his son in Mosquito Coast: you push them into the dark, scary bowels of Fat Boy.

You send them up the sails of a ship tossing in a hurricane. You take them to Belize. You make a man out of them, against their will and better judgment.

If, instead, you start with characterization, you’ll fall in love with your character prematurely.

This is a real danger. How will you do the necessary work of torturing them until they cry out in agony if you empathize with them too much too soon? Better to punish them before you know who they are yet.

Don’t worry about characterization. Focus on throwing rocks at your characters, at finding the perfect problems that will cause them to struggle, to face a crisis and make hard decisions.

As your character reacts to and deals with the pain, we’ll see who they are.

What have your characters done that has defined them? Let us know in the comments.

PRACTICE

Your main character is alone at a party with a hundred people. What do they do?

Practice characterization through action for fifteen minutes. When your time is up, share your practice in the practice box below. Be sure to leave feedback in the comments for your fellow writers, too!

Joe Bunting is an author and the leader of The Write Practice community. He is also the author of the new book Crowdsourcing Paris, a real life adventure story set in France. It was a #1 New Release on Amazon. Follow him on Instagram (@jhbunting).

Want best-seller coaching? Book Joe here.

Abigail Perry is a Certified Story Grid Editor with professional teaching, literary agency, and film production experience. In addition to writing Story Grid masterwork guides, she works as a freelance editor and is the Content Editor for The Write Practice. Abigail loves stories that put women and diverse groups at the center of the story—and others that include superpowers and magic. Her favorite genres include: Smart Book Club Fiction, Women's Fiction, YA Fantasy, Historical Fiction, and unique memoirs. She also has a B.S. in TV, Radio, and Film and loves working on screenplays that are emotionally driven and/or full of action. You can learn more about Abigail on her website.

473 Comments

  1. August McLaughlin

    I love immersing myself in character’s backstories… It helps in their development on the page, but I agree with you–less is more when it comes to exposition. Heading to the gym, where I’ll do the pizza party exercise in my head. 😉 Great idea!

    Reply
    • Joe Bunting

      You’re right, August. And I think the best back stories still focus on action, on seeing what the character does. Sometimes the most important actions a character does are in the past. Point taken.

  2. August McLaughlin

    I love immersing myself in character’s backstories… It helps in their development on the page, but I agree with you–less is more when it comes to exposition. Heading to the gym, where I’ll do the pizza party exercise in my head. 😉 Great idea!

    Reply
    • Joe Bunting

      You’re right, August. And I think the best back stories still focus on action, on seeing what the character does. Sometimes the most important actions a character does are in the past. Point taken.

  3. Guest

    Oscar fidgeted on the front stoop before finally ringing the buzzer. No one answered.

    “Well of course,” he said out loud to himself. “I always screw things up!”

    He started to walk back to his apartment but then noticed a group of his work associates going into the building across the street. He shook his head in embarrassment and shuffled across the street to the correct address. He followed a group of three women inside the building without ever saying a word. His shoulders slumped when he heard them giggle.

    The party was on the roof of a renovated warehouse in Tribeca. It was being thrown in honor of his boss’s 40th birthday. Oscar rolled his eyes when he spotted the already “spirited” guest of honor and wife #3 being fawned over by his entourage. The department managers were such suck ups.

    Oscar walked to the open bar and ordered a scotch. He drank it alone in the only secluded cloister of chairs which sat next to the noisy air handler unit. After a few minutes of unsocial-like behavior, Oscar headed to the restroom. He did his business and washed his hands; twice. Just before exiting he looked in the mirror for one final inspection.

    “What an asshole,” was all he said.

    He rejoined the party and moved quickly through the crowd. When he spotted his ex-girlfriend from behind, he pulled out his handgun and shot her in the back at close range. The bullet travelled through her body and hit her new billionaire husband in the heart. They both collapsed to the ground. The screaming entourage ran to the emergency exit as Oscar used the second bullet on himself.

    Reply
    • Joe Bunting

      Dude! Did not see that one coming. Awkward guy goes to a party and is a wallflower I was expecting. Awkward guy goes to a party and shoots someone… that I was not expecting.

      One of the things you do here that is interesting is give your murderer a motive. Here we judge him by his actions, sure. He’s a murderer. But we also sympathize with him just a bit because you identify his victim as his ex-girlfriend with her new husband. We begin to think there might be some small justification. She probably cheated on him and then dumped him in a cruel and public way, shaming him in front of his coworkers. Maybe the billionaire arranged to have him fired.

      What Orson Scott Card points out is that motive is another way we characterize people that’s different from straight action. If the murderer was being shamed and bullied, we look on his action differently than if he shoots a random woman. How would this look if you didn’t show the fact that he was shooting his ex-girlfriend? How would it change our reaction to him? And then what if you started to unravel the truth about his motives slowly in the following scenes, so that little by little we begin to understand what brought an awkward guy to want to murder two people and kill himself. This slow unraveling of character is why people read fiction.

      I think my favorite detail in all of this is the fact that he washed his hands twice. That’s not normal behavior which is the briefest foreshadow of who this guy really is. I wonder how it would change our perception of him if he washed them three times or six times scrubbing obsessively Macbeth style but never getting them clean.

    • joco

      Aha! Glad I could surprise you. But honestly, I didn’t see it coming either until the very last paragraph. When Oscar said, “What an asshole,” in the mirror, I first thought he was saying it to himself because he was so socially retarded and awkward. But then I realized he was also thinking about his boss, which made me realize he really was talking about himself because of what he was about to do; murder/suicide.

      Thanks for the Orson Scott Card lesson. That’s great information that could be used to expand this story beyond this scene. After I wrote it, I was thinking, well I guess that’s the end of that story. But what I hear you saying is if I don’t give so much away up front I can keep the reader hanging on longer.

      BTW, did you get that his ex had married his boss or was that too vague? Would you recommend a better way to help make that connection? Just curious.

      There are only a handful of 15 minute activities I can think of that are as fun as I had writing that little story.

    • Joe Bunting

      Yeah. I think that came across.

      Exactly. It’s a great storytelling device. You want to be clear and confusing at the same time.

      Nope. Didn’t get that one. That’s another thing you could slowly string out. Also, those are two separate motives you’d have to develop if you were to continue this story. His motive for killing his ex is linked but different than his motive for killing his boss.

  4. Anonymous

    Oscar fidgeted on the front stoop before finally ringing the buzzer. No one answered.

    “Well of course,” he said out loud to himself. “I always screw things up!”

    He started to walk back to his apartment but then noticed a group of his work associates going into the building across the street. He shook his head in embarrassment and shuffled across the street to the correct address. He followed a group of three women inside the building without ever saying a word. His shoulders slumped when he heard them giggle.

    The party was on the roof of a renovated warehouse in Tribeca. It was being thrown in honor of his boss’s 40th birthday. Oscar rolled his eyes when he spotted the already “spirited” guest of honor and wife #3 being fawned over by his entourage. The department managers were such suck ups.

    Oscar walked to the open bar and ordered a scotch. He drank it alone in the only secluded cloister of chairs which sat next to the noisy air handler unit. After a few minutes of unsocial-like behavior, Oscar headed to the restroom. He did his business and washed his hands; twice. Just before exiting he looked in the mirror for one final inspection.

    “What an asshole,” was all he said.

    He rejoined the party and moved quickly through the crowd. When he spotted his ex-girlfriend from behind, he pulled out his handgun and shot her in the back at close range. The bullet travelled through her body and hit her new billionaire husband in the heart. They both collapsed to the ground. The screaming entourage ran to the emergency exit as Oscar used the second bullet on himself.

    Reply
    • Joe Bunting

      Dude! Did not see that one coming. Awkward guy goes to a party and is a wallflower I was expecting. Awkward guy goes to a party and shoots someone… that I was not expecting.

      One of the things you do here that is interesting is give your murderer a motive. Here we judge him by his actions, sure. He’s a murderer. But we also sympathize with him just a bit because you identify his victim as his ex-girlfriend with her new husband. We begin to think there might be some small justification. She probably cheated on him and then dumped him in a cruel and public way, shaming him in front of his coworkers. Maybe the billionaire arranged to have him fired.

      What Orson Scott Card points out is that motive is another way we characterize people that’s different from straight action. If the murderer was being shamed and bullied, we look on his action differently than if he shoots a random woman. How would this look if you didn’t show the fact that he was shooting his ex-girlfriend? How would it change our reaction to him? And then what if you started to unravel the truth about his motives slowly in the following scenes, so that little by little we begin to understand what brought an awkward guy to want to murder two people and kill himself. This slow unraveling of character is why people read fiction.

      I think my favorite detail in all of this is the fact that he washed his hands twice. That’s not normal behavior which is the briefest foreshadow of who this guy really is. I wonder how it would change our perception of him if he washed them three times or six times scrubbing obsessively Macbeth style but never getting them clean.

    • Anonymous

      Aha! Glad I could surprise you. But honestly, I didn’t see it coming either until the very last paragraph. When Oscar said, “What an asshole,” in the mirror, I first thought he was saying it to himself because he was so socially retarded and awkward. But then I realized he was also thinking about his boss, which made me realize he really was talking about himself because of what he was about to do; murder/suicide.

      Thanks for the Orson Scott Card lesson. That’s great information that could be used to expand this story beyond this scene. After I wrote it, I was thinking, well I guess that’s the end of that story. But what I hear you saying is if I don’t give so much away up front I can keep the reader hanging on longer.

      BTW, did you get that his ex had married his boss or was that too vague? Would you recommend a better way to help make that connection? Just curious.

      There are only a handful of 15 minute activities I can think of that are as fun as I had writing that little story.

    • Joe Bunting

      Yeah. I think that came across.

      Exactly. It’s a great storytelling device. You want to be clear and confusing at the same time.

      Nope. Didn’t get that one. That’s another thing you could slowly string out. Also, those are two separate motives you’d have to develop if you were to continue this story. His motive for killing his ex is linked but different than his motive for killing his boss.

  5. Oddznns

    “If I could I would … I really would,” Shireen had pleaded with Haz.

    But she couldn’t, there was no way she dared to ask them. And even if she did dare, she knew what they would say. So, she’d simply let Haz walk away, his face filled with disdain.

    Fuddy duddy girl from the old country, she could hear him thinking.

    That was last week. This is tonight and here she is

    She’s wearing her best red dress. The one she wore to her cousin Amira’s birthday last year. She’s gained weight these last months in America, and the dress is just a little bit too tight now, stretching just a tad too low over the ride of her breasts, pulling just the slightest bit too high on her thighs. She reaches through the silk covering her shoulders to pull the straps of the dress higher so the dress will settle properly. She feels so uncomfortable. It was a bad idea, this dress, she thinks.

    Well, it’s too late now, she tells herself. She’s here in this dress, and that’s that. She walks as boldly as she can into the brightly lit restaurant.

    She hadn’t expected so many of them to turn up. There must be almost a hundred in the tiny room. The men sitting in a circle on the floor. The women, standing, standing with their backs against the wall. The air is hazy with the smoke of Turkish cigarettes and sweet Shisha. Amira sees Haz in the far corner with his friends. They’re lolling about, laughing.
    Behind them, watching them shyly, are some of the second year girls from the university. They’ve left their heads uncovered to show off their newly bleached blond hair. So beautiful, Shireen thinks with envy, pulling at her own dark brown fringe which she hasn’t yet dared to turn gold.

    Haz waves lazily to her, beckoning for her to join them. She pickes her way behind the circle of men, the silk around her ankles catching every now and then against the feet and knees of those already seated. “Excuse me … I beg your pardon … excuse me,” she whispers each time the silk catches, each time her silk covered knees brush against the back of the men’s heads. She’s never been so close to so many strange men before. She think’s she’ll faint from their proximity.

    Finally, she’s in Haz’s corner. He smiles at her briefly, asks her to come and sit down beside him.

    “Everyone’s watching,” she whispers, shaking her head.
    She edges behind him and between two of the older girls.
    He shrugs and pretends to ignore her. But, as the lights go out and the music starts, she feels his hands inching through the hem of the silk, and up her feet to her ankles. She doesn’t move. Her eyes remain fixed on the belly dancer in the center of the circle as Haz runs his hands up the back of her calf, and behind her knees. They stop there. No further. The belly dancer continues to undulate, moving around the circle towards the both of them. Haz’s fingers run circles around Shireen’s toes. The music continues.

    Haz drives her home later.
    “Thank you for coming,” he says to her as he opens the car door.
    “You’re welcome,” she says, then turns towards the front porch.
    She watches him drive off before she lets herself in.

    Everyone is asleep, no one the wiser that she’s sneaked out. She sighs with relief. What a night, she smiles at her face in the bathroom mirror. What a night!

    Turning towards the open window, she looks out at the cold American moon and begins to unbutton from the neck, the long black silk outer kaftan she’s put on specially for the evening.
    .

    Reply
    • Joe Bunting

      First of all, Audrey, this is excellent. This scene is incredibly rich with detail and cultural overtones.

      My only concern is that the exercise was meant to characterize your character based on what she does, and Shireen doesn’t do much. She does put on a kaftan. But that’s it. She is pressured to go to the party by someone else. She is pressured to sit with Haz. She is “felt up,” by Haz. I suppose that’s one way to characterize someone, as the person who things are done to.

      But who is this woman? She is nothing but a void in the readers eye. Is that a commentary on the role of women in “the old world.”

    • Oddznns

      The fact that she went and put on a red dress under the kaftan is about as brave as she can get I guess. So, yup, she’s characterized as that type of person. It was fun trying to get into that kind of person though. An out of body experience for me!

    • Joe Bunting

      I bet. I think this can work well if she is in, like she seems to be, a culture where women don’t do things outside of the house. If putting on a red dress is provocative, then all her actions have a lot of weight.

    • Oddznns

      Hmmm… yes, what she is is someone who’s just arrived, and she is on the verge of changing. So, if we were to develope her further into the story (if we did one) would be to see how she changes…. she’s only gained weight, she’s snuck out, next she might dye her hair….. Full of unrealized potential.

  6. Oddznns

    “If I could I would … I really would,” Shireen had pleaded with Haz.

    But she couldn’t, there was no way she dared to ask them. And even if she did dare, she knew what they would say. So, she’d simply let Haz walk away, his face filled with disdain.

    Fuddy duddy girl from the old country, she could hear him thinking.

    That was last week. This is tonight and here she is

    She’s wearing her best red dress. The one she wore to her cousin Amira’s birthday last year. She’s gained weight these last months in America, and the dress is just a little bit too tight now, stretching just a tad too low over the ride of her breasts, pulling just the slightest bit too high on her thighs. She reaches through the silk covering her shoulders to pull the straps of the dress higher so the dress will settle properly. She feels so uncomfortable. It was a bad idea, this dress, she thinks.

    Well, it’s too late now, she tells herself. She’s here in this dress, and that’s that. She walks as boldly as she can into the brightly lit restaurant.

    She hadn’t expected so many of them to turn up. There must be almost a hundred in the tiny room. The men sitting in a circle on the floor. The women, standing, standing with their backs against the wall. The air is hazy with the smoke of Turkish cigarettes and sweet Shisha. Amira sees Haz in the far corner with his friends. They’re lolling about, laughing.
    Behind them, watching them shyly, are some of the second year girls from the university. They’ve left their heads uncovered to show off their newly bleached blond hair. So beautiful, Shireen thinks with envy, pulling at her own dark brown fringe which she hasn’t yet dared to turn gold.

    Haz waves lazily to her, beckoning for her to join them. She pickes her way behind the circle of men, the silk around her ankles catching every now and then against the feet and knees of those already seated. “Excuse me … I beg your pardon … excuse me,” she whispers each time the silk catches, each time her silk covered knees brush against the back of the men’s heads. She’s never been so close to so many strange men before. She think’s she’ll faint from their proximity.

    Finally, she’s in Haz’s corner. He smiles at her briefly, asks her to come and sit down beside him.

    “Everyone’s watching,” she whispers, shaking her head.
    She edges behind him and between two of the older girls.
    He shrugs and pretends to ignore her. But, as the lights go out and the music starts, she feels his hands inching through the hem of the silk, and up her feet to her ankles. She doesn’t move. Her eyes remain fixed on the belly dancer in the center of the circle as Haz runs his hands up the back of her calf, and behind her knees. They stop there. No further. The belly dancer continues to undulate, moving around the circle towards the both of them. Haz’s fingers run circles around Shireen’s toes. The music continues.

    Haz drives her home later.
    “Thank you for coming,” he says to her as he opens the car door.
    “You’re welcome,” she says, then turns towards the front porch.
    She watches him drive off before she lets herself in.

    Everyone is asleep, no one the wiser that she’s sneaked out. She sighs with relief. What a night, she smiles at her face in the bathroom mirror. What a night!

    Turning towards the open window, she looks out at the cold American moon and begins to unbutton from the neck, the long black silk outer kaftan she’s put on specially for the evening.
    .

    Reply
    • Joe Bunting

      First of all, Audrey, this is excellent. This scene is incredibly rich with detail and cultural overtones.

      My only concern is that the exercise was meant to characterize your character based on what she does, and Shireen doesn’t do much. She does put on a kaftan. But that’s it. She is pressured to go to the party by someone else. She is pressured to sit with Haz. She is “felt up,” by Haz. I suppose that’s one way to characterize someone, as the person who things are done to.

      But who is this woman? She is nothing but a void in the readers eye. Is that a commentary on the role of women in “the old world.”

    • Oddznns

      The fact that she went and put on a red dress under the kaftan is about as brave as she can get I guess. So, yup, she’s characterized as that type of person. It was fun trying to get into that kind of person though. An out of body experience for me!

    • Joe Bunting

      I bet. I think this can work well if she is in, like she seems to be, a culture where women don’t do things outside of the house. If putting on a red dress is provocative, then all her actions have a lot of weight.

    • Oddznns

      Hmmm… yes, what she is is someone who’s just arrived, and she is on the verge of changing. So, if we were to develope her further into the story (if we did one) would be to see how she changes…. she’s only gained weight, she’s snuck out, next she might dye her hair….. Full of unrealized potential.

  7. Kati Lane

    This is a scene from my imaginary novel. I had to cut the party invite list by 30, due to capacity issues at the bar 🙂
    _______
    It’s Saturday night.

    It’s a perfect, temperature-absent evening in Phoenix Arizona. I’m curious, how the desert allows for this in late November.

    We’re here because Trent is the best man in Joe and Jerolyn’s wedding. Again.

    Trent didn’t think Joe should marry the girl back in college, and he definitely doesn’t recommend it now. I don’t understand why Trent wants to go, given his opinion on the matter — let alone what would possess a man to enter a church in a tux twice for the same woman. But Trent tells me that sometimes love just won’t die. Or in the case of Joe and Jerolyn, love may die a thousand deaths.

    When Trent first asked me to accompany him, I agreed because I’ve always heard that Phoenix is the place for people like me to be this time of year. People like me – who leave home early and get back late, never to see the light all winter long (and the temperatures in Ohio never rise above 27 degrees in the dark) – people like me, I’m told, can’t get enough of places like this. Places where the warmth of the sun never leaves the ground.

    So here we are in Phoenix, it’s Saturday night, and we’re about to order a beer at The Film Bar in downtown Phoenix. There are 70 seats in the theater part of this place and each one is accounted for. 60 are for Joe (for friends he’s accumulated from all over the globe); 9 are for Jerolyn (four friends, five co-workers). I account for the final seat. Jerolyn claims that my seat that can take her count to ten. This, technically, is incorrect. (Before the film started, when Trent and I were leaving the hotel with her and Joe, they were all three laughing and interrupting each other as Joe tried to give me this tally. It seemed important to them, exactly who had what, so I started to explain that Jerolyn should not include me in her total because I only met her yesterday. But as soon as I got to the “unt” part of shouldn’t, Trent interrupted me with a sudden shift in his tone, asking if Jerolyn needed the GPS on his phone. This was strange, because Trent knew he had left his phone in the room.)

    The movie we are seeing tonight is called The Black Power Mixtape. It’s a documentary based on clips from 16 millimeter film shot in the United States by Swedish journalists between the years of 1967 and 1975. Six years ago, the footage was discovered in a basement corner of Swedish Television. The Swedes came to the U.S. because they were fascinated by our country’s urban unrest. Seems to me they couldn’t be bothered about it once they got back home.

    We’re going to stay at the bar until it closes at two am. But the documentary is over at ten. After a film like this, what will we talk about all night, this room full of strangers who may or may not believe that Joe and Jerolyn should get married again?

    Reply
    • Kati Lane

      ok this was a bust. i just re-read the prompt. i remembered the “party” part when i sat down to write this, but i completely forgot about the “action” part! so sorry, Joe 🙂

      once i settled in, i got lost in the effort to create the additional people and their choices, and to sculpt my character’s narrative flow of thoughts in response. i wanted her narration to “give away” her personality without her saying a thing about who she is. very tricky to pull off! don’t know if what i came up with just weighs down the storyline.

      other than leaving a hotel and sitting down for a beer, physically my narrator did not a thing. oops! hmmmm….maybe once the film ends, she can start moving around the room. 🙂

    • Joe Bunting

      Well I don’t think it’s a complete bust. The characters are doing things. They’re just doing them in the past.

      Joe is marrying the same woman, again. Jerolyn is marrying the same man, again.

      This gives the reader a lot to judge off. It’s actually really good characterization. We immediately see them as kind of crazy, impetuous, tempermental people, the kind who rightly go to bars till 2 in the morning, and maybe later.

      And the narrator is witnessing.

      The witness is a powerful archetype in fiction. Two of the greatest American novels of all time were narrated by a witness, the Great Gatsby and Moby Dick.

      I don’t think you’re characters are not doing anything, I just think they aren’t doing much in this scene, which might be okay if you decided to make a novel out of this (which I think could be really good.)

    • Kati Lane

      ok this is really cool input….a lot to take in and learn from! and now i have two more literary classics to check out 🙂 thanks!!

      experimenting with nanowrimo this month, i really am surprised how difficult novel-writing is. but crafting individual scenes like this one doesn’t seem so hard. Can a complete work can be built gradually by creating a ton of discreet scenes and then organizing them like a storyboard (with filler content as needed to link them together)? Or is it better to write the story in a flow like how books are read?

      Happy thanksgiving!

    • Joe Bunting

      A novel IS a set of scenes, so I don’t think that’s a problem at all. You might, like a film, have a bunch of deleted scenes that didn’t quite work. But in the end, it’s all about scenes. The only reason it feels like flow is that the author puts nice transitions in between scenes, or else separates them by chapters. Like you said, fill content.

    • Dawn

      This is how I wrote my novel, currently in the editing stage. I wouldn’t have been able to it without a word processing program, though. I think if I had to write the old fashioned way, like Agatha Christie, I would never have finished this novel. As it was, writing one or another scene at a time, disjointed most of the time, took six months to complete my novel.

    • Oddznns

      I’m hooked though Kati … what’s with Jerolyn and Trent? That GPS and phone scene, why Trent wants to come when he shouldn’t. Why the narrator doesn’t want to be part of Jerolyn…. If you could carry this novel forward, I wonder where it would go?

  8. kati

    This is a scene from my imaginary novel.
    _______
    It’s Saturday night.

    It’s a perfect, temperature-absent evening in Phoenix Arizona. How the desert allows for this in late November, I’ll never know.

    We’re here because Trent is the best man in Joe and Jerolyn’s wedding. Again.

    Trent didn’t think Joe should marry the girl back in college, and he definitely doesn’t recommend it now. I don’t understand why Trent wants to go, given his opinion on the matter — let alone what would possess a man to enter a church in a tux twice for the same woman. But Trent tells me that sometimes love just won’t die. Or in the case of Joe and Jerolyn, love may die a thousand deaths.

    When Trent first asked me to accompany him, I agreed because I’ve always heard that Phoenix is the place for people like me to be this time of year. People like me – who leave home early and get back late, never to see the light all winter long (and the temperatures in Ohio never rise above 27 degrees in the dark) – people like me, I’m told, can’t get enough of places like this. Places where the warmth of the sun never leaves the ground.

    So here we are in Phoenix, it’s Saturday night, and we’re about to order a beer at The Film Bar in downtown Phoenix. There are 70 seats in the theater part of this place and each one is accounted for. 60 are for Joe (for friends he’s accumulated from all over the globe); 9 are for Jerolyn (four friends, five co-workers). I account for the final seat. Jerolyn claims that my seat that can take her count to ten. This, technically, is incorrect.

    (Before the film started, when Trent and I were leaving the hotel with her and Joe, they were all three laughing and interrupting each other as Joe tried to give me this tally. It seemed important to them, exactly who had what, so I started to explain that Jerolyn should not include me in her total because I only met her yesterday. But as soon as I got to the word “can’t”, Trent interrupted me with a sudden shift in his tone, asking if Jerolyn needed the GPS on his phone. This was strange, because Trent knew he had left his phone in the room.)

    The movie we are seeing tonight is called The Black Power Mixtape. It’s a documentary based on clips from 16 millimeter film shot in the United States by Swedish journalists between the years of 1967 and 1975. Six years ago, the footage was discovered in a basement corner of Swedish Television. The Swedes came to the U.S. because they were fascinated by our urban unrest. Seems to me they couldn’t be bothered about it once they got back home.

    We’re going to stay at the bar until it closes at two am. But the documentary is over at ten. After a film like this, what will we talk about all night, this room full of strangers who may or may not believe that Joe and Jerolyn should get married again?

    Reply
    • kati

      ok this was a bust. i just re-read the instructions. i remembered the “party” part when i sat down to write this, but i forgot about the “action” part! other than leaving a hotel and sitting down for a beer, my narrator did not a thing. oops!

    • Joe Bunting

      Well I don’t think it’s a complete bust. The characters are doing things. They’re just doing them in the past.

      Joe is marrying the same woman, again. Jerolyn is marrying the same man, again.

      This gives the reader a lot to judge off. It’s actually really good characterization. We immediately see them as kind of crazy, impetuous, tempermental people, the kind who rightly go to bars till 2 in the morning, and maybe later.

      And the narrator is witnessing.

      The witness is a powerful archetype in fiction. Two of the greatest American novels of all time were narrated by a witness, the Great Gatsby and Moby Dick.

      I don’t think you’re characters are not doing anything, I just think they aren’t doing much in this scene, which might be okay if you decided to make a novel out of this (which I think could be really good.)

    • kati

      ok this is really cool input….a lot to take in and learn from! and now i have two more literary classics to check out 🙂 thanks!!

      experimenting with nanowrimo this month, i really am surprised how difficult novel-writing is. but crafting individual scenes like this one doesn’t seem so hard. Can a complete work can be built gradually by creating a ton of discreet scenes and then organizing them like a storyboard (with filler content as needed to link them together)? Or is it better to write the story in a flow like how books are read?

      Happy thanksgiving!

    • Joe Bunting

      A novel IS a set of scenes, so I don’t think that’s a problem at all. You might, like a film, have a bunch of deleted scenes that didn’t quite work. But in the end, it’s all about scenes. The only reason it feels like flow is that the author puts nice transitions in between scenes, or else separates them by chapters. Like you said, fill content.

    • Dawn

      This is how I wrote my novel, currently in the editing stage. I wouldn’t have been able to it without a word processing program, though. I think if I had to write the old fashioned way, like Agatha Christie, I would never have finished this novel. As it was, writing one or another scene at a time, disjointed most of the time, took six months to complete my novel.

    • Oddznns

      I’m hooked though Kati … what’s with Jerolyn and Trent? That GPS and phone scene, why Trent wants to come when he shouldn’t. Why the narrator doesn’t want to be part of Jerolyn…. If you could carry this novel forward, I wonder where it would go?

  9. Jeannie

    Pat adjusted his tie one more time, then opened the banquet room door to enter. He shoved his trembling hands into his pants pockets, hoping to efffect one who was used to this kind of thing, but he wasn’t. This party was his first in the big city, a mixer for the new CEO and the room was full of schmoozer’s and networking fiends.

    A bar was setup towards the back, near the sliding glass doors which opened to the pool area; it was crowded with suits and cocktail dresses, all smiling and nodding in perfect agreement. Jesus, he thought as he carefully maneuvered along the wall to the bar for a drink.

    He didn’t know a soul in the place, except for the human resource guy who hired him last year into the work-from-home accounting position, so he found it relatively easy to nod hello here and there and otherwise avoid eye contact as he made his way around the room.

    “What can I get for you sir?” the bartender asked.

    “A seven and seven, please.” he said.

    Taking a sip from his drink, Pat moved his farm boy frame through the doors to the patio area around the pool, grateful for the fresh air. He still hadn’t seen the human resource guy. He looked at his watch, seeing only 5 minutes had gone by; Jesus.

    Reply
    • Joe Bunting

      You’re good at setting the scene, Jeannie. Very good. But there’s not much happening here in terms of action. What’s he going to do to show us who he is?

    • Jeannie

      Thank you Joe. Well…I was trying to show Pat as shy and reserved and ill at ease but I guess I didn’t cut the mustard. I’ll work on it some more.

    • JB Lacaden

      I have to agree with Joe’s first comment. Nice job. I can vividly imagine the party and Pat’s movements.
      But, sorry Joe, I’ve to disagree with his second comment. You were able to give description to Pat through his actions I think. Shoving (trembling) hands in pockets. Looking at the watch. Avoiding eye contact.
      I think you did fine. 🙂

    • Jeannie

      JB, thank you for your insight. I feel better already! 🙂

    • Joe Bunting

      Well, you definitely succeeded at that. I agree with JB’s disagreement of my first comment. You’ve given him some good shyness characteristics.

      The problem with shyness is that it’s not a very deep character trait. You know how when you have a friend who’s shy and they finally start to open up to you and you get so surprised because it’s like they’re a completely different person? Their shyness could cover up the fact that they’re really a crazy partyer or obsessed with boys or actually very sweet. My point is that while shyness is a character trait, it’s not who someone really is. And as writers, we want to expose people as they really are, underneath all those layers that we never get to see through. Does that make sense?

      So yes, you did a great job of showing his shyness. GREAT job. Now it’s time to go another layer down.

    • Jeannie

      Thank you Joe and JB…I feel better! But, I do understand what you are saying, Joe, about exposing Pat for his real self; but, he’s not going to reveal himself at the party; no, he would need to be in his own element or away from the party to do that UNLESS he is a secret assassin and opens fire in the midst of everybody OR unexpectedly meets a young woman with whom he feels comfortable and has some kind of rapport. Most people aren’t their real selves in a gathering like this, usually, so I would need to develop the character a bit further, don’t you think, with a new set of circumstances. It would be fun to take it a step further and expose Pat for who he really is. Thank you for the input.

    • Joe Bunting

      You make a great point, Jeannie. You’re right. Only a very few people are comfortable at big parties where they don’t know anyone, and this farmboy is clearly out of place here. Good call.

  10. Jeannie

    Pat adjusted his tie one more time, then opened the banquet room door to enter. He shoved his trembling hands into his pants pockets, hoping to efffect one who was used to this kind of thing, but he wasn’t. This party was his first in the big city, a mixer for the new CEO and the room was full of schmoozer’s and networking fiends.

    A bar was setup towards the back, near the sliding glass doors which opened to the pool area; it was crowded with suits and cocktail dresses, all smiling and nodding in perfect agreement. Jesus, he thought as he carefully maneuvered along the wall to the bar for a drink.

    He didn’t know a soul in the place, except for the human resource guy who hired him last year into the work-from-home accounting position, so he found it relatively easy to nod hello here and there and otherwise avoid eye contact as he made his way around the room.

    “What can I get for you sir?” the bartender asked.

    “A seven and seven, please.” he said.

    Taking a sip from his drink, Pat moved his farm boy frame through the doors to the patio area around the pool, grateful for the fresh air. He still hadn’t seen the human resource guy. He looked at his watch, seeing only 5 minutes had gone by; Jesus.

    Reply
    • Joe Bunting

      You’re good at setting the scene, Jeannie. Very good. But there’s not much happening here in terms of action. What’s he going to do to show us who he is?

    • Jeannie

      Thank you Joe. Well…I was trying to show Pat as shy and reserved and ill at ease but I guess I didn’t cut the mustard. I’ll work on it some more.

    • JB Lacaden

      I have to agree with Joe’s first comment. Nice job. I can vividly imagine the party and Pat’s movements.
      But, sorry Joe, I’ve to disagree with his second comment. You were able to give description to Pat through his actions I think. Shoving (trembling) hands in pockets. Looking at the watch. Avoiding eye contact.
      I think you did fine. 🙂

    • Jeannie

      JB, thank you for your insight. I feel better already! 🙂

    • Joe Bunting

      Well, you definitely succeeded at that. I agree with JB’s disagreement of my first comment. You’ve given him some good shyness characteristics.

      The problem with shyness is that it’s not a very deep character trait. You know how when you have a friend who’s shy and they finally start to open up to you and you get so surprised because it’s like they’re a completely different person? Their shyness could cover up the fact that they’re really a crazy partyer or obsessed with boys or actually very sweet. My point is that while shyness is a character trait, it’s not who someone really is. And as writers, we want to expose people as they really are, underneath all those layers that we never get to see through. Does that make sense?

      So yes, you did a great job of showing his shyness. GREAT job. Now it’s time to go another layer down.

    • Jeannie

      Thank you Joe and JB…I feel better! But, I do understand what you are saying, Joe, about exposing Pat for his real self; but, he’s not going to reveal himself at the party; no, he would need to be in his own element or away from the party to do that UNLESS he is a secret assassin and opens fire in the midst of everybody OR unexpectedly meets a young woman with whom he feels comfortable and has some kind of rapport. Most people aren’t their real selves in a gathering like this, usually, so I would need to develop the character a bit further, don’t you think, with a new set of circumstances. It would be fun to take it a step further and expose Pat for who he really is. Thank you for the input.

    • Joe Bunting

      You make a great point, Jeannie. You’re right. Only a very few people are comfortable at big parties where they don’t know anyone, and this farmboy is clearly out of place here. Good call.

  11. Unisse Chua

    Denice walks into the school gym, wearing her midnight blue glitter dress. She scans the room, looking for Riley and his date. She wasn’t able to tell him that she was coming to the dance anymore because he was still mad at her and also because her mother had forced her to attend.

    She walked past the refreshments table and saw Riley in the middle of the dance floor. He was dancing and smiling with Pauline, his Physics lab partner. Denice wanted to approach them and ask if she could talk to Riley for a bit but something stopped her.

    He’s really happy with her, she thought. He doesn’t need a friend like me.

    She turned her back against the dance floor. Suddenly, she was holding back tears. I don’t want anyone to see me like this. Denice ran out of the school gym and made her way to the small garden behind the school grounds. The flowers in the garden had bloomed and somehow, it made her smile.

    “Are you all right?”

    Denice jumped and almost screamed at the sudden noise. She didn’t expect that she would be followed.

    “I’m not going to hurt you or anything,” the voice said so she turned slowly. The boy offered her a handkerchief and she took it only because she recognized him. “Vincent”, she remembered.

    “Yeah.”

    “You were the one who gave me that rose back in junior high,” she blurted out.

    If the garden wasn’t so dark, she would have definitely seen him blush. “Yeah, that was me.”

    Denice wiped her tears away with Vincent’s handkerchief. It smelled like roses.

    “Thanks,” she managed to say.

    “Are you all right?” he asked again.

    “Yeah, I’m fine I guess.”

    He nodded and everything fell silent again.

    It felt strange to be sitting in the dark with someone who gave you a rose once in junior high and never even said anything afterwards.

    “Would you be my Valentine?”

    She looked at him, wide eye and jaw dropping. “Your Valentine?” He nodded again.

    “Why would you want me to be your Valentine?”

    “I’ve been wanting to ask you that question since junior high but I never really got the chance to do so.”

    “How come?”

    “You were always with your friend, Riley.”

    “Oh,” she said quietly. She looked down on the ground and then to the handkerchief in her hands. There was a rose stitched at the corner of the handkerchief and when she unfolded it, there was a preserved rose in between.

    She smiled and said, “I’ll be your Valentine.”

    Reply
    • Joe Bunting

      This is cute, Unisse. My question is who are you characterizing here? Vincent or Denice? If it’s Denice, she doesn’t do much. She is the girl who leaves the dance because her crush is dancing with another girl. So she’s shy, nice, awkward. Basically every teenager. Vincent is slightly more interesting. He’s quite, shy, but also loyal and a romantic. Definitely a romantic to the extreme. Who has a handkerchief these days, especially one with a preserved rose in it?

    • Unisse Chua

      I was actually trying to characterize more on Denice but I couldn’t get her to do much, which made me think that my exercise was wrong. I didn’t really expect Vincent to be the one that popped.

    • Joe Bunting

      That’s fine. This is practice. There’s no doing it wrong 🙂

      It would be interesting if you tried writing this again from Vincent’s perspective.

  12. Unisse Chua

    Denice walks into the school gym, wearing her midnight blue glitter dress. She scans the room, looking for Riley and his date. She wasn’t able to tell him that she was coming to the dance anymore because he was still mad at her and also because her mother had forced her to attend.

    She walked past the refreshments table and saw Riley in the middle of the dance floor. He was dancing and smiling with Pauline, his Physics lab partner. Denice wanted to approach them and ask if she could talk to Riley for a bit but something stopped her.

    He’s really happy with her, she thought. He doesn’t need a friend like me.

    She turned her back against the dance floor. Suddenly, she was holding back tears. I don’t want anyone to see me like this. Denice ran out of the school gym and made her way to the small garden behind the school grounds. The flowers in the garden had bloomed and somehow, it made her smile.

    “Are you all right?”

    Denice jumped and almost screamed at the sudden noise. She didn’t expect that she would be followed.

    “I’m not going to hurt you or anything,” the voice said so she turned slowly. The boy offered her a handkerchief and she took it only because she recognized him. “Vincent”, she remembered.

    “Yeah.”

    “You were the one who gave me that rose back in junior high,” she blurted out.

    If the garden wasn’t so dark, she would have definitely seen him blush. “Yeah, that was me.”

    Denice wiped her tears away with Vincent’s handkerchief. It smelled like roses.

    “Thanks,” she managed to say.

    “Are you all right?” he asked again.

    “Yeah, I’m fine I guess.”

    He nodded and everything fell silent again.

    It felt strange to be sitting in the dark with someone who gave you a rose once in junior high and never even said anything afterwards.

    “Would you be my Valentine?”

    She looked at him, wide eye and jaw dropping. “Your Valentine?” He nodded again.

    “Why would you want me to be your Valentine?”

    “I’ve been wanting to ask you that question since junior high but I never really got the chance to do so.”

    “How come?”

    “You were always with your friend, Riley.”

    “Oh,” she said quietly. She looked down on the ground and then to the handkerchief in her hands. There was a rose stitched at the corner of the handkerchief and when she unfolded it, there was a preserved rose in between.

    She smiled and said, “I’ll be your Valentine.”

    Reply
    • Joe Bunting

      This is cute, Unisse. My question is who are you characterizing here? Vincent or Denice? If it’s Denice, she doesn’t do much. She is the girl who leaves the dance because her crush is dancing with another girl. So she’s shy, nice, awkward. Basically every teenager. Vincent is slightly more interesting. He’s quite, shy, but also loyal and a romantic. Definitely a romantic to the extreme. Who has a handkerchief these days, especially one with a preserved rose in it?

    • Unisse Chua

      I was actually trying to characterize more on Denice but I couldn’t get her to do much, which made me think that my exercise was wrong. I didn’t really expect Vincent to be the one that popped.

    • Joe Bunting

      That’s fine. This is practice. There’s no doing it wrong 🙂

      It would be interesting if you tried writing this again from Vincent’s perspective.

  13. jenny White

    Invasion in the middle of the day. Grabbing my arms, the upright men of the community overcame my will to remain. Where were they taking me? What did they want? They would be sentencing me to the requirements written in their law. Death.

    I was dragged through the crowd. The crowd was larger and quieter than I would have expected for a court. Fear gripped me tighter than the hands of the men. As we reached the center of the crowd, the men stopped. Where was he I had loved in my bed? He should also be sentenced. Would he be spared? Where was the council who would determine my fate?

    With labored breath the man who weighted his hand on my shoulder asked, “Teacher, this woman has been caught in adultery, in the very act. Moses commanded to stone such women. What do you say?”

    My eyes met the one worthy to pass the judgement. I turned and covered my ears trying to silence the shame. But, the faces of those in the crowd surprised me. Instead looks of anger and judgement, I saw calm anticipation. These people knew who I was. They new my shame. Why did they not yell the words of sentence? “Stone her!”

    Those who brought me were looking at the ground. Some of them looked away. Their hands dropped from my shoulders. Slowly, I turned to see.

    The Teacher was squatted near the ground, writing in the sand with his finger. A breeze kissed my face as the men turned to leave. The Teacher stepped closer.

    “Where are those who condemn you?”

    Turning slowly, I saw only the faces of the crowd. Smiling.

    “No one.”

    I heard the strength in His whisper, “I do not condemn you either. Go and sin no more.”

    Reply
    • Joe Bunting

      Hi Jenny. Thanks for sharing this. Interesting retelling of the story. Some party, huh? I’m confused about what happened, though. The men turned to leave, you say. Then she looks back and they’re smiling? What happened?

    • jenny White

      Thanks for your input, Joe. I guess I need to make myself more clear. Not sure how this looks in this format. Do I rewrite or leave a comment. My thinking was that the crowd who was smiling was not the men who left. The crowd was just there to listen to Jesus’ teaching, but now I am realizing that I messed that up by talking about the “council”.

    • Joe Bunting

      Maybe start a new thread or reply to your original post.

      I get it now. Interesting. So you’re saying a 1st century orthodox Jewish crowd would smile at a woman half-naked, drug out of a man’s bed for committing adultery? I’m not saying they wouldn’t be, but you might think through their reaction more. All characterization is a slow digging process, a gradual unearthing until you find out who they really are underneath all the dirt. That’s true for your minor character (i.e. the crowd) and your major characters (i.e. the adulteress). Time to go another layer deep, I think.

    • jenny White

      I appreciate your help, Joe. I haven’t written a whole lot of fiction. Even thinking I couldn’t do it, but it is something that has been mulling in my mind to try. Thanks for walking me through this process. I will try again.

    • Joe Bunting

      You CAN do it! It is difficult though, for some more than others. I have a hard time writing fiction about things I haven’t seen before. So I can write a story where the setting is someplace I’ve been, but as soon as I try to write something about someplace new I get all messed up. You just keep trying and you figure out what you’re good at and what you struggle with and you keep going, you know.

  14. jenny White

    Invasion in the middle of the day. Grabbing my arms, the upright men of the community overcame my will to remain. Where were they taking me? What did they want? They would be sentencing me to the requirements written in their law. Death.

    I was dragged through the crowd. The crowd was larger and quieter than I would have expected for a court. Fear gripped me tighter than the hands of the men. As we reached the center of the crowd, the men stopped. Where was he I had loved in my bed? He should also be sentenced. Would he be spared? Where was the council who would determine my fate?

    With labored breath the man who weighted his hand on my shoulder asked, “Teacher, this woman has been caught in adultery, in the very act. Moses commanded to stone such women. What do you say?”

    My eyes met the one worthy to pass the judgement. I turned and covered my ears trying to silence the shame. But, the faces of those in the crowd surprised me. Instead looks of anger and judgement, I saw calm anticipation. These people knew who I was. They new my shame. Why did they not yell the words of sentence? “Stone her!”

    Those who brought me were looking at the ground. Some of them looked away. Their hands dropped from my shoulders. Slowly, I turned to see.

    The Teacher was squatted near the ground, writing in the sand with his finger. A breeze kissed my face as the men turned to leave. The Teacher stepped closer.

    “Where are those who condemn you?”

    Turning slowly, I saw only the faces of the crowd. Smiling.

    “No one.”

    I heard the strength in His whisper, “I do not condemn you either. Go and sin no more.”

    Reply
    • Joe Bunting

      Hi Jenny. Thanks for sharing this. Interesting retelling of the story. Some party, huh? I’m confused about what happened, though. The men turned to leave, you say. Then she looks back and they’re smiling? What happened?

    • jenny White

      Thanks for your input, Joe. I guess I need to make myself more clear. Not sure how this looks in this format. Do I rewrite or leave a comment. My thinking was that the crowd who was smiling was not the men who left. The crowd was just there to listen to Jesus’ teaching, but now I am realizing that I messed that up by talking about the “council”.

    • Joe Bunting

      Maybe start a new thread or reply to your original post.

      I get it now. Interesting. So you’re saying a 1st century orthodox Jewish crowd would smile at a woman half-naked, drug out of a man’s bed for committing adultery? I’m not saying they wouldn’t be, but you might think through their reaction more. All characterization is a slow digging process, a gradual unearthing until you find out who they really are underneath all the dirt. That’s true for your minor character (i.e. the crowd) and your major characters (i.e. the adulteress). Time to go another layer deep, I think.

    • jenny White

      I appreciate your help, Joe. I haven’t written a whole lot of fiction. Even thinking I couldn’t do it, but it is something that has been mulling in my mind to try. Thanks for walking me through this process. I will try again.

    • Joe Bunting

      You CAN do it! It is difficult though, for some more than others. I have a hard time writing fiction about things I haven’t seen before. So I can write a story where the setting is someplace I’ve been, but as soon as I try to write something about someplace new I get all messed up. You just keep trying and you figure out what you’re good at and what you struggle with and you keep going, you know.

  15. Steph

    I’m loving the tutorial! Here’s my 1st assignment:

    Rex put down his fiddle and mopped the sweat off his brown with the tail of the red sash he tied around his waist for performances. The band was done, but most the people were too wasted to care and kept swinging through the reel. Why not? It was an excuse to laugh and touch.
    The wedding party told him that a hundred tickets had gone out, but there must have been at least twice that crammed into the lodge for the social. He pushed his way through the crowd to the food table. He had been playing for a couple hours and was hungry as a bear. He heaped his plate with sausage and pierogies and lefse and preserves.
    A girl grabbed his elbow, almost flipping the plate out of his hands. She was drunk. “Hey, that was real good. Can you show me and my friend how to play?” Another girl waved at him from the bar. She was prettier, but he shook off the thought.
    “Maybe some other time.”
    He pulled his arm free and headed toward his favorite corner of The Axe, a table for two under the old caribou mount that Phyllis always set for one, for him.

    Reply
    • Steph

      Note: there are supposed to be paragraphs there! I have a hard time formatting in these comments )-: . Sorry it’s hard to read.

    • Joe Bunting

      🙂

      Not hard at all. Thanks for commenting Steph.

    • Joe Bunting

      Mmm… interesting. So he’s the kind of person who plays for partiers but doesn’t party himself. A man who eats alone in a crowded room, and knows the staff well enough to get them to reserve the same spot every night. He is a creature of habit, kind, not unattracted to the opposite sex, but somehow above it all. An intellectual? Or a morose artist?

    • Steph

      All of the above, though his intellectualism and artistic side are victims of geography, time, & circumstance. In other words, they are never fully realized, but they do serve him well. Thank you for reading, Joe!

    • Joe Bunting

      I see. Makes sense. How will he escape, I wonder?

    • Steph

      Well, he doesn’t escape. Nor does he want to. He is very much a product of his time, place, and means. By those traits never being fully realized, I mean that he will never go on to help crack the code for DNA or join the NY Philharmonic. But his attributes do serve him well as he learns to regain control of his life and find peace within its confines.

      As I reread what I have just written, I wonder: is that enough of a character arc? Or maybe that question needs to wait until another lesson…. 🙂 Happy Tuesday to you, Joe!

    • ashley norman

      not at a party just something random……

      Daren groaned. He sat up, trying to blink away the black spots in his vision. Were those stone walls? Why was he so cold? Where am I? he thought. Then he remembered. Amice! He stood up and rushed towards the cell door, but was instantly pulled back down by something heavy.

      “No!” he yelled, as he tried to strain against the chains around his wrists and ankles. No! No! No! The echo of the stone wall mocked him. “No…..” he said as he slumped into a pile on the floor. Down the hallway he heard talking. “We got a feisty one in there!” said a gruff voice. Another made a noise that sounded like screechy laughter. “That we do!” it said. “That little rebel will learn his lesson, come tomorrow evening!” this time both of the voices joined in the laughter. “Hey, where’d that girl go?” said the gruff voice.”It’s time for her to feed the prisoners.”

      “Girl!” said the scratchy voice. “It’s time to give the prisoners their gruel.” Daren heard some low murmuring, then the scratchy voice said, “Let’s go get us some gruel. But not the same stuff, of course.” That set both the voices off into peals of laughter, which grew fainter as they receded down the long hallway. Daren put his head in his hands.

      Suddenly he heard the clatter of dishes on the floor in front of his cell door. He looked up. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness he saw a small figure through the bars of his cell door. The figure gasped.

      “D-D-Daren?” the figure stuttered. Now it was Daren’s turn to gasp.

      “Adelaide?”

    • Joe Bunting

      Good question, Steph. It might be and it might not be. In a screenwriting class I took, the professor said the hero has to have 6 things they need fixed. So a few for your character are that he’s lonely, he’s unappreciated, and he wants to do more with his life.

      To me, that sounds like the perfect start to a romantic comedy about how he meets a girl who is above him somehow. Maybe she’s rich or even more artistic than him or foreign or something. And then he gets her to appreciate him and isn’t so lonely.

  16. Steph

    I’m loving the tutorial! Here’s my 1st assignment:

    Rex put down his fiddle and mopped the sweat off his brown with the tail of the red sash he tied around his waist for performances. The band was done, but most the people were too wasted to care and kept swinging through the reel. Why not? It was an excuse to laugh and touch.
    The wedding party told him that a hundred tickets had gone out, but there must have been at least twice that crammed into the lodge for the social. He pushed his way through the crowd to the food table. He had been playing for a couple hours and was hungry as a bear. He heaped his plate with sausage and pierogies and lefse and preserves.
    A girl grabbed his elbow, almost flipping the plate out of his hands. She was drunk. “Hey, that was real good. Can you show me and my friend how to play?” Another girl waved at him from the bar. She was prettier, but he shook off the thought.
    “Maybe some other time.”
    He pulled his arm free and headed toward his favorite corner of The Axe, a table for two under the old caribou mount that Phyllis always set for one, for him.

    Reply
    • Steph

      Note: there are supposed to be paragraphs there! I have a hard time formatting in these comments )-: . Sorry it’s hard to read.

    • Joe Bunting

      🙂

      Not hard at all. Thanks for commenting Steph.

    • Joe Bunting

      Mmm… interesting. So he’s the kind of person who plays for partiers but doesn’t party himself. A man who eats alone in a crowded room, and knows the staff well enough to get them to reserve the same spot every night. He is a creature of habit, kind, not unattracted to the opposite sex, but somehow above it all. An intellectual? Or a morose artist?

    • Steph

      All of the above, though his intellectualism and artistic side are victims of geography, time, & circumstance. In other words, they are never fully realized, but they do serve him well. Thank you for reading, Joe!

    • Joe Bunting

      I see. Makes sense. How will he escape, I wonder?

    • Steph

      Well, he doesn’t escape. Nor does he want to. He is very much a product of his time, place, and means. By those traits never being fully realized, I mean that he will never go on to help crack the code for DNA or join the NY Philharmonic. But his attributes do serve him well as he learns to regain control of his life and find peace within its confines.

      As I reread what I have just written, I wonder: is that enough of a character arc? Or maybe that question needs to wait until another lesson…. 🙂 Happy Tuesday to you, Joe!

    • Joe Bunting

      Good question, Steph. It might be and it might not be. In a screenwriting class I took, the professor said the hero has to have 6 things they need fixed. So a few for your character are that he’s lonely, he’s unappreciated, and he wants to do more with his life.

      To me, that sounds like the perfect start to a romantic comedy about how he meets a girl who is above him somehow. Maybe she’s rich or even more artistic than him or foreign or something. And then he gets her to appreciate him and isn’t so lonely.

  17. Nancy

    Cole and his team climbed the marble steps to a balcony full of guests, mostly Zairians, he assumed. His heart began to race. What would he do now? The cacphony was deafening, and he didn’t recognize a single word. They were probably conversing in French or Lingala or some other tribal language, which would exclude him.

    A white gloved waiter came by carrying a silver tray with crystal flutes. Wow, Cole thought, free champagne. He sipped his drink with sophistication as he slowly examined the décor under the night sky. In addition to strings of tiny blubs around the perimeter, light came from the flambeaux, which left a heavy scent of citronella in the air. Across the way he noticed that Al and Jay had left him and were now talking to the Canadians they had met at the afternoon reception. Karen had been guided off in the other direction by two fawning military officers.

    Cole took a canapé from another waiter but hesitated to put it in his mouth until he was sure no one was approaching him to talk. He waited until he started to feel conspicuously alone and then walked to his right, to the least crowded area, and stopped at the balustrade. He set his flute down and glanced at the panorama as he ate his hors d’oeuvre. He knew that off in the distance President Mobutu had his own zoo. He stared through the darkness trying to spot it. Then he leaned forward, placing his elbows on the marble surface, his hands poised prayer-like holding the flute of champagne. I am the guest of one of the most notorious dictators in the world. Wait until people hear about this.

    Reply
    • Joe Bunting

      Very interesting, Nancy. You’ve got an interesting story here, I think. Part of a work in progress?

      It’s interesting that here, this character is defined mostly by what he does not do. He does not talk to the military officers or the Canadians or the Zairians. Instead, he makes his way to the loneliest spot in the room and eats and drinks and thinks. Of course, he also goes to a party hosted by a dictator. What kind of person would accept that invitation? What kind of person would accept it and then not talk to anyone? I don’t know.

      I’m not sure you’re done characterizing him here. What does he do next?

  18. Nancy

    Cole and his team climbed the marble steps to a balcony full of guests, mostly Zairians, he assumed. His heart began to race. What would he do now? The cacphony was deafening, and he didn’t recognize a single word. They were probably conversing in French or Lingala or some other tribal language, which would exclude him.

    A white gloved waiter came by carrying a silver tray with crystal flutes. Wow, Cole thought, free champagne. He sipped his drink with sophistication as he slowly examined the décor under the night sky. In addition to strings of tiny blubs around the perimeter, light came from the flambeaux, which left a heavy scent of citronella in the air. Across the way he noticed that Al and Jay had left him and were now talking to the Canadians they had met at the afternoon reception. Karen had been guided off in the other direction by two fawning military officers.

    Cole took a canapé from another waiter but hesitated to put it in his mouth until he was sure no one was approaching him to talk. He waited until he started to feel conspicuously alone and then walked to his right, to the least crowded area, and stopped at the balustrade. He set his flute down and glanced at the panorama as he ate his hors d’oeuvre. He knew that off in the distance President Mobutu had his own zoo. He stared through the darkness trying to spot it. Then he leaned forward, placing his elbows on the marble surface, his hands poised prayer-like holding the flute of champagne. I am the guest of one of the most notorious dictators in the world. Wait until people hear about this.

    Reply
    • Joe Bunting

      Very interesting, Nancy. You’ve got an interesting story here, I think. Part of a work in progress?

      It’s interesting that here, this character is defined mostly by what he does not do. He does not talk to the military officers or the Canadians or the Zairians. Instead, he makes his way to the loneliest spot in the room and eats and drinks and thinks. Of course, he also goes to a party hosted by a dictator. What kind of person would accept that invitation? What kind of person would accept it and then not talk to anyone? I don’t know.

      I’m not sure you’re done characterizing him here. What does he do next?

  19. ShawnOHara

    I’m sure I was going somewhere with this, but I just couldn’t get there. Before I knew it, the fifteen minutes were up.

    “Look, I’m here for a friend,” Curtis told the doorman, “I’m his plus one, and I’m late. He gave me this. That’s all I know.”

    He handed the burly, sour-faced slab of muscle the card his contact had included in the folder. The bouncer took the card and looked back and forth between it and Curtis’ face. He did this two or three times before handing him back the card.

    “Alright. Head on in.” He gestured with his head to the door next to him. Curtis nodded his thanks, uttered a quick apology, and stepped through the door.

    The crowd inside was big. Way bigger than Curtis was comfortable with. He’d been told by his contact that the man he was looking for, Herman Tully, would be one of the guests of honor at a charity benefit for the local arts council. Curtis was to attend, as a Mr. Charles Walcott, and make contact with Tully and make the exchange. What Curtis hadn’t known was that he’d be doing it in a room of over a hundred revelers, politicians, wealthy people, and their numerous bodyguards and hangers-on.

    Curtis plucked a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, and made his way deeper into the ballroom. String music floated over the crowd, provided by a small group of tuxedo clad men off to one side. Waiters wove in and out of the merry-makers, dispensing drink and appetizers. Curtis had just finished his champagne when he spotted Tully, entertaining a small tangle of delighted looking people. Curtis placed his empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter, and made his way to the group.

    “I swear, it’s true, right there in the parking lot,” said Tully, a devilish grin on his face, “I tell you, I still can’t eat ketchup flavoured chips. I just can’t”

    Reply
    • Steph

      Loved the description of the bouncer! The last line has me wondering about the rest of the story, too.

    • Diane Turner

      The bouncer description is priceless! Waiting to see what comes next to find out about the food at the end.

  20. Anonymous

    I’m sure I was going somewhere with this, but I just couldn’t get there. Before I knew it, the fifteen minutes were up.

    “Look, I’m here for a friend,” Curtis told the doorman, “I’m his plus one, and I’m late. He gave me this. That’s all I know.”

    He handed the burly, sour-faced slab of muscle the card his contact had included in the folder. The bouncer took the card and looked back and forth between it and Curtis’ face. He did this two or three times before handing him back the card.

    “Alright. Head on in.” He gestured with his head to the door next to him. Curtis nodded his thanks, uttered a quick apology, and stepped through the door.

    The crowd inside was big. Way bigger than Curtis was comfortable with. He’d been told by his contact that the man he was looking for, Herman Tully, would be one of the guests of honor at a charity benefit for the local arts council. Curtis was to attend, as a Mr. Charles Walcott, and make contact with Tully and make the exchange. What Curtis hadn’t known was that he’d be doing it in a room of over a hundred revelers, politicians, wealthy people, and their numerous bodyguards and hangers-on.

    Curtis plucked a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, and made his way deeper into the ballroom. String music floated over the crowd, provided by a small group of tuxedo clad men off to one side. Waiters wove in and out of the merry-makers, dispensing drink and appetizers. Curtis had just finished his champagne when he spotted Tully, entertaining a small tangle of delighted looking people. Curtis placed his empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter, and made his way to the group.

    “I swear, it’s true, right there in the parking lot,” said Tully, a devilish grin on his face, “I tell you, I still can’t eat ketchup flavoured chips. I just can’t”

    Reply
    • Steph

      Loved the description of the bouncer! The last line has me wondering about the rest of the story, too.

    • Diane Turner

      The bouncer description is priceless! Waiting to see what comes next to find out about the food at the end.

  21. JB Lacaden

    Hope I did this exercise write. :

    I take a sip out of the paper cup in my hand. The spiked punch is tasteless. It’s like drinking water with just a different color. I check my watch. Twenty minutes. That’s how long I’ve been standing in the same spot. I’m the only constant in a party that never stops moving. Bodies bump into me and voices pass through me. In front of me, the band finishes their third song with an amazing guitar solo. Everyone applauds and shouts and cheers–some with their cups raised high, some with fists up in the air, while some have their eyes closed as they try to “feel” the music. I remain standing with my cup of colored water in hand. The vocalist announces to everyone that they’ll just be taking a short break. Everyone cheers again. From the periphery of my vision I see someone walking towards me.

    “I just had an eargasm,” March says. He has his shades on, like always, even though the field is clad in darkness. “Did you hear how Duke played the guitar on the last part?” He asks me with a wide grin on his face. “A-mey-zing.”

    What kind of question is that? I think to myself. Of course I heard it. EVERYONE heard it. Instead of putting my thought into words though, I just answer him with a nod. Then I take another sip of my water / punch.

    “Come on, admit it, you’re glad I forced you to come,” March tells me.

    “I’m glad March,” I answer him with a flat tone, “reeeaally glad.”

    March laughs. “See? I told you you’d enjoy this part! It’s the biggest party of the year! Why wouldn’t you enjoy it?” March says.

    Aside from him missing the sarcasm in my voice, March is right. This is the biggest event of the year. December has a gift when it comes to throwing parties. Every party she throws becomes the biggest party of the year. But this party is different. This party puts to shame all the previous parties she had done. Let’s do a checklist shall we?

    • The Poets R’ Us, arguably the best band in existence today. Check.
    • Party attended by the most popular in Calendar High? Check.
    • A seemingly unlimited supply of booze? Check.
    • A party…

    “Hey June! Are you listening man?” March asks. He gives a sigh. “You just blanked out again didn’t you?”

    “No I didn’t,” I answer him.

    “Yeah? What was I telling you then?” He asks with a smile.

    I look at him and I see his shades are raised. Girls. I look at the crowd and I see three girls by the makeshift bar. One of them is subtly looking at our position. “You’re telling me about them.” I tell March.

    March looks at the girls. The subtly-looking-at-us girl sharply looks away. March looks back at me with his trademark grin. “She’s totally into me,” March tells me.

    “Yep, totally into you,” I answer him nonchalantly. I try taking another sip of from the cup only to find that it’s already empty. I crumple it in my hand and drop it on the dark, wet grass.

    Reply
    • Jeannie

      June didn’t want to be there, huh?

  22. JB Lacaden

    Hope I did this exercise write. :

    I take a sip out of the paper cup in my hand. The spiked punch is tasteless. It’s like drinking water with just a different color. I check my watch. Twenty minutes. That’s how long I’ve been standing in the same spot. I’m the only constant in a party that never stops moving. Bodies bump into me and voices pass through me. In front of me, the band finishes their third song with an amazing guitar solo. Everyone applauds and shouts and cheers–some with their cups raised high, some with fists up in the air, while some have their eyes closed as they try to “feel” the music. I remain standing with my cup of colored water in hand. The vocalist announces to everyone that they’ll just be taking a short break. Everyone cheers again. From the periphery of my vision I see someone walking towards me.

    “I just had an eargasm,” March says. He has his shades on, like always, even though the field is clad in darkness. “Did you hear how Duke played the guitar on the last part?” He asks me with a wide grin on his face. “A-mey-zing.”

    What kind of question is that? I think to myself. Of course I heard it. EVERYONE heard it. Instead of putting my thought into words though, I just answer him with a nod. Then I take another sip of my water / punch.

    “Come on, admit it, you’re glad I forced you to come,” March tells me.

    “I’m glad March,” I answer him with a flat tone, “reeeaally glad.”

    March laughs. “See? I told you you’d enjoy this part! It’s the biggest party of the year! Why wouldn’t you enjoy it?” March says.

    Aside from him missing the sarcasm in my voice, March is right. This is the biggest event of the year. December has a gift when it comes to throwing parties. Every party she throws becomes the biggest party of the year. But this party is different. This party puts to shame all the previous parties she had done. Let’s do a checklist shall we?

    • The Poets R’ Us, arguably the best band in existence today. Check.
    • Party attended by the most popular in Calendar High? Check.
    • A seemingly unlimited supply of booze? Check.
    • A party…

    “Hey June! Are you listening man?” March asks. He gives a sigh. “You just blanked out again didn’t you?”

    “No I didn’t,” I answer him.

    “Yeah? What was I telling you then?” He asks with a smile.

    I look at him and I see his shades are raised. Girls. I look at the crowd and I see three girls by the makeshift bar. One of them is subtly looking at our position. “You’re telling me about them.” I tell March.

    March looks at the girls. The subtly-looking-at-us girl sharply looks away. March looks back at me with his trademark grin. “She’s totally into me,” March tells me.

    “Yep, totally into you,” I answer him nonchalantly. I try taking another sip of from the cup only to find that it’s already empty. I crumple it in my hand and drop it on the dark, wet grass.

    Reply
    • Jeannie

      June didn’t want to be there, huh?

  23. Casey

    “Good God, there must be a hundred people here,” Lonnie said to his sister, casting an eye over people crowding the pavilion and spilling over into grass. There wasn’t a face that he knew, and yet it had been he and Melanie who had invited them all. All those emails and written invitations for this: the chance to fill in a few family charts about people he didn’t know. “I sure hope it’s worth it.”

    “Now the work really begins,” Melanie said, jabbing him in the side with an elbow. “It’s the fun part.”

    “I’ll leave the fun to you. Somehow I have a feeling that they came here to eat at our expense, not to tell us their family stories. Or maybe they think that’s the price of admission.”

    Lonnie observed a man with a bald pate heaping a plate will potato salad and a generous helping of bread and butter pickles.

    “Look at that. It’s the fourth time he’s filled his plate–with the same thing,” Lonnie said.

    “That’s Dad’s second cousin,” Melanie said. “His name is Irv, and that,” she said, tipping her chin toward a woman bouncing two tots, one on each knee, “is his wife Marie.”

    “You go on doing that, Mel,” Lonnie said. “You’re better with these people than I am. After you’ve collected their life stories I’ll type up their dossiers. In the meantime I’m going to have one of those beers.” He stood up from the picnic table. “I see old George brought his rod and tackle. I think I’ll join him.”

    Lonnie skirted the crowd and headed for the lake where a man in a bucket hat sat with a line in the water. There was no one else with him.

    “I’ll just send them on over to you,” Melanie called after him, loud enough for a few heads to turn. Lonnie waved his hand over his shoulder at her.

    Reply
    • Mariaanne

      Casey – it’s clear as can be that the narrator is the gregarious one here and her brother is the shy one. I assume this is a family reunion outside, right?

    • Shelley Lundquist

      I quite liked this. You left me wonering what would happen next and wanting to find out. You’re much stronger with dialogue than I am. The conversation certianly delineates the two characters and you can see differences immediately. I liked the contradiction that Lonnie was goingto do the typing rather than the talking. Well done.

  24. Casey

    “Good God, there must be a hundred people here,” Lonnie said to his sister, casting an eye over people crowding the pavilion and spilling over into grass. There wasn’t a face that he knew, and yet it had been he and Melanie who had invited them all. All those emails and written invitations for this: the chance to fill in a few family charts about people he didn’t know. “I sure hope it’s worth it.”

    “Now the work really begins,” Melanie said, jabbing him in the side with an elbow. “It’s the fun part.”

    “I’ll leave the fun to you. Somehow I have a feeling that they came here to eat at our expense, not to tell us their family stories. Or maybe they think that’s the price of admission.”

    Lonnie observed a man with a bald pate heaping a plate will potato salad and a generous helping of bread and butter pickles.

    “Look at that. It’s the fourth time he’s filled his plate–with the same thing,” Lonnie said.

    “That’s Dad’s second cousin,” Melanie said. “His name is Irv, and that,” she said, tipping her chin toward a woman bouncing two tots, one on each knee, “is his wife Marie.”

    “You go on doing that, Mel,” Lonnie said. “You’re better with these people than I am. After you’ve collected their life stories I’ll type up their dossiers. In the meantime I’m going to have one of those beers.” He stood up from the picnic table. “I see old George brought his rod and tackle. I think I’ll join him.”

    Lonnie skirted the crowd and headed for the lake where a man in a bucket hat sat with a line in the water. There was no one else with him.

    “I’ll just send them on over to you,” Melanie called after him, loud enough for a few heads to turn. Lonnie waved his hand over his shoulder at her.

    Reply
    • Anonymous

      Casey – it’s clear as can be that the narrator is the gregarious one here and her brother is the shy one. I assume this is a family reunion outside, right?

    • Shelley Lundquist

      I quite liked this. You left me wonering what would happen next and wanting to find out. You’re much stronger with dialogue than I am. The conversation certianly delineates the two characters and you can see differences immediately. I liked the contradiction that Lonnie was goingto do the typing rather than the talking. Well done.

  25. Shelley Lundquist

    Spluttering spasmodically, I, less than daintily, let loose a splendid spray of red mist, in a vain attempt to suppress a fit wheezing. What a waste of my pomegranate martini and all those antioxidants!

    Gasping for air, I braced myself as she sashayed her way across the floor. Rumi intentionally drew the gaze of every male eye in her midst with the mesmerizing melody of her movement. She received a few lascivious leers and at least half as many sanctimonious scowls from the disapproving ladies suspiciously scrutinizing her advance. Many promptly placed protective hands on the arms of their gents to stake their claim.

    “Annie! I’m so glad you’re here! “ she gushed graciously, proceeding to plant welcoming kisses, one on each cheek. I couldn’t help but smile at her sincerity. I was quite relieved that she was not yet so intoxicated to be stumbling , nor did she seem primed to propel her seemingly unending supply of daggers at whosoever should catch her eye.

    I was apparently supposed to feel blessed to have been decreed her confidant. I found this prestigious position more than a little taxing. In fact, I often felt like the life was being sucked out of me, and not in a good way!

    Yet for some unknown reason, I remained her friend. We were so different, yet somehow kindred.

    “Let’s see what trouble we can get up to tonight, shall we?” she twinkled at me mischievously. And before I even realised we were moving, we were cutting a path through the crowd.

    Reply
    • Mariaanne

      I love it. It’s funny. I like the alliteration “mesmerizing melody of her movement”, “lascivious leers”, “suspiciously scrutinizing”. I’m not completely sure of who the characters are either the narrator or her friend, and I definitely want to know, want to hang out and see them get into some kind of mischief.

    • Mariaanne

      I like this. I get the sense of humor immediately when she spews her cocktail out of her nose is it? I like the description with the alliteration, “mesmerizing melody of her movement”, “lascivious leers”, and “suspiciously scrutinizing”. That’s good stuff and fits with the light and funny tone. I also get a feeling of lots of people as she moves through the crowd. I can’t figure out exactly how you made me picture a large crowd but I do. I don’t really know the narrator and her friend very well by the end of this but I want to hang out with them and see what kind of trouble the get into.

    • Joe Bunting

      Brilliant characterization, both of Rumi and your main character. We see that she’s shy, clumsy (although that’s an assumption based on her spewing), and altogether uncomfortable in her own skin. However, there’s something in her that’s interesting, unique, otherwise why would a woman like Rumi choose to be her friend (or, more importantly, her ally). Who we choose as friends and confidants says a lot about us, I think. I may have to add a post on that to the course. So thanks for making me think about this!

      The alliteration might be a bit much. Alliteration is like sugar, you don’t add it to your meat and potatoes. I like to use alliteration in my description. When you describe trees and sunsets and nature-things with alliteration it inspires your reader’s awe at the beauty of creation. Another way to say it is that alliteration is good when you’re contemplating something. However, if you overdo it, you can make your prose sickeningly sweet, like over-sweetened coffee. Do you know what I mean?

      I think you’ve got some very interesting potential here, though. I love it when you have complete opposites in characters. What’s that TV show with the two female detectives where one comes from wealth and the other is blue collar? I think that character tension has been proven to work time and time again.

    • Shelley Lundquist

      Thanks Joe. Lol. I do know I get carried away with alliteration. I appreciate the feedback. That’s what edits are for!

    • Mariaanne

      I thought the alliteration was meant to be humorous. I do agree with Joe that it can be too much sometimes. I like it too and have to go and cut it out. I do the same thing with repetition. It’s like if you have a penchant for it, you just can’t help yourself sometimes. I did think it was funny here though. Whoops I see I wrote twice on this one in the first place. It wouldn’t load so I rewrote it.

    • Shelley Lundquist

      Yes, I think it makes it humorous too. And in cases, absurd. I love the absurd in every day moments! One of my favourite books is Confederacy of Dunces.

      Just have to remember our target… as Joe said. Who is our “one?” Maybe you are my one!

    • Joe Bunting

      Hmm… I didn’t get it that it was satirical. Well shoot.

    • Shelley Lundquist

      Hi Marianne… I carried on with this story in the “Weakest Form of Characterization,” yesterday… was hoping you would take a look.

    • Joe Bunting

      You’re quite welcome, Shelley.

  26. Shelley Lundquist

    Spluttering spasmodically, I, less than daintily, let loose a splendid spray of red mist, in a vain attempt to suppress a fit wheezing. What a waste of my pomegranate martini and all those antioxidants!

    Gasping for air, I braced myself as she sashayed her way across the floor. Rumi intentionally drew the gaze of every male eye in her midst with the mesmerizing melody of her movement. She received a few lascivious leers and at least half as many sanctimonious scowls from the disapproving ladies suspiciously scrutinizing her advance. Many promptly placed protective hands on the arms of their gents to stake their claim.

    “Annie! I’m so glad you’re here! “ she gushed graciously, proceeding to plant welcoming kisses, one on each cheek. I couldn’t help but smile at her sincerity. I was quite relieved that she was not yet so intoxicated to be stumbling , nor did she seem primed to propel her seemingly unending supply of daggers at whosoever should catch her eye.

    I was apparently supposed to feel blessed to have been decreed her confidant. I found this prestigious position more than a little taxing. In fact, I often felt like the life was being sucked out of me, and not in a good way!

    Yet for some unknown reason, I remained her friend. We were so different, yet somehow kindred.

    “Let’s see what trouble we can get up to tonight, shall we?” she twinkled at me mischievously. And before I even realised we were moving, we were cutting a path through the crowd.

    Reply
    • Anonymous

      I love it. It’s funny. I like the alliteration “mesmerizing melody of her movement”, “lascivious leers”, “suspiciously scrutinizing”. I’m not completely sure of who the characters are either the narrator or her friend, and I definitely want to know, want to hang out and see them get into some kind of mischief.

    • Anonymous

      I like this. I get the sense of humor immediately when she spews her cocktail out of her nose is it? I like the description with the alliteration, “mesmerizing melody of her movement”, “lascivious leers”, and “suspiciously scrutinizing”. That’s good stuff and fits with the light and funny tone. I also get a feeling of lots of people as she moves through the crowd. I can’t figure out exactly how you made me picture a large crowd but I do. I don’t really know the narrator and her friend very well by the end of this but I want to hang out with them and see what kind of trouble the get into.

    • Joe Bunting

      Brilliant characterization, both of Rumi and your main character. We see that she’s shy, clumsy (although that’s an assumption based on her spewing), and altogether uncomfortable in her own skin. However, there’s something in her that’s interesting, unique, otherwise why would a woman like Rumi choose to be her friend (or, more importantly, her ally). Who we choose as friends and confidants says a lot about us, I think. I may have to add a post on that to the course. So thanks for making me think about this!

      The alliteration might be a bit much. Alliteration is like sugar, you don’t add it to your meat and potatoes. I like to use alliteration in my description. When you describe trees and sunsets and nature-things with alliteration it inspires your reader’s awe at the beauty of creation. Another way to say it is that alliteration is good when you’re contemplating something. However, if you overdo it, you can make your prose sickeningly sweet, like over-sweetened coffee. Do you know what I mean?

      I think you’ve got some very interesting potential here, though. I love it when you have complete opposites in characters. What’s that TV show with the two female detectives where one comes from wealth and the other is blue collar? I think that character tension has been proven to work time and time again.

    • Shelley Lundquist

      Thanks Joe. Lol. I do know I get carried away with alliteration. I appreciate the feedback. That’s what edits are for!

    • Anonymous

      I thought the alliteration was meant to be humorous. I do agree with Joe that it can be too much sometimes. I like it too and have to go and cut it out. I do the same thing with repetition. It’s like if you have a penchant for it, you just can’t help yourself sometimes. I did think it was funny here though. Whoops I see I wrote twice on this one in the first place. It wouldn’t load so I rewrote it.

    • Shelley Lundquist

      Yes, I think it makes it humorous too. And in cases, absurd. I love the absurd in every day moments! One of my favourite books is Confederacy of Dunces.

      Just have to remember our target… as Joe said. Who is our “one?” Maybe you are my one!

    • Joe Bunting

      Hmm… I didn’t get it that it was satirical. Well shoot.

    • Shelley Lundquist

      Hi Marianne… I carried on with this story in the “Weakest Form of Characterization,” yesterday… was hoping you would take a look.

    • Joe Bunting

      You’re quite welcome, Shelley.

  27. Diane Turner

    In the cab, he continued to grumble. “I won’t know anyone. They’re your friends, not mine. Besides my shoes are too tight.”
    She turned her face away and smiled.

    They entered at the second level and stood at the railing overlooking at least a hundred bouncing heads. Lily sighed and took his arm, felt him stiffen, and nudged him forward. “You’ll be fine,” she whispered, stroking his hair.

    At the foot of the stairs, a swarm of photographers surrounded them, stepping on the hem of her satin gown and roughly shoving him to the side. Smiling broadly, she pushed the cameras away and through the crowd to their table. “I’ll get us drinks,” she said, taking his hands in hers. “It’ll be fine.” He nodded.

    On her way to the bar, Lily stopped at several tables, hugged some and shook hands with others. At one table, she threw her arms around an elderly man’s neck and kissed his cheeks. They all knew her, men and women, and she touched them, their hands, arms, shoulders. He watched her. Back at the table, she handed him his drink and smiled. “Thank you. I know this is hard for you.”

    After dinner, Lily was called to the podium to accept the coveted Carlton Award for Excellence from the president of the company. She held the statuette high over her head. “I’d like to introduce my date.” She took the microphone and strode back to the table, her shiny skirt swishing.

    “Please stand,” she whispered to him. He was stricken. Slowly, ever so slowly, he stood. “Colleagues, please meet my date and my son Evan, who will be 8 years old in 2 weeks.” The applause, led my Lily, grew thunderous. Evan smiled.

    Reply
    • Wanda Kiernan

      Nice surprise ending! In this story you let us know about two characters through action – the bold, confident Lily, and the quiet and shy Evan. The only thing we don’t know until the end is that Evan is 8 years old. Again, nice twist.

    • Diane Turner

      Thank you. Compared to some, however, my action is a little bland. Shall work on that.

  28. Diane Turner

    In the cab, he continued to grumble. “I won’t know anyone. They’re your friends, not mine. Besides my shoes are too tight.”
    She turned her face away and smiled.

    They entered at the second level and stood at the railing overlooking at least a hundred bouncing heads. Lily sighed and took his arm, felt him stiffen, and nudged him forward. “You’ll be fine,” she whispered, stroking his hair.

    At the foot of the stairs, a swarm of photographers surrounded them, stepping on the hem of her satin gown and roughly shoving him to the side. Smiling broadly, she pushed the cameras away and through the crowd to their table. “I’ll get us drinks,” she said, taking his hands in hers. “It’ll be fine.” He nodded.

    On her way to the bar, Lily stopped at several tables, hugged some and shook hands with others. At one table, she threw her arms around an elderly man’s neck and kissed his cheeks. They all knew her, men and women, and she touched them, their hands, arms, shoulders. He watched her. Back at the table, she handed him his drink and smiled. “Thank you. I know this is hard for you.”

    After dinner, Lily was called to the podium to accept the coveted Carlton Award for Excellence from the president of the company. She held the statuette high over her head. “I’d like to introduce my date.” She took the microphone and strode back to the table, her shiny skirt swishing.

    “Please stand,” she whispered to him. He was stricken. Slowly, ever so slowly, he stood. “Colleagues, please meet my date and my son Evan, who will be 8 years old in 2 weeks.” The applause, led my Lily, grew thunderous. Evan smiled.

    Reply
    • Wanda Kiernan

      Nice surprise ending! In this story you let us know about two characters through action – the bold, confident Lily, and the quiet and shy Evan. The only thing we don’t know until the end is that Evan is 8 years old. Again, nice twist.

    • Diane Turner

      Thank you. Compared to some, however, my action is a little bland. Shall work on that.

  29. mari

    Characterization Practice: Grocery Store Character
    Lacy took her time choosing a cart. She tested the wheels, discarding any with a screechy sound. After the choice was made, she methodically wiped down the handles with an antibacterial wipe plucked from her designer bag. Ah, now the cart was perfect, just like Lacy was perfect. She adjusted her sunglasses and smoothed her hair. She finally clicked her heels toward the fruit section, oblivious to the line of customers that had formed behind her waiting to get a cart.
    As Lacy assaulted peaches, pinching and bruising the soft skin, on a quest for peaches worthy of her famous peach parfait, an announcement came over the store intercom. “Will the owner of a Black convertible please report to customer service? You are parked illegally in the handicapped zone.”
    Lacy continued her shopping. She took her time selecting the freshest cream on the shelf. Once finished, she chose the express line, flirting her way through with eighteen items. Beguiled by her toothy smile, the young man at the cash register gave little thought to the 10 item rule or the sighs from the other customers.
    In the parking lot, the manager approached Lacy. “Ma’am” he began apologetically “you are parked in our only handicapped space. Didn’t you hear our announcements?” She gazed at him unflinchingly with icy eyes. “Yes,” she snapped. “I’m on the board for the upcoming banquet to benefit the Physically Challenged in our community.” Then suddenly sweet, with a toss of shiny hair and a flutter of lashes, “I’m making my famous Peach Parfait. You should definitely come!”
    Lacy sped through the parking lot. She was already on her cell phone trilling about the newspaper photo shoot that would highlight her role in the banquet. She loved being photographed. “My red silk blouse will be perfect!” she confided. She didn’t see the elderly handicapped woman coming from the far end of the parking lot until it was almost too late. Lacy slammed on her brakes just as the woman stepped in front of the convertible. “Oh, hurry up,” Lacy muttered under her breath with irritation. “My peaches and cream are spoiling.”

    Reply
    • AliceFleury

      I get Lacy is self-centered, only thinks what she needs is important. But some of it is over the top. I wouldn’t believe this character. You don’t need to say “just like Lacy is perfect”. The description shows this. And the manager could give her a ticket. I think showing her harumph and ripping up the ticket after she got in her car may be better. When she almost hits the elderly woman, I would think she would have thought of her reputation as a giving person if she hit the woman and not that the food was going bad.

      My opinion though.

    • mari

      Thanks for your input! I was actually aiming for over the top, in a way, as the character is an exaggeration of characteristics of of an actual person. You are right the phrase “just like Lacy is perfect” is overkill.

      I was trying to show both her manipulation of people through charm and beauty, hence escaping consequences by the store manager, in addition to her utter self-importance and hypocrisy i.e. worried about the dish she was preparing for the benefit event, rather than the actual people the event was serving. Back to the drawing board. Thanks, again, for your feedback

  30. mari

    Characterization Practice: Grocery Store Character
    Lacy took her time choosing a cart. She tested the wheels, discarding any with a screechy sound. After the choice was made, she methodically wiped down the handles with an antibacterial wipe plucked from her designer bag. Ah, now the cart was perfect, just like Lacy was perfect. She adjusted her sunglasses and smoothed her hair. She finally clicked her heels toward the fruit section, oblivious to the line of customers that had formed behind her waiting to get a cart.
    As Lacy assaulted peaches, pinching and bruising the soft skin, on a quest for peaches worthy of her famous peach parfait, an announcement came over the store intercom. “Will the owner of a Black convertible please report to customer service? You are parked illegally in the handicapped zone.”
    Lacy continued her shopping. She took her time selecting the freshest cream on the shelf. Once finished, she chose the express line, flirting her way through with eighteen items. Beguiled by her toothy smile, the young man at the cash register gave little thought to the 10 item rule or the sighs from the other customers.
    In the parking lot, the manager approached Lacy. “Ma’am” he began apologetically “you are parked in our only handicapped space. Didn’t you hear our announcements?” She gazed at him unflinchingly with icy eyes. “Yes,” she snapped. “I’m on the board for the upcoming banquet to benefit the Physically Challenged in our community.” Then suddenly sweet, with a toss of shiny hair and a flutter of lashes, “I’m making my famous Peach Parfait. You should definitely come!”
    Lacy sped through the parking lot. She was already on her cell phone trilling about the newspaper photo shoot that would highlight her role in the banquet. She loved being photographed. “My red silk blouse will be perfect!” she confided. She didn’t see the elderly handicapped woman coming from the far end of the parking lot until it was almost too late. Lacy slammed on her brakes just as the woman stepped in front of the convertible. “Oh, hurry up,” Lacy muttered under her breath with irritation. “My peaches and cream are spoiling.”

    Reply
    • Alice Fleury

      I get Lacy is self-centered, only thinks what she needs is important. But some of it is over the top. I wouldn’t believe this character. You don’t need to say “just like Lacy is perfect”. The description shows this. And the manager could give her a ticket. I think showing her harumph and ripping up the ticket after she got in her car may be better. When she almost hits the elderly woman, I would think she would have thought of her reputation as a giving person if she hit the woman and not that the food was going bad.

      My opinion though.

    • mari

      Thanks for your input! I was actually aiming for over the top, in a way, as the character is an exaggeration of characteristics of of an actual person. You are right the phrase “just like Lacy is perfect” is overkill.

      I was trying to show both her manipulation of people through charm and beauty, hence escaping consequences by the store manager, in addition to her utter self-importance and hypocrisy i.e. worried about the dish she was preparing for the benefit event, rather than the actual people the event was serving. Back to the drawing board. Thanks, again, for your feedback

  31. AliceFleury

    It looks like I’m late to this party. I’m giving it a go. I write YA.

    Bree and I sat at a rickety picnic table under the fireman’s tent and ate sausage smothered in ketchup. Grease oozed from the sandwich with each bite.

    “What do you want to do first?” When Bree didn’t answer I glanced at her across the table. Her eyes narrowed as she peered over my shoulder.

    “What’s she got I don’t?”

    I didn’t have to look. It was Nick and Gwendolyn.

    “She’s slobberin’ all over him.”

    I rapped on the table. “Hey, you said we were going to have fun.”

    She looked at me with a sly grin. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” She reached for the mustard and squirted it in her hand. “C’mon.”

    “What are you doing?”

    “Nothing.”

    She clapped Nick on the back, smiled sweetly and said, “Hey, you two are lookin’ cozy.”

    Nick shoved his hands in his pockets. “Bree.” He nodded toward me and cleared his throat. “What’re ya up to?”

    “Hangin’ out.” Bree dragged her hand down his back and then wiggled her fingers in front of Nick. “Oh honey, you must’ve leaned up against something. Your shirt is sticky.”

    Nick cranked his head around pulled on his shirt.

    Gwendolyn leaned over. “It’s disgusting, you have to go home and change.”

    Bree squeezed his bicep. “Yeah, you shouldn’t wear your sexiest muscle shirt to a place like this.” She eyed Gwendolyn. “Gotta be careful, somebody might steal him dressed like that.”

    Gwendolyn wrapped her arm around Nick’s waist. “They’d be in for a fight.”

    “Yeah,” Bree said. “Well, I gotta go wash my hands.” She sauntered off.

    “Well, see you around.” I said feeling awkward as I hurried to catch up to Bree.

    “He so deserved that.” She wiped her hands on her jeans then grabbed my arm and dragged me over to the duck shoot with water pistols.

    Reply
    • Wanda Kiernan

      I like the flow of the dialog. That Bree is jealous and angry about Nick and Gwendolyn’s relationship is very clear through Bree’s actions. The reader also gets a good idea of who Bree’s friend is. Her friend appears to be level headed, and maybe doesn’t really want to get caught up in Bree’s fit of jealousy. Good contrast between the two friends.

    • Alice Fleury

      Thank you. Upon rereading this I realize the reader has no idea what the protagonist name is, the I.

    • mamaRach

      This is nice snappy dialogue, not weighed down by trying to tell the reader what’s going on. You mention you haven’t given the “I” a name. You could pop it into tone of the comments, or at least a nick-name form of it from Bree. She could at first arch her eyebrows at your protagonist at the slight impertinence of her being the one to suggest action, and make a comment, e.g. “[Nick name of protaginist] wants some fun?” before the idea strikes Bree and her eyes narrow/ the sly grin turns her mouth up at one corner and she says “Yeah, I did promise fun, didn’t I?”….

      I get the impression your protagonist is a bit of a wall-flower, and so having Gwendolyn or Nick pay her the attention of even just saying her name would be out of the question. I think they barely noticed she was there, or only saw her as a lagging shadow that failed to keep pace with it’s owner, Bree.

    • AliceFleury

      This was from 5 years ago. My goodness. Its funny because I was looking for this scene in my mounds of files on my computer. Thanks for commenting. I think I’m supposed to put it back in my MS. I love your suggestion to add my protagonist’s name.

  32. Alice Fleury

    It looks like I’m late to this party. I’m giving it a go. I write YA.

    Bree and I sat at a rickety picnic table under the fireman’s tent and ate sausage smothered in ketchup. Grease oozed from the sandwich with each bite.

    “What do you want to do first?” When Bree didn’t answer I glanced at her across the table. Her eyes narrowed as she peered over my shoulder.

    “What’s she got I don’t?”

    I didn’t have to look. It was Nick and Gwendolyn.

    “She’s slobberin’ all over him.”

    I rapped on the table. “Hey, you said we were going to have fun.”

    She looked at me with a sly grin. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” She reached for the mustard and squirted it in her hand. “C’mon.”

    “What are you doing?”

    “Nothing.”

    She clapped Nick on the back, smiled sweetly and said, “Hey, you two are lookin’ cozy.”

    Nick shoved his hands in his pockets. “Bree.” He nodded toward me and cleared his throat. “What’re ya up to?”

    “Hangin’ out.” Bree dragged her hand down his back and then wiggled her fingers in front of Nick. “Oh honey, you must’ve leaned up against something. Your shirt is sticky.”

    Nick cranked his head around pulled on his shirt.

    Gwendolyn leaned over. “It’s disgusting, you have to go home and change.”

    Bree squeezed his bicep. “Yeah, you shouldn’t wear your sexiest muscle shirt to a place like this.” She eyed Gwendolyn. “Gotta be careful, somebody might steal him dressed like that.”

    Gwendolyn wrapped her arm around Nick’s waist. “They’d be in for a fight.”

    “Yeah,” Bree said. “Well, I gotta go wash my hands.” She sauntered off.

    “Well, see you around.” I said feeling awkward as I hurried to catch up to Bree.

    “He so deserved that.” She wiped her hands on her jeans then grabbed my arm and dragged me over to the duck shoot with water pistols.

    Reply
    • Wanda Kiernan

      I like the flow of the dialog. That Bree is jealous and angry about Nick and Gwendolyn’s relationship is very clear through Bree’s actions. The reader also gets a good idea of who Bree’s friend is. Her friend appears to be level headed, and maybe doesn’t really want to get caught up in Bree’s fit of jealousy. Good contrast between the two friends.

    • Alice Fleury

      Thank you. Upon rereading this I realize the reader has no idea what the protagonist name is, the I.

  33. Wanda Kiernan

    Conner Wellington III made a revolting Frankenstein. The scars around his wrists, his neck, and creeping down from under his hairline looked fresh with purplish slime oozing out between the stitches. And not surprising for him, he even wore an “Eau de Toilette” he created called “Mortis”. So he stood happily alone, and upwind from his guests.

    “Welcome to the grand opening of the world’s scariest haunted house!” he announced to his guests.

    “To the world’s scariest haunted house!” repeated the exuberant crowd.

    The house was a project 10 years in the making, and along the way Conner made some friends and some enemies, too. Both were in attendance at the grand opening.

    “You are the first 100 people to experience the house in all its gory glory. Make your way through to the ballroom at the other end where a ghoulish feast awaits you. I’ll meet you there.”

    As he turned away he wondered “How many of you will make it out alive?”

    Reply
    • Clairelily2001

       Well done Wanda.  From the opening sentence until the final piece of dialogue you had me hooked.  I wonder how many did make it out alive and what happened in there.

  34. Wanda Kiernan

    Conner Wellington III made a revolting Frankenstein. The scars around his wrists, his neck, and creeping down from under his hairline looked fresh with purplish slime oozing out between the stitches. And not surprising for him, he even wore an “Eau de Toilette” he created called “Mortis”. So he stood happily alone, and upwind from his guests.

    “Welcome to the grand opening of the world’s scariest haunted house!” he announced to his guests.

    “To the world’s scariest haunted house!” repeated the exuberant crowd.

    The house was a project 10 years in the making, and along the way Conner made some friends and some enemies, too. Both were in attendance at the grand opening.

    “You are the first 100 people to experience the house in all its gory glory. Make your way through to the ballroom at the other end where a ghoulish feast awaits you. I’ll meet you there.”

    As he turned away he wondered “How many of you will make it out alive?”

    Reply
    • Clairelily2001

       Well done Wanda.  From the opening sentence until the final piece of dialogue you had me hooked.  I wonder how many did make it out alive and what happened in there.

  35. Rada

    YA lit

    My eyes widened as I passed the buffet table laden with seafood canapes and veggie bruschettas. I also noticed the round puffy pastries with cheese oozing out the sides. And although fancy stuff doesn’t excite me I had to admit that the strawberries bopping around in the punch sure looked enticing. I hadn’t wanted to come to my sister’s boring piano recital but then the food spread looked pretty damn good. Mom had ordered me to wear my red plaid shirt and loafers. Pure hell. At least I got away with no patent leather belt. So there I was standing in the corner waiting for Ally to come back from the stage when two girls with short frilly dresses came towards me, smiling. Quickly I averted my eyes towards the ceiling. What was I doing? Looking for cracks? Tracking potential cobwebs? Then I added a little swaying. Slightly looking down I saw they were indeed looking at me. Still smiling. A wave of complete fear took over me. My toes were burning.
    “Hey! Aren’t you Ally’s little brother?”one of them said coyly.
    “Huh? Um, what, me?” I responded with my mouth gaping.

    Reply
    • Clairelily2001

       So well described, the awkwardness of pre-adolescent boys.  I like the “My toes were burning.” 

    • wakamotorcycle

      damn, that awkwardness is well described. This passage alone told me what kind of boy this kid is

    • Clare Robinson

      very interesting perspective, but you do use a lot of adjectives, a lot of description. is that true to the way kids see the world?

    • Melanie Wardlow

      very descriptive. I get the fact this is an awkward preteen. Nice point of view.

    • Clara_Oswin_Oswald_Rocks

      I really like that! It’s very descriptive and I could most definitely imagine a shy, awkward preteen/teen.

    • I'm determined

      I can remember being a teen, and going through agonies in social situations. Yes, Rada, you’ve got it, the fear, the longing to hide my face in the food to avoid being seen.

    • frenchrunner

      Wow! I love that little surprise at the end ! No hint of it at all in the rest of the story. Good job !

    • Deepshikha

      Hey I loved it♡

    • Timothy Dennis

      This almost feels like a scene from real life

    • Diane Turner

      Very descriptive and visual. Love the “toes are burning” sentence. Poor shy boy, but, as Claire mentioned, I am not sure an awkward young man would think of food that way. I love the thoughts he has when looking the celing, though again I am not sure a guy his age would make those observations. Nice writing, very realistic, and I love the ending.

    • Reaper1

      I loved it

    • Hosea

      I loved it! I want to read more of your works

    • Ridhwaan Amin (raj)

      It’s cool, I love the description! Was that where you stopped because I would really like to hear the rest and what happens next.

    • Beverly Brown

      Beautiful! I can picture being there with all the food and seeing what he was feeling. Very true portrayal. Very interesting character!

  36. Rada

    YA lit

    My eyes widened as I passed the buffet table laden with seafood canapes and veggie bruschettas. I also noticed the round puffy pastries with cheese oozing out the sides. And although fancy stuff doesn’t excite me I had to admit that the strawberries bopping around in the punch sure looked enticing. I hadn’t wanted to come to my sister’s boring piano recital but then the food spread looked pretty damn good. Mom had ordered me to wear my red plaid shirt and loafers. Pure hell. At least I got away with no patent leather belt. So there I was standing in the corner waiting for Ally to come back from the stage when two girls with short frilly dresses came towards me, smiling. Quickly I averted my eyes towards the ceiling. What was I doing? Looking for cracks? Tracking potential cobwebs? Then I added a little swaying. Slightly looking down I saw they were indeed looking at me. Still smiling. A wave of complete fear took over me. My toes were burning.
    “Hey! Aren’t you Ally’s little brother?”one of them said coyly.
    “Huh? Um, what, me?” I responded with my mouth gaping.

    Reply
    • Clairelily2001

       So well described, the awkwardness of pre-adolescent boys.  I like the “My toes were burning.” 

    • wakamotorcycle

      damn, that awkwardness is well described. This passage alone told me what kind of boy this kid is

    • Clare Robinson

      very interesting perspective, but you do use a lot of adjectives, a lot of description. is that true to the way kids see the world?

    • Melanie Wardlow

      very descriptive. I get the fact this is an awkward preteen. Nice point of view.

  37. zo-zo

    ‘You forget people whose favourite food is pizza’ – I love that!!!!

    Reply
  38. zo-zo

    ‘You forget people whose favourite food is pizza’ – I love that!!!!

    Reply
  39. zo-zo

    Mervin stuck his hands into his pocket and looked at the black tiled floor.

    ‘Drink?’ Stacy asked, putting a Daquiri under his nose. He shook his head.

    ‘Oh well,’ Stacy said, and gulped half of it down.

    He lifted his head. ‘You didn’t have to do that. What if I wanted it later?’

    She gestured towards the bar. ‘They’re free. I can get one for you now if you want.’

    Mervin didn’t respond. He studied the people surrounding him, at Pinnochio’s long nose that looked obscene, and the red coat that covered Red Riding Hood’s back. He sighed. Then his eyes fell on Stacy. She had a pillow strapped to her back with one of his old belts – which was now twice his size – and it was hidden beneath all the frills of black that covered her chest.

    ‘Who knew,’ Mervin said, ‘that the hunchback of Notre Dame was actually a woman. And she dragged her date to parties.’

    Stacy had that expression. Her little eyes were zooming in on every outfit, trying to find the mistakes, Mervin knew, looking for a cut in material, or a hair out of place. She eyed the rest of his daquiri and with one swift movement, emptied the glass.

    ‘Who knew.’ She repeated. She had an ugly sneer on her face, dedicated solely to him, and Mervin had to swallow a smile. She looked closer to her character than she knew.

    ‘And she even stole her date’s liquor,’ Mervin said, snatching the empty glass and tipping two little dribbles of strawberry into his mouth.

    Stacy grabbed the glass out of his hand and stormed to the bar where she banged the glass down. She gestured towards him, hands flying, that sour mouth spouting off about him.

    Mervin positioned himself towards a group of girls. It looked like Goldilocks, Cinderella and Snow White. Bingo, he thought as he smiled at them, his gaze resting on Goldilocks.

    ‘You all look very thirsty to me’ he said, putting his hands in his pockets and cocking his head. ‘Hopefully I can be of assistance.’

    He ignored Stacy as she approached him, one hand holding his drink, and the other, straightening the pillow on her back.

    Reply
  40. zo-zo

    Mervin stuck his hands into his pocket and looked at the black tiled floor.

    ‘Drink?’ Stacy asked, putting a Daquiri under his nose. He shook his head.

    ‘Oh well,’ Stacy said, and gulped half of it down.

    He lifted his head. ‘You didn’t have to do that. What if I wanted it later?’

    She gestured towards the bar. ‘They’re free. I can get one for you now if you want.’

    Mervin didn’t respond. He studied the people surrounding him, at Pinnochio’s long nose that looked obscene, and the red coat that covered Red Riding Hood’s back. He sighed. Then his eyes fell on Stacy. She had a pillow strapped to her back with one of his old belts – which was now twice his size – and it was hidden beneath all the frills of black that covered her chest.

    ‘Who knew,’ Mervin said, ‘that the hunchback of Notre Dame was actually a woman. And she dragged her date to parties.’

    Stacy had that expression. Her little eyes were zooming in on every outfit, trying to find the mistakes, Mervin knew, looking for a cut in material, or a hair out of place. She eyed the rest of his daquiri and with one swift movement, emptied the glass.

    ‘Who knew.’ She repeated. She had an ugly sneer on her face, dedicated solely to him, and Mervin had to swallow a smile. She looked closer to her character than she knew.

    ‘And she even stole her date’s liquor,’ Mervin said, snatching the empty glass and tipping two little dribbles of strawberry into his mouth.

    Stacy grabbed the glass out of his hand and stormed to the bar where she banged the glass down. She gestured towards him, hands flying, that sour mouth spouting off about him.

    Mervin positioned himself towards a group of girls. It looked like Goldilocks, Cinderella and Snow White. Bingo, he thought as he smiled at them, his gaze resting on Goldilocks.

    ‘You all look very thirsty to me’ he said, putting his hands in his pockets and cocking his head. ‘Hopefully I can be of assistance.’

    He ignored Stacy as she approached him, one hand holding his drink, and the other, straightening the pillow on her back.

    Reply
  41. ChristaDelmar

    The beautiful people milled around her, lost in admiring themselves and each other. Jane glanced at the woman standing next to her and noted black hair cascading silkily over flawless shoulders. A red dress clung to her perfect figure and darks eyes sparkled as she giggled in response to something her male companion whispered. Jane smoothed her hands over her own simple black dress. When she had put it on, she had almost convinced herself that she looked good enough. But now every defect and bulge betrayed her inadequacies. The party was in full swing and people were coupling up, attracted to each other magnetically, their hands touching briefly, heads bending towards each other, smiles fixed, eyes searching. Jane moved silently towards the drinks table. She knew no one had noticed her abandon her post near the potted plants. She reached down and picked up a champagne glass, holding it delicately between the index finger and thumb of her right hand. She sipped the sweet liquid without tasting it and fixed her eyes on a spot on the opposite wall. Bodies seethed around her, some even daring to brush past her on their way to some other rendezvous. In spite of the mass of swirling humanity within her reach, Jane had the distinct impression that she was the only living being in the room. Her eyes followed the movement of the dancers. Mannequins without hearts. Dolls and action figures designed to sell you things you didn’t need. But oh how badly you wanted them! If only they would make you more like these glowing, beautiful ones. A waft of heady perfume pulled Jane out of her reverie as a blonde in platinum heels brushed past her. The woman’s hard eyes swept over Jane dismissively. Jane stepped back into the shadows with a muttered apology. She finished her champagne quickly and slipped out the way she had arrived, unnoticed.

    Reply
    • Clairelily2001

       So now the reader is left wondering who is Jane?  why is she the outsider?  and who are these beautiful people?  This could lead into a very interesting story.

  42. ChristaDelmar

    The beautiful people milled around her, lost in admiring themselves and each other. Jane glanced at the woman standing next to her and noted black hair cascading silkily over flawless shoulders. A red dress clung to her perfect figure and darks eyes sparkled as she giggled in response to something her male companion whispered. Jane smoothed her hands over her own simple black dress. When she had put it on, she had almost convinced herself that she looked good enough. But now every defect and bulge betrayed her inadequacies. The party was in full swing and people were coupling up, attracted to each other magnetically, their hands touching briefly, heads bending towards each other, smiles fixed, eyes searching. Jane moved silently towards the drinks table. She knew no one had noticed her abandon her post near the potted plants. She reached down and picked up a champagne glass, holding it delicately between the index finger and thumb of her right hand. She sipped the sweet liquid without tasting it and fixed her eyes on a spot on the opposite wall. Bodies seethed around her, some even daring to brush past her on their way to some other rendezvous. In spite of the mass of swirling humanity within her reach, Jane had the distinct impression that she was the only living being in the room. Her eyes followed the movement of the dancers. Mannequins without hearts. Dolls and action figures designed to sell you things you didn’t need. But oh how badly you wanted them! If only they would make you more like these glowing, beautiful ones. A waft of heady perfume pulled Jane out of her reverie as a blonde in platinum heels brushed past her. The woman’s hard eyes swept over Jane dismissively. Jane stepped back into the shadows with a muttered apology. She finished her champagne quickly and slipped out the way she had arrived, unnoticed.

    Reply
    • Clairelily2001

       So now the reader is left wondering who is Jane?  why is she the outsider?  and who are these beautiful people?  This could lead into a very interesting story.

  43. Jerry Alan

    The light outside was dimming and the cool shadows of the evening began to glow, i left the car down the block. I ask Ricky for a light , my light was out of fuild, he tossed me his Zippo. I clanked it open and light my smoke and tossed him the lighter. The music grew  louder as we approached the party. Ricky said remember what i told you, no drugs i mean it.
    Sure, i responded, that was most my favorite phrase to hear before a party, oh and  my other favorite phrase, your so cute but your brother is handsome. I grab the first cold beer i could find and headed for the back corners. This is where either the lonely girls hung out or the guy with the best drugs.  I saw her sitting side ways like they always do when they are not wanting to be at a party. These are the ‘cute girls but your freind is pretty’, girls. I recognize them every where i went i was one of them. But next to her was this old green couch with this older looking guy with thick glasses, he had this stick witha smoldering tar looking ball on the end of it.

    Reply
    • Clairelily2001

       I see this was posted two months ago, but like the writing style which must be very difficult to balance.  I think you have done well, and the story is good as well. 

    • Elvis24105

      A writing teacher i had said to me there is a lyrical feeeling to my writing i really did not know what she meant but it seemed encouraging. I do have this constant energry/vibration thing in my head also musicial stuff swirl thru constantly. The counselors would say its a tangential random thought of the world of the mind of a stressed person. I want people to feel my creative expressions right what artist dosnt but really its my idea that a personal chord is pluked strumed or whatever.
      Hey Claire Lily thank you for tyhe comments

    • Shelley DuPont

      Your story has that Raymond Carver feel to it.  Describing the Zippo lighter certainly set the time.  I forgot all about the fact that you needed the can of fuel.  

    • Elvis24105

      Thanks
      not sure who R Carver is but will look for his stuff, i have alot of details that wander my mind, also i love the way guys like Barkowski write, i want that artistic crossover feeling. Barkowski makes me fell like i am too close like i am reading/watching something too private. Its something i am working on in mt process. Writing is just a way of warming up my visual art.
      Thanks for taking the time to comment.

    • Shelley DuPont

      We’re even.  I don’t know who Barkowski is! 🙂  Will check him/her out.  Today, I had a conversation with a friend who happened to mention a visit to the Zippo Museum near Bradford, PA.  How ironic is that?

    • Emily Faithe

      I love this 🙂 You managed to set a really big picture feel in a super short amount of writing. That’s awesome. I get the feeling of the crowd, I understand the type of party, and I can tell there’s a lot more just under the surface. You did exactly what the exercise was – use action to show what’s going on a set up a scene. The details are unique and I love that you used names.

  44. Jerry Alan

    The light outside was dimming and the cool shadows of the evening began to glow, i left the car down the block. I ask Ricky for a light , my light was out of fuild, he tossed me his Zippo. I clanked it open and light my smoke and tossed him the lighter. The music grew  louder as we approached the party. Ricky said remember what i told you, no drugs i mean it.
    Sure, i responded, that was most my favorite phrase to hear before a party, oh and  my other favorite phrase, your so cute but your brother is handsome. I grab the first cold beer i could find and headed for the back corners. This is where either the lonely girls hung out or the guy with the best drugs.  I saw her sitting side ways like they always do when they are not wanting to be at a party. These are the ‘cute girls but your freind is pretty’, girls. I recognize them every where i went i was one of them. But next to her was this old green couch with this older looking guy with thick glasses, he had this stick witha smoldering tar looking ball on the end of it.

    Reply
    • Clairelily2001

       I see this was posted two months ago, but like the writing style which must be very difficult to balance.  I think you have done well, and the story is good as well. 

    • Elvis24105

      A writing teacher i had said to me there is a lyrical feeeling to my writing i really did not know what she meant but it seemed encouraging. I do have this constant energry/vibration thing in my head also musicial stuff swirl thru constantly. The counselors would say its a tangential random thought of the world of the mind of a stressed person. I want people to feel my creative expressions right what artist dosnt but really its my idea that a personal chord is pluked strumed or whatever.
      Hey Claire Lily thank you for tyhe comments

    • smdupont

      Your story has that Raymond Carver feel to it.  Describing the Zippo lighter certainly set the time.  I forgot all about the fact that you needed the can of fuel.  

    • Elvis24105

      Thanks
      not sure who R Carver is but will look for his stuff, i have alot of details that wander my mind, also i love the way guys like Barkowski write, i want that artistic crossover feeling. Barkowski makes me fell like i am too close like i am reading/watching something too private. Its something i am working on in mt process. Writing is just a way of warming up my visual art.
      Thanks for taking the time to comment.

    • smdupont

      We’re even.  I don’t know who Barkowski is! 🙂  Will check him/her out.  Today, I had a conversation with a friend who happened to mention a visit to the Zippo Museum near Bradford, PA.  How ironic is that?

  45. Shelley DuPont

    Pushing the door open halfway, the woman takes a stab at it with the rubber tip of her crutch.  It opens far enough for her to wedge herself between the door and its frame.  Lifting her chin in aristocratic mode, her eyes begin to search the crowd for an empty chair.  With one hand, she reaches to re-adjusts the shawl around her shoulders.   An empty chair is spotted in a nearby corner.  Slowly, she begins to limp towards it.  

    Leaning her crutch against the chair, she pivots on one foot and backs carefully into the seat.  Her body begins to relax.   She leans back,  adjusting the flow of her skirt as it rises above her knee.

    “Look who’s here,” people whisper.  “Who invited her?” snicker the aunts.  “Would you care for something to eat?  There’s barbecued chicken on the back porch” offered a cousin.“Oh, she doesn’t like the way we barbecue our chicken ”  the women mock.

    With a stabbing pain in her chest, she reaches down, fumbling with her crutch.  Adjusting it beneath her arm, she quickly rushes beyond the snickers and comments with hardly a limp.  

    Throwing the door open, she tears the shawl from her shoulders. The cool of the night begins to temper the heat of the party.

    Reply
    • Clairelily2001

       An intriguing beginning to a the story.  Who is she?  Why are people talking about her?  This has such potential.

    • Shelley DuPont

      The character is a woman who wore her husband’s position of foreign service officer. She was used to entertaining foreign dignitaries and having center stage.  Since her husband’s retirement, they have moved “home”.  She does her best to fit in, but her sometimes “better than thou” attitude lingers like an unwanted odor.  It’s caused her trouble, especially with the aunts who are not afraid to put her in her place.  They are quick to hurl her words back to her.  After many years, she is still a peg in a round hole.

      It’s based on a real person and real situation.

      Thank you for your encouragement, Claire.

  46. Shelley DuPont

    Pushing the door open halfway, the woman takes a stab at it with the rubber tip of her crutch.  It opens far enough for her to wedge herself between the door and its frame.  Lifting her chin in aristocratic mode, her eyes begin to search the crowd for an empty chair.  With one hand, she reaches to re-adjusts the shawl around her shoulders.   An empty chair is spotted in a nearby corner.  Slowly, she begins to limp towards it.  

    Leaning her crutch against the chair, she pivots on one foot and backs carefully into the seat.  Her body begins to relax.   She leans back,  adjusting the flow of her skirt as it rises above her knee.

    “Look who’s here,” people whisper.  “Who invited her?” snicker the aunts.  “Would you care for something to eat?  There’s barbecued chicken on the back porch” offered a cousin.“Oh, she doesn’t like the way we barbecue our chicken ”  the women mock.

    With a stabbing pain in her chest, she reaches down, fumbling with her crutch.  She quickly rises, without waiting for true vertical positioning of the crutch.  Adjusting it beneath her arm, she quickly rushes beyond the snickers and comments with hardly a limp.  

    Throwing the door open, she tears the shawl from her shoulders. The cool of the night begins to temper the heat of the party.

    Reply
    • Clairelily2001

       An intriguing beginning to a the story.  Who is she?  Why are people talking about her?  This has such potential.

    • smdupont

      The character is a woman who wore her husband’s position of foreign service officer. She was used to entertaining foreign dignitaries and having center stage.  Since her husband’s retirement, they have moved “home”.  She does her best to fit in, but her sometimes “better than thou” attitude lingers like an unwanted odor.  It’s caused her trouble, especially with the aunts who are not afraid to put her in her place.  They are quick to hurl her words back to her.  After many years, she is still a peg in a round hole.

      It’s based on a real person and real situation.

      Thank you for your encouragement, Claire.

  47. Yalí Noriega

    She laughed lightly at something the Senator said. She wasn’t sure what it was but tonight was all about making an impression and Lilith knew her smile was her best weapon.

    She saw approval in Frank’s eyes. This was the way to go, then. She raised her glass and silently toasted their success, before leaving the two men to talk politics together. Her job now was to find the hostess and get introduced.

    The room was large and it was full. Lilith nodded and smiled as she walked through the crowd. She could feel eyes following her. Good, she thought. Before the night was over, she would come back and put names to all their faces.

    She found the Senator’s wife speaking with an elderly man in a polka-dot bow tie. She seemed glad to see Lilith and waved for her to come over. “This is major Greenberg”, she said, and then added in Lilith’s ear “A great ally”. Lilith admired the way her hostess left them before turning her charms on the major.

    She knew she was beautiful and was not afraid to use it if it would get Frank where she wanted. All night she made small talk, smiled, flicked her hair and raised her glass (which she barely touched). Her mind stored names, faces, tidbits of information that might come in handy one day.

    Lilith loved the attention, the looks she got. Luckily for her, her husband’s career provided all sorts of opportunities for her to shine and she took advantage of them all. Frank could not complain: he was moving up faster than ever, and it was all because of her.

    Reply
    • Clairelily2001

       You have kept the focus so well on the main character and have left me wondering what terrible thing is about to happen to her.  Just punishment for her arrogance or reward for her determination? 

  48. Yalí Noriega

    She laughed lightly at something the Senator said. She wasn’t sure what it was but tonight was all about making an impression and Lilith knew her smile was her best weapon.

    She saw approval in Frank’s eyes. This was the way to go, then. She raised her glass and silently toasted their success, before leaving the two men to talk politics together. Her job now was to find the hostess and get introduced.

    The room was large and it was full. Lilith nodded and smiled as she walked through the crowd. She could feel eyes following her. Good, she thought. Before the night was over, she would come back and put names to all their faces.

    She found the Senator’s wife speaking with an elderly man in a polka-dot bow tie. She seemed glad to see Lilith and waved for her to come over. “This is major Greenberg”, she said, and then added in Lilith’s ear “A great ally”. Lilith admired the way her hostess left them before turning her charms on the major.

    She knew she was beautiful and was not afraid to use it if it would get Frank where she wanted. All night she made small talk, smiled, flicked her hair and raised her glass (which she barely touched). Her mind stored names, faces, tidbits of information that might come in handy one day.

    Lilith loved the attention, the looks she got. Luckily for her, her husband’s career provided all sorts of opportunities for her to shine and she took advantage of them all. Frank could not complain: he was moving up faster than ever, and it was all because of her.

    Reply
    • Clairelily2001

       You have kept the focus so well on the main character and have left me wondering what terrible thing is about to happen to her.  Just punishment for her arrogance or reward for her determination? 

  49. Mirel

    Stacey couldn’t wait to get out of the car and into the hall.  The car had barely stopped and she was out
    the door and smoothing her skirt.  Even
    outside, they could hear the music, feel it reverberating in the air around
    them.

    “Come on, Ben. 
    Let’s go already.  I want to see
    everybody!”

    Ben grinned at her as he shut off the engine and extricated
    his tall lanky body out of the car. 
    “Don’t worry, Stace, no one’s going anywhere.” 

    Stacey laughed back as she danced unconsciously on her
    heels.    “I know, I know, it’s just that I’ve
    been sooo looking forward to this!  I’m
    going to have a great time tonight.”

    “Don’t you always!”

    “Well, yes.  But
    you’ll see, you’ll have a great time too.”

    Stacey took hold of his arm and gave it a quick hug as they
    progressed down the path towards the entrance to the hall.  Ben slipped his arm around her so she
    wouldn’t trip over any of the pebbles and twigs along the way.  He took an appreciative look at the hall’s
    magnificent garden setting, took one deep sniff of the floral-scented air,
    braced his shoulders and walked into the hall.

    The hall was already packed when they entered.  Ben felt himself stiffen as he took in the
    crowd. Stacey rushed off to a group of friends. 
    “Oh Merry, you look terrific! 
    What a lovely dress!  I knew you’d
    find the perfect outfit! Oh, Ben,” Stacey turned around to catch his
    eye.  “Don’t you just love it.”

    Ben relaxed and felt a smile playing at his lips.  He walked over to join Stacey, feeling her
    hand slip into his.  “Becca, I love
    what you did with your hair.  I wish I
    had your touch!”  Stacey quickly
    caught up with all her friends before sprightly moving  on to the next group, Ben in tow.

     

    As the music shifted in tone, Ben felt Stacey lean into him
    and quietly drifted off with her onto the dance floor.

     

     

     

     
     

    Reply
    • Clairelily2001

       I like the way you draw the reader in, following Stacey, yet feeling Ben’s mixed feelings.  It seems like the beginning of an intriguing story.

  50. Mirelba

    Stacey couldn’t wait to get out of the car and into the hall.  The car had barely stopped and she was out
    the door and smoothing her skirt.  Even
    outside, they could hear the music, feel it reverberating in the air around
    them.

    “Come on, Ben. 
    Let’s go already.  I want to see
    everybody!”

    Ben grinned at her as he shut off the engine and extricated
    his tall lanky body out of the car. 
    “Don’t worry, Stace, no one’s going anywhere.” 

    Stacey laughed back as she danced unconsciously on her
    heels.    “I know, I know, it’s just that I’ve
    been sooo looking forward to this!  I’m
    going to have a great time tonight.”

    “Don’t you always!”

    “Well, yes.  But
    you’ll see, you’ll have a great time too.”

    Stacey took hold of his arm and gave it a quick hug as they
    progressed down the path towards the entrance to the hall.  Ben slipped his arm around her so she
    wouldn’t trip over any of the pebbles and twigs along the way.  He took an appreciative look at the hall’s
    magnificent garden setting, took one deep sniff of the floral-scented air,
    braced his shoulders and walked into the hall.

    The hall was already packed when they entered.  Ben felt himself stiffen as he took in the
    crowd. Stacey rushed off to a group of friends. 
    “Oh Merry, you look terrific! 
    What a lovely dress!  I knew you’d
    find the perfect outfit! Oh, Ben,” Stacey turned around to catch his
    eye.  “Don’t you just love it.”

    Ben relaxed and felt a smile playing at his lips.  He walked over to join Stacey, feeling her
    hand slip into his.  “Becca, I love
    what you did with your hair.  I wish I
    had your touch!”  Stacey quickly
    caught up with all her friends before sprightly moving  on to the next group, Ben in tow.

     

    As the music shifted in tone, Ben felt Stacey lean into him
    and quietly drifted off with her onto the dance floor.

     

     

     

     
     

    Reply
    • Clairelily2001

       I like the way you draw the reader in, following Stacey, yet feeling Ben’s mixed feelings.  It seems like the beginning of an intriguing story.

  51. Clairelily2001

    He inhaled deeply, drew himself to his full height and held
    his clenched fists close against his side. 
    His skin crawled at the sight of them, soaped and powdered and
    flaccid.  Flaccid bodies, flaccid minds,
    like maggots crawling around the food table, stuffing their mouth holes with
    oily salty processed garbage, washing it down with vinegary drinks.  The air reeked of chemicals, on their bodies
    and hair, in the food and drink.  He
    licked his lips and tasted the poison that had settled on his skin and was
    seeping even now into his bloodstream. 
    The music was pounding, reverberating off walls and ceiling.  His head was about to explode.

     

    Reply
    • Alexandra

      Nice imagery. Would like to know more about the character and the party- why his experience is so negative. So guess I took the bait and now you got me and I am curious for more. I like your use of the word flaccid. I have used it once in my manuscript in the way you have here.

    • Tierra Cole

      I like it! Descriptive, engaging, making the reader beg for more information about what is going on and who the character is. I know I am one of those readers.

    • dpswiftstar58

      Wow, I absolutely love the imagery and the word choice. It really helps you feel the same discomfort and disgust that the main character is feeling.

    • Jazzy ReShawn

      Love the description, I can feel his disgust towards the environment he’s in.

    • Beverly Brown

      Interesting to see how the character sees the world around him…especially under, I imagine, under the influence of some substance.

  52. Clairelily2001

    He inhaled deeply, drew himself to his full height and held
    his clenched fists close against his side. 
    His skin crawled at the sight of them, soaped and powdered and
    flaccid.  Flaccid bodies, flaccid minds,
    like maggots crawling around the food table, stuffing their mouth holes with
    oily salty processed garbage, washing it down with vinegary drinks.  The air reeked of chemicals, on their bodies
    and hair, in the food and drink.  He
    licked his lips and tasted the poison that had settled on his skin and was
    seeping even now into his bloodstream. 
    The music was pounding, reverberating off walls and ceiling.  His head was about to explode.

     

    Reply
    • Alexandra

      Nice imagery. Would like to know more about the character and the party- why his experience is so negative. So guess I took the bait and now you got me and I am curious for more. I like your use of the word flaccid. I have used it once in my manuscript in the way you have here.

  53. Alex

         A mass of jovial merrymakers
    revel in their spirited drinks and potent petals with song and dance in a
    thanksgiving of summer harvests. Wary of the dance line, Ren made his way
    through the aisles of cheese and pick-a-vegetable medleys, dropping a sample of
    each into his mouth and feeling fuller by the second, but lacking any real
    motivation to quit. Finally famished, Ren stuck his hands into the pockets of his best
    hides and looked for a hole to fall in; the loft of the barn sounded like as
    good a place as any and just as he was about to sneak out into the night, he
    felt a poke to the shoulder. He turned around, hoping that it was simply an
    accident and the person who had poked him had already vanished. But instead
    found Aven animated by a toothy smile.

                    She looks nice. His
    friend, perhaps his closest friend, was dressed in the leathers he had given
    her the summer before with her black hair in a neat bun instead of the usual
    braid behind her back. Roots was no more than ten feet behind, standing with
    his arms crossed and ears out. He had his head turned just so that Aven was in
    his peripheral vision, in an awkward attempt not to be obvious but Ren was
    right on him.

         “How about we make all
    the ladies jealous with a dance?” Aven twirled around in charming girlishness.

         “Jealous? Ha. Funny
    Aven,” Ren shook his head, “The only one we’re going to make jealous is Roots.”

         “You are being silly. He
    knows that we’re only friends and that’s all we ever will be,” said Aven. Ren’s
    spirit sank two feet into the ground.

         “C’mon Ren. Loosen up and get merry!” She took his hand and
    pulled him toward the dancing mass. He resisted, pulling his hand away, and
    shoved it back into the comfort of his pocket. He experienced a brief moment
    of eye-contact with Roots, and in a panic Ren circled his eyes around the entire
    room to give the appearance that he was looking through Roots not at him. He returned his gaze to Aven who was puffing her lips; it
    was obvious she was not going to take no for an answer and truthfully he didn’t
    want her to have to.     
    “Alright… let’s
    get this over with,” he masked his enthusiasm and allowed Aven to drag him into
    the dancing crowd.

        

     

    Reply
  54. Alex

         A mass of jovial merrymakers
    revel in their spirited drinks and potent petals with song and dance in a
    thanksgiving of summer harvests. Wary of the dance line, Ren made his way
    through the aisles of cheese and pick-a-vegetable medleys, dropping a sample of
    each into his mouth and feeling fuller by the second, but lacking any real
    motivation to quit. Finally famished, Ren stuck his hands into the pockets of his best
    hides and looked for a hole to fall in; the loft of the barn sounded like as
    good a place as any and just as he was about to sneak out into the night, he
    felt a poke to the shoulder. He turned around, hoping that it was simply an
    accident and the person who had poked him had already vanished. But instead
    found Aven animated by a toothy smile.

                    She looks nice. His
    friend, perhaps his closest friend, was dressed in the leathers he had given
    her the summer before with her black hair in a neat bun instead of the usual
    braid behind her back. Roots was no more than ten feet behind, standing with
    his arms crossed and ears out. He had his head turned just so that Aven was in
    his peripheral vision, in an awkward attempt not to be obvious but Ren was
    right on him.

         “How about we make all
    the ladies jealous with a dance?” Aven twirled around in charming girlishness.

         “Jealous? Ha. Funny
    Aven,” Ren shook his head, “The only one we’re going to make jealous is Roots.”

         “You are being silly. He
    knows that we’re only friends and that’s all we ever will be,” said Aven. Ren’s
    spirit sank two feet into the ground.

         “C’mon Ren. Loosen up and get merry!” She took his hand and
    pulled him toward the dancing mass. He resisted, pulling his hand away, and
    shoved it back into the comfort of his pocket. He experienced a brief moment
    of eye-contact with Roots, and in a panic Ren circled his eyes around the entire
    room to give the appearance that he was looking through Roots not at him. He returned his gaze to Aven who was puffing her lips; it
    was obvious she was not going to take no for an answer and truthfully he didn’t
    want her to have to.     
    “Alright… let’s
    get this over with,” he masked his enthusiasm and allowed Aven to drag him into
    the dancing crowd.

        

     

    Reply
  55. Riwanon Druida

    Blue had spent an hour just choosing her clothes and another straightening her hair and doing her blue make-up, just trying to be safe. At the very second she put her feet on the room everyone eyes turned to her.

    She breathed slowly, deeply, trying to remember that those eyes were appreciative, not violent. It was impossible for them to know anything about her past, so she put on a charming smile and walked in.

    She went straight to pick up a drink, not wanting her hands free to fidget. Before she could reach the counter, a hand offered her a glass.

    “Non-alcoholic for my beautiful lady” said a voice that tried to be seductive and charmingly failed. She snorted and turned to the slightly shorter man.

    “That is supposed to be an act of chivalry?” She couldn’t help but shoot a warm smile to her friend.

    “It’s taken me a while to find one, there only seemed to be like a thousand types of beer and nothing more” he pouted and Blue had to laugh. She accepted the drink and kissed him lightly on the lips while doing so.

    “Are the rest here yet?” She asked casually, while pretending to look around.

    “No, my brother went to pick up Bio and told me to come first” he answered. She tried to smile, but her lips faltered for a second. “Worried?”
    “The voice of the band afraid of dealing with a few unknown people? Of course not” she said as fast as she could. Black thought of pointing it out, but
    opted to stay silent.

    Blue couldn’t remember why she had agreed to come to a party to promote their band with all the things that had been happening in the city. She should be investigating or training, not being on the edge of having a panic attack because she didn’t know anybody and the other members of the band weren’t here yet; Black didn’t even reach the status of moral support, his fear of people even greater than her own.

    Reply
  56. Riwanon Druida

    Blue had spent an hour just choosing her clothes and another straightening her hair and doing her blue make-up, just trying to be safe. At the very second
    she put her feet on the room everyone eyes turned to her.

    She breathed slowly,
    deeply, trying to remember that those eyes were appreciative, not
    violent. It was impossible for them to know anything about her past,
    so she put on a charming smile and walked in.

    She went straight to pick
    up a drink, not wanting her hands free to fidget. Before she could
    reach the counter, a hand offered her a glass.

    “Non-alcoholic for my
    beautiful lady” said a voice that tried to be seductive and
    charmingly failed. She snorted and turned to the slightly shorter
    man.

    “That is supposed to
    be an act of chivalry?” She couldn’t help but shoot a warm smile
    to her friend.

    “It’s taken me a
    while to find one, there only seemed to be like a thousand types of
    beer and nothing more” he pouted and Blue had to laugh. She
    accepted the drink and kissed him lightly on the lips while doing so.

    “Are the rest here
    yet?” She asked casually, while pretending to look around.

    “No, my brother went
    to pick up Bio and told me to come first” he answered. She tried
    to smile, but her lips faltered for a second. “Worried?”

    “The voice of the
    band afraid of dealing with a few unknown people? Of course not”
    she said as fast as she could. Black thought of pointing it out, but
    opted to stay silent.

    Blue couldn’t remember why
    she had agree to come to a party to promote their band with all the
    things that had been happening in the city. She should be
    investigating or training, not being on the edge of having a panic
    attack because she didn’t know anybody and the other members of the
    band weren’t here yet; Black didn’t even reach the status of moral
    support, his fear of people even greater than her own.

    Reply
  57. Milou van Roon

    Ok, so maybe I shouldn’t have had those few drinks.
    But then again, it’s so much FUN to be here. I throw my hand in the air, drop my head back, and move my hips to the sound of the beat. Behind me I hear someone breathing heavy. His stubbles are grinding my cheek and leave a pleasant burning sensation. For a moment I wonder who this mystery man is, but then I decide it’s not important. What’s important, is that I have fun.
    I turn around and grab his hand. He pulls me towards him, and we dance together. His hands slide along my body, starting at the outer part of my thighs, sliding up to my boobs, all the way to my hand, which I’ve raised above my head. His face is so close to me, that I can feel his breath on my lips. 
    I want him. I want him now. 
    As the rhythm of the music intensifies I push my body against his, en slide my fingers trough his hair. I stare into his eyes, but can’t quite make up which color they are. Everything seems to move in slow-motion. Just as I feel his hands on my behind, I push my lips onto his, open his mouth with my tongue, and kiss the mystery man passionately. 
    Gosh, he is such a good kisser.
    Just as I feel a shiver of lust coming over me, I feel something on my shoulder. I decide to ignore it. What’s more important than having FUN? I wrap my arms around the guy, and press my hips against his. I’m not disappointed with what I feel.
    Then there is that feeling on my shoulder again. After a brief moment I realize someone is tapping on my shoulder. Reluctantly I let go of the man in front of me, and open my eyes. The room is all fuzzy and unclear.
    ‘Hey’, someone shouts in my ear.
    Annoyed with the fact that someone ruins a perfectly great kiss, I turn around.
    I try to focus on the person in front of me. It takes a while before my eyes focus, and then I realize it’s my best childhood friend Nadia. She looks furious.
    ‘What the fuck are you doing?’, she shouts. I have no clue what’s she’s talking about. I just raise my shoulders.
    ‘I knew you were slutty, Stella, but I didn’t think you would steal my own boyfriend from me’. She cries. Her eyes are shooting invisible rays of fire at me.
    I freeze. Suddenly I’m sober. I turn around and look at the guy behind me. 
    Shit. O shit.

    Reply
  58. Milou van Roon

    Ok, so maybe I shouldn’t have had those few drinks.
    But then again, it’s so much FUN to be here. I throw my hand in the air, drop my head back, and move my hips to the sound of the beat. Behind me I hear someone breathing heavy. His stubbles are grinding my cheek and leave a pleasant burning sensation. For a moment I wonder who this mystery man is, but then I decide it’s not important. What’s important, is that I have fun.
    I turn around and grab his hand. He pulls me towards him, and we dance together. His hands slide along my body, starting at the outer part of my thighs, sliding up to my boobs, all the way to my hand, which I’ve raised above my head. His face is so close to me, that I can feel his breath on my lips. 
    I want him. I want him now. 
    As the rhythm of the music intensifies I push my body against his, en slide my fingers trough his hair. I stare into his eyes, but can’t quite make up which color they are. Everything seems to move in slow-motion. Just as I feel his hands on my behind, I push my lips onto his, open his mouth with my tongue, and kiss the mystery man passionately. 
    Gosh, he is such a good kisser.
    Just as I feel a shiver of lust coming over me, I feel something on my shoulder. I decide to ignore it. What’s more important than having FUN? I wrap my arms around the guy, and press my hips against his. I’m not disappointed with what I feel.
    Then there is that feeling on my shoulder again. After a brief moment I realize someone is tapping on my shoulder. Reluctantly I let go of the man in front of me, and open my eyes. The room is all fuzzy and unclear.
    ‘Hey’, someone shouts in my ear.
    Annoyed with the fact that someone ruins a perfectly great kiss, I turn around.
    I try to focus on the person in front of me. It takes a while before my eyes focus, and then I realize it’s my best childhood friend Nadia. She looks furious.
    ‘What the fuck are you doing?’, she shouts. I have no clue what’s she’s talking about. I just raise my shoulders.
    ‘I knew you were slutty, Stella, but I didn’t think you would steal my own boyfriend from me’. She cries. Her eyes are shooting invisible rays of fire at me.
    I freeze. Suddenly I’m sober. I turn around and look at the guy behind me. 
    Shit. O shit.

    Reply
  59. bmf35

    There was a din of noise around her. She couldn’t make out
    words, it was just a hum. She sipped her
    drink and her eyes spanned the room over her glass. Others sipped their drinks
    as well. Some laughed, while some looked serious with crinkled brows. So much
    life was happening around her and it all seemed so superficial.

    She folded her arms and began to walk slowly to the other
    side of the room. She nodded at a gentleman who passed her, but it was only
    because he had nodded at her first. Most people seemed to look right through
    her which was fine with her. She actually preferred to go unnoticed. She would
    rather simply observe.

    When she had made it to the other side of the room she
    stopped again. She had the feeling she was being watched, but when she turned,
    she saw no one paying any particular attention to her. All was just as before.

    She shrugged and took another drink. She supposed it wasn’t
    hard in a room full of a hundred people to feel as though you were being
    watched. It was just that she was normally the one doing the watching.

    It was then that she noticed the group standing next to her.
    They were talking softly with their heads close together. She tried to hear what
    they were saying, but they were obviously trying hard not to be heard. They
    were gesturing slightly as well, and she tried to follow their attention.

    She looked back across to the side of the room she had come
    from. The gentleman who had acknowledged her earlier was standing facing her and
    talking to another man whose face she couldn’t see. This second man stood in
    such a way that she could tell he was not only comfortable with himself, but he
    was also comfortable standing in a room with a hundred people in it. She found
    herself instantly fascinated by him.

    Reply
  60. bmf35

    There was a din of noise around her. She couldn’t make out
    words, it was just a hum. She sipped her
    drink and her eyes spanned the room over her glass. Others sipped their drinks
    as well. Some laughed, while some looked serious with crinkled brows. So much
    life was happening around her and it all seemed so superficial.

    She folded her arms and began to walk slowly to the other
    side of the room. She nodded at a gentleman who passed her, but it was only
    because he had nodded at her first. Most people seemed to look right through
    her which was fine with her. She actually preferred to go unnoticed. She would
    rather simply observe.

    When she had made it to the other side of the room she
    stopped again. She had the feeling she was being watched, but when she turned,
    she saw no one paying any particular attention to her. All was just as before.

    She shrugged and took another drink. She supposed it wasn’t
    hard in a room full of a hundred people to feel as though you were being
    watched. It was just that she was normally the one doing the watching.

    It was then that she noticed the group standing next to her.
    They were talking softly with their heads close together. She tried to hear what
    they were saying, but they were obviously trying hard not to be heard. They
    were gesturing slightly as well, and she tried to follow their attention.

    She looked back across to the side of the room she had come
    from. The gentleman who had acknowledged her earlier was standing facing her and
    talking to another man whose face she couldn’t see. This second man stood in
    such a way that she could tell he was not only comfortable with himself, but he
    was also comfortable standing in a room with a hundred people in it. She found
    herself instantly fascinated by him.

    Reply
  61. LiHowe

    Raven walked into the room like she owned it. She smiled, she fluttered her eyelashes, she laughed. She loved parties. Parties were her ‘outlet’, she could be the person she longed to be in the midst of her boring existence. Fun, mysterious, flirty, but most of all, alive. She did not care that people were staring, she welcomed their eyes. Her dress was of the reddest red she could find and satin, clinging flatteringly in the right places, but not too revealing. She did practice modesty as she was taught. A man approached her smiling, his eyes meeting hers. She smiled back and leaned in for the ‘air kiss’.
    “Hello, Raven. You’re looking lovely as usual”, he said taking her elbow.
    “How droll, brother dear”, Raven muttered as she sashayed across the floor, her dainty heels clicking on the tile.
    “Remember, you must behave yourself tonight. Act like a lady with breeding, for goodness sake”. Her brother’s comment was more like a sneer, she noted, which made her all the more determined to have the time of her life.
    “What’s wrong, Harold? Afraid I will make you look like the stiff you are”? she laughed, twirling out of his grasp and headed toward the bar.

    Reply
  62. LiHowe

    Raven walked into the room like she owned it. She smiled, she fluttered her eyelashes, she laughed. She loved parties. Parties were her ‘outlet’, she could be the person she longed to be in the midst of her boring existence. Fun, mysterious, flirty, but most of all, alive. She did not care that people were staring, she welcomed their eyes. Her dress was of the reddest red she could find and satin, clinging flatteringly in the right places, but not too revealing. She did practice modesty as she was taught. A man approached her smiling, his eyes meeting hers. She smiled back and leaned in for the ‘air kiss’.
    “Hello, Raven. You’re looking lovely as usual”, he said taking her elbow.
    “How droll, brother dear”, Raven muttered as she sashayed across the floor, her dainty heels clicking on the tile.
    “Remember, you must behave yourself tonight. Act like a lady with breeding, for goodness sake”. Her brother’s comment was more like a sneer, she noted, which made her all the more determined to have the time of her life.
    “What’s wrong, Harold? Afraid I will make you look like the stiff you are”? she laughed, twirling out of his grasp and headed toward the bar.

    Reply
  63. Daniel Lynch

    I had to do my best pretend it wasn’t my first taste of alcohol. I coughed and gasped, spitting golden drops of liquid on Jeremy’s face.

    “Sorry man! This beer is too warm.” I lied.

    “Whatever dude, it’s been in the cooler all afternoon. Don’t be a wuss, just skull it!”

    He left me with no choice, I chugged the alcohol, trying not to show my inexperience with the drink. The bubbling liquid tickled my throat as it went down. I wiped my mouth, covering a cough and pointed over to the group of scantily dressed girls near the poolside.

    “Shouldn’t we be over there talking to them?” I asked.

    “You think they will talk to us dude? Don’t you remember what happened last week? You tried talking to Amanda over there and she just cold ignored you.” Jeremy’s eyes were fixed on his shoes.

    “You’re just scared. You never talk to girls, how am I ever going to get a girlfriend hanging around with you then?” He lifted his eyes to mine, at the same time flipping me the bird.

    “Okay fine, lets go over there and try then shall we?”

    He didn’t sound convinced, he just wanted to get the deed over and done with so I would shut up.

    He grabbed two more Budweisers out of the cooler, shoving one into my chest, which I accepted with reluctance. As usual I singled out one girl I’d talk to. I wasn’t good at talking to a group of people.

    Okay, now just remember what my brother told me, just make some jokes and play it cool. I recalled.

    I swallowed hard, the taste of the beer still fresh in the back of my throat. I didn’t notice but I had walked so fast I had left Jeremy behind me.

    “Hurry up man” I called out.

    He fell in line beside me and we walked up to one of the prettier of the girls. She was a red head, my favorite type. She wore a pretty canary yellow dress with white Havaianas thongs.

    “So uh, h… how’s the p… party so far? I stuttered. Already I felt the shame and coming rejection possibility increase.

    “Umm, what?” She replied, her eyes avoiding mine.

    “I uh, j… just wanted to know how you are doing.”

    “I was fine until you showed up.”

    My eyes were showing letters in red flashing lights. Leave now. Jeremy glanced sideways, trying to tell me to get out of there.

    “Okay, I’ll just go then.”

    “Before you go, are you going to drink that beer?” She asked.

    I tossed the beer at her in the spur of the moment, the glass hitting the ground in front of her. Shards splattering all over the ground and her feet. Her eyes now firmly met my own and I knew I was in for it.

    “What the hell?” She spat, hands balled up at her sides.

    “You missed it, too bad girl.” Jeremy sneered.

    She side stepped me and made some distance away from the pool, then ran at me full steam. I had nowhere to go, I grabbed Jeremy in the hope he would pull me out of the way. Except I pulled him into the oncoming red bull. He flew into the pool making a cascading splash that wet everyone in the vicinity. Including me. Everyone was quiet, too shocked at what had just happened and before I could even think, my legs began to run; towards the exit and as far away as possible.

    Better luck next time. I wished.

    Reply
  64. Daniel Lynch

    I had to do my best pretend it wasn’t my first taste of alcohol. I coughed and gasped, spitting golden drops of liquid on Jeremy’s face.

    “Sorry man! This beer is too warm.” I lied.

    “Whatever dude, it’s been in the cooler all afternoon. Don’t be a wuss, just skull it!”

    He left me with no choice, I chugged the alcohol, trying not to show my inexperience with the drink. The bubbling liquid tickled my throat as it went down. I wiped my mouth, covering a cough and pointed over to the group of scantily dressed girls near the poolside.

    “Shouldn’t we be over there talking to them?” I asked.

    “You think they will talk to us dude? Don’t you remember what happened last week? You tried talking to Amanda over there and she just cold ignored you.” Jeremy’s eyes were fixed on his shoes.

    “You’re just scared. You never talk to girls, how am I ever going to get a girlfriend hanging around with you then?” He lifted his eyes to mine, at the same time flipping me the bird.

    “Okay fine, lets go over there and try then shall we?”

    He didn’t sound convinced, he just wanted to get the deed over and done with so I would shut up.

    He grabbed two more Budweisers out of the cooler, shoving one into my chest, which I accepted with reluctance. As usual I singled out one girl I’d talk to. I wasn’t good at talking to a group of people.

    Okay, now just remember what my brother told me, just make some jokes and play it cool. I recalled.

    I swallowed hard, the taste of the beer still fresh in the back of my throat. I didn’t notice but I had walked so fast I had left Jeremy behind me.

    “Hurry up man” I called out.

    He fell in line beside me and we walked up to one of the prettier of the girls. She was a red head, my favorite type. She wore a pretty canary yellow dress with white Havaianas thongs.

    “So uh, h… how’s the p… party so far? I stuttered. Already I felt the shame and coming rejection possibility increase.

    “Umm, what?” She replied, her eyes avoiding mine.

    “I uh, j… just wanted to know how you are doing.”

    “I was fine until you showed up.”

    My eyes were showing letters in red flashing lights. Leave now. Jeremy glanced sideways, trying to tell me to get out of there.

    “Okay, I’ll just go then.”

    “Before you go, are you going to drink that beer?” She asked.

    I tossed the beer at her in the spur of the moment, the glass hitting the ground in front of her. Shards splattering all over the ground and her feet. Her eyes now firmly met my own and I knew I was in for it.

    “What the hell?” She spat, hands balled up at her sides.

    “You missed it, too bad girl.” Jeremy sneered.

    She side stepped me and made some distance away from the pool, then ran at me full steam. I had nowhere to go, I grabbed Jeremy in the hope he would pull me out of the way. Except I pulled him into the oncoming red bull. He flew into the pool making a cascading splash that wet everyone in the vicinity. Including me. Everyone was quiet, too shocked at what had just happened and before I could even think, my legs began to run; towards the exit and as far away as possible.

    Better luck next time. I wished.

    Reply
  65. William Estevez

    Grey didn’t know why he was roped in to this stupid party in the first place. He had to push pass a wall of bodies just get to the bathroom and even then there was a line going in to the kitchen. The bass slapping of the music made him nauseous. To him, this wasn’t music; this was what the noise that robots fucking sounded like. He made his way to the attic. The bass slapping was dulled quite a ways and there was only a group of seven or so people. Unfortunately for Grey, he was stuck with a bunch of stoners for the rest of the night. He groaned and sat in their circle, listening to them dribble on about whatever idiotic bullshit they were rambling about. A stoner offered him some marijuana. Grey looked at the joint and back at the stoner, who’s eyes were obscured by red, reflective sunglasses. Grey took the joint and took a drag. He figured, what the hell, he wasn’t doing anything else aside from eavesdrop and stand around like Lurch from The Munsters anyway. He let out a cough, smoke pluming out of his mouth. The stoners laughed at him, the guy who offered him the joint gave him a pat on the back. He suddenly began laughing with them. He began to feel relaxed. He felt… good! He spent the rest of the night talking to the others in the attic until they all fell asleep sometime in the early morning.

    Reply
  66. William Estevez

    Grey didn’t know why he was roped in to this stupid party in the first place. He had to push pass a wall of bodies just get to the bathroom and even then there was a line going in to the kitchen. The bass slapping of the music made him nauseous. To him, this wasn’t music; this was what the noise that robots fucking sounded like. He made his way to the attic. The bass slapping was dulled quite a ways and there was only a group of seven or so people. Unfortunately for Grey, he was stuck with a bunch of stoners for the rest of the night. He groaned and sat in their circle, listening to them dribble on about whatever idiotic bullshit they were rambling about. A stoner offered him some marijuana. Grey looked at the joint and back at the stoner, who’s eyes were obscured by red, reflective sunglasses. Grey took the joint and took a drag. He figured, what the hell, he wasn’t doing anything else aside from eavesdrop and stand around like Lurch from The Munsters anyway. He let out a cough, smoke pluming out of his mouth. The stoners laughed at him, the guy who offered him the joint gave him a pat on the back. He suddenly began laughing with them. He began to feel relaxed. He felt… good! He spent the rest of the night talking to the others in the attic until they all fell asleep sometime in the early morning.

    Reply
  67. Spycacher

    Mario was not always his name. He had many before Mario. All he knows that at the time they called him Ghareeb: the foreigner. There were some flashes. He could not tell if those were part of a reality, or dreams or fantasies invoked to give a sense of belonging. In contrast to the native’s tanned skin and jet-black, curly hair, he had fair skin with, from the constant sun tanned arms and face, and
    light-brown, wavy hair. Of thin constitution, but with strong muscles – cultivated by the hard work – his young body was somewhat higher than those of the boys of his age, which of course was an advantage for him. He was certainly not the type who likes to be in the shadows. He liked action. He walked upright; with pride; even in those difficult times when he had to buy second hand clothing and reverse the worn-out collars of his shirts to wear them for longer. Even on those occasions, when he doubted his intelligence or acquired skills, never ceased to keep his head high. I have to move on, nothing should stop me. Stopping is abandoning, and I’m not ready to give up, he told himself. Maybe, this mantra is the reason of the colourful life and the relentless torrent of energy that emanate in each his movements. There were times when doubts overwhelmed him and dragged him to a deep depression and lethargy, especially when he felt alone, after ending a relationship or when he had no job. However, he needed just a small spark of hope, fuelled by a call, or meeting with someone or hear something of interest, to take him out of oblivion and, once again, as if nothing had happened, with vigour kicked off a new enterprise. Also, his walking had frivolous sway, which increased with time. He must have been in his early adolescence as some sparse, fine chest-hairs and a speck in the pubic area insinuate. Some other exciting changes too.

    Reply
  68. Spycacher

    Mario was not always his name. He had many before Mario. All he knows that at the time they called him Ghareeb: the foreigner. There were some flashes. He could not tell if those were part of a reality, or dreams or fantasies invoked to give a sense of belonging. In contrast to the native’s tanned skin and jet-black, curly hair, he had fair skin with, from the constant sun tanned arms and face, and
    light-brown, wavy hair. Of thin constitution, but with strong muscles – cultivated by the hard work – his young body was somewhat higher than those of the boys of his age, which of course was an advantage for him. He was certainly not the type who likes to be in the shadows. He liked action. He walked upright; with pride; even in those difficult times when he had to buy second hand clothing and reverse the worn-out collars of his shirts to wear them for longer. Even on those occasions, when he doubted his intelligence or acquired skills, never ceased to keep his head high. I have to move on, nothing should stop me. Stopping is abandoning, and I’m not ready to give up, he told himself. Maybe, this mantra is the reason of the colourful life and the relentless torrent of energy that emanate in each his movements. There were times when doubts overwhelmed him and dragged him to a deep depression and lethargy, especially when he felt alone, after ending a relationship or when he had no job. However, he needed just a small spark of hope, fuelled by a call, or meeting with someone or hear something of interest, to take him out of oblivion and, once again, as if nothing had happened, with vigour kicked off a new enterprise. Also, his walking had frivolous sway, which increased with time. He must have been in his early adolescence as some sparse, fine chest-hairs and a speck in the pubic area insinuate. Some other exciting changes too.

    Reply
  69. wakamotorcycle

    In parties, there are always those that will stand in the
    corner just to absorb everything that
    is happening in front of them. Alexander is one of them.

    Alexander
    stood in the lonely corner with his punch in one hand. The loud music were
    muffed and the bright lights were dimmed. Alexander began entering his trance
    and started slipping away.

    “Damn,
    why am I even here”

    “A better question: how did you get here?”

    Alexander
    scowled as he did not expect this guy to come.

    “I didn’t
    expect you to appear in this kind of scene”

    “Well, my job IS to make you feel miserable”
    said the man in a black military suit

    Alexander
    sighed and took a sip from his punch. He hoped this guy to not appear since
    this was the first time in years he was actually invited to a party.

    “Seriously
    just don’t make me go insane in a populated place like this. I don’t want to
    end up in the mental hospital.” Alexander said

    “Whoa there, even I’m not that cruel. I’m
    only going to torment you when you’re alone”

    Alexander scoffed. The only
    reason he was saying this was because if Alexander went to the mental hospital
    he will never get what he wants.

    “So
    that means I can enjoy myself?” Alexander asked half-heartedly

    “Of course. If you give me that body of
    yours”

    “Well,
    I guess I’m just going to be standing in this corner all night huh” Alexander
    sighed

    Alexander
    looked up to meet the dull scenery he saw when he first entered. Well, it’s
    dull because this guy is here. If Alexander was here without this guy it would’ve
    been vivid with excitement!

    “Hmph,
    if you weren’t here I would’ve been seeing a vivid party rather than this dull
    scene” Alexander said repeating his thought

    The man
    then looked at Alexander with pity and disgust.

    “…Stop blaming other people Alexander. You
    should know I don’t control what you see”

    The man
    walked towards the punch stand and poured himself a drink.

    “It’s you that’s making this scene dull
    Alexander. I’m just here to make you feel miserable. Sure I might’ve made you
    into a state where you can’t enjoy anything anymore but really, you’re the one
    who pushed yourself into that hole. Only you can change this scenery”

    *someone told me once that my writing is too choppy. How do I fix this?

    Reply
    • wakamotorcycle

      whoa my formatting is horrible.

      In parties, there are always those that will stand in the
      corner just to absorb everything that
      is happening in front of them. Alexander is one of them.

      Alexander
      stood in the lonely corner with his punch in one hand. The loud music were
      muffed and the bright lights were dimmed. Alexander began entering his trance
      and started slipping away.

      “Damn, why am I even here”

      “A better question: how did you get here?”

      Alexander scowled as he did not expect this guy to come.

      “I didn’t expect you to appear in this kind of scene”

      “Well, my job IS to make you feel miserable” said the man in a black military suit

      Alexander sighed and took a sip from his punch. He hoped this guy to not appear since this was the first time in years he was actually invited to a party.

      “Seriously just don’t make me go insane in a populated place like this. I don’t want to end up in the mental hospital.” Alexander said

      “Whoa there, even I’m not that cruel. I’m only going to torment you when you’re alone”

      Alexander scoffed. The only reason he was saying this was because if Alexander went to the mental hospital he will never get what he wants.

      “So that means I can enjoy myself?” Alexander asked half-heartedly

      “Of course. If you give me that body of yours”

      “Well, I guess I’m just going to be standing in this corner all night huh” Alexander sighed

      Alexander looked up to meet the dull scenery he saw when he first entered. Well, it’s dull because this guy is here. If Alexander was here without this guy it would’ve been vivid with excitement!

      “Hmph,
      if you weren’t here I would’ve been seeing a vivid party rather than this dull scene” Alexander said repeating his thought

      The man then looked at Alexander with pity and disgust.

      “…Stop blaming other people Alexander. You should know I don’t control what you see”

      The man walked towards the punch stand and poured himself a drink.

      “It’s you that’s making this scene dull Alexander. I’m just here to make you feel miserable. Sure I might’ve made you into a state where you can’t enjoy anything anymore but really, you’re the one who pushed yourself into that hole. Only you can change this scenery”

  70. wakamotorcycle

    In parties, there are always those that will stand in the
    corner just to absorb everything that
    is happening in front of them. Alexander is one of them.

    Alexander
    stood in the lonely corner with his punch in one hand. The loud music were
    muffed and the bright lights were dimmed. Alexander began entering his trance
    and started slipping away.

    “Damn,
    why am I even here”

    “A better question: how did you get here?”

    Alexander
    scowled as he did not expect this guy to come.

    “I didn’t
    expect you to appear in this kind of scene”

    “Well, my job IS to make you feel miserable”
    said the man in a black military suit

    Alexander
    sighed and took a sip from his punch. He hoped this guy to not appear since
    this was the first time in years he was actually invited to a party.

    “Seriously
    just don’t make me go insane in a populated place like this. I don’t want to
    end up in the mental hospital.” Alexander said

    “Whoa there, even I’m not that cruel. I’m
    only going to torment you when you’re alone”

    Alexander scoffed. The only
    reason he was saying this was because if Alexander went to the mental hospital
    he will never get what he wants.

    “So
    that means I can enjoy myself?” Alexander asked half-heartedly

    “Of course. If you give me that body of
    yours”

    “Well,
    I guess I’m just going to be standing in this corner all night huh” Alexander
    sighed

    Alexander
    looked up to meet the dull scenery he saw when he first entered. Well, it’s
    dull because this guy is here. If Alexander was here without this guy it would’ve
    been vivid with excitement!

    “Hmph,
    if you weren’t here I would’ve been seeing a vivid party rather than this dull
    scene” Alexander said repeating his thought

    The man
    then looked at Alexander with pity and disgust.

    “…Stop blaming other people Alexander. You
    should know I don’t control what you see”

    The man
    walked towards the punch stand and poured himself a drink.

    “It’s you that’s making this scene dull
    Alexander. I’m just here to make you feel miserable. Sure I might’ve made you
    into a state where you can’t enjoy anything anymore but really, you’re the one
    who pushed yourself into that hole. Only you can change this scenery”

    *someone told me once that my writing is too choppy. How do I fix this?

    Reply
    • wakamotorcycle

      whoa my formatting is horrible.

      In parties, there are always those that will stand in the
      corner just to absorb everything that
      is happening in front of them. Alexander is one of them.

      Alexander
      stood in the lonely corner with his punch in one hand. The loud music were
      muffed and the bright lights were dimmed. Alexander began entering his trance
      and started slipping away.

      “Damn, why am I even here”

      “A better question: how did you get here?”

      Alexander scowled as he did not expect this guy to come.

      “I didn’t expect you to appear in this kind of scene”

      “Well, my job IS to make you feel miserable” said the man in a black military suit

      Alexander sighed and took a sip from his punch. He hoped this guy to not appear since this was the first time in years he was actually invited to a party.

      “Seriously just don’t make me go insane in a populated place like this. I don’t want to end up in the mental hospital.” Alexander said

      “Whoa there, even I’m not that cruel. I’m only going to torment you when you’re alone”

      Alexander scoffed. The only reason he was saying this was because if Alexander went to the mental hospital he will never get what he wants.

      “So that means I can enjoy myself?” Alexander asked half-heartedly

      “Of course. If you give me that body of yours”

      “Well, I guess I’m just going to be standing in this corner all night huh” Alexander sighed

      Alexander looked up to meet the dull scenery he saw when he first entered. Well, it’s dull because this guy is here. If Alexander was here without this guy it would’ve been vivid with excitement!

      “Hmph,
      if you weren’t here I would’ve been seeing a vivid party rather than this dull scene” Alexander said repeating his thought

      The man then looked at Alexander with pity and disgust.

      “…Stop blaming other people Alexander. You should know I don’t control what you see”

      The man walked towards the punch stand and poured himself a drink.

      “It’s you that’s making this scene dull Alexander. I’m just here to make you feel miserable. Sure I might’ve made you into a state where you can’t enjoy anything anymore but really, you’re the one who pushed yourself into that hole. Only you can change this scenery”

  71. Uba

    Ha ha! Nice article. Although his favourite food was pizza, and his name was joey tribbiani!!!!

    Reply
  72. Uba

    Ha ha! Nice article. Although his favourite food was pizza, and his name was joey tribbiani!!!!

    Reply
  73. Joshua|

    It’s late.
    Richie should’ve been feeling very tired, but somehow the crowded area infused
    him with vigor. However, even when he felt like partying, he reminded himself
    he didn’t like parties. He just came with the idea of meeting a girl and
    hopefully knocking her off, but it’s useless. “This is stupid. I can’t even
    land a conversation with a stranger.” Richie thought, as he was searching for
    familiar faces. He thought there ought to be someone he knew; after all, he
    wasn’t crashing the party uninvited. Suddenly, he felt a tug at his sleeve. His
    mind started racing, thinking “oh god, what did I do now”. He turned to look,
    hesitant, to see who it was.

    “Hey boy, wanna dance?” Thank goodness it was a
    girl, and a beautiful one at that. “Yeah, sure”, he tried to play it cool, but
    a coarse falsetto let rip midway his sentence, showing he was indeed a little
    bit flustered. He quickly cleared his throat and added “I mean, sure” with an
    artificially deep voice, his cheeks turning red ever so slightly. “Lol, you’re
    funny” said the girl, and grabbed Richie’s hand to lead him into a less crowded
    area, quite a bit fit for dancing. He was surprised that things turned out this
    way, but his critical nature made him think, “Seriously? Who uses lol in real
    life?”…

    Reply
    • Joshua|

      I think that the unnamed girl did more than my main char : /, maybe I should’ve set the environment in a different way.

  74. Joshua|

    It’s late.
    Richie should’ve been feeling very tired, but somehow the crowded area infused
    him with vigor. However, even when he felt like partying, he reminded himself
    he didn’t like parties. He just came with the idea of meeting a girl and
    hopefully knocking her off, but it’s useless. “This is stupid. I can’t even
    land a conversation with a stranger.” Richie thought, as he was searching for
    familiar faces. He thought there ought to be someone he knew; after all, he
    wasn’t crashing the party uninvited. Suddenly, he felt a tug at his sleeve. His
    mind started racing, thinking “oh god, what did I do now”. He turned to look,
    hesitant, to see who it was.

    “Hey boy, wanna dance?” Thank goodness it was a
    girl, and a beautiful one at that. “Yeah, sure”, he tried to play it cool, but
    a coarse falsetto let rip midway his sentence, showing he was indeed a little
    bit flustered. He quickly cleared his throat and added “I mean, sure” with an
    artificially deep voice, his cheeks turning red ever so slightly. “Lol, you’re
    funny” said the girl, and grabbed Richie’s hand to lead him into a less crowded
    area, quite a bit fit for dancing. He was surprised that things turned out this
    way, but his critical nature made him think, “Seriously? Who uses lol in real
    life?”…

    Reply
    • Joshua|

      I think that the unnamed girl did more than my main char : /, maybe I should’ve set the environment in a different way.

  75. Emo Girl.

    I leap into the action, letting the music soothe my soul. With my messed up life, what was there to lose? A lost, corrupted kid looking for a true purpose: it wasn’t a big loss to this cruel univerese, like it would care. I chug a frothy drink with colors starting to blur in a exploison of neon lights. I cringe. It tastes like shit rolled in a pile of dust. My mind was a murky pool now. Damn, that was a big food display as i lookked at the pile of now blurred array of what I think is chips and cupcakes of any variety. My mind was screaming to snap out of this drunken madness as I snapped out of the intoxicated trance, tripping over a waiter while going back into reality. I gazed at my black hoodie ansembled with my dark wash jeans, clashing with my red converses. Well, at least it was’nt blurred. A girl in a skimpy outfit ran into me. “Hey emo girl, why dont’cha get me a margarita?” She slurred, slumping on my black hoodie. She. called. me emo. that little. son of a. gun. I whip out my bandaged fist, slamming her aganist a punch table, making blood trickle out of her mouth. The crowd went deathly quiet. “SOMEONE CALL 911!” A person with some sense scremed from the crowd. I bolted, running away from the lights, and coming into a dark alley, were I sat beside a wall, smirking an insane grin. I knew then, that if I die, I’m goin down with some pepole who choosed to defy Emo Girl.

    Reply
  76. Emo Girl.

    I leap into the action, letting the music soothe my soul. With my messed up life, what was there to lose? A lost, corrupted kid looking for a true purpose: it wasn’t a big loss to this cruel univerese, like it would care. I chug a frothy drink with colors starting to blur in a exploison of neon lights. I cringe. It tastes like shit rolled in a pile of dust. My mind was a murky pool now. Damn, that was a big food display as i lookked at the pile of now blurred array of what I think is chips and cupcakes of any variety. My mind was screaming to snap out of this drunken madness as I snapped out of the intoxicated trance, tripping over a waiter while going back into reality. I gazed at my black hoodie ansembled with my dark wash jeans, clashing with my red converses. Well, at least it was’nt blurred. A girl in a skimpy outfit ran into me. “Hey emo girl, why dont’cha get me a margarita?” She slurred, slumping on my black hoodie. She. called. me emo. that little. son of a. gun. I whip out my bandaged fist, slamming her aganist a punch table, making blood trickle out of her mouth. The crowd went deathly quiet. “SOMEONE CALL 911!” A person with some sense scremed from the crowd. I bolted, running away from the lights, and coming into a dark alley, were I sat beside a wall, smirking an insane grin. I knew then, that if I die, I’m goin down with some pepole who choosed to defy Emo Girl.

    Reply
  77. Invisablefrog

    This has a few swear words, so be warned.

    Nova’s stomach churned, as she rocked on her heels. She hadn’t wanted to come to this party, too many people, too loud and way out of her comfort zone. Sheila had begged and begged, finally just saying she’d do the cooking and dishes for a week and that had sounded pretty good at the time. Now though, the reality of the situation was far too real. She would have preferred a quiet night in front of the television or computer, or reading, or being lit on fire. Anything was better than this party of college students getting drunk off their asses without having to worry about their parents reactions. She sighed, sipping her red cup filled with only coke, she couldn’t help but be mildly worried about it being laced with something. She quickly cast that thought aside, it was bad enough that she had to lock every door, and window before going to bed. She didn’t need another bad habit forming. She swirled the contents of the drink, wondering what the world would be like if the water was a dark brownish black. “Hey babe! How’s it going?” some drunken frat boy slurred, spilling foul smelling liquid on her boots. She wrinkled her nose, looking at her shoes. “Fine, if you like having your boots ruined.” She yelled, the music may have been nice if it weren’t so damn loud. “Huh?” He looked down at his shoes, “I’m wearing shoes, not boots.” He grinned. Nova sighed, toying with her necklace. This was not fun, in the slightest. “Oh, look over there.” She pointed off in a direction, before she slinked off. She didn’t care if he had even looked in the direction she had pointed she just wanted somewhere quiet. Somewhere she could gather her thoughts and just breath. A variety of different “Hey, watch where you’re going” followed her outside.

    Reply
  78. Invisablefrog

    This has a few swear words, so be warned.

    Nova’s stomach churned, as she rocked on her heels. She hadn’t wanted to come to this party, too many people, too loud and way out of her comfort zone. Sheila had begged and begged, finally just saying she’d do the cooking and dishes for a week and that had sounded pretty good at the time. Now though, the reality of the situation was far too real. She would have preferred a quiet night in front of the television or computer, or reading, or being lit on fire. Anything was better than this party of college students getting drunk off their asses without having to worry about their parents reactions. She sighed, sipping her red cup filled with only coke, she couldn’t help but be mildly worried about it being laced with something. She quickly cast that thought aside, it was bad enough that she had to lock every door, and window before going to bed. She didn’t need another bad habit forming. She swirled the contents of the drink, wondering what the world would be like if the water was a dark brownish black. “Hey babe! How’s it going?” some drunken frat boy slurred, spilling foul smelling liquid on her boots. She wrinkled her nose, looking at her shoes. “Fine, if you like having your boots ruined.” She yelled, the music may have been nice if it weren’t so damn loud. “Huh?” He looked down at his shoes, “I’m wearing shoes, not boots.” He grinned. Nova sighed, toying with her necklace. This was not fun, in the slightest. “Oh, look over there.” She pointed off in a direction, before she slinked off. She didn’t care if he had even looked in the direction she had pointed she just wanted somewhere quiet. Somewhere she could gather her thoughts and just breath. A variety of different “Hey, watch where you’re going” followed her outside.

    Reply
  79. Isaac

    There I sat, alone, waiting for either my brother or friend to find me. I looked into the sea of people. They were chatting, eating, dancing, etc. It took a moment, but I realized that I was nervously tapping my thumbs together. Me nervous? I’d been in more worrying situations in the past. Perhaps it was the situation, the awkwardness of it. I hadn’t worn a dress before, not one like this. Gosh, I didn’t like it at all, it was far to tight, I could feel it pushing against my breasts, even though they weren’t large. Five minutes passed by and I’d began to examine my hands when I heard my friend Anders voice. He was talking to my brother all the way across the room. Delighted, I quickly got up and rushed over to him, ignoring any thought to say excuse me or pardon as I unintentionally bumped other guests.

    “Care to dance?” I asked. He turned around, at first seemingly stunned before he darted his sight to the ground.

    “S-sure.” He said in reply. Another minute passed as we idly stood. “Well go on, take my arm and grab my waist.” I demanded.

    “Right, sorry.”

    Reply
    • Invisablefrog

      I like this, it’s pretty good. Sorry I can’t offer more, but I’m not a great writer and I can’t see anything wrong with this. Except maybe the character needs to be a little more defined? I can’t really see her, though I do want to know more about her!

  80. Isaac

    There I sat, alone, waiting for either my brother or friend to find me. I looked into the sea of people. They were chatting, eating, dancing, etc. It took a moment, but I realized that I was nervously tapping my thumbs together. Me nervous? I’d been in more worrying situations in the past. Perhaps it was the situation, the awkwardness of it. I hadn’t worn a dress before, not one like this. Gosh, I didn’t like it at all, it was far to tight, I could feel it pushing against my breasts, even though they weren’t large. Five minutes passed by and I’d began to examine my hands when I heard my friend Anders voice. He was talking to my brother all the way across the room. Delighted, I quickly got up and rushed over to him, ignoring any thought to say excuse me or pardon as I unintentionally bumped other guests.

    “Care to dance?” I asked. He turned around, at first seemingly stunned before he darted his sight to the ground.

    “S-sure.” He said in reply. Another minute passed as we idly stood. “Well go on, take my arm and grab my waist.” I demanded.

    “Right, sorry.”

    Reply
    • Invisablefrog

      I like this, it’s pretty good. Sorry I can’t offer more, but I’m not a great writer and I can’t see anything wrong with this. Except maybe the character needs to be a little more defined? I can’t really see her, though I do want to know more about her!

  81. Valentina

    She was confident of what she was going to say. She had been practising for this for two complete hours and she was certainly not going to mess things up now. Taking a deep breath, she fixed her posture and pushed her hair back almost by reflex. One foot after the other, taking extreme care of every step she took, she paced across the room searching for someone. Perhaps they wouldn’t recognize her after all this years. Or would they? What if they didn’t recognize her? She would need to re-introduce herself and that would ruin completely the introduction to her meticulously crafted speech. Either way, she couldn’t afford to have these thoughts worrying her. You see, all these people in the room, every single one of them, with their beautiful designer dresses and glittering expensive jewels, did a marvellous job hiding their worries and insecurities behind their fake (but well practised) smiles and their perfect wealth. But she, she didn’t have any of these wonderful things. She barely had a decent-looking dress and a stiff, ill-practised smile. She had to look as confident as possible, and she knew it, for right now she was nothing but bait in a tank of sharks.

    Reply
  82. Valentina

    She was confident of what she was going to say. She had been practising for this for two complete hours and she was certainly not going to mess things up now. Taking a deep breath, she fixed her posture and pushed her hair back almost by reflex. One foot after the other, taking extreme care of every step she took, she paced across the room searching for someone. Perhaps they wouldn’t recognize her after all this years. Or would they? What if they didn’t recognize her? She would need to re-introduce herself and that would ruin completely the introduction to her meticulously crafted speech. Either way, she couldn’t afford to have these thoughts worrying her. You see, all these people in the room, every single one of them, with their beautiful designer dresses and glittering expensive jewels, did a marvellous job hiding their worries and insecurities behind their fake (but well practised) smiles and their perfect wealth. But she, she didn’t have any of these wonderful things. She barely had a decent-looking dress and a stiff, ill-practised smile. She had to look as confident as possible, and she knew it, for right now she was nothing but bait in a tank of sharks.

    Reply
  83. Hiba Maryam

    The image that looked
    back in the mirror could be deemed handsome by all classic and contemporary
    terms. His firm set jawline, lean body and azure eyes were mesmerizing yet he
    had a genial air around him. Giving final touches to his signature look of class,
    a perfect blend between formal and casual, he smiled as he thought about the
    exclusive party he was going to.

    The exclusivegathering was of the top ten most powerful business men of Europe yet belonging to that elusive list was not the reason of his smile. It was the ivory skin,petite, blue eyed beauty that he was eager to meet who was the culprit for his smile.The girl with her thick mane of strawberry blond hair had been the item of hisfascination for quite some time now. It surely wasn’t just her beauty that attracted him, for spending much of his adult life in glitz and glamor beauty was one thing that he had his full share of.

    Hans was rather lured in by her shroud of sad mystery and certain aloofness and the way that she never smiled. She became a puzzle for him and there was hardly anything that Hans put his mind to and couldn’t solve. With these thoughts he climbed out of his limo ready to face the many flashing lights with his winning yet genuine smile of affability.

    My very first attempt

    Reply
  84. Hiba Maryam

    The image that looked
    back in the mirror could be deemed handsome by all classic and contemporary
    terms. His firm set jawline, lean body and azure eyes were mesmerizing yet he
    had a genial air around him. Giving final touches to his signature look of class,
    a perfect blend between formal and casual, he smiled as he thought about the
    exclusive party he was going to.

    The exclusivegathering was of the top ten most powerful business men of Europe yet belonging to that elusive list was not the reason of his smile. It was the ivory skin,petite, blue eyed beauty that he was eager to meet who was the culprit for his smile.The girl with her thick mane of strawberry blond hair had been the item of hisfascination for quite some time now. It surely wasn’t just her beauty that attracted him, for spending much of his adult life in glitz and glamor beauty was one thing that he had his full share of.

    Hans was rather lured in by her shroud of sad mystery and certain aloofness and the way that she never smiled. She became a puzzle for him and there was hardly anything that Hans put his mind to and couldn’t solve. With these thoughts he climbed out of his limo ready to face the many flashing lights with his winning yet genuine smile of affability.

    My very first attempt

    Reply
  85. Sarah

    Jamie quickly scanned her living room. Not half bad, she thought to herself. Not everyone could get the whole school in their house on a whim for a nonexistent birthday. A knock sounded on the door, so she did what she was used to, plastered on her fakest smile and greeted Katie, a shy girl in her LA class to the blaring music, oozing cheese dishes, and chattering conversations. She sighed softly to herself as she swiftly walked back the A-listers circle. The one person she needed/ wanted to come wasn’t arriving anytime soon, she could feel it in her gut. All this work for nothing! How was it so impossible to get their attention? She triple checked her phone for messages, and could practically feel her insides boiling as she stared at the blank screen.
    “You ok?” Her friend Jayden asked her
    “Sure,” Jamie said without looking up, “Just tired of these losers prancing around in here like they own the place.” Everyone laughed at her joke as if she was the greatest thing since Itunes. She smiled. There were benefits to being on top. It didn’t matter though, she was still distracted. Looking at her friends, an idea sparked. If she couldn’t get what she wanted, why should everyone else? “Who wants to show these crazy kids how to play some games?” The words out of her mouth may have said one thing, but the gleam in her eye said another. Maybe Jamie’s party wasn’t the luckiest place to be that night after all, because when an A-lister falls, she won’t be the only one suffering.

    Reply
  86. Sarah

    Jamie quickly scanned her living room. Not half bad, she thought to herself. Not everyone could get the whole school in their house on a whim for a nonexistent birthday. A knock sounded on the door, so she did what she was used to, plastered on her fakest smile and greeted Katie, a shy girl in her LA class to the blaring music, oozing cheese dishes, and chattering conversations. She sighed softly to herself as she swiftly walked back the A-listers circle. The one person she needed/ wanted to come wasn’t arriving anytime soon, she could feel it in her gut. All this work for nothing! How was it so impossible to get their attention? She triple checked her phone for messages, and could practically feel her insides boiling as she stared at the blank screen.
    “You ok?” Her friend Jayden asked her
    “Sure,” Jamie said without looking up, “Just tired of these losers prancing around in here like they own the place.” Everyone laughed at her joke as if she was the greatest thing since Itunes. She smiled. There were benefits to being on top. It didn’t matter though, she was still distracted. Looking at her friends, an idea sparked. If she couldn’t get what she wanted, why should everyone else? “Who wants to show these crazy kids how to play some games?” The words out of her mouth may have said one thing, but the gleam in her eye said another. Maybe Jamie’s party wasn’t the luckiest place to be that night after all, because when an A-lister falls, she won’t be the only one suffering.

    Reply
  87. Leah Adralene

    I look around me at the pretty dresses, so much prettier than mine. I see the men in their black and white suits and find myself uninterested in their faces. If they were so dull as to wear something everyone else was wearing, what would be the point in looking at their faces. And then I spot it. A bright red tie and deep red inside the jacket. The collar looks like a dark wine, it’s delicious. My eyes move up, and I can see his face is no different. It’s striking, different, extraordinary… funny enough, none of the women in the room are clamoring for his attention. So I meekly make my way over to him and step up beside him, tapping his elbow as he turns. “What-oh.” He looked aggravated and I felt smaller than I’d ever felt in my life, even in my high heeled black combat boots and corset that I just loved, I was being towered over. “W…would you like to dance?”
    “I’m busy, sorry.” He walks away and I feel… shattered.

    Reply
  88. Leah Adralene

    I look around me at the pretty dresses, so much prettier than mine. I see the men in their black and white suits and find myself uninterested in their faces. If they were so dull as to wear something everyone else was wearing, what would be the point in looking at their faces. And then I spot it. A bright red tie and deep red inside the jacket. The collar looks like a dark wine, it’s delicious. My eyes move up, and I can see his face is no different. It’s striking, different, extraordinary… funny enough, none of the women in the room are clamoring for his attention. So I meekly make my way over to him and step up beside him, tapping his elbow as he turns. “What-oh.” He looked aggravated and I felt smaller than I’d ever felt in my life, even in my high heeled black combat boots and corset that I just loved, I was being towered over. “W…would you like to dance?”
    “I’m busy, sorry.” He walks away and I feel… shattered.

    Reply
  89. Milou

    Music and people. Those were the First words that came into my mind when I entered that ballroom. Though I’m afraid I’m not very fond of music, nor people. The music was loud enough to give me a headache, and watching all those dancing people made me feel dizzy and tired. Honestly, I wouldn’t even be there at that masquerade if it wasn’t for that promise.
    Some girls walked to me, while giggling and pushing one of them towards me.
    “Do you want something?” I asked
    The girl didn’t answer. She just looked at her feet.
    “She wants to dance with you,” one of her friends said.
    “Not interested.”
    The girl looked up, made a sad face and ran away, her friends followed. They comforted her and looked at me as if I had done something wrong. I couldn’t care less. I only was here to fulfill my promise. I didn’t want to waste my energy on something that wasn’t worth my while. To me, that one promise was the only thing that mattered. If I fulfilled my promise, I’m sure she would smile…
    I would do anything to see her smile once again…

    Reply
  90. Milou

    Music and people. Those were the First words that came into my mind when I entered that ballroom. Though I’m afraid I’m not very fond of music, nor people. The music was loud enough to give me a headache, and watching all those dancing people made me feel dizzy and tired. Honestly, I wouldn’t even be there at that masquerade if it wasn’t for that promise.
    Some girls walked to me, while giggling and pushing one of them towards me.
    “Do you want something?” I asked
    The girl didn’t answer. She just looked at her feet.
    “She wants to dance with you,” one of her friends said.
    “Not interested.”
    The girl looked up, made a sad face and ran away, her friends followed. They comforted her and looked at me as if I had done something wrong. I couldn’t care less. I only was here to fulfill my promise. I didn’t want to waste my energy on something that wasn’t worth my while. To me, that one promise was the only thing that mattered. If I fulfilled my promise, I’m sure she would smile…
    I would do anything to see her smile once again…

    Reply
  91. Genie

    Okay so I already had this written way before I read that characters should do instead of be, but I haven’t read this in a while and it got the juices flowing again =)

    It was a warm
    summer day in the year of 1969. Becky Brinsel was sitting on the steps in front
    of the old abandoned church thinking about the mind blowing concert from the
    night before. Not only was the band awesome but she got some killer reefer from
    a man dressed like a lion. Either he was dressed like a lion, or his huge afro
    perfectly matched his sweatshirt, she couldn’t recall. She didn’t usually
    experiment with psychedelics but this was a special occasion. Becky had been
    waiting for weeks for this Grateful Dead concert and she wanted it to be
    perfect. As she packed her pipe her brother John pulled up in front of her.

    “Hey Beck
    mom wants us home. You’re going to share that, right?” he said pointing to
    the pipe.

    “Do I have
    a choice?” Becky snapped back. She got in her brother’s Camaro and she lit
    the pipe. Just then their favorite song came on the radio and they cranked it
    and sang along.

    Becky was a beautiful young woman with
    emerald green eyes and long brown hair. She was average height and a little
    lanky, but it suited her well. Beck was the epitome of the term “flower
    child”. Every day she picked a fresh flower from her garden and fashioned
    it into her hair. She wore flowey earth-toned clothes that she made herself and
    she always smelled of patchouli and lavender. Beck was a kind and caring girl
    who never turned down a day of hard work. She had two brothers, one sister, and
    her parents were duet performers at local night clubs. Beck was a senior in
    high school, President of the Garden Club and Vice President of the Bible Club.
    She was a devoted Lutheran and went to Church on a regular basis, and every
    night before bed she prayed that one day she would have three things: a nice
    home, a nice garden and two wonderful kids. She had faith that one day The Lord
    would bless her with those things.

    When Becky and John got to their house
    their mom was sitting on the front porch smoking a cigarette. Being a slave to
    the big tobacco companies, both John and Beck lit one up.

    “You know
    you kids should stop smoking. It’s bad for you.” Sindy said to her kids.
    “You could get lung cancer or something.”

    “Mom,
    we’ll quit when you quit. You shouldn’t be talking anyway.” John said. His
    mom playfully pushed him off of the bottom step and retorted,

    “Hey… do
    as I say not as I do. I may be the one you guys look up to but if anything
    watching my mistakes will help you in the long run.” Sindy was all about
    learning lessons the hard way, since that’s how she learned most of her life
    lessons. Beck walked out of the house barefooted with three brews in her hands
    and distributed them to her mom and brother.

    “So Beck
    how was the concert last night?” Sindy said, taking a sip of her
    Budweiser.

    “It was
    bitchin’ mom, totally bitchin’!” Beck’s eyes lit up as she described the
    concert to her mom, minus the part about the drug-dealing lion and the
    psychedelics. Her mom knew she toked reefer but she pretended like she didn’t,
    and Beck wasn’t about to bring it up. After John, Beck and Sindy finished their
    brewskies they went inside and started their chores.

    Reply
  92. Genie

    Okay so I already had this written way before I read that characters should do instead of be, but I haven’t read this in a while and it got the juices flowing again =)

    It was a warm
    summer day in the year of 1969. Becky Brinsel was sitting on the steps in front
    of the old abandoned church thinking about the mind blowing concert from the
    night before. Not only was the band awesome but she got some killer reefer from
    a man dressed like a lion. Either he was dressed like a lion, or his huge afro
    perfectly matched his sweatshirt, she couldn’t recall. She didn’t usually
    experiment with psychedelics but this was a special occasion. Becky had been
    waiting for weeks for this Grateful Dead concert and she wanted it to be
    perfect. As she packed her pipe her brother John pulled up in front of her.

    “Hey Beck
    mom wants us home. You’re going to share that, right?” he said pointing to
    the pipe.

    “Do I have
    a choice?” Becky snapped back. She got in her brother’s Camaro and she lit
    the pipe. Just then their favorite song came on the radio and they cranked it
    and sang along.

    Becky was a beautiful young woman with
    emerald green eyes and long brown hair. She was average height and a little
    lanky, but it suited her well. Beck was the epitome of the term “flower
    child”. Every day she picked a fresh flower from her garden and fashioned
    it into her hair. She wore flowey earth-toned clothes that she made herself and
    she always smelled of patchouli and lavender. Beck was a kind and caring girl
    who never turned down a day of hard work. She had two brothers, one sister, and
    her parents were duet performers at local night clubs. Beck was a senior in
    high school, President of the Garden Club and Vice President of the Bible Club.
    She was a devoted Lutheran and went to Church on a regular basis, and every
    night before bed she prayed that one day she would have three things: a nice
    home, a nice garden and two wonderful kids. She had faith that one day The Lord
    would bless her with those things.

    When Becky and John got to their house
    their mom was sitting on the front porch smoking a cigarette. Being a slave to
    the big tobacco companies, both John and Beck lit one up.

    “You know
    you kids should stop smoking. It’s bad for you.” Sindy said to her kids.
    “You could get lung cancer or something.”

    “Mom,
    we’ll quit when you quit. You shouldn’t be talking anyway.” John said. His
    mom playfully pushed him off of the bottom step and retorted,

    “Hey… do
    as I say not as I do. I may be the one you guys look up to but if anything
    watching my mistakes will help you in the long run.” Sindy was all about
    learning lessons the hard way, since that’s how she learned most of her life
    lessons. Beck walked out of the house barefooted with three brews in her hands
    and distributed them to her mom and brother.

    “So Beck
    how was the concert last night?” Sindy said, taking a sip of her
    Budweiser.

    “It was
    bitchin’ mom, totally bitchin’!” Beck’s eyes lit up as she described the
    concert to her mom, minus the part about the drug-dealing lion and the
    psychedelics. Her mom knew she toked reefer but she pretended like she didn’t,
    and Beck wasn’t about to bring it up. After John, Beck and Sindy finished their
    brewskies they went inside and started their chores.

    Reply
  93. Genie

    Part two =)

    Benji was
    leaning over his favorite pool table at the local billiard hall drinking a tall
    Genny Cream Ale. He was just about to shoot his last striped ball into the
    pocket for the win when his buddy Jerry nudged his cue stick with his elbow.
    The cue ball rolled further to the left than intended and it knocked the eight
    ball into the pocket instead.

    “Damnit
    Jerry! You’re such a spaz! I call a rematch!” Benji shouted as he punched
    Jerry in the shoulder numerous times.

    “Nah bro,
    I’ve gotta get back to my pad and clean up. Jerri is coming over tonight and I
    want things to look spiffy when I’m gettin’ it in.” Jerry bragged about
    his super-hot bitty all the time. Apparently Miss Jerri was a major nympho,
    going by what Jerry always said, and she was a freak. The guys exchanged their
    standard handshake and Benji threw a love glove at his buddy.

    “Wrap it
    before you tap it brah. Don’t be dumb.” Jerry shoved the prophylactic in
    his pocket and said, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Same time tomorrow?”

    “Damn
    straight!” Benji whooped. He downed the rest of his beverage and paid his
    tab. He lit up a butt and headed home. It was just about six o’clock and it was
    meatloaf night. He never missed meatloaf night. His mom made the bitchinest
    meatloaf if town, everybody who had tried it said so. Benji was a tall and thin
    young man, with a dark brown curly ‘fro. His eyes matched his hair and he
    always reeked like ganja. He had two plants growing in his basement and he
    supplied to everyone in town. He had even found some people in the next town
    over who were interested in collaborating with him.

    Reply
  94. Genie

    Part two =)

    Benji was
    leaning over his favorite pool table at the local billiard hall drinking a tall
    Genny Cream Ale. He was just about to shoot his last striped ball into the
    pocket for the win when his buddy Jerry nudged his cue stick with his elbow.
    The cue ball rolled further to the left than intended and it knocked the eight
    ball into the pocket instead.

    “Damnit
    Jerry! You’re such a spaz! I call a rematch!” Benji shouted as he punched
    Jerry in the shoulder numerous times.

    “Nah bro,
    I’ve gotta get back to my pad and clean up. Jerri is coming over tonight and I
    want things to look spiffy when I’m gettin’ it in.” Jerry bragged about
    his super-hot bitty all the time. Apparently Miss Jerri was a major nympho,
    going by what Jerry always said, and she was a freak. The guys exchanged their
    standard handshake and Benji threw a love glove at his buddy.

    “Wrap it
    before you tap it brah. Don’t be dumb.” Jerry shoved the prophylactic in
    his pocket and said, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Same time tomorrow?”

    “Damn
    straight!” Benji whooped. He downed the rest of his beverage and paid his
    tab. He lit up a butt and headed home. It was just about six o’clock and it was
    meatloaf night. He never missed meatloaf night. His mom made the bitchinest
    meatloaf if town, everybody who had tried it said so. Benji was a tall and thin
    young man, with a dark brown curly ‘fro. His eyes matched his hair and he
    always reeked like ganja. He had two plants growing in his basement and he
    supplied to everyone in town. He had even found some people in the next town
    over who were interested in collaborating with him.

    Reply
  95. Meg

    Nate crossed his arms over his chest and lent against the far wall of the booming nightclub, his eyes scanning over the crowd before him. The humidity of the room was almost tangible as he studied every sweat slicked body. The bass pounded and vibrated through the floor and into Nate’s body, not helping the splitting headache that had begun to form. He cringed and closed his eyes briefly, not daring to let his guard drop.

    “Hey there.” His eyes snapped open as he spotted a petite girl who was dressed in something out of a strip club, it barely covered anything. He resisted the temptation to roll his eyes and instead just stared back at the girl, his eyes searching hers for something.

    He waved silently in dismissal at her once he confirmed she was indeed human. Her pursed lips immediately fell into the shape of an ‘O’ and she gasped, her hands now resting on her thin waist.

    “Did you just!? I can’t believe this!” She flipped her bleached blonde hair over her bare shoulder as her face turned a light shade of red. Her dark brows furrowed and Nate simply chuckled, shaking his head lightly.

    “Well believe it, I have no need of a hooker’s company.” He sighed deeply, almost as if he were bored and ignored the girl’s continuous shock. Instead he went back to scanning the crowd.

    His eyes widened as he found exactly what he was looking for, his body jolted forwards and he left the hysterical girl behind, pushing through the crowd and stopping in front of a man.

    The man turned around, his eyes meeting Nate’s and they widened.
    “Nathaniel….” He whispered, Nate, barely hearing the man’s deep voice clenched his fists and drew back his arm. He grinned as his fist flew through the air and was met with a satisfying thud of skin meeting skin, the crack of a broken bone and the screams of outrage and fear as the man crumpled to the floor.

    Reply
  96. Tierra Cole

    I looked around the crowded room in search of a familiar face. As luck would have it, twenty minutes since arriving, I was still alone. Or as alone as you could
    get in a club. I was sitting at the bar away from most of the crowd that was
    dancing like baboons. I couldn’t understand how some people could grind up
    against each other in public and enjoy it no less. I had never seen the appeal
    in, but who was I to judge; I couldn’t dance worth a damn to begin with. It was
    most likely my jealousy talking.

    I took up my drink and pressed it to my lips and sipped at it. It was still my
    first beer, unwilling to drink anything else. It was far too risky. I put the
    beer down and scanned the room again, still not seeing the person I was looking
    for. However, another face distinguished itself from the others, enchanting me
    for a moment. Mostly because he was staring at me as well. His deep green eyes fixated; his blond hair waved around his face. Those white teeth that showed themselves as he smiled at me, revealing dimples.

    I looked away, slightly shocked that someone would even notice me sitting at the bar in my plain boot cut jeans and Run for Your Lives t-shirt. I was certainly not dressed for a party like this. I took up my beer again and too a gulp; my mouth felt dry. The bartender looked toward me as I put the beer down. “Another?” he asked with a simple smile. I gave him a nod and he replaced my empty bottle with a fresh cold one.

    I took the bottle in my hand, but didn’t pick it up to drink. I rather stared at
    the booze behind the counter on the shelves. I read each one thinking of ways
    to mix them to create a new flavor. My thoughts didn’t get very far as the
    mirror right next to the shelves showed a man walking toward the bar. The same
    man I had noticed before.

    “You seem lonely.” He placed his beer on the counter when he came close. I looked at him with a small smile. “Not enjoying yourself?”

    “I’m just waiting for someone.” I responded, taking the chance to scan the room
    again, eyes finding nothing. “They seem to have lost themselves on the dance
    floor.”

    The man glanced that way and smiled again. “That tends to happen .” He gave a deep chuckle. “Can I buy you a drink?”

    “No thank you; not here to party.” I responded looking back at him and his green
    eyes. They seemed deeper up close, and I couldn’t help but stare for a moment
    longer than I should have.

    “Clearly.” He gestured to my attire. “But still, I think a pretty little thing like you
    needs something stronger than beer, or at least more feminine.”

    I gave a laugh, making him smile revealing his dimples again. “You have no idea
    who you’re talking to. I drink moonshine honey.” I took a drink of my beer.

    “Tough lass aren’t you; most men fall on their ass with that stuff.” He took a drink
    of his own beer. “I like that.”

    “Can’t say most men like it when I out drink them.” I shrugged and looked at him. He was hansom in every sense of the word; even sexy. He was well defined and his features suited him well. I couldn’t hold back the smile I made thinking about
    it.

    “What?” He asked clearly amused.

    “Can’t say I’ve ever met you before; what’s your name?” I asked tilting my head to the side a little.

    “Valentine, Eric Valentine.” He extended his right hand for a greeting.

    “Martha Cooper.” I extended my right and grasped his firmly. I was never one to do it femininely. When our hands touched, my world swam under his touch. It felt odd, but a good kind of odd. Eric was going to be an interesting character, I could tell. But just what kind of interesting. That was the question.

    Reply
  97. CC Wood

    I don’t know why I agreed to do this. Since when were parties my thing? I stood at the front door, waiting, thinking. I had to act normal. I don’t exactly know why, but I tend to overthink things. More like organize in my opinion. Everything had a group, a place. Every thought in a category, filed for later. People were inspected, then put in their place. Me, I don’t have a category. I’m unique, special. I observed the house of course, I observe everything. I didn’t even know who’s house this was, who’s hosting the party. I turned myself into Scientific Method mode.

    1. Observation: The house was small, with a sorta “rugged” look to it. It was normal, a cookie-cutter. The grass was slightly yellow, and the trash cans were on the street. The curtains were all closed, probably for the party. You could hear slight music from the house.

    2: Hypothesis: I assume that a family lived there.

    Oh crap, someone’s coming. I tried to think of a plan of escape, but it was too late. I froze as Lina Mirin came through the door with a happy smile. When she saw me her smile faded. “Oh, hi.” She motioned for me to come in. I slowly walked up the steps, watching the ground, cautious about tripping, slipping, or missing (TSM I call it). It had become a routine for me, as I am usually extremely cautious. Up on the porch I kept my hands straight and rigid to my side. Lina walked quickly ahead of me, and I lost sight of her to the party. It was a complete madhouse. I expected the room to go silent when they saw me, but nobody acknowledged me.

    Reply
  98. AJ

    I was nearly done.

    I glanced nervously over my shoulder at the bathroom door, ensuring that it was indeed still shut. It was frustrating, that this bathroom didn’t have a lock – what was to be expected, though, from a party house in the shabbiest street of down town? Either way, I was grateful for the fact the door didn’t cave in every time a stray drunk careened into it. That would be the worst thing of all, if someone were to chance upon me. Just the thought of discovery sent my body into a nervous itch, my brain and muscles demanding that I work faster. If I was to be caught in the act…

    My legacy would be ruined.

    I whipped back around, away from the door and the sounds of too many people in one house. There, I stared into the mirror. Or rather, I stared at what was on the mirror. Eyes darting faster than sparrows, I assessed my artwork, seeking out the places that needed retouching or a little more embellishment. My body followed suit with similar speed, seizing the black spray-can I’d left on the sink and putting it to use. Each second I took to complete my masterpiece both dragged and hastened; a curious feeling that set my pulse racing. The adrenaline pouring through my body was beautiful, though. So beautiful.

    Reply
  99. Seven

    I snorted through my nose, and hugged my knees closer to my shivering body, hunched in the darkest corner I could find. Around me, the party surged. Someone tapped me, forcefully on the shoulder. I snapped my head round, and felt like my eyes were on fire. With beauty. Aware that my mouth was hanging open, I shut my mouth, and tore my eyes from his.
    Something stirred inside me, just like every other time I had to look at my friend. I was aware that Six was sitting close, not too close, but close enough that I felt awkward, and uncomfortable. His breath was warm on my neck, and I felt him lean closer.
    I breathed deeply, trying to calm my heart. It raced on. Suddenly, I felt something hard connect with my hand, and was surprised to find it was his head. I was on my feet, and he wasn’t.
    It was then that I remembered him going to move the fabric of my shirt to see the brand everyone knew was there. I bent down to his face.
    “Don’t *ever* do that.”
    The party was still going as I sank to the floor in my corner, again – music was blaring, and the strobe lights were starting to hurt my eyes. I shook my head.
    Humans were so ignorant.

    Reply
  100. Clara_Oswin_Oswald_Rocks

    Amerald shuddered and moved to the back of the room, trying to ignore the blinding lights, trying to block out the pounding beat that had crept into her mind. It wasn’t just that she didn’t know anyone, but the whole situation was only aiding her growing sense of paranoia. She sighed, wondering why on Earth Skye had told her to come tonight. Skye should have known that nothing good would come of it! Amerald fingered her jacket zipper nervously, hoping that fate would allow her to remain unnoticed. After a few long, weary minutes, Amerald decided that she had had enough of this “socializing”. Gathering her bag, she headed towards the exit, keeping her head down and trying to avoid attention. Reaching the door, she took a deep breath and smiled. No one could say she had never been to a party now!

    Reply
  101. Aaina Tahsin

    I could feel the floor shake as everyone danced with each other. It was one of my first parties, so I didn’t know what exactly to do. I parked myself at the table and took a few nibbles of the food they served me.

    “Not hungry?” a deep voice said behind me. “Maybe a bit thirsty?”

    I turned around to see a man that made me feel as if he was the only thing I could see. The music around us had slowly faded away, the people around us disappeared into darkness, and we were the only to people in the world.

    “Care for a drink?” he asked, his deep voice sending a warmth around my body.

    I shook my head. “I think I would rather dance,” I replied, strutting confidently onto the dance floor as the next song started playing. For the first in so long, I went wild. I didn’t care what others thought. I stepped onto the floor and danced my heart away, letting my body feel the music and move to it. Doing what I feel like – being free.

    Warm fingers wrapped around my hand softly. I turned around to see the same man, inches away from me. His brown eyes glistened in the lights. He brushed away my hair and moved it behind my ear. Even his touch sends butterflies flying around in my stomach.

    “I’m Taylor,” he said over the booming music.

    “I’m Kylee,” I replied, still mesmerized by his eyes.

    “Care to dance?” he asked, with a small smile marking his face. I smiled back and nodded, as his warm hands wrapped around my waist and we danced to the slow song that swam around in the air.

    Reply
  102. Cam

    The music blasted so loud, that I thought I was going to go completely deaf. My chocolate brown hair was pulled back in a slick ponytail, and my bangs hung in my face, masking my icy blue stare. People crowded the DJ, wildly dancing to the crazy techno beat. Mesmerized by the number of people, I wondered how many of them were actually sober. Before I could even take a step into the room, I was slammed into by none other than the drunkest person at the party. My best friend, Grace. Her short blonde hair was tangled in her face, and the beer she held was slipping out of her hand. She looked like a hooker, with her skimpy top and mini skirt. I pushed her away, and ran into the mess of people trying to avoid her usual slur of words, and hurtful insults. She was a completely different person when she was drinking. Colorful lights flashed everywhere, making it very hard to see where I was going. People stared at the petit girl that I was, and laughed at the pain written all over my pale face. I hated parties. Feeling like a complete outcast, I wormed my way over to the bar, because it was the only place to sit. I collapsed into the stool and sighed, wanting to go home. The bartender smiled and offered me a drink, which I refused. I longingly looked into the swarm laughing teenagers, and wished I was confident enough to be with them. They moved as if they were one big animal, jumping and swaying to the music. My eyes drifted across the room, until I saw a familiar face, that just wouldn’t leave my thoughts. His yellow-hazel eyes were hauntingly beautiful, staring back at me. I couldn’t help but notice the way his smile revealed two dimples on either cheek. He excused himself from the group of friends he was with, and made his way towards me. I sucked in a deep, nervous breath, and pretended to be nonchalant, even though my heart was pounding a hole though my chest.

    Reply
    • Elise Martel

      You have some great descriptions in this piece, but I had to point something out to you. Your choice to note the immediate hair and eye color of your character was a little jarring. I don’t think that you’d walk into a room and think about how your bangs were hanging in your face, masking your icy blue stare. That would more be how people saw you, not how you saw yourself.
      To me, it would be more effective if you didn’t describe the character you have in first person at all, or at least, at a minimum. Or, since she is shy, you could say “my bangs hung low, hiding my eyes. That way I could see, but not be seen.” Or something along those lines.

  103. Aaron Lamb

    First time post!

    “Crap.” He muttered to himself as he caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror walking down the hall. As the double doors opened the mummer of a hundred people disorientated him. He was used to large crowds, but never liked it.

    “Hal!” His brother’s wife, Kelly, called out. She bounced over full of excitement. He knew she was using the party to set him up with someone. All he knew was that she was a friend of a friend and a redhead. Kelly tip toed to hug him, then studied his face.

    “Well there’s not a lot we can do about that.”

    “It’ll calm down in a few days. Just bad timing.”

    “no one will care, honestly, everyone’s lovely here.”

    “I care.” He tugged his waistcoat down. “Christ I got a face like I’ve been under the butchers knife.”

    “True, but you’re the only semi-pro boxer here. They’re all artists and musicians. They’ll think your exciting and edgy.”

    “Fricking dressed up guinea pig.”

    “I think you scrub up very well. Anyway there’s someone here I want you to meet.”

    “Come on then.” He sighed. His big frame lumbered through the crowd. He caught lots of people stealing a glance. He kept fidgeting with his waistcoat and hoped the colour matched his trousers and jacket. Then he saw the redhead chatting with his brother.

    “Really?” He whispered to Kelly.

    “She’s funny and she loves her sports too.”

    “But she’s,” Hal paused. He didn’t have the vocabulary, he searched and searched but couldn’t find the word. “Hot.”

    He held out his head and spluttered. “Sorry about my face, it opened up like rotten fruit last night.”

    Great start he thought.

    Reply
  104. Weirdo

    She was always the odd one out. Never had any friends, never had anyone to talk to Her. But that didn’t stop Her from talking to everyone else. “Why did I invite her?” I asked myself. I looked back around the corner, only to be met with those strange kaleidoscope eyes that had nagged me since the day I first saw them.

    She grabbed my face and jerked it down slightly, so that I was level with Her chest. There was a slight tickle on my head, and she let go.
    “What the h-”
    “Hmmm… strange scent this one is… cinnamon, maybe? Jasmine? Both? Yes, that’s it.”
    “Wha-”
    “Oh, hi! I don’t know your name but I’m guessing it- oh wow, look at that!”

    She adverted her eyes to girl that had entered. Her dress took up half of the dance floor, and her eyes were enough to make anyone jump out of their skin. Of course, regardless of the hostility in the air, She ran towards Ginger.
    “Hey there!”
    “What are you- AHHH!”

    She held a clump of curls in Her hand, raising it like a trophy, holding it up to the light for further examination. She bolted towards me again, leaving Ginger in agony, crying on the floor.
    “You were going to get a hair cut tomorrow?”
    “Yes, wh-”
    “Here, I’ll do it for you!”

    Her hand, in a single motion, cut half of the hair off of my head. I just stood there, stunned.

    “Bye! Thanks for the invitation!”

    She left me there, to stare after her in utter confusion with a chaotic party going underway.

    Reply
    • Axis Sheppard

      “Bye! Thanks for the invitation!”

      Haha that was surely an interesting character! I don’t really know if I want to meet the girl even if I think she’s kinda amazing -or cruel-… She is sure unique in her own way and I’m seeing her like a tornado: upstaging the quotidian of the protagonist. Also, I really like the «kaleidoscope eyes» part. Whether her eyes are super beautiful with a lot of colors in it or whether they are really strange xD… I am also wondering why the main character invite her too… Is it because she/he too nice and took pity of her? Well, anyways, if I want an haircut, I know who (not) to ask. ;P

  105. ashley norman

    not a party just something random…..

    Daren groaned. He sat up, trying to blink away the black spots in his vision. Were those stone walls? Why was he so cold? Where am I? he thought. Then he remembered. Amice! He stood up and rushed towards the cell door, but was instantly pulled back down by something heavy.

    “No!” he yelled, as he tried to strain against the chains around his wrists and ankles. No! No! No! The echo of the stone wall mocked him. “No…..” he said as he slumped into a pile on the floor. Down the hallway he heard talking. “We got a feisty one in there!” said a gruff voice. Another made a noise that sounded like screechy laughter. “That we do!” it said. “That little rebel will learn his lesson, come tomorrow evening!” this time both of the voices joined in the laughter. “Hey, where’d that girl go?” said the gruff voice.”It’s time for her to feed the prisoners.”

    “Girl!” said the scratchy voice. “It’s time to give the prisoners their gruel.” Daren heard some low murmuring, then the scratchy voice said, “Let’s go get us some gruel. But not the same stuff, of course.” That set both the voices off into peals of laughter, which grew fainter as they receded down the long hallway. Daren put his head in his hands.

    Suddenly he heard the clatter of dishes on the floor in front of his cell door. He looked up. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness he saw a small figure through the bars of his cell door. The figure gasped.

    “D-D-Daren?” the figure stuttered. Now it was Daren’s turn to gasp.

    “Adelaide?”

    Reply
  106. Tushar Joneja

    From the minute he entered, he knew in his mind that his night was a success if he put the fly on the wall to shame. The bar seemed a million miles away, the road to it peppered with obstacles draped in expensive garments. With a practiced grace, he wove through a group of greying men clutching crystals of amber liquid, barely brushing against their coat-tails.
    How could these people get their drinks already and reach all the way here? Ah, but then, how can these people possibly want to be here at all?
    His hand struck a lady’s dangling purse, causing it to swing in a considerable arc. The woman, displaced from her chatter, looked back at him, sour-faced.
    Damnit!
    Head bowed, he slipped between the large backsides of two men, leaving the woman with barely a glimpse of his own backside.
    Almost there.
    He urged himself forward, moving a little faster and with greater precision. A crowd was gathered at the bar, waiting for the lone barman to serve them. He bent low, almost invisible now to the man of average height. He reached the people at the bar, his eyes almost level with their buttocks. Just as he was going to ram against someone, he took a sharp turn, circling around the bar to enter the serving side. Ignoring the barman’s hard gaze directed at him, he straightened his bow, smoothed his shirt and popped his head out. A bright smile stretched across his face as he said, “And what can I get for you, sir?”

    Reply
  107. RK

    This is the first time I post something I wrote for people to read :S

    It was already midnight, telling by the strong moonlight and the departing guests leaving the mansion, that I could see from my perch on the corner of the ballroom balcony from which I always observe.

    Looking out at the sea of silver tipped white roses that paved the way always brought with it a sense of calm that I desperately needed after a gathering. It was so stiff, filled with aristocrats with many masks and ways to charm you of your fortunes and position, it never gets easier as many people say or at least for me it doesn’t.

    With them its always like playing a never-ending game of chess, it leaves you with the bitter after taste of lies and a head full of emptiness but leaves no room for thoughts and maintaining the image of sophistication and haughtiness is a must in this game we play.

    After all it is one of my duties as his highness’s second in command, and noblewoman of the royal house to maintain a united front.

    Reply
  108. Amanda V

    ‘You were the life of the party,’ Eli repeats his mantra to himself as he heads towards the door of the party. But those days seem like a distant memory. Those days refer to
    when he could dance until the sun came up, and when girls would swoon when he
    walked in the door. When he could get everyone’s attention in one word. Back when he was the star wide receiver at the University, with NFL scouts waiting to see if he was going to declare for the draft after his junior year. All before his life came to a screeching halt on
    those snowy Utah roads.

    Two years later Eli wasn’t sure he was ready for his first
    trip into the party scene again. He had changed a lot in those two years. From
    the football field to the boardroom, and from a party all night guy, to in bed
    by 11pm sharp. Did he miss the old parties? Sure, but as soon as his first foot
    crossed the threshold of the door, he knew that he was suddenly too changed for
    this party.

    Walking around the outskirts of the main dance floor until
    he found the drink table, Eli now was a people watcher. He chuckled when the
    new young stud jumped up on the stage to show off the latest line dance moves. ‘That’s right, drink in the attention now; you never know how long it is going to last’ he thought. Just as he spotted an empty chair and made a beeline for it so no one could claim it he felt an arm link into his own. “Eli, I am so glad you made it!” Becca announced his
    presence like it was the first time she had seen him in months. As she gently
    pulled his arm away from the empty chair, and onto the dance floor he let her
    lead the way. How is she able to do this to me? This would be the first of many questions he would later ask himself about this captivating girl.

    Reply
  109. Taylor.Elane.

    This corner is my best friend. I hadn’t exactly pictured myself at my first party here at base hiding in a corner. But Oliver can’t blame me for it, I shouldn’t even be here. There’s too many bodies, someone could easily brush against my skin. That’s all it’d take and they’d be gasping for air, crumpling to the floor in violent convulsions only to die soon after. No, Oliver can’t blame me for not wanting that to happen.
    I’m having a bit of fun though. The music fills my head and takes me to a different world. I can’t help but shut my eyes as each note finds a home in my eardrums. Never experiencing the mere action of human embrace can take a toll on a person. But my god, the music mends it all-
    “Why are you hiding in this corner, love?” Enzo’s lips whisper into the shape of my ear.
    How the hell did he find me? “To keep away from you, of course.”
    His fingers find my shoulder arm hand and I forget all about the music, “Do you really want to keep away from me, darling?”
    His voice is my favorite music, “To the extreme, yes.”
    “That’s hard to believe.” He takes too much pride in being the only person who can touch me. His fingers shape with mine and he begins pulling me out of my corner.
    This is the part where I panic, “What-What are you doing?!”
    “There’s this thing, love, called dancing.” His voice has no problem reaching my ears, “I’d love to try it with you.”
    I pull away, “You’re insane!”
    He pulls me back, “Well, essentially, yes.”
    My waist. His hands have found my waist.
    “I’d really appreciate it if you at least tried to be nice to me, Mia.” He says, wrapping my arms around his neck.
    “And I’d really appreciate it if you at least tried to leave me alone, Enzo.”
    He takes this moment to lean forward, our noses brush. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
    There’s a sarcastic response somewhere in my throat but I can’t breathe let alone speak. I’m trying not to notice the three inches between our faces but I’m drowning drowning drowning in them and this music is failing as my anchor. I open my mouth, hoping something would escape but
    One of his hands reach my face and his thumb paints circles into my cheek, “Don’t.”
    And then he’s kissing me.
    And the music fades away as I die a thousand times.

    Reply
  110. Caleb Chamberlain

    A biting wind howled, buffeting the barren canopy of the forest, naked branches protesting with loud groans and screeching, an eerie note of contempt as the last of Fall’s days waned. Winter, bitter and unforgiving, had come. Black and grey shadows danced along the forest floor as the sun hovered just above the horizon, refusing to lay its glowing head to rest as if in wait for him.

    Shifting from foot to foot, his cloak bustling about him, he passed between the tall, ashen-faced natives of old, the last of the immortals in a dying age where metal and science made new ground day by day. His flesh itched and crawled as the dancing shadows ceased their rhythmic gyrations, and from the black and grey did golden eyes pierce his back. He was but a babe by comparison to these people and their wood, and least of all worthy to be here at this time, and still he pressed forward, all but disrupting their yearly gathering. He knew his purpose here. He knew that, even though they feigned curiosity, those eyes that questioned him knew his purpose as well.

    Gathering himself in a swift motion, brushing aside the glares, he stepped up to king of the flaxen-folk.

    “Forgive my interruption your majesty, but I am…”

    “I know who you are, son of Him,” the King said, and although he spoke softly, his voice carried with it the authority and audacity of one with his title. “Speak no more until we have ended our festivities, and only then will you and I speak.”

    “As you wish,” the man said, and although he made it a point to allow the festivities to continue, he could not help but feel the weight of timing drive his shoulders down, and his feet forward.

    Reply
  111. Jmansporting

    I arrived at the party at about 9 o’clock. Some rich kid from my high school was hosting it. As a senior, I wouldn’t have to worry about being questioned, because according to high school law, seniors were allowed anywhere.

    I locked my old, black pickup truck and headed over to the front door. I had to
    be in and out, as fast as possible. I swung open the front door, without
    bothering to knock. Knocking was a setback that only underclassmen had to go
    through. Immediately I scanned the interior of the huge house, and could easily
    identify all the groups of partygoers. In the middle of the room were the most
    popular kids. They always went to the middle to assert themselves as the
    highest of the high school pecking order. On one side were the jocks, who were
    standing about 10 feet away from the group of cheerleaders. Throughout the
    night, most of the jocks would eventually pair up with cheerleaders and
    suddenly disappear.

    I moved through the room, avoiding all the groups, and sat in the corner,
    waiting. The minute my target moved from his spot, I’d corner him. He wouldn’t
    stand a chance.

    Reply
  112. Joseph Koch

    Dr. Stych doesn’t like parties. He hitched up the collar of his tux a little
    more that not only does Jessie owe him dinner for this one, it needs to be
    sushi. Jessie promised him crab cakes,
    and those got him out of his lab.

    Definitely sushi.

    He slid back towards the corner he had been holding up
    valiantly as quickly as the wall of shifting bodies and “pardon me’s “ would permit. He could feel their eyes on him for a brief moment, then dart away quickly like
    rats that appear in the tunnels where he worked.

    “hell,” he thought, “sometimes the scars make me squeamish.”

    Stych looked over his shoulder. There she was. Beautiful,
    perfect Jessie. Her highness held court
    in a silver off the shoulder gown, her dark hair pinned up in artful disarray,
    one lock playing coquettishly just out of range of the frames of her glasses.
    She laughed at some small joke, and her champagne flute tipped dangerously,
    just on the edge of spilling, but not quite. She winked at Stych in that impish
    way she reserved just for him; letting him know it was her, but also a
    calculated act for the normals.

    She mouthed, “Relax, Norman!” at him silently, and then went
    back the the performance, making eye contact with each of the men and women
    around her, nodding, saying the right thing, using her natural timing, body
    language, voice, and expressions to let everyone around her know she was there
    just for them.

    He could almost hate her, if she hadn’t done the same for
    him.

    Even though Stych, “No, Norman.” he corrected to himself, could read her every
    movement like a diagram on a board, the same way he could predict and interpret
    the movements, and relative speed, and angles of the people around him like a
    coach writing up plays on a board, she still had it in her somehow to show him the
    real her behind the act, and make him feel like more than the bent heap of
    walking muscle and scars he saw. He couldn’t’
    ask for a finer sister.

    His reverie was rudely interrupted by a laugh, and a sharp
    pain as a lady to one side of him accidently spiked her heel into Stych’s shoe,
    and tender instep.

    She started, turned her head, hand to mouth and looked down
    at his short fireplug body. Then her
    face paled at what she saw. The lady stammered something apologetic. Stych
    moved faster, wishing he could leave and get back to his comfy basement lab.

    Definitely sushi.

    Reply
  113. Zilla

    Zero said he would be here. Where is he? Zilla thought franticly. Then Zero walked through the door over to Zilla and said “You’ve never been to a party.” Zilla gave him the are you kidding me why would I go to a party. “Promise me that you will not stick to me like glue.” Zero told her. “Zero, you’ve got a girlfreid.” A loud voice said over the music. “This is going to be a long night,” Zilla mumured under her breathe.

    Reply
  114. Violet Reese

    Ana took a deep breath. She hated being in big groups of people, and here she was, at a party that was in her honor. Yes, she showed up. That’s as much as they would get. She looked at the stage in fright. They expected her to get up and give a speech. A speech! No way, she thought, am I willingly walking onto that stage. It isn’t happening.
    “Hey, sis!” Abraham said as he made his way to her. “How’s the party so far?”
    “Terrifying. Unnecessary. I want to leave. Now,” she muttered.
    “Ah, you can’t leave yet, Ana! They haven’t even given you your award!”
    “What award?”
    “You haven’t heard? They’re giving you the a scholarship for their school!”
    “That’s great. Really. Can’t we just go home?” Ana crossed her arms defiantly.
    “No!” Abraham tugged on her arm, pulling her towards the stage. “You’re supposed to give a speech!”
    “No! I refuse to talk in front of all these people!”
    Abraham ignored her and dragged her up the steps.
    “Abraham, let go of me, or I swear, I will kill you!”
    “Can I have everyone’s attention, please?” Abraham announced into the microphone. Everyone’s eyes turned to him.
    Crap, crap, crap, Ana thought.
    “I’d like to introduce Andiana, my sister! She has a few things to say, if that’s alright.” He clapped, and the crowd joined in.
    Ana was frozen to the spot. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t even blink. All she could think was I’m going to disappoint these people. They’re expecting a brilliant young girl, and they’re going to get me.
    Abraham was looking at her expectantly. “Ana?” he said.
    Crap, crap, crap.
    He pushed her toward the microphone. Everyone’s eyes were on her. They were all looking…
    “Uh, hi,” Ana spit out. “As, uh, my brother said, I’m Ana… uh, Andiana. Uh, I guess you expect, uh, a speech, or something?” She let out a nervous laugh and scratched her ear. “Well, uh, I’d like to, uh, say that, uh, I’m honored to be here, uh, receiving this, uh, scholarship, and uh, that, uh, I’m not truly worthy of it and, uh, it’s been a pleasure, uh, being here with, uh you all, and that, uh, this party, uh, is truly, uh, splendid. It’s, uh, wonderful that you, uh, could make coming to this, uh, a priority in your, uh, lives, and, uh, thank you for, uh, allowing me to be here.”
    A slow and less than enthusiastic applause sounded throughout the grand hall.
    “Thank you,” Ana muttered as she hurried off the stage and out the door. “These are the times I wish I was Andi and not Ana,” she whispered to herself. “Why am I Ana?”

    Reply
    • Starlight11

      I really enjoyed reading this. I feel like Ana is a character that can be truly empathized with and I could feel myself willing her to be strong and at least try to give a speech. It was a realistic scenario. I feel like it was a bit choppy though. Mostly in the dialogue. In some places I think the choppiness was intentional and that gave it a bit of artistic flair. Like in the part: She couldn’t move. She couldn’t think.

  115. Bookdog

    My leather coat dispenses buckets of water on the cold reflective pattern of tile at my feet, boots squashing uncomfortably with every movement, I make my way hastily to the elevator where I wait with all the petty, tight skirted guests. Sweat is creeping down my neck as I feel their eyes curiously scrutinizing my smooth black polyester dress, hair thin gold necklace, illustriously sinister dark makeup, and hair in a simple braid. Why did she force me to come? She’s already suspected that I’m different from other humans or she knows I’m not one at all. I hear the elevator snap into place making a groan and ding as its doors part, revealing air. I gulp as I enter the compartment where decadent perfumes and colognes mingle with the stuffy surroundings. I fear I will go up and never come down. I bite my lip until a dull blood taste washes through my mouth. The truth is, through I could blame her or my friends for making me come, the blame rests entirely on myself. Was it a sick interest for human culture? Maybe, but I made the choice and now I have to live through it. The pressure of the elevator twists my stomach into little knots, my heart in my throat as I creep higher, closer to the awaiting penthouse. My eyes close and I feel mascara clinging like deadweights to my glistening eyelashes. I refuse to cry, it would wreck my makeup and the one rule I live by: “If you don’t feel, you cannot be harmed.” I fight with the thought in my mind, turning it over and over. It almost calms me. Almost. All movement stops and the doors part for the second time. My eyes spring open to their fullest, heart caught in a storm. This time, air is not the only thing I see.

    Reply
  116. Chérie Lee-Anne McBarnett

    Im 13 and want to be a writter i have a passion for writting, this is how i introduce my character:

    It was dark and echoic inside my mind. Although i felt peacefull, it was clearly not my time. I could feel someone hauling on my arms as if to wake me up. Soon i hear faint words of not meaning, murrmurs that have no face. As i surface, i began to inhale the aroma of the once known. I taste metal. The murrmurs become crys for help and wimpers of sorrow that make me want to awake, but i cannot. Im trapped in the body of dead. It switches to black. I skink down further into the mists of my mind.

    Then later on he awakes and this is what happens.

    My eyelids flutter to the small sample of sun light shining through. The blur of my sleep had clouded my vision. I glanced down at my hands, blood smeared around my fingers like dry paint. I raised my hand infront of my face to get a closer look at the blood on my fingertips. My Knuckles were sore and bloody, the blood was not of my own. By that realisation i was fully awake. It was then i found myself agitatedly studying the room around me. My eyes jerked from ceiling to floor then from wall to wall. This was a home. Not mine of course. It looked like a hotel room but more personal. It was hard to distinguish whether the room belolged to a man or a woman or both for all i knew. I planted my hands on the cold wooden floor and ligged myself up. As i stood up, a profound dizziness spread from the back of my head to the front. I weezed in frustation. When my head cleared, i spotted a red substance leaking from under the then bathroom door. I instantly knew what it could be. I could hardly breathe. Where am i? I edged closer to the bathroom door hoping it wasn’t what i thought it would be.

    Reply
    • Miriam N

      I like this. I am drawn in and wonder what is gonna happen next. Keep up the good work. 🙂

    • Bee

      Wow, great imaginery.
      Try doing away with the adverbs to make your writing stronger.
      If a sentence contains the word “that” read it aloud and 99% of the time you will find the word “that” can be deleted.
      Capitalize all occurences of the pronoun I.
      Finally, keep the tense the same throughout the scene.
      Mostly, keep up the great work! I too decided to become a writer at your age so it is great to know the next generation of writers are coming up strong.

    • Bee

      Sorry, I meant to reply to the piece not the comment.

    • peaches

      hey, i just read your story into and think its fantastic, but one thing i want you to notice – and i do this too – is that your sentences lack emotion. use your senses, what does he smell, feel, taste, hear and see?

      does he smell iron and earth from the blood? does he feel cold or hot? maybe a numbness in his legs or his but suggesting he’s been lying down for a while? does his palate taste sour? does he hear a faint ringing? does his vision lag slightly?

      imagine that you are the character. if you were to wake up to blood on your hands in a place that was unfamiliar, your heart would be pounding. maybe the blood would rush to your feet as you stood up, a sudden weakness in your legs causing you to fall on your haunches. Since you chose first person, try to describe everything in a haunting sense, as the main character is kinda covered in blood lol.

      instead of focusing on the sunlight in the beginning, maybe focus on how dark the room is, only a sliver of light telling him that it was day time. maybe he has to squint to see through the dark, his eyes sore. again, this is where the 5 senses come in nicely. instead of describing the room as a “hotel room” use more descriptive words! say it smelt of cheap perfume, or that orange citrus cleaner stuff they often use in the rooms. maybe describe it as dingy or dirty, with cracks in the walls and the carpet stained in god knows what.

      also, maybe look up what description words you’re using, because some of them dont make sense in the context/situation you’re using them.

      and in the beginning you mention the main char looks down at his hands, but then you describe that he was lying down, so that doesnt really make sense? i mean it could, but its a lil weird.

      also, your repetition. “I instantly knew what it could be…. hoping it wasn’t what i thought it would be.” instead you can use:

      “Bracing myself on the footboard of the bed, i shut my eyes and willed myself to keep my balance, only opening them when my head cleared. When i did, i felt my heart drop. A crimson fluid had spiraled out from underneath what i guessed was the bathroom door, the clotted substance nearly dry, suggesting it had been there for a while. i was going to be sick.”

      blah blah, then you can talk about how he goes into the bathroom and what not. but yeah, that was an example, please dont actually use my writing ty .

      but best of luck ! i wasnt nearly as good as a writer as you are when i was 13 !

  117. Kessrai

    Never had she breathed in the way she was breathing now: One could tell it was stressed, with the way she was taking slow, shallow breaths, but it wasn’t for any reason other than the smells. She was overwhelmed by them. They were terrible – sweat, a detectable but not overpowering stench of beer, equally-scented and more pleasant wine, overused body sprays, and food. But the others didn’t smell it, it didn’t seem. So, the young lady shrank into non-existence, hiding behind the plant displays as far away from the others as she could, fearing their scrutiny. As she examined the plants, a man, a bit older than herself, strode over.
    Before he could speak, she immediately burst out, “The host really is fairly good with plants, but not quite as good as they could be. You know, the hosta could have better color if it was put over there, and the coleus does better in the shade than by that window-” suddenly she was cut off, as the man shook his head slightly.
    He chuckled, even, standing tall and relaxed, and grinned at her. “Most people prefer to just talk about nothings. Not enough wit for those like us. Let’s move on.” She nodded, looking relieved, and hurried toward the door.

    Reply
    • Teo Jansen

      Very intriguing! I could feel the anxious in her. Well done!

  118. Teo Jansen

    Thiago is drinking a a glass of water in a corner, watching all the people surrounded him.

    He smiles ocassionally, and when pretty ladies reach to him, he just answers in monosyllables. His full atention is in the golden chains, diamond tiaras and colorful jewel rings used by men and women.

    “Hey you… are you the guardian of this corner?” says a green eyes brunette, with a cup of wine in her left hand.

    “Hello, miss…?” Thiago answers.

    “Miss Klaychewaskim… my pleasure” the brunette extends her right hand. No ring, no chain, no nothing.

    “Hello… Miss… It’s a pleasure, in deed”.

    “So… what’s the name of the guardian?” says Klaychewaskim.

    But Thiago does not answer. His eyes are trapped in a blue gem necklace of a tall blonde lady.

    “Hello?”, Miss Klaycheswakim insists.

    “Oh… right… I’m sorry… my name is Joseph Perez”, says Thiago and he drinks the entire glass of water. “I’m sorry, I have to go”.

    He walks away from the corner, leaving Miss Klaycheswakim with a hard look at him. Thiago is in the beautiful blonde direction. She is standing alone next to the bar.

    “Excuse me, my name is Kirk Sanchez, and I would like to know if you dance with me?”, says Thiago with his biggest smile.

    The blonde looks at him and smile back.

    “Sorry. No ingles”, she replies.

    “Hmmm… Russian?”, he insists.

    “No, no, no… soy latina. Spanish! Español!”, she laughs and starts a fast busload of words in Spanish.

    Thiago barely nods, and keep smiling.

    “Sí… sí…” he says to all the words that she is saying. He turns around and see two men back to back. He looks at the latina and she is explaying something about a car crash (maybe), her attention is more on her story than in Thiago.

    Thiago take a step back, take the butt of one of the man and goes back in front of the blonde.

    The man turns and look to the other.

    “What do you think are you doing?” and hits the guy. The other man doesn’t know whats going on, so kicks back. All the people gather around the fighters.

    Even the blonde walks to the center of the circle to see what is going on.

    The fighters are separate by a bunch of people. The latina laughs about the incident, then check her neck.

    The necklace is gone… also Thiago.

    Reply
    • Susan W. A.

      I enjoyed reading this. It feels like a classic 1960s “cat burglar” movie (that’s meant as a compliment). The phrases I like, among others: “His full attention is on the golden chains…”; the clever attempt by the woman to meet Thiago by saying, “‘..are you the guardian of this corner?’ “; how the brunette extends her right hand (and thus Thiago notices there is no ring); “…starts a fast busload of words in Spanish”; “…explaining something about a car crash (maybe)…”; “The necklace is gone…also Thiago.”

    • Teo Jansen

      Wow, Susan! Thanks for the compliment, I’m really gladd that you enjoyed the full text and remarked the phrases that you like the most. Thanks for the feedback!

    • EJ Heijnis

      Smooth! This is very intense. I love how he gives two false names back to back. He’s obviously very focused. Fun to read.

    • Susan W. A.

      I likes the two different aliases, too!

    • Teo Jansen

      I’m gladd you have fun reading it! Thanks for the feedback!

    • Avril

      Teo this is like a beginning to a great movie!

    • Teo Jansen

      Thank you! I didn’t think about it in that way, but now I read it again and it is! LoL!

  119. Marcy Mason McKay

    WOW, Joe. Your Characterization Tutorial is SERIOUSLY excellent. I’ll definitely be referring back to it. Thanks for sharing.

    Reply
    • Joe Bunting

      THANKS Marcy!

  120. Avril

    Hey, I’m emailing you from the lobby of the Fairmont Hotel in San Francisco. I cannot believe I let those two bully me into flying out here, when I am so close to completing the programming for my robotic values-based logic circuitry. They sent me here to attend an Ethics in Modern Science conference, and I just stepped out of the Welcome cocktail party. There must be one hundred people in there. Well, you know how I get discombobulated in a crowd. And I was already tired from traveling all day to get here, plus I am furious with my two employers. I just need to take a break from all that, and let you know where I am. I’ll be back Thursday.

    I feel ridiculous, sitting here with my Dr. Donalda Clifford name tag on, as if I have any real business being here. Although, it is nice to know, most of the members of the Robotic Sciences community do recognize me, and have been very friendly. One of them just walked by and said to her husband, “That’s Dr. Donnie, the famous robot engineer!”

    One of my bosses, our CEO, Dr. Tonias Black, bought a ticket to this conference, and didn’t even tell me about it until yesterday! He is obsessed with the keynote speaker, Dr. Elvin Lamarck. Dr. Lamarck is not a scientist; he has a Ph.D. in Philosophy. He is the guy who has been on every talk show that will have him, expounding upon the evils of artificial intelligence and robotic functions that are artifact “emotions”. He has a lot of support in Congress, and if he is successful. all of us in this industry will be shut down, or at least subject to government review and supervision.

    So Dr. Black had his usual litany of excuses for not doing what needs to be done himself. I wish he had come. He’s not shy like me. While I was in there, all I could do was walk around in a daze, reading name tags, looking for familiar faces. I’m happy to see people I already know, but I’m too mortified to approach anyone else. I’ve also already had three glasses of wine, a gin and tonic, and several plates of appetizers.

    Anyway, Dr. Black claims he cannot attend the conference because he has “high level meetings with some of the most brilliant minds in the world” and he “may” have to fly to Copenhagen on a “moments notice”. Or maybe Moscow or Sydney. He is such a b.s.er, I don’t argue with him anymore. It makes me feel like I’m trapped in a tunnel.

    And of course, it was no use trying to talk to my other employer, that flaky Dr. Sasha Small. She had to play the mind game, “But Dr. Donnie, Dr. Lemarck is threatening your life’s work”. I pointed out that this is all of our lives’ work, and that she and Dr. Black have a lot more money and contractual commitments leveraged on this research. That was it, that got me the full Sasha theatrical display. Waving her arms, eyes bugging out, heaving bosom, red face, and her voice getting louder with every word. “Why don’t you care about us? Why don’t you care about our efforts? If you cared, you would go to the conference! Why don’t you want us to be successful? Why are you such a bitch?” She really said all those things, and she was just getting warmed up. I’m pretty sure she was drunk. Again.

    I don’t argue with her anymore either. She pays for me to pursue my research, and pretty much leaves me alone, so I called “uncle’, and agreed to the trip. Am I that committed to my work, or am I a wimp? Please don’t ever answer that.

    This is a very long email. I guess I’m just trying to avoid that party. I’d rather sit in the lobby and people-watch. It’s a lovely room, the food is fantastic, and the atmosphere is truly collegial. Not too much ego, really. I guess I’d better go back in. Walk around a few more times, say “hello” to a few old friends, then hopefully do the backwards walk out the side door.

    Thanks for being there for me. I’ll see you Thursday.

    Reply
    • Teo Jansen

      Nice touch with the description through the email. I even fell the ambience of the room thanks to the main character. I think you can improve this with more hesitation with the character email, like he wants to say something to us, but change the subject, or something like that.

      I enjoyed again with your post! Keep it doing! Cheers!

    • Avril

      That’s a good point. Thanks Teo!

  121. Miriam N

    Alright Here is my practice. I hope you like it. If you have any suggestions to make it better please comment.

    The minute the girl arrived at the party, she regretted it. Music blared, people danced and there she sat lost in the middle of it.

    I knew I should’ve stayed home, I knew I should’ve stayed home… played over and over like a broken record. The noise combined with the smell was enough to make anyone drown in it all. The aroma’s of many bodily perfume wafted up her nose making her cough and splutter.

    I need fresh air. She thought desperately as she fought with the crowd for her space.

    “Sorry. Excuse me, coming through.” was tried but nobody heard it.

    The bodies around her tightened, the smell increased along with the desire to escape. I can’t take this much longer she thought.

    “Marie? What are you doing over there? Come this way.” Finally the relief she had been silently crying for had arrived.

    Marie broke from the group and made it to her group of friends. I’ve never going to another party again she silently vowed with herself. At last she was safe from the confusion of the dance floor.

    Reply
    • poorna_katha

      I get the sense of a wallflower, perhaps an introvert, who came to the party because she couldn’t refuse someone. I could empathise!
      Much of the characterisation is in the form of internal dialogue. I think we can feel her desperation more if she tried to do a few more things to get away from the group of dancers.
      Maybe something like this?

      “Sorry. Excuse me, coming through”, she said, though no one seemed to hear

      The smell of mixed perfume became stronger, as Marie felt her breath catching in her throat. Her heart was starting to pound in her ears. The sounds and voices were becoming fainter, her vision was getting blurred. She had to escape, find a way out of this crowd.

      She looked around, desperate to find a familiar face, an arm that would reach out and pull her away from the crush of bodies.

    • Miriam N

      Thank You! I felt like I was missing something in that section or that it wasn’t all there. I will definitely try changing it to something like your suggestion.

    • Avril

      Such an excellent characterization of a non-partier trapped at a party. “The sounds and voices were becoming fainter…” She is obviously overwhelmed and out of her element.

    • Miriam N

      thank you Avril

    • Teo Jansen

      I really empathized with the poor Marie. Even I felt her heart beats faster and faster and you didn’t describe it! That’s a wonderful thing to achive! Well done!

    • Miriam N

      Thanks Teo!

  122. Michael Follen

    From where Johnny stood at the bar across the crowd at the opposite of the stage the metal band was only made up of dark silhouette from the bright lights behind them. The air in the crammed at capacity club looked gray and still for a moment between songs then with a clamp of thunder of drums they started their next tune. You could almost taste the allium-like stench emitting from the sweating packed crowd. This was Johnny’s release for his reserved 9-5 life. He stuck out life a sore thumb amongst the crowd of chest tattoos and tattered clothing. He was still wearing his work black and white work suit because he had gone straight to the show from work. He already had double shot of tequila and a few light mexican beers to chase that loosened him up. As the thunder rose he couldn’t keep still standing at the bar, the music seemed to give him life. He planned on staying out of the crowd but now he needed be be closer and before he knew it he was slipping through armpits and elbows to the front of the stage.

    When he fought the dirty looks of the crowd adding to the stench and slim, his suit was drenched in sweat. He made it to the front of the stage and he felt like he was submerged in sound. He could feel the vibrations of the bass and drums and he never felt so connected with his inner sanctum. The music took control of his body and he began to jam his body around to the music. He couldn’t fight it, the tide of heavy metal swept him away. Despite the viking like bouncers near the stage he was driven to jump to the stage. He lost him self. he was there but he wasn’t. The bouncers instantly followed him up to the stage and they tried to grab him but he was so sweaty and slimy their grips slipped on him and Johnny was already in mid air above the crowd diving straight out with his arms out like wings. He closed his eyes before he landed on the crowd and he was free.

    Reply
    • Sandra D

      Sounds like he really wants to lose himself and feel free, and may be a bit of a wild one.

    • Michael Follen

      Yeah, i’d say so. I think he is my alter ego.

    • EJ Heijnis

      I keep wondering if the crowd caught him or he hit the floor instead and cracked his head open.

    • Michael Follen

      haha, yeah. I’d like to believe he was caught.

    • EJ Heijnis

      I thought you described his sense of freedom very well. It’s funny to think that changing that one thing about the ending (was he caught or not?) would turn this almost into a satire of itself!

    • Michael Follen

      Haha, your right. I even added another paragraph because I liked your idea of satire. Thank you for you response.

  123. Sandra D

    Robert walked into the room. It was dark and there were a few small round lights that shined on a dance floor that was choked with people. It was dark but the lights still allowed one to look at all the faces on the floor. There were the people who were happily forgetting themselves as they were moving and grinding to seductive techno rock. While others with their drinks in hand paced the floor and then walking up to some particular beauty that would be just the right combination between attractive without being out of league. You could smell the mating instinct in the room as surely as the sweat of bodies, skins touching and shimmering with sweat.

    Robert walked to the bar, saw a pretty bartender who gave him a generous smile and offering a drink. He gave a mere glance at her then darted his head to the counter. He scowled as he had a headache from the noise. She had handed him a drink. He took it and walked over to a shady corner of abandoned tables and sat in one of them. His drink soon emptied and he put it towards the edge of the table hoping someone would notice amoungst the crowd. But soon a man did come and asked if he wanted another drink. He smiled appreciatively. “Yes and keep em’ coming.” The service did turn out descent. The man brought his shot of whiskey, which he sucked right down followed by as many of them the man could bring. That did take the edge off and the music went from awful to bearable.

    He looked at the people and wondered how many were couples who had come here to get away from the mundane world’s that they normally occupied or people who were meeting strangers hoping that they’d get lucky. He’d guessed that it was mostly the latter. His eyes still looked across the crowd seeing if he could find any couples. And he thought he did find a genuine couple. It was in the look in their eyes, it wasn’t the lustful look of horny cats, but that look of familiarity. The gentle approving smile where the pressure to be sexy every second had gone, and love had come in its place.

    Reply
    • Michael Follen

      I like this. You get a sense of Robert. He is out of his element but enjoys people watching and wonder so he kinda goes with it in his own way.

    • Sandra D

      Thanks for commenting.

    • poorna_katha

      I really like the last few lines ‘..the look in their eyes… that look of familiarity’. It gives me a sense that Robert is someone who notices detail, who tries to study and analyse people.
      There are small things that need to be corrected (perhaps you meant ‘decent’ and not ‘descent’?) but I am sure if you read the passage out loud, you’ll catch all of them.
      I wish I could read more about Robert and his people watching

  124. poorna_katha

    Deepa looked around and felt satisfied. This was probably the biggest party she had organised in b-school and it looked like even alumni had turned up. Great! Networking opportunities. She wondered how many of her classmates would even remember the faces of the people they were so earnestly chatting up. A crush of business cards, soiled, smelly and vaguely familiar. And yet, they came every week – creating an illusion that they were all moving closer to their goal – a magical job that would pay off all their debt.

    “Deepa!”, she heard a voice bellowing into her ear. “Superb party, babe! I can’t even hear myself think. This is awesome!”

    Deepa smiled and nodded. She couldn’t bring herself to shout over the din of the music. She made two thumbs-up signs, winked at him and moved on, trying to get closer to the group of dancers in the middle of the room.

    When she got a bit of space, she swayed gently, moving her elbows and scratching her feet in time to the music. Her eyes sparkled. All around her, people were smiling and waving to her. ‘Great party!’, they yelled. She quietly mimed ‘Enjoy yourselves’ back to them and revelled in the success of her event.

    Just as she was feeling herself loosen up, feeling the strain of the past few days melting away, an arm reached around her waist, circling it and trying to make her turn around.

    What the hell? Couldn’t she feel safe even in her own party? Who was this creep?

    Deepa felt a rush of adrenalin, a familiar metallic taste in her mouth, her heart pounded in her ears and eyes blazing, she pivoted. Years of martial art and many more years of street harassment, concentrated into one single point.

    SLAP
    The man fell. He lay on the floor, cheek reddening with a palm print, in a suddenly quiet room.

    “Deepa! Why did you do that?! He’d come all the way from India just to surprise you”

    Her friend bent over her sprawled husband and Deepa stood still with shock.

    Reply
    • EJ Heijnis

      Hee! Nice twist there. I feel like the friend is making a bad situation worse. One of those “I can’t believe you just did that” laughs would have broken the tension, I think. Deepa’s actions seem entirely reasonable given that she had no reason to suspect her husband would be there.

    • poorna_katha

      Oh that’s really interesting. I never thought of how the friend’s reaction would make matters worse. I guess I sort of used the friend as a prop to deliver the ‘you-just-slapped-a-nice-man’ dialogue.
      Wonder if I can flesh the character out in some other bit of practice. Hmm..

    • Avril

      That is a nice twist. Made me laugh out loud. You built it up very well, as if it was going in a predictable direction. I think it’s delightful.

    • poorna_katha

      Thanks Avril. The idea of the twist came from some of the other practices I read here 🙂

    • Teo Jansen

      Nice! I even imagine Deepa’s eyes looking what have her done. Well done with her description

    • poorna_katha

      Thank you! 🙂

    • poorna_katha

      Thank you! 🙂

    • Wolf271

      Hahaha! That was funny! And that twist was totally unexpected! Her husband just turned up? 🙂 That’s great!

    • poorna_katha

      Thank you Wolf271! I got inspired by some of the other writing I saw on the page

  125. Dawn Atkin

    Party time

    Doof, doof. No lyrics and manic beats. Strobe lights and laser beams. Wide eyes and sweaty brows. A throng of loose limbs with gritted jaws. Short conversations. “You good?” “Yeah you?”
    “Hell yeah!” Saliva sprays suspended in indigo beam. Stranger passes by smiles up close then grooves and thrusts back into the pit of doof doof mayhem.

    Lucy squints in to the bouncing shadows, bites her lip, checks her bag strapped diagonally across her chest. She retracts her head as sets of grinding teeth greet her momentarily. She looks into those too wide eyes and sighs.

    “How ya goin?” A stranger grabs her forearm too eagerly. Too hard. She flicks it off. He bounces happily on. She unzips her bag and pulls out a tissue and wipes the perspiration hand print off her wrist, drops the tissue on the floor. She sneers and steps over it. Careful not to bump into the lovers at the wall or the sweating, panting girl swigging water to her left.

    The beat drops, an ebb in dance floor havoc, the strobe slows, and Lucy swiftly cuts a path to the back of the club. Avoiding bodies and eager glances. To the exit. Fresh air. Street lights. Taxi.

    Reply
    • EJ Heijnis

      This reads like an account of the only time I ever found myself at a club, except I never even made it past the lobby before fleeing. You communicated Lucy’s discomfort very well.

    • Avril

      Dawn you’ve described the club so perfectly. “Saliva sprays suspended in indigo beam.” And the perspiration handprint! Brings back memories.

    • Teo Jansen

      What a mysterious girl is Lucy. I liked specially the end, how she runs away in four phrases. Well done!

  126. EJ Heijnis

    Marcel surveyed the room and nodded to himself. Fifty men, counting himself, and fifty women. The combined smoke from a dozen weed and opium users snaked into his lungs, making his fingertips tingle. Conversation stayed below the level of the gently droning synthesizer music but seemed heavy with emotion. That was to be expected.
    He made his way into the room, returning laden smiles and beseeching glances with firm nods and handshakes until he noticed a woman in the corner of the room, gesticulating urgently as she spoke with two men. He made his way over and saw the fear spark in her eyes as he got close.
    “Madeline. I’m glad you joined us tonight. You seem upset. Is everything all right?”
    Madeline glanced at each of the two men, looking for support and receiving none. She looked back at him and he saw her choose defiance. “It’s not, Marcel. I’m not doing this, and neither is Erik.” One of the men lifted his head to meet Marcel’s eyes but thought better of it and stared at the linoleum floor instead.
    “Madeleine, there’s no need for this drama. You’ve always known this experience is entirely voluntary. If you don’t want to be here, you don’t have to.”
    She drew back a little, uncertain. “Okay. Then, if you don’t mind, me and Erik are going to go now.”
    “I have no way to stop you.” He gestured at another member in the process of overloading an opium pipe. The man got up and walked over. “I hope you understand, though, that in many ways I am like a father to you. And like any good father, I want to make sure you’ve thought this through. There won’t be another chance for you, and it would grieve me terribly if we had to move on without you.”
    By the time she spotted the approaching opium pipe it was too late for her to run. She tried anyway, but strong arms held her in place and jammed the pipe into her mouth.
    A lighter flicked as Marcel continued: “After all, the instructions were very specific about the number of people. If you leave, what does that mean for everyone else here? You made a commitment, Madeline, and if you just take a second to think about it I’m sure you’ll change your mind.”
    By the time he finished talking, Madeline’s eyes had glazed over and she sagged in the other man’s arms. Marcel turned and swept the assembly with a knowing smile. To the few that were still aware of their surroundings, he offered: “Cold feet. I think we can all sympathize.” He glanced at his watch. To the man who had brought the opium, he said in a low voice: “Bring the juice. I think we’re ready.”

    Reply
    • Avril

      This is scary! Marcel is so menacing: “…it would grieve me terribly if we had to move on without you.” Good setting and pace.

    • EJ Heijnis

      Thanks for your comments! I’m glad he came across as suitably creepy.

    • Teo Jansen

      Great job, EJ! This kind of character is very interesting, because are so dark, but in the same time, they believe entirely in what they are doing. I think you show it very well, without a long speach. Well done!

    • EJ Heijnis

      Thank you for the feedback. I tried to make a point without stating it outright, so I’m happy you got that much from the character.

    • Wolf271

      Wow, scary! Not the sort of party I’d want to be at! I feel so sorry for Madeline! The setting and atmosphere is just so eery and sinister!

  127. Cristi

    Can use these prompts to develop characters in my book or set scenes?

    Reply
  128. AnnM

    The strongest form of characterization

    100 people at a party on a yacht, even a large one, means there is little room to move. Certainly no quiet place to get away from the noise and commotion if you want to. I’ve never been one that enjoys being in a crowd for very long; I like my solitude.

    I moved through the crowd looking for anyone I might know but it was doubtful as I was invited as a friend of a friend… a +1 on an invitation. Since my ‘date’ is here to find business contacts I’ve been left to fend for myself. Not a bad gig if you want to talk about nothing with complete strangers and eat yourself silly on canapés and drink whatever most expensive liquor that’s being offered. Again, not really my thing. So why did I show up? I was still trying to answer that one.

    Most people I passed were with a group of friends and quite happy with that. A few were, like me, alone and trying to get through the evening. On the lower aft deck, I found a small area where I could be alone, well I thought so till I saw a man standing looking out over the bay. He was quiet and still, that’s why I didn’t see him at first, he just sort of blended in with his surroundings. I felt like I was intruding on his solitude so I started to turn and go.

    “you don’t have to leave” a soft deep voice offered, almost as a request for me to stay.
    “I don’t want to intrude” I said, and added “I know what it’s like to want to be alone”

    He turned to face me and I realized he is the owner of the yacht and the host, I’ve seen his photo in magazines enough. I’m sure I paled instantly with the recognition; it’s not every day you meet someone rich and famous.

    A small smile crept upon his face and he asked, “why do you think I want to be alone?”

    ” a yacht full of people and a big party going on, why isn’t the host out there in the midst of it all?” I countered, surprised at my confidence to speak with him this way. He somehow put me at ease with his quiet manner.

    Instead of answering my question he asked another of his own. “Why aren’t you out there eating all the expensive food and drink like everyone else?” His smile widened as I blushed a little, feeling guilty as I had done a little eating and drinking at his expense.

    “I’m only a +1 and don’t really know anyone except the person I came with and they are here for business contacts so I’ve left them to it” I answered honestly.

    “Well that makes two of us”, he replied, “I don’t know anyone either”. Then a sadness crossed his face before the mask fell back into place. I saw it though and he knew.

    He then felt the need for introductions, no need on his part as I knew his name from the media. When he spoke it though, it sounded more normal, ordinary. ” Greg Peterson” and he extended his hand to mine. I took it and said, “Rebecca Wells”.

    “How about the two cent tour?” He asked me. It sounded just like the escape I was looking for.

    Reply
  129. AnnM

    100 people at a party on a yacht, even a large one, means there is little room to move. Certainly no quiet place to get away from the noise and commotion if you want to. I’ve never been one that enjoys being in a crowd for very long; I like my solitude.

    I moved through the crowd looking for anyone I might know but it was doubtful as I was invited as a friend of a friend… a +1 on an invitation. Since my ‘date’ is here to find business contacts I’ve been left to fend for myself. Not a bad gig if you want to talk about nothing with complete strangers and eat yourself silly on canapés and drink whatever most expensive liquor that’s being offered. Again, not really my thing. So why did I show up? I was still trying to answer that one.

    Most people I passed were with a group of friends and quite happy with that. A few were, like me, alone and trying to get through the evening. On the lower aft deck, I found a small area where I could be alone, well I thought so till I saw a man standing looking out over the bay. He was quiet and still, that’s why I didn’t see him at first, he just sort of blended in with his surroundings. I felt like I was intruding on his solitude so I started to turn and go.

    “you don’t have to leave” a soft deep voice offered, almost as a request for me to stay.
    “I don’t want to intrude” I said, and added “I know what it’s like to want to be alone”

    He turned to face me and I realized he is the owner of the yacht and the host, I’ve seen his photo in magazines enough. I’m sure I paled instantly with the recognition; it’s not every day you meet someone rich and famous.

    A small smile crept upon his face and he asked, “why do you think I want to be alone?”

    ” a yacht full of people and a big party going on, why isn’t the host out there in the midst of it all?” I countered, surprised at my confidence to speak with him this way. He somehow put me at ease with his quiet manner.

    Instead of answering my question he asked another of his own. “Why aren’t you out there eating all the expensive food and drink like everyone else?” His smile widened as I blushed a little, feeling guilty as I had done a little eating and drinking at his expense.

    “I’m only a +1 and don’t really know anyone except the person I came with and they are here for business contacts so I’ve left them to it” I answered honestly.

    “Well that makes two of us”, he replied, “I don’t know anyone either”. Then a sadness crossed his face before the mask fell back into place. I saw it though and he knew.

    He then felt the need for introductions, no need on his part as I knew his name from the media. When he spoke it though, it sounded more normal, ordinary. ” Greg Peterson” and he extended his hand to mine. I took it and said, “Rebecca Wells”.

    “How about the two cent tour?” He asked me. It sounded just like the escape I was looking for.

    Reply
    • Wolf271

      I really like this one. The way you show how awkward Rebecca feels and how she feels out of place, it just seems so real. I feel like I can relate-I don’t like big parties much either!

    • AnnM

      Thanks. Funny, it started out as just an idea for the 15 minutes but liked it and the characters. I might have to write more 🙂 and tell their story.

    • Wolf271

      If you do write more, I would love to read it 🙂

    • AnnM

      Well thank you for the confidence…. First I have to finish the book I am writing: “letters from Lizzy” – continuing the story of the characters in Pride and Prejudice. Written in correspondence and diary excerpts. All these little bits and pieces I’ve been posting have been encouraging me that I am in fact a writer… And should finish and publish. Even if it is only to self-publish.

      These other things will be ‘in the wings’ till then 🙂

  130. Katherine Nederlof

    Here’s for the main character of my novel ‘I’ll Carry Your Wings’. Presenting: Ella Theil!

    Ella’s eyes tracked the boy moving fluidly through the crowd away from her. He was tall, not as tall a Kade, but a solid six feet with broad shoulders and well muscled arms. Longish brown hair fell over his forehead and obscured his blue eyes. That had to be her favourite part of his appearance. Not the blue eyes, she’d heard hundreds of girls gush over blue eyed boys, she frankly didn’t see the appeal.

    She felt her phone buzz against her thigh and tore her eyes from the retreating boy’s back to pull it from the pocket of her dark skinny jeans.

    ‘How’s the party?’

    She frowned, Kade was supposed to be working. ‘Fine. Hows the library, slacker?’

    ‘Slow, and I’m not slacking, there’s just nothing to do. All the college kids are at your party.’

    ‘Why didn’t you come then?’

    His next reply took a moment longer. ‘I’m working.’

    ‘No, you’re texting me.’

    ‘And you’re supposed to be partying. Dance, drink and whatever else people do at parties.’

    ‘Did you just tell me to ‘consume alcoholic beverages’?’

    ‘Yes, I know you do it already even though you’re UNDERAGED. At least you’re out of your house.’

    “Who you texting?” Ella started at the voice and looked up to see ‘brown hair but blue eyes’.

    “Friend,” she replied, turning back to her phone.

    ‘My shadow has arrived with drinks. Happy now?’

    ‘Yes! Drink, dance, have fun!’

    Then: ‘Do you mean shadow as in boy? Ask him on a date.’

    ‘Yes a boy, and I don’t want to go on a date with him.’

    “Ella,” the boy was standing awkwardly beside her now, “I uh- have your drink.”

    “Thanks,” she grabbed it and took a sip. It was just beer but she scrunched her nose up a little. She hadn’t had a drink in months and the alcohol burned a little.

    ‘You’re ignoring him aren’t you.’

    ‘Maybe’

    ‘Ella, dance with him, now! I’m turning off my phone so you can’t text me anymore.’

    ‘No! Kade!’ She waited, but he didn’t reply. She glared at the phone and turned it off a little more violently than necessary.

    “Sorry about that,” she turned to ‘brown hair’ with a dazzling smile, “Had to sort out a misunderstanding.

    His drooping face and slumped shoulders straightened, and and smiled back, “I understand, wanna dance?”

    “Sure,”

    He grabbed her cup, that she just realized had her name scribbled across it in black sharpie with a small heart above it, and set the two down on the wind ledge behind him. Definitely didn’t want to go on a date with him. When he held out his hand she took it hesitantly. The dance floor that he led her to was writhing mass of bodies that twisted in the flickering light. The music was louder, and the air thicker, this close to the stereo system.

    There were around a hundred people there and it was filling up even more as the city lights outside the large ceiling to floor windows flickered on. Seven thirty and she already wanted her bed and laptop, a mug of hot chocolate and some Star Wars. Kade would probably even drop by, if this was a normal Friday night, but Kade had noticed that she had stopped going out and insisted that a party would be good for her. She laughed inside, Kade who had been furious when she first called him drunk, at fifteen, in need of a ride home. It was his fault for cancelling on her when Hannah had called him at the last minute and wanted to go see a movie. She was young and bored without her ‘conscience’, as she had dubbed him.

    The things I do for you, she thought, as if Kade could actually hear her across the twenty miles between here and the campus. She turned back to the boy holding her hands. Let’s get this over with.

    Reply
    • Wolf271

      I like how you show how annoyed she is “let’s get this over with.” She clearly does not want to be there or to dance with him. I like how you wrote the text message too, Ella and Kade must know each other well?

  131. NC0207

    I’d be grateful for any advice on how to improve.

    It was extremely difficult to breathe with this bloody
    corset my “friends” had forced me into crushing my ribs. The dress
    itself was completely restricting. I sighed, winced, and surveyed my
    surroundings, taking in the beautiful chandeliers hanging from the high
    ceiling, the three buffet tables and the many balconies and corridors leading
    off to darker rooms-which my friends had immediately disappeared down.

    With nothing better to do I headed over to the drinks’
    table. I looked at all the different glasses available and found my thoughts
    drifting, as they so often did these days, to my dear sister. She would’ve
    known exactly which drink I would like. I picked a cocktail at random and took
    a sip. It was disgusting! I replaced it as discreetly as I could and slowly
    edged away. A gentleman passed me and seeing that I was alone offered to dance
    with me. I took his arm and stepped on to the dance floor. For once I was
    grateful for the hours my sister had spent teaching me dance steps. It meant I
    could now let my feet dace and search the crowds for the face I had come to
    see. There. I scrutinised it for any sign of guilt but could see none. He was
    happily enjoying his party, flirting with six different girls at once. I felt
    rage flare up inside of me.

    Distantly, I became aware of the gentleman asking me my
    name. I smiled at him.

    “Nemisis,” I said, “My name is Nemisis,”
    I said, and then realised that the whole reason I came to this stupid party had
    left the group of girls he was with. “If you’ll excuse me a minute,”
    I said and slipped away, leaving the gentleman partner-less on the dance floor
    in the middle of a waltz.

    I caught up with the boy as he was slipping down one of the
    corridors.If he wanted to go down a dark corridor it was all the better for me.
    I crept after him ad felt my heart start to pump just a little faster. I had
    waited six whole months for this.

    He turned left, the right, navigating the maze. These
    corridors reminded me of the ones my sister and I had played in, and which we
    would never play in, together, again. I felt a sob chocking my throat at the
    thought of all I had lost and held it back, thinking instead of the rage that
    had built up inside me. I envisioned the boy who had ruined my life bleeding to
    death and felt a cruel smile tug at my lips.

    He scurried up the stairs, little rat that he was, and I
    followed him as silently as a cat. I imagined him falling down the stairs and
    breaking his neck. But no, that would be too painless. The sound of the party
    faded behind us as we climbed higher and higher and I thought of my sister
    again, of how she should be down there dancing with the rest of them, instead
    of mutilated past recognition and covered in mud. I wondered what would happen
    if I chucked the rat out of one of the windows. We climbed higher, higher; my
    blood pumping faster, faster. I reached for the knife in my boot and unsheathed
    it. At the top of the stairs I took a breath to steady myself. Finally, at
    last.

    I pounced.

    I saw him turn and all the colour drain out of his face as
    he saw me. He put his hands up as if to surrender but he didn’t realise that
    there was no option for surrender, not for him.

    “Wait, wait! Don’t kill me!” he cried. Coward.
    “Please, I can explain!” So he knew why I was there. I snarled.
    “Please, I’m begging you!” His begging fell on deaf ears. He’d done
    too much, he needed to pay.

    I stabbed his left leg. He screamed.

    “That’s for cheating on me,” I hissed.

    I stabbed his right leg. His cries of pain made me laugh.

    “That’s for all you’ve done to my family,”

    I stabbed his stomach, dragging the knife upwards towards
    his heart.

    “And that’s for killing my sister,” I whispered as
    he fell to the floor.

    I turned to leave but paused as I heard a door opening. I
    looked back and saw a familiar figure holding a squealing baby. Her face was as
    pure as an angel’s; she still had her arms and legs; her hair, so beautiful,
    fell down and around her waist. She looked tired but happy. I didn’t
    understand. I clutched the banister for support. I looked down at the body at
    my feet, as mutilated as what we had been told was the body of my sister and
    back at the figure in the doorway as I realised what I had done. I knew who the
    figure in the doorway was. I could guess who the baby was. I took one last look
    at my sister. My sister: alive.

    Then I turned and fled back to the party.

    Reply
    • 주만아

      I would love to read more… there is so much mystery.

    • NC0207

      Thanks. It just started off as a random idea and then developed into this little story. I don’t really know where it’s going…

    • Beth

      That was fantastic. I almost shouted out loud when I read that the sister was alive, and the killing of the boy had been for nothing.

    • NC0207

      Thank you so much 🙂 I enjoyed writing this piece and I’m glad you like it!

    • V Kow

      Great detail and dramatic scenes. Well done!

  132. Wolf271

    Plop.
    The spit-ball I’d just launched had landed in one of the Comittee members drinks. I sniggered as he drank it, unaware.
    “Lina, what have you done now?” asked a voice behind me.
    “I put a spit-ball in one of the Comittee member’s drinks,” I told Lux, my partner-in-crime.
    “Really Lina, that’s pathetic. I expected better from you,” Lux said, wagging a finger.
    “Yeah, well what did you do?” I asked. Lux pointed at Phoebe, the head of the Comittee and said,
    “Watch,”
    Phoebe picked up her cocktail drink and I watched as she lifted it higher and as she tipped it to her lips the glass shattered, splattering her drink all over her gazillion dollar dress. Lux and I doubled over with laughter at the look of shock on her face. As if by some sixth sense she turned towards where we sat behind one of the fake flower bushes.
    “Abbelina and Lux! Come out here this instant!” she spluttered.
    “Quick! Run!” I said, grabbing Lux’s hand and dragging him after me.
    We ran towards the Dark Corner, a place where no adult dared to go in case they stumbled upon one of the many teenage couples who sat there snogging for the duration of the parties. Unfortunately for us, we barged straight into one of these couples.
    “Oi! Watch where you’re–Oh, hello Lina,” Maya, my dorm-mate, looked slightly embarassed to be caught. I looked at the boy who she’d been passionately embracing with interest; he looked annoyed at the interruption.
    “Who’s your new friend, Maya?” I teased.
    “Lina!” she exclaimed, slapping my arm. Then she looked from Lux to me, saw our flushed faces and came to the wrong conclusion.
    “I didn’t know you two were dating,” she said.
    “We’re not,” Lux said.
    “We’ve just been running from Phoebe,” I added quickly as a look of disbelief crossed her face, “Lux spilt Phoebe’s drink all over her and now she’s sending Hell after us!”
    “You two!” Maya said, tutting.
    I looked over my shoulder and saw the Comittee members warily edging nearer.
    “Sorry Maya, but we really have to run,” I said, “Enjoy yourself!” I added with a wink.
    Lux grabbed my hand again and we headed for the stairs, doing our best to dodge the couples hidden away. I took the stairs two at a time to keep up with Lux’s long strides. We reached the overhanging balcony and climbed to our usual hiding place. As we sat on the wooden beams that held the roof up, I couldn’t help but smile.
    “So,” Lux said, mischief twinkling in his eyes, “What do you want to do next?”

    Reply
    • AnnM

      Made me laugh… Reminded me of all the Jennings and Darbyshire books I read as a kid. More grown up perhaps but them getting into the same sort of scrapes.

    • Wolf271

      🙂

  133. TwistedSun

    The text was inspired by this post for a ‘fantasy lore’ work of mine, which i’m going to post sooner or later in a gaming forum. Therefore, i felt like i ought to post it here firstly, as i spent 15 minutes precise at it (without comprehending the translation time), and probably i would never have succeded at writing it without your help. Last but not last, I wish to say I’m 16 and I highly hope you enjoy the read ^^

    Without doubt I felt out of place. And how couldn’t I! I cringed in such a crowd, appearing certainly clumsy and moreover awkward in my unhandy attempts of pulling myself aside. The lights were dazzling and I felt choking in that atmosphere, while my steps hit the ground sharply. With few swift movements I returned to my table, right there where Silva was still waiting for me during my desperate efforts of retrieving from a malevolent and hidden force my lost appetite. I admit the sight of that bossy girl made me considerably more relaxed than before; her face was the only friendly one in that jumble of laughing persons to which I never could believe to appertain, and, even though I firstly despised her, I couldn’t accept her for nothing else aside my best and only friend. Therefore, between the giggles of the guests, I sat firmly on the chair giving a long, disgusted look at the food. The sight itself of such an elaborated dish nauseated me in the worst way possible, and during the whole meal my very soul trembled in utter agony for such boredom. Indeed! ‘His majesty king Boring and haughty queen Lazyness rule this solitary kingdom’ speculated my mind freely as my mouth on the other side slipped a nervous smile, large enough unfortunately to be noticed by missis and her friends. She sighed, revealing all the possible fustration an human being could ever feel and shortly after, giving me a signal with her right hand, she raised up under my baffled eyes and was gulped by the dancing figures which now just started to fill the ground.
    I slowly and unwillingly drew myself closer to her, launching several short, hopeful glances at the star-beaming sky. My heart almost stopped at the ubiquitous thought of all the wonderful time I lost staying there, boring myself to death. But merely hoping for better goodness was not strong enough to carry me where my heart desired. Sighing I continued walking, minding my own steps with more attention than normal. Wasn’t I sighing too much lately? I couldn’t tell. Probably it was my mind playing me some hideous tricks, but I could feel that something was acting behind the schemes these days.
    -You don’t seems to be enojoying the party, Tetro. Would you please mind to tell me what your wicked mind is thinking?-
    My attention was gasped by a sudden movement in the dark zones of the hall. It seemed at the moment like I was the only one who was paying attention to that slender, bent figure which was slowly walking between the archways.
    -People ought to answer a given question, y’know?- Silva said vehemently to my distracted gaze. But at that moment I was more than distracted. I turned pale. Pale of a blind and senseless fear. One, lonely and heavy sweat drop slided through my shivering back, at the sight of freezing purple eyes of my kidnapper.
    Lum came back as promised to take me away.

    Reply
  134. Smarkus

    Tybareus took a deep breath through his freckled nostrils, surveying a careful eye across the moving people. All of his classmates were tightly packed in the somewhat large one room school. All of the cracked wooden benches had been taken out of the schoolhouse and placed out by the side, Tybareus noticing their presence as he made his way through the school’s double doors. He stood by the eastern wall, rolling on his bare heels with a small cup of fruity kekell in his hand. He slowly slowly lifted the cup to his thin lips, taking a taste of the drink. A shiver rattled down his spine from the taste of the drink. He never really liked things being too sugary. The school never made anything right in his opinion. His only real purpose at this get together was to spend some time with his closest friend, Helbrun. And not only that, but to get close to the girl he had an eye on for the last couple of months, Berinea.
    He spotted her among the shuffling bodies, her speaking with two of her friends. Her dress hung down to just below the knees, a trend most would find very risky among the young generation, but one that he found as attractive. Her braided hair swayed, draped behind her, and her beautiful eyelashes and small nose moved up and down as she spoke. His small heart gave a flutter, and he felt a wave of nervousness rush over his features. What would he say to her? How would he approach her? These things he wasn’t sure of. He wished that she would come to him instead. The thought of him doing such a thing scared him out of his wits. What if she said no? What if her friends made fun of him, or began telling the other boys in his class what happened? How would he cope with such a feeling? He uttered a large sigh from his dry mouth, licking his nervous lips. He wasn’t sure what he would do, but in the end, he would get her. Beginning to raise the cup to his lips once again, a voice suddenly emerged from the darkness beside him.
    “So, what yer lookin’ at Ty?”
    Tybareus quickly turned to the side, to see his short friend Helbrun. His squished face wasn’t as long as the other mono-lumps in his race, but it seemed to suit him fine. His clothing was quite nice as well, Tybareus noted, never having seen him in any sort of dressy vest before.
    “Oh, you know, her” said Tybareus, nudging toward the girl.
    “Her who?” responded Helbrun, a bit of a confused expression on his face.
    “Berinea, you know! I’ve liked her for quite awhile” he said, licking his lips again
    “Hm, girls. They are quite pretty, but they wouldn’t be goin’ for a short one like me. Even with my skill in ther fine arts of poetry” he said, shuffling a bit. “Anyhow, I’ll be walkin’ around a bit Ty. Be back in a few minutes. Stay right here, how ’bout it? Won’t be gone long” He smoothed back the red hair atop the lump on his head, making his way out into the crowd. Tybareus made a loud exhale, deciding to look out at the crowd once again. His eyes wandered over to where Berinea had once been, but he realized that she was there no longer! He had gotten distracted, and had lost sight of her beautiful features. His eyes flickered back and forth feverishly, trying to spot her. Turning to the side, he looked by the entrance to see if she had gone when there was an unexpected tap on his shoulder. He flinched slightly, wheeling around to find himself face to face with Berinea.
    “Hello Tybareus! I didn’t think you’d be coming tonight!” she said, with a rosy cheeked smile. With wide eyes, his face beginning to flush, he quickly contemplated what would be his next reaction.

    Hello! The name’s Sam, I’m thirteen years old. These are merely some characters I’ve created for a book I am currently working on. Anyways, I did spend five minutes over the fifteen minute time limit, so, basically, I would be disqualified. But I was desperate to put as much feeling into this article as I could. And, considering the most recent comment was from two years ago, most likely no one will see this. It was good practice though, and I hope you’ve enjoyed it.

    Reply
    • Smarkus

      Perhaps I read it wrong. I now see ones from only a month ago! Whatever. Anyways, please respond to my writing. I’d like to get some feedback. Thank you! ^-^

  135. Smarkus

    I am very confused on whether the most recent comments are further to the bottom or further to the top?

    Reply
  136. Miss middle

    Halloween is right around the corner and I asked my mom if we can go to the pumpkin patch . I asked her politely and waiting for the answer excitedly . ” no I’m to busy working ” she said . I understood she has to work because she’s a single mom. But I worry about my mom a lot she works all the time and comes really late to sleep. The next morning I make breakfast and wake my mom up to take me to school and go to work . After I come back from I wait hoping my mom comes early to spend some time with her . It gets late and I go to bed . The next day it is Saturday . On Saturdays she has two hours of free time , I ask her if we can go choose a pumpkin . She finally says yes and off we go to choose a pumpkin . Once we get there I find the roundest , brightest pumpkin I could find. It was really heavy. We took it home and began to carve it. I was really happy and I didn’t really feel sad anymore after having my mom bestie me watching…

    Reply
    • Miss middle

      I have some errors ( having my mom beside me watching ) is what I meant

  137. Ebsolas

    “Ugh, it’s too crowded” I said finding a place out of the way. I then proceeded by pulling out my phone and started composing some lines of code for my pet project that I was working on.
    just then I get a rude awakening as some jerk spilled some punch right in the middle of my lap.
    “Woah sorry dude I didn’t see you there” The guy said as some girl was hanging onto his arm.
    “Oh so what you’re calling me short” I angily retorted
    “No dude I just wasn’t looking where I was going”
    “Oh right. Sorry” I said excusing myself. I then wandered over to the buffet line to get some napkins and started cleaning myself off.
    “Hey what happened to you? Did you pee yourself?” Said a familiar voice.
    “Shut up” i responded without looking. “When did you get here Gary?”
    “About 5 minutes ago. So what happened?”
    “Oh some guy bumped into me and spilled punch on me” I said smelling the napkin. ” Ok never mind definitely not punch”
    “If it’s not punch then what is it?”
    “Beer”
    “Beer? Why would there be alcohol here? We’re all underage.”
    “Probably some guy who thought it’d be funny to spike the punch”
    “Hey lets go around back and get away from these bozos.”
    “Yeah, sure.” I replied.
    We went around back and started rough housing for a bit. After a while we started to get bored.
    “Hey I’m bored” Gary said ” We should do something else”
    “We could try to play a prank on those drunk losers” I said smiling mischievously
    “Ooh I like it” He said smiling back ” What are we going to do?”
    We sat there for a bit thinking and then I piped up “Well if we had some hot sauce we could pour it into the beer punch”
    “I like the way you think. Let’s do it.” He quickly responded.
    “Yeah but where are we going to get the hot sauce?” I asked
    “Well I think I may actually have an idea on where to get some.”
    “Really where?”
    “Well you remember that guy who cant eat anything that’s not spicy?”
    “You mean Hot sauce Harry?”
    “That’s the one”
    “Ohh” I said getting at what he was implying. ” Do you know where he is?”
    “I can call”
    He called and we waited for a bit. Sure enough he came quickly. Hot sauce in hand.
    “Where’d you get the hot sauce?” I asked
    ” I always have some with me ” Harry responded
    I decided it was better not to ask.
    We all made our way back to the party and looked inside. Everyone was gone from the building.
    “I guess they’re all out front” Gary said
    “Yeah now’s our chance” I responded
    We ran up to the punch smelled it quickly confirming it was alcoholized and then poured the contents of the bottle into the bowl.

    Reply
  138. Dizzy

    Jade smiled. Not at the crowds, not at food. Not even at her
    friends. She smiled at the lights, the aroma. The ability for happiness to
    travel from a hip-hop dancer to a nobody. Everyone was happy, having a great time.
    And that’s what made her smile.

    She walked over to a group of people laughing, hiding behind
    a curtain. They went quiet, while one of them blabbered away at the latest
    trend. Jade frowned. The girl talking made a joke about someone’s style, and
    everyone else laughed. The aroma changed. The air went to a cold and miserable
    place. It certainly wouldn’t come back for awhile.

    Jade then went next to the dance floor, where a clearing had
    been made for a dancer to do a solo. The girl twisted, swirled, leaped, shook,
    made all of the energy around her become her. The crowd cheered, it swayed. The
    song went to the chorus, and some other people dropped in, as background dancers.
    They continued jerking around in a patterned fashion, until the next song came
    on. More students, different this time, danced a little slower, matching the rhythm
    of the song. Jade grinned widely, showing what the crowd felt.

    Then Jade made her way to a bar, where a few boys and girls
    were hanging out. The attention was focused on one guy, who seemed to be
    telling a story about a trip he took once. Everyone laughed at a joke he made
    about a friend who did something embarrassing. It wasn’t cruel, though. Someone
    asked what happened. He responded by saying something else funny, and even Jade
    laughed. This was where she loved being, in the shadows, watching the lives of others.

    Reply
  139. 주만아

    The party was thrown by Jonathan Andrews celebrating
    his only children’s 21st birthday. He could still remember the first
    time he held them, time sure does fly. He is proud of the way his daughters
    grew up to be such independent women. They might look identical, so a like that
    they used to few fool him and his wife, but they are as different as night and
    day. Leila is the calm, mature, and calculating twin. DiAnna is the life of the
    party, outgoing and trusting twin.

    Seeing them in the center of attention they both shine,
    but if DiAnna isn’t around Leila would prefer to be in the shadows. They find
    strength in one another, and each would compensate in what the other lacks. They
    are successfully running and operating their very own clothing boutique; L&D Andrews Boutique. Leila takes
    care of the planning and financial aspects of the business, while DiAnna is the
    one who designs the clothes and accessories. They are the perfect duo.

    Leila and DiAnna are having fun celebrating their
    birthday, sipping on their first glass of champagne, not really into alcohol.

    Reply
  140. 주만아

    The party was thrown by Jonathan Andrews
    celebrating his only children’s 21st birthday. He could still
    remember the first time he held them, time sure does fly. He is proud of the
    way his daughters grew up to be such independent women. They might look
    identical, so a like that they used to few fool him and his wife, but they are
    as different as night and day. Leila is the calm, mature, and calculating twin.
    DiAnna is the life of the party, outgoing and trusting twin.

    Seeing them in the center of attention they
    both shine, but if DiAnna isn’t around Leila would prefer to be in the shadows.
    They find strength in one another, and each would compensate in what the other
    lacks. They are successfully running and operating their very own clothing
    boutique; L&D Andrews Boutique. Leila
    takes care of the planning and financial aspects of the business, while DiAnna
    is the one who designs the clothes and accessories. They are the perfect duo.

    Leila and DiAnna are having fun celebrating
    their birthday, sipping on their first glass of champagne, not really into
    alcohol. It isn’t something they really liked,
    preferring ginger ale to alcohol.

    Reply
    • NC0207

      This is nice. You’ve created a calm atmosphere.

  141. Perpecede_Celequex

    I was dragged to a party, of course i was. The Doctor was used to being around people but i really wasn’t too fond of it.
    I looked around at the crowded party, the buffet table on the side. I had to avoid everyone, i couldn’t talk to anyone. When i was younger my sister and i were on the side of the rooms, chatting among ourselves far away from other people. How could they have understood us at the time? Two children who weren’t interested in the arts but in the sciences. everyone had to preform, and it was normal to be acrobats and ribbon aerial dancers and all of those sorts. But us, we only had each other and now with her gone i have no way to endure these parties. I quickly shuffled to the table and started to eat the small little sugar cookies everyone was passing over for the brownies and cupcakes. I stared at the dance floor watching everyone enjoying each other, Martha and the Doctor dancing the night away, laughing at the Doctor’s dancing. I couldn’t stand being all alone, being alone is the most awful thing to endure, but what choice did i have but sit and watch everyone? I was the outcast and here i was… i was sitting here on my own shoving sugar cookies in my mouth. I was able to act like a goddess so long ago why couldn’t i converse with anyone now as normal me? Maybe it was because i knew how to speak formal, maybe i was even having fun with it, not being judged. But now here were all these people that were just ready to judge the way i spoke and acted. I looked over at the sugar cookie and held it up, it way broken and no longer resembled the flower it once was. I bit a very small piece off, then another, then another until i held it up again, it forming a heart.

    Reply
  142. Cece B.

    I’m sorry if it’s not your cup of tea. It’s my first time sharing my writing so here goes nothing.
    ______________________________________________________________________
    ‘What’s with all these people? Did Noah really have to invite them all?’ Her thoughts wandered as her eyes scanned the abundance of people. Some where taking shots, others were grinding against another, and some had the audacity to make out on the stairs. Then there was her, sitting in a small unnoticeable corner, reading a book about some heroic man who died for his country. The music was to loud for her to concentrate, the light to low.

    ‘I’ll head upstairs to Noah’s room. It’s bound to be quiet.’ She thought as she quietly slipped through the crowd, careful not to step on any sleeping Drunks. She managed to weave her way through lip locked couples and down a corridor of laughing teens. She turned to knob of Noah’s room only to find it locked. Loud,gasping moans could be heard from the other side.
    ‘I did not need to hear that. Maybe I should leave.’ She thought ‘Yup I need to leave.’
    She dashed down the stairs and out onto the street horrified at what she had just heard.

    Reply
  143. andrew

    John walks up to the door of the party. The music is thumping from the Inside. He reaches out to grab the doorknob to enter. He hesitates. Memories of her run through his mind. He looks at the ground. Its as if the door is a person now. His anxiety sets in. His hand slowly moves away from the door. An encouraging memory crosses his mind he pushes through the anxiety and opens the door. He walks through the door. He stops. His eyes are wide. People are everywhere. He can hardly move a step forward. His eyes look left to right at rapid pace. He squeals and ducks as a drink goes flying. He hesitantly steps to the right. He sees the dance floor. He hesitantly steps the right and sees the games. He hesitantly steps forward. His mouth opens in aw. There she is. Alone. His legs are heavy with lead. He stares right at her. Beads of sweat begin to role down his face. He licks his lips to relieve them from cracking. He gets within feet in front of her. He flinches at what she might say. She looks at him with her blue eyes, smiles and says, “Hey” He replies, “He-hey”. He stares in her eyes. His hands stop quivering. His eyes calm. His shoulders relax down below his chin. She chuckles and says, “Are we gonna dance or what?”. There is a pause. His smile moves to just one side of his mouth and says, “Yeah, lets dance”. He grabs her hand. She looks at him surprised by his courage. He walks with his head tall, his back straight and with a smile and his gaze in hers.

    Reply
  144. Abby

    Neon lights bounced off everywhere, music was blasting out from the speakers at maximum volume, and everybody was jumping to the bass with their hands above their heads. The dense air smelled of booze, smoke, and body heat mixed with sweat. I could not find the friends I came here with, but that was the least of my worries. It was even an advantage, to be honest, because it gave me the freedom to flirt with anybody.

    I downed three blue shots somebody left on the bar before going back into the crowd. People were pushing me in all directions, but I was not complaining. This touching-indirectly-with-strangers thing is actually pretty damn cool. I felt somebody stood behind me after I got deeper into the mass of people. And of course, he started feeling me up…

    He started from my waist, holding me with both of his hands. I wanted to turn around but it was too crowded. I never saw his face and he never saw mine. Fingers slowly climbed up my hot skin, his body moving closer and closer to me. The lights were constantly changing. My vision was choppy like a series of images playing at full speed. I felt something leaning hard on my ass. It was a throbbing bulge. His hands reached my chest and was cupping my pushed-up breasts, slightly squeezing them. I put my hands over his and rubbed them aggressively, encouraging him, all while making sure to grind him at the same time. My skirt was inching its way up fast. One of his hands had let go of me for a couple of seconds to unbuckle his belt. The ends of the belt floated beside us, like it was hugging me closer. The clothing between us is getting thinner and thinner; my tight cotton skirt, his thick denim jeans, my string of a panty, then his boxers. Only our upper body was left covered. We were touching skin to skin, my soft ass to his hard-on. I felt his face on the side of my neck, exhaling warm breaths, his lips caressing me. I tilted my head to the opposite side, making sure to still keep my hands over his. I grind-ed him harder and harder, moving my butt cheeks side to side, opening up a little bit more each time, letting him squeeze between them deeper and tighter.

    We stayed like that for hell knows how long. I never saw him and he never saw me. There was no judgement made—only guiltless enjoyment.

    Reply
  145. King of Diamonds

    Upstairs I could hear more people. There must be a hundred people in the room, making it smaller that it already is. Whoever organized this must think their guests like a claustrophobic experience instead of a real party.
    I could feel people looking at me, their eyes burning into my back. Maybe they weren’t even looking at me, but it didn’t deter me. I could give them a snappy comment back if that’s what they wanted, pick out what was wrong with them and throw it to their deluded faces. I could do that if I wanted, but it was more funny feeding them lies.
    I take a seat near the food table. Anybody who had half a brain would know they’d see everything, everybody in this crowded mass of people by the food table. Everyone went there. And everybody would see me there.
    If I looked like I cared, then maybe they’d not care, but I knew that someone would eventually come to talk to me, and eventually more people would, and I could make them feel comfortable and proud even if they looked like a one of those hairless cats that set my teeth on edge.
    What God made it that all the rich and famous were no smarter than a cob of corn? They flocked like seagulls, fighting over scraps of everything that didn’t even matter to them. Anything that didn’t belong was left on the ground, like a mouse as they flap away with their wings and yell at each other with their harsh, grating voices. It would take a mouse with more brains than the whole lot, a real charmer of a mouse, who knew the right things to say, the right things to do, and to allude to, to fool those beady-eyed birds, and have them at it’s feet.
    I manage a small, humorless laugh. Being a rodent was fine if this rodent was queen of the flock.

    Reply
  146. Wired Whale

    Somehow I ended up surrounded by people I’d never met, and probably would never see again. Looking around the ballroom, I detested every single one of them for reveling like this here on the inside, when the world beyond these walls was crumbling. All were dressed in outlandish costumes that looked like something out of a historical briefing, but with more ribbons, jewelry, and color. Every time someone rushed by to dance, the flashing color made my eyes sore.

    I did my best to fit in among them. I used a black and white satin suit to hide my metal body and a porcelain mask to disguise my face. I couldn’t be sure how many of these people knew my face. I felt as foolish as they looked. How could anyone be comfortable like this?

    Maybe they didn’t even realize that a war was being fought outside of this city, and that the Primarchy they followed was in such turmoil. Maybe they didn’t even know what the Primarchy had done to the world beyond these walls, and couldn’t imagine a life of anything but constant partying and music. Ignorance is bliss.

    I stood there for what felt like hours, pretending to sip a disgustingly sweet liquid from a crystal glass as people came and went. As garish as their outfits were, I couldn’t focus on a single one, and each one, more elaborate than the one before it, was eventually forgotten. I only saw a few faces, and most of them looked to me as though they were mocking me, like I was a clown or something. Luckily, I looked outlandish, but not necessarily suspicious. They had their laughs and walked away.

    I searched the crowd the whole time for an escape, but had no success. I eventually ended up pulled to the center of the crowd and was forced to dance with a group of women, all wearing silver and gold gowns, face paint, and headdresses. I had never been so embarrassed in my life as I stumbled through the song. Every so often, the crowd would part and I would have a chance to leave, only to be pulled back, forced to keep up this horrible dance. If there was a hell, this was it. I’d gladly return to the battlefield than stick around here any longer.

    I returned “home” empty-handed. I had no reason to be there, except that I knew just how frivolous and gluttonous these people were. It was all just a waste of time.

    Reply
  147. Timothy Dennis

    a page from my wiki Bay City Archives

    Even with the hot tropical sun beating down Allessa felt cold. The skyscrapers of Bay City,the capital of the kingdom, cast their shadow over Allessa as she walked through an empty street. Allessa remembered the times when not a single street in Bay city was empty. Even during the beggining of the Depression, the city was always lively, but now the city felt dead. Allessa walked on the ground level sidewalk, which had entrances to the underground pedestrian layer. The street was a corridor of gigantic towers that were clad in colorful stucco. Each building had walls of windows inset in white rectangular frames. Allessa walked down a massive staircase to the pedestrian level of the city.

    Allessa put on her gas mask as soon as she smelled the toxic fumes of the Pedestrian level. This part of the city had poor ventilation and an oxygen mask was needed to breathe. Even so, it was more lively than the ground level.The pedestrian level was filled with hundreds of smaller buildings that were built in the Spanish Colonial style. Allessa looked around the streets of the pedestrian level. People were moving around as if trying to avoid trouble, which meant word of a gang activity was spread.

    Allessa had just entered the most crime prone neighborhood in the city. The pedestrian streets were becoming increasingly dangerous as the days went on. Allessa kept a rifle to protect herself and her neighbors from the gangsters. Today tensions between the gangs were about to explode.

    BANG BANG BANG

    The sound of firecrackers echoed through out the streets. The gang war had finally reemerged. The two big gangs in the city,The Black Sangres and the Ghosts were fighting over control of the immense Crystal meth trade and this neighborhood was their battleground. the smell of Meth seeped through the ventilation and made its to the ground . Allessa’s mask protected her from getting high.

    Allessa could hear one of the gangsters saying”hey…thats the one who keeps on shooting us! lets show him who’s the ruler of this City!”DamnAllessa thought,They know that I’ve been shooting their ranks and now they brought twenty of their friends too.Allessa chuckled at the same time, realizing they thought she was a man. Allessa braced herself for the fight ahead.

    The gangsters were of the Black Sangres gang. They ran at Allessa, hissing savagely. Each gangster wore savage clothing and had black tatoos, the signature uniform of the Black Sangres. Allessa stood calmly.There were twenty-one gangsters surrounding her . The most muscular of the group took a swing at her. Allessa dodged the hit, grabbed the muscular guy buy his arms , and twisted his arms.

    CRACK!!!!!

    Allessa listened to the satisfying sound of a scream.You would think that such a buff man would take a little bit longer to be taken outAlessa thought. On the other hand Allessa almost felt guilty. If she hadnt been there, he wouldn’t have broken arms. “You little WHOORRE!!!!” the muscular guy screamed. Suddenly Allessa didnt feel so guilty and kicked him in the face . “Its never ag good idea to call the person who just broke your arms a whore” Allessa said. The other gangsters who had been mesmerized by Allessa’s show of strength moved to attack. Allessa jumped as two gangsters charged her from opposite sides. The gangsters ran into each other, knocking each other out.Three down.Another charged her with a club. Allessa disarmed him and knocked him out with the club.

    Allessa stood in front of a building clad in green stucco where she was surrounded by the remaining gangsters. “where gonna make you one!!!!” one gangster said. He had the look of a psycho in his eyes as he punched at Allessa. Allessa dodged and the fist hit the stucco real hard. The gangster screamed in pain as he pulled out his bloodied fist. The other gangsters ran a block away to gain reinforcements.

    Time to run, Allessa thoughtI’ve attracted to much attention from the other gangsters. Resisting the urge to continue the fight,Allessa entered one of Bay City’s hundreds of subways from a staircase on the pedestrian level. There she could disappear in the vast crowd of the station. The station was in the shape of a cylinder that was turned on its side.

    Allessa took of her gas mask and put it in her purse. The smell of drugs had not infiltrated this area-yet. Allessa made a sigh of relief, even though she was still in danger. Allessa hated stuffy clothing and the less the better. Her friend Alejandro told her that she was a little crazy. Allessa, quite frankly didn’t care. She knew, however, that she was actually much less sane than the normal person. If her parents did not teach her morals, Allessa guessed that she would be in some sort of dark and scary, far away prison for serial killers.

    Reply
  148. Zaki Yazdan

    I have a look of disgusted on me, for everyone here individuals, are really groups of identical people. It was amazing to see, that all the groups are truly the same. The whites are with whites, the blacks with blacks, the Catholics with Catholics, the Jews with the Jews, the jocks with jocks, the nerds with nerds. There isn’t a person, it is group of people. Even the people that love to associate with me. A anarchic punk, property with the Hell’s Rebel, despite the fact that I ain’t part of it. I hate the fact that people love to associate me with the crazy, gun ho Muslims, despite the fact that the only reason why I wears it isn’t because there’s an invisible man in the sky, who loves humans so much, that they test us and see if we deserve to go to paradise, where the water flows and honey is sweet or hell, where people like me, who haven’t done any crimes on humanity, deserved to go. At least, that’s what the priest said. I do it, because I hates it when someone is staring at my breast, just like the man right behind me. I tense up, and the beast that never comes at the right time, came at the wrong time in the Christmas party I didn’t want to go, and now I is going to get more unneeded trouble because of my best but Autistic friend, James.

    “Oi! What the fuck are you doing! You are so horny, that if you were a flower, no one can pick you, even when they get over your color of puke green!”
    “Hey, is Lee giving you problems?” The friend of Jim Jock is Black Ben the Bitch, a black man name Ben who is the bitch of everyone in the top rung. It is worth noting, however, it wasn’t entirely on racism. They always have one of each different background, just so people won’t say that the school ninety percent rich white men isn’t entirely made up of rich white men.

    “Nah, she is just trying to be hard to get.”

    “Yeah, I know I am hard to get, because unlike most people, I am not a slut.”
    “Well then, are you saying people who sleep with each other are sluts?”
    “Why am I talking to you?”
    “Yeah gal, why are you talking to me?”
    “Thank you.”
    “What? Thank you for what?” His stupid, fat snobby smirk was originally riding high, the lips stretch to the point where if you cut them, you are one hundred and seventy-five percent sure that the bastard is not going to talk. The extra seventy-five percent comes into the fact that they won’t think about opening the same lips, now went down with the foreheads creating wrinkles. My mouth said in a calm, almost business tone,

    “For letting me help you, stop being a perv.”
    My body went into the familiar motions, and my eyes almost close. It didn’t even matter, for his eyes blink in seven seconds.
    I let my left hand come at a motion that doesn’t fit with the ticking of time around his neck, and my right goes at a much slower pace to his groin. His eyebrows now go up as far as they could go, and eyes open big and wide, like a rapist who have been caught stealing the virginity of a nine year old. When the hand went for the balls, I notice a strong, long stick on it, and immediately I grab it with the strength of a newborn baby gripping the mother’s finger. His mouth made some motion, possibly through screaming, but I couldn’t really hear what he said. I then brought his head away from me and his blue balls toward me, like a ballerina dance. He now made a noise, and it said,
    “PLEASE! OH GOD WHY?!”
    He landed on his clean, expired milk ass but grab on his improvement. Now, everyone is watching us, and finally ready to express the usual emotions for this event, for this guy is important, good looking mommies boy and I am the person, isolated,
    good thinking rebel gal. No one can say that he deserved it, expect for good old James.

    “Luo, come on. No one is going to listen to what happen, and they will be a mob soon. After all, all dicks can think about is screwing something over, whether in people
    or out of people.”
    Jame’s big, red velvet smile is the only thing I’ve seen genuinely, and it was possibly the only thing that shake me to reality, because all the groups unite to throw crosses at me. Even the conservatives. However, the models of society are coming together, with Black Ben the Bitch leading the deserved counter-attack for most, a weak use of the English language in a matter of debate for me and James.
    “Hey, how dare you do that to him, you chink!” Sad, sad, sad.
    “I feel so bad for you, you need some help good sir.”
    “Why is that, ya little communist bitch?”
    “Well, at least I am not getting fuck in the ass, both metaphorically and physically speaking.”
    As the same motions came towards me, James stop me. The eyes blink for about a second, but now everything is at regular speed. Now, everyone is still throwing stuff at me, but they used various stuff, like the Torah. The last thing I saw before I exit, was my own finger giving the finger to everyone.

    Reply
  149. Bryan Gray

    The night was cold and damp. The sidwalks glistening with frost in the light from the street lamps above. The sounds of club music dances on the breeze. There is a line of people stretching down the block, waiting for admittance. He doesn’t wait in lines; few notice him as he strolled by those that did gaped at his audacity. He ignores their protests and curses. When he reaches the entrance the big man at the door looks once then twice in astonishment “Sir, right this way.” He says smiling parting the velvet ropes. He nodds to the man as he passes. The music had been loud on the street, inside it was so loud that every molecule in his body seemed to throb in time with it. The main floor of the club was a rising sea of flashing lights and humanity. It ebbs and flows around him, now the hunt begins he lives for this. Moving slowly he could feel the crowds elation like static electricity. Bodies move with the rhythm of the music. Waves of emotions crash over him, he could lose himself in the torrent. He remains focused on the search. A tall blonde woman slips passed their eyes meet she is good but not perfect. Then a thin lean man wades by, he has potential but from the corner of his eye he sees her. She is dressed in semi modest little black dress. She walks by him and to the bar in the back of the club. She is out of place here, her sorrow tastes bittersweet. He can read the heartbreak in her eyes. He glides in behind her; he runs the scenarios of their meeting. When he suddenly senses a presence moving quickly. To everyone in the club they discount it as a trick of the lights. It moves so swiftly that he has no time to react. He is seized and rushed to the back of the club out the backdoor and presses him into the brick wall of the building next door.If he was human he would have been dead. He looks into two of the most sapphire blue eyes, they could be beautiful if they were not glaring at him full malice. They were framed by hair the color of spun gold. She holds him up a foot off the ground with one delicate arm. “Marcus, we need to talk!” She growls. “Katrina, you sure know how ruin a guys evening.”

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  150. Eon

    I dragged my feet along the stone marble pave way as i follow unwillingly behind Xenon. “I can’t believe it!” he shouted as he turn around and pointed an accusing finger to me,”You just can’t wait there don’t you? You just like to be a hero and foolishly throw yourself in the face of danger!” I scrambled out for words, ” Bu..but…I just try to” “Enough!” He then drag me to a big,metallic door with some weird symbols on it. “Odd.” I mused. “Where have i seen that symbol before?” He opened up the door and my eyes bulged open as i saw hundreds of people in a weird kind of mask party, dancing, laughing and eating like they own this world. The food from what i can see is delicious and i can’t wait to dig in right away. “Well, right after this grumpy guy gone that is” I snickered at those thought. “What are you laughing at?” he glared as took a phone his pocket. “Nothing,” I said as i trying to avoid his gaze. “Stay.” he ordered. “Try to leave this room and you will be good as gone,” With that he turn on his heels and disappeared among the crowds. “Whatever!” I rolled my eyes. But he never say i couldn’t look around didn’t he? So, with a steady legs i made my way to the table of delicious cuisine. It’s not easy to walk with this high heels that i have to borrow from Miss Bee but since i had lost my sandals during the reunion, i mean what choice do i have. I slipped between the crowds as i bowed my head, trying to avoid their curious gaze hidden by the mask. As i finally got to the table i blown out a few feathers coming maybe from one of the people’clothes. Yuck! I tried to grab a plate, but then a voice interrupted me, “You know if you want to get out of here, i can help you,” I swung my face to my right and with that my gaze are now fell upon a teenage boy around my age maybe around 18 or 19. “who are you, again” i asked as my hands rested on my waist. He smirked.

    Reply
  151. Ellia Morgan

    A cup was placed into her hand almost magically. She stared down at it then back up at the person who had placed it there.

    “What kind of folly-“ she looked up, but the crowd had swallowed the person. Her eyes widened in outraged confusion. Still clutching the strange red cup, she slowly turned to look at the boy behind her.

    “Os, what is the meaning of this?” she took a sniff of the cup, eyed it suspiciously. “Do they mean to poison me?”

    Os took the cup from her and sipped it. He gave a small tsk of disgust and threw it behind him. There was a cry of annoyance as the contents splashed someone. “Alcohol,” he said, distastefully. “Much worse than the wine your father used to drink.”

    Eyeing him sideways, her face slowly broke out into a grin. “Thank God that the Devil has taken his soul.”

    Moving forward to lead her through the crowd, Os cocked an eyebrow. “Taking the names of God and his enemy in one sentence…that’s mighty daring of you.”

    Getting pushed and shoved around by the sweaty bodies, she replied, “Of course, I am always mighty so that’s nothing new.” Someone shoved her and in a quick flash of annoyance, which she reined in rather well, she pinched the person with the tips of her nails, squeezing as hard as she could. She broke the skin but at least she didn’t tear a whole chunk of flesh out.

    Luckily she was in a good mood.

    There was a scream and a flurry of kicking arms and legs but by the time accusations were thrown, she was out the door, Os leading her by the hand.

    People were scattered everywhere, holding the same red cups as earlier.

    “They seem to enjoy drinking that poisonous stuff,” Os murmured in awe. They watched as a girl had several bottles of alcohol poured down her throat through a tunnel.

    “Are they torturing her?” she asked, tonelessly.

    “No, she seems to be enjoying it.”

    “Why are they doing it? Have they damaged their brain?”

    “No, they’re trying to damage their brain in another way.” He pointed out a guy who was jumping up and down screaming, laughing and dancing like a dying flamingo. “They’re doing it so they become like him,” to prove his point, one of the guy’s friends got up and started twerking. “They seem to find it…desirable.”

    Beside him, she had paled. She gripped Os’s hand tightly and looked up at him, horrified.

    “I don’t think I like this century,” she eyed the boys apprehensively. “I think they’ve gone backwards in evolution.”

    Reply
  152. Yugesh R V

    I walked into the freezing cold room, uncomfortable already. A room full of other people. Cool people. I was out of my element here. The music was blaring, rooms were packed full of hormone-frenzied youngsters. I chose a corner and started observing people. Some were dancing alone, some in pairs and most guys were hitting on the pretty girls – trying to, anyway. It was simultaneously funny and painful watching them get turned down. Painful because of the complete familiarity of rejection. I decided that I wasn’t even going to try.

    I looked around a little more. Some guys and girls were really drunk. A couple was making their way to a bedroom- it seemed to be a temporary hook-up. I just stared, wondering how I’d ever get to be one of them, just casually picking up someone and hooking up.

    Lost in my wishful thoughts, I turned around and half sprinted in my frustration. I bumped into a girl. I apologized immediately, picking up the book she dropped. She brushed away the apology politely, saying it wasn’t my fault. I asked her what she was doing with a book at a party with loud music.

    “Don’t you like reading?”
    ” I do…but in peace”
    “Well, you can’t always have what you want. I like to read whenever and wherever I can.”

    I took a closer look at the book – it was called Scumbag Chronicles. I was intrugued.

    Reply
  153. Natalie

    English isn’t my native language and I haven’t written anything in a long time so don’t be too hard on me, please :3

    Ethan looked around, in search of a friendly face in the crowd. There was Marc at the buffet, stuffing himself with Mini Hot Dogs while conversing lively with anyone who dared getting close to him. But Ethan had no interest in talking to him in such a setting, he needed to save his face. His gaze moved further across the room until his eyes met those of Mandy, who was standing at the bar, a glass of champagne in her hand. She raised it slightly in salute, giving him a weak smile. He responded with a quick nod, then started walking to the other end of the room and into the garden. It was a beautiful garden, very refined – as expected in these circles. The staff had done a wonderful job decorating it with fairy lights and lamps, giving it a touch of magic. Especially now that it was getting dark it was making a huge impact on the guests: on his way across the garden Ethan kept overhearing people enthusing over it. He couldn’t help but shake his head in disbelief of their inappropriate display of emotion. “Mr. West, it’s nice seeing you here!”, he heard a voice behind him. It was Frank Chapman, founder and CEO of Quaio, one of the biggest pharmaceutical companies in the world, known for his ruthlessness and questionable ways of doing business. Ethan put on a big smile and turned around. “Mr. Chapman! Thank you for the invite. The garden looks… neat. Everyone is quite astonished by it”. They shook hands and smiled politely, albeit the smiles didn’t reach their eyes.

    Reply
  154. Storm Enrique Pandaram

    I think I might be late to this discussion but i’d really appreciate any advice! its been a while so be gentle lol 😉

    Oh would you look at all these brats, thought Cairin as he stood on the outer most part
    of the large ostentatious ballroom. He leered at the Golden chandeliers, the golden
    curtains, and then the ornate silver tray in his hands, “We get it already,
    you’re all rich!” Ugh but apparently money doesn’t buy you taste. The glass of champagne I downed in the kitchen was disgusting. But I’m more of a beer guy anyway
    or at least I was in the past, back when I first met…damn it Cairin the past isn’t the focus of this evening you have to remember that, because in a few minutes the reason you’re here with come floating down those stairs, and when she does finally grace us with her presence, all hell will break loose. “You, Servant boy!”, A gruff voice broke Cairins train
    of thought. Don’t just stand there hand me a drink! “Keep it together
    Cairin, just a few more minutes and the façade will be over, hand this
    fool his drink for now and when the time finally does come, you can hand him and
    the rest of the like what they really deserve.”

    Reply
  155. Vincent

    “In this world you have to be either stronger or weak, for the stronger will always rule over the weak”, as the party for the elite is going the people having a good time and talking, she walks in the room wearing her most provocative & yet discrete dress, she Look’s every person in the room and notices the people talking about her, in a way she likes it when they talk about her, that way they can guess who she is or what she does, as she looks around and has a drink on her hand she then notices a familiar face in the crowd a friend, she smiles and goes towards the friend and talks for a while and laughs with him, ” in a party such as these no one cares about what a person does or doesn’t do, here it’s all about gossip and rumors that fuel every party such as these, weather is a celebrity or the host of the party no one escapes from it”, as she is about to leave a person stops her as she about to do so, she then decides to amuse him and flirt a bit with the man with her charm’s and the two get along together,” in a world where the strong will always rule over a weak, they are certain people who decide to protect the weak, people who decide to hide in the shadows to do in order to defend those who need it” she then secretly leaves the party, then a while later a man was found dead in the restroom with no trace of evidence that it was a murder, the man was a assassin for hired who was out to kill the man she was chatting with, she then kills him with a poison she had on her lips when she kissed him on the lips making it lethal, untraceable & thus killing him instantly.

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  156. Just Me

    Maddy bit into Santa’s frosted smiling face and felt the instant pleasure of sugar and butter melting on her tongue. At least something at this party was good, she thought to herself glumly chewing. Staring out into the sea of adults in their Christmas best, she was completely eclipsed by their presence. Her red velvet party dress itched like crazy. She wiggled her little fingers under the puffy cap sleeves of the stupid party dress her Momma made her wear and scratched under it like crazy. The lame bells that adorned her sleeves jingled with every tiny movement.

    Why did she even have to be here? Maddy heaved a heavy sigh and wiggled her way through the crowd, slipping unnoticed through clusters of boring adult conversation. She finally found her way to the large bay window that overlooked their front lawn and pressed her nose against the cool glass, smudging it’s perfectly clean interior. She peered outside from the warm glow of her house to the winter landscape outside. The snowman Daddy and she had started to build stood half made. Oh man, she really wanted to finish making that snowman! Maddy tossed her head over her shoulder to look back at the party behind her before making up her mind. With a sly little smile Maddy snuck to the front door, grabbed her coat, kicked off her stuffy black patent leather ballet flats and slipped them into her pink snow boots before making a quick break from her prison at the grown-up party. She ran straight for the snowman, collecting mounds of icy cold snow to add to the growing man of ice on their front lawn. It didn’t even bother her that her hands felt like two frozen clubs of ice.

    What Maddy didn’t know was that someone had been keeping a very close eye on her the entire time. Her enthusiastic pleasure was infectious. So as Maddy happily huffed and puffed away, working diligently on their snowman, she didn’t expect to see the dark figure standing just outside their house staring at her. Maddy squeaked in guilty surprise. “Ohh.. um…Hi.” She managed to get out.

    “You want some help with that Pumpkin?” Her Father’s warm voice rang out over the cold night air.

    Maddy jumped up and down excited. “Yes Daddy!”

    Before they knew it, a few more party goers trickled out of the house to help build the snowman. And slowly, the

    Reply
  157. Emily Faithe

    Short Scene:

    A man in a suit approached her with a tray of drinks.

    “Oh, yes I believe I will. Thank you,” she said grabbing a
    martini glass with both hands and downing it in one gulp.

    She reached out as the waiter was walking away and placed her empty
    glass back on the tray.

    The waiter gave her an odd look as she slid an olive off a
    toothpick with her teeth.

    “Geraldine!” came a voice from across the room.

    She turned her head to see Verna Gump heading her way.

    She grabbed another drink from a floating tray.

    “Geraldine, I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

    She downed the second martini.

    A troubled look passed over Verna’s face, but she quickly
    recovered. “I wanted to let you know, Geraldine, that Henry and I are
    fascinated by what you’ve done. We just can’t believe how far you’ve come in so
    short a time.” Vera quieted to a whisper, “We wanted to give you something.”

    Verna handed Geraldine a folded piece of paper. As she
    accepted it, Geraldine realized it was a check.

    “Thanks Verna. Great seeing you,” Geraldine said patting Verna on the shoulder.

    She took a step towards a waiter and replaced her empty glass for a full
    one. Downing her third drink, she headed for a corner near a big window. Maybe
    if no one saw her for a while, they’d think she’d gone home.

    Secretly she loved seeing how many people had shown up to
    the gala. She reveled in knowing that all of these rich people were here
    because of her, just waiting to throw checks at her.

    But every second in this crowded room made her feel like she
    was suffocating.

    She made eye contact with a waiter and waved him over.
    Replacing her glass for a fourth martini, she nodded to the waiter who
    continued his meandering circuit through the great hall.

    Geraldine held the glass against her cheek, but it wasn’t
    even cool. So she leaned the side of her face against the window glass and
    slowly rolled onto her forehead and then her other cheek. As she straightened back up, she found herself staring at a foggy, white imprint of her face – all stretched out like a
    panorama. She continued to stare at it as she sipped from her drink. The fog
    slowly drifted away and Geraldine imagined herself slipping away with it.

    “Geraldine!”

    Geraldine jumped, splashing some of her drink on the carpet.

    As she turned, she could see Shelly Prigshot heading her way,
    but was fighting through a group of businessmen.

    Geraldine saw her opportunity. She headed towards the
    pianist, plucking away on the grand piano playing soft background music. Shelly
    was distracted by one of the men she had been squeezing by and Geraldine
    slipped behind the pianist and slid to the floor.

    The pianist looked at her as she continued playing. Geraldine
    shook her head and put a finger to her lips.

    The pianist just shrugged and continued along.

    Reply