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?
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?
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!
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!
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
“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.
.
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.”
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!
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.
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.
“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.
.
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.”
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!
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.
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.
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?
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. 🙂
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.)
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!
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.
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.
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?
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?
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!
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.)
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!
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.
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.
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?
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.
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?
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.
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. 🙂
JB, thank you for your insight. I feel better already! 🙂
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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. 🙂
JB, thank you for your insight. I feel better already! 🙂
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.
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.
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.
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.”
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?
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.
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.
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.”
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?
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.
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.
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.”
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?
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”.
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.
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.
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.
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.”
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?
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”.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Note: there are supposed to be paragraphs there! I have a hard time formatting in these comments )-: . Sorry it’s hard to read.
🙂
Not hard at all. Thanks for commenting Steph.
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?
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!
I see. Makes sense. How will he escape, I wonder?
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!
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?”
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.
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.
Note: there are supposed to be paragraphs there! I have a hard time formatting in these comments )-: . Sorry it’s hard to read.
🙂
Not hard at all. Thanks for commenting Steph.
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?
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!
I see. Makes sense. How will he escape, I wonder?
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!
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.
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.
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?
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.
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?
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”
Loved the description of the bouncer! The last line has me wondering about the rest of the story, too.
The bouncer description is priceless! Waiting to see what comes next to find out about the food at the end.
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”
Loved the description of the bouncer! The last line has me wondering about the rest of the story, too.
The bouncer description is priceless! Waiting to see what comes next to find out about the food at the end.
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.
June didn’t want to be there, huh?
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.
June didn’t want to be there, huh?
“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.
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?
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.
“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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Thanks Joe. Lol. I do know I get carried away with alliteration. I appreciate the feedback. That’s what edits are for!
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.
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!
Hmm… I didn’t get it that it was satirical. Well shoot.
Hi Marianne… I carried on with this story in the “Weakest Form of Characterization,” yesterday… was hoping you would take a look.
You’re quite welcome, Shelley.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Thanks Joe. Lol. I do know I get carried away with alliteration. I appreciate the feedback. That’s what edits are for!
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.
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!
Hmm… I didn’t get it that it was satirical. Well shoot.
Hi Marianne… I carried on with this story in the “Weakest Form of Characterization,” yesterday… was hoping you would take a look.
You’re quite welcome, Shelley.
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.
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.
Thank you. Compared to some, however, my action is a little bland. Shall work on that.
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.
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.
Thank you. Compared to some, however, my action is a little bland. Shall work on that.
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.”
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.
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
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.”
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.
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
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.
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.
Thank you. Upon rereading this I realize the reader has no idea what the protagonist name is, the I.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Thank you. Upon rereading this I realize the reader has no idea what the protagonist name is, the I.
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?”
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.
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?”
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.
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.
So well described, the awkwardness of pre-adolescent boys. I like the “My toes were burning.”
damn, that awkwardness is well described. This passage alone told me what kind of boy this kid is
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?
very descriptive. I get the fact this is an awkward preteen. Nice point of view.
I really like that! It’s very descriptive and I could most definitely imagine a shy, awkward preteen/teen.
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.
Wow! I love that little surprise at the end ! No hint of it at all in the rest of the story. Good job !
Hey I loved it♡
This almost feels like a scene from real life
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.
I loved it
I loved it! I want to read more of your works
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.
Beautiful! I can picture being there with all the food and seeing what he was feeling. Very true portrayal. Very interesting character!
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.
So well described, the awkwardness of pre-adolescent boys. I like the “My toes were burning.”
damn, that awkwardness is well described. This passage alone told me what kind of boy this kid is
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?
very descriptive. I get the fact this is an awkward preteen. Nice point of view.
‘You forget people whose favourite food is pizza’ – I love that!!!!
‘You forget people whose favourite food is pizza’ – I love that!!!!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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?
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.
An intriguing beginning to a the story. Who is she? Why are people talking about her? This has such potential.
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.
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.
An intriguing beginning to a the story. Who is she? Why are people talking about her? This has such potential.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Love the description, I can feel his disgust towards the environment he’s in.
Interesting to see how the character sees the world around him…especially under, I imagine, under the influence of some substance.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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”
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?
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”
Ha ha! Nice article. Although his favourite food was pizza, and his name was joey tribbiani!!!!
Ha ha! Nice article. Although his favourite food was pizza, and his name was joey tribbiani!!!!
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?”…
I think that the unnamed girl did more than my main char : /, maybe I should’ve set the environment in a different way.
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?”…
I think that the unnamed girl did more than my main char : /, maybe I should’ve set the environment in a different way.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.”
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!
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.”
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!
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.
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.
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
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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…
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…
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
“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
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?”
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?”
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.
‘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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?”
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.
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.
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.
I like this. I am drawn in and wonder what is gonna happen next. Keep up the good work. 🙂
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.
Sorry, I meant to reply to the piece not the comment.
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 !
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.
Very intriguing! I could feel the anxious in her. Well done!
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.
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.”
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!
Smooth! This is very intense. I love how he gives two false names back to back. He’s obviously very focused. Fun to read.
I likes the two different aliases, too!
I’m gladd you have fun reading it! Thanks for the feedback!
Teo this is like a beginning to a great movie!
Thank you! I didn’t think about it in that way, but now I read it again and it is! LoL!
WOW, Joe. Your Characterization Tutorial is SERIOUSLY excellent. I’ll definitely be referring back to it. Thanks for sharing.
THANKS Marcy!
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.
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!
That’s a good point. Thanks Teo!
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.
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.
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.
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.
thank you Avril
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!
Thanks Teo!
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.
Sounds like he really wants to lose himself and feel free, and may be a bit of a wild one.
Yeah, i’d say so. I think he is my alter ego.
I keep wondering if the crowd caught him or he hit the floor instead and cracked his head open.
haha, yeah. I’d like to believe he was caught.
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!
Haha, your right. I even added another paragraph because I liked your idea of satire. Thank you for you response.
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.
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.
Thanks for commenting.
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
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.
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.
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..
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.
Thanks Avril. The idea of the twist came from some of the other practices I read here 🙂
Nice! I even imagine Deepa’s eyes looking what have her done. Well done with her description
Thank you! 🙂
Thank you! 🙂
Hahaha! That was funny! And that twist was totally unexpected! Her husband just turned up? 🙂 That’s great!
Thank you Wolf271! I got inspired by some of the other writing I saw on the page
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.
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.
Dawn you’ve described the club so perfectly. “Saliva sprays suspended in indigo beam.” And the perspiration handprint! Brings back memories.
What a mysterious girl is Lucy. I liked specially the end, how she runs away in four phrases. Well done!
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.”
This is scary! Marcel is so menacing: “…it would grieve me terribly if we had to move on without you.” Good setting and pace.
Thanks for your comments! I’m glad he came across as suitably creepy.
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!
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.
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!
Can use these prompts to develop characters in my book or set scenes?
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.
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.
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!
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.
If you do write more, I would love to read it 🙂
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 🙂
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.
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?
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.
I would love to read more… there is so much mystery.
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…
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.
Thank you so much 🙂 I enjoyed writing this piece and I’m glad you like it!
Great detail and dramatic scenes. Well done!
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?”
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.
🙂
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.
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.
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! ^-^
I am very confused on whether the most recent comments are further to the bottom or further to the top?
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…
I have some errors ( having my mom beside me watching ) is what I meant
“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.
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.
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.
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.
This is nice. You’ve created a calm atmosphere.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.”
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.
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.”
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.
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.
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.”
“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.
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
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.
Prudence strolled through the guests at the party remaining
aloof yet aware of all the eyes on her. She didn’t know which of the partygoers had used his considerable amount of influence to frame her, or why, but she was determined to find out. So, she chatted idly with all of them, declining to respond to the gossipmongers asking her about her time in incarceration, but dropping subtle hints to try and expose the conspirator or conspirators. Sipping on her cocktail, she praised the persistence of her considerable legal team in exonerating herand wondered seemingly idly about her father’s disappearance…
Jax was drowning.There were dozens of people in every direction and the room seemed to be
closing in on her. She edged her way to the wall, trying to put as much
distance as possible between herself and her family as well as people in
general. Looking around nervously, she noted that everyone was dressed in extremely fancy clothing. The little she
had done to look extravagant paled in comparison. She reached the stone walls
that towered into the shape of a dome with a chandelier dangling from the
center of it. Jax stared at the chandelier which seemed so precariously placed
and began swaying, mesmerized by the sparkles glinting off in every direction.
A hint of a smile crossed her face as she closed her eyes to drown out the
sound of polite chitter-chatter and replaced it with the sound of a cello
reverberating off of the walls.
“Hey you, Oberin
girl.” Jax snapped her eyes open to look at the person who was speaking to her.
She fought to keep her composure as she realized that this was one of her
sister’s, Bronwyn’s, friends.
Fighting to keep
her voice level and her appearance calm, she said, “Yes, I am one of the Oberin girls.”
“I didn’t know
they let riffraff like you into nice parties like this,” she said, eyeing Jax’s
simple fuchsia dress with distaste.
Self-consciously,
Jax smoothed her dress over and debated whether to give the girl snappy
comeback or to try to not draw attention to herself. Taking a deep, calming
breath, Jax decided to not incite this girl’s anger.
I stepped through the doorway of Christopher’s house. His parents were out of town and he’d decided to trash the place. Smart. The only thing I didn’t understand was why I’d been invited? He was the Captain of the football team and I was a nobody. I’m surprised he even knew who I was.
Taking a deep breath I entered the main living area just off of the entry way. I felt myself shrink both mentally and physically, I didn’t know any of these people. I frantically searched for a familiar face in the mass of chaotic, drunken teens but came up empty.
I skirted around a pair of exceptionally wasted High School jocks and went for the drink station. Nothing but booze, how did I find that not surprising? I’d driven myself to this party so alcohol was out of the question. Instead I filled a plate with Chex Mix and found an empty couch near the back wall.
As I munched on my food I tried to appear busy, so I wouldn’t be bothered. No trouble there. Nobody even seemed to notice the small, glasses wearing girl in the back. For once my uninteresting demeanor was working to my advantage. I was so intent on being fascinated with the different shapes of my snack that the hand on my shoulder made me jump.
I looked up to see a tall freckled kid with dark eyes and hair standing in front of me. I expected him to apologize, saying he thought I was someone else.
Jo scratched at the thin strap of the black stiletto which was already rubbing her foot raw and sighed, desperately wanting to trade her current attire in for her cowboy boots and well-broken in jeans. But she knew blending in with the Jones’s attending this fundraiser was just as important as any of the research she had slaved over for the last six months.
A waiter offered her a champagne flute and she forced a smile and a thank you. The room was filled with that scene she used to know so well; lobbyists, legislative staffers,
campaign managers and contributors. The art of effectively floating through one
of these rooms while effortlessly extracting information was a gift, her mom
once told her. It reminded her briefly of her dad and how he was the master of the
fundraiser. Quickly she stopped herself from going down that road, refocused
and scanned the room. Although she didn’t see Craven, she moved through the
crowd until she saw a face of sanctuary.
The initial idea of a party with lots of people sounded fun, but as I took the winding stairs towards the flashing lights and the loud techno music, I started to doubt why I even entertained such an idea. The smiles on the warm familiar faces looked rather prescribed, and the unceasing and mindless jumping make me question the very nature of the people I called friends. Nonetheless, there is nothing as strong as the pull of the need to belong. So minutes later I found myself with the same prescribed smile, jumping up and down without any purpose whatsoever. It was like the whole crowd was being enveloped in an invisible dome. In which, everyone was doing what was expected and expecting nothing more that what was already being done. However, in this dome there was the elated feeling of belonging, a feeling which is present at the very core of what it means to be human. You can suppress it or you can own it, and right now, I was owning it. Along with belonging there was this warm and fuzzy feeling beginning to rise along with the dreadful thought that these smiles, which surrounded me, were not prescribed but genuine, and that maybe my smile was making that transition as well.
Libby stopped at the intersection and checked the GPS. It
had brought her to the ritzy part of town. She tapped the screen. Was the silly
thing working right?
Her cousin, Joe, invited her to the party. He said there’d only be a few friends. No big deal. Libby smoothed the skirt of the slinky black dress she had to borrow from her roommate. If they were meeting a few friends, then why would Joe insist she dress up?
Bright headlights illuminated the rear window and lit up the interior of the car. Libby straightened and pressed the gas pedal, widening the distance between her and car behind her.
She hunkered close to the steering wheel and gazed at the monstrous homes lining both sides of the street. Joe said the party was at 39 Westmoor. The blue screen of her GPS indicated another quarter of a mile. Libby gnawed her lip. What kind of people did Joe hang out with?
The GPS beeped, prompting Libby to slow the car and check for the address. She drew a breath and pulled into the cobblestone driveway lined with manicured shrubs. Her VW Beetle paled in comparison to the high end model cars parked along the curving entrance. Libby swallowed. There were a lot of fancy cars there. Just a few friends, huh?
Libby pulled into a space. She grabbed her purse, slid out of the car, and gawked at the massive pillars standing guard at the steps leading to the front door. Music poured in soft rivulets from the inside. Violin, cello, and piano. Not Joe’s type of music.
She pressed the doorbell. In seconds, a man dressed in a tuxedo answered. “Good evening. Are you a guest of Mr. Wither’s?”
Libby gasped. Who was Mr. Withers? “No, sir. I was invited by my cousin, Joe. Joe Brooks.”
The man smiled. “Ah. Yes. Mr. Brooks.” He stepped back and gestured for her to enter. “Come right in. May I take your coat?”
“Yes. Please.” Libby shrugged out of her blazer and handed it to the man. He took her jacket and nodded. “The party is right this way.”
Libby followed the man in the tuxedo, a knot forming in her gut. Though she never had a problem mingling with strangers, she wasn’t used to rubbing elbows with the super-rich. What would she say? Just be yourself, Lib. You can do it. It’s just a few of Joe’s friends.
She lifted her chin. Yes. She could handle a passel of Joe’s buddies, co-workers, or whoever else might be at this little shin-dig. Small, intimate gatherings were a piece of cake. Twenty or thirty people at the most would be no problem at all.
Voices melding with the music lured her into a large room where at least a hundred people gathered. Libby’s jaw slackened. If not for her borrowed dress, she’d stick out like a country bumpkin at the Queen’s Jubilee. What did her cousin get her into?
Neal rang the doorbell. From inside, the sounds of many people talking at once
nearly drowned out the gong-like sound announcing his arrival. Rita, his friend
from work, opened the door, threw herself around Neal’s neck, and welcomed him
to her condo.
Walking into the main room, Neal was taken aback by the size of the crowd. Damn, he
mused, there must be a hundred people in here!
Putting both hands into his pants pockets, he starts edging toward the bar. Any eye
contact causes him to stop, remove his right hand to shake hands as he
introduces himself to a stranger or greets a colleague. With each stop, there is
some polite conversation.
“Hi! Great to see you.”
“Hey, how’s that car coming along?”
“Hi there, I’m Neal, what’s your name?” shaking hands.
Neal uses his hands when he talks, gesturing enough to get his point across. That
makes the left hand slide out to join the right in the conversations. He keeps his
nervousness well-hidden and plays the social game until he can get a little
Dutch courage to shore up this relaxed façade.
By the time Neal makes it to the bar, both hands are working almost non-stop
because he encounters so many people. He orders a gin martini, showing the
bartender with a wave of his right hand just how little vermouth he likes in
his martini with two olives. Turning away from the bar, he now has a drink in
his left and is eating the first olive from a toothpick held in his right
fingers.
Neal is on his second martini when feels relaxed enough to engage with others
without that sick feeling, like the first drop on a rollercoaster. The astute
observer, if that person had made note of Neal upon entry, would detect the
relaxing of posture, the exchange of identity information without the slight
widening of the eyes, and the smoother flow of gesturing.
I swirled my drink around in my glass anxiously. When will this party be over?That was the one question that was stirring in my head the whole hour I have been here. There was over a hundred over-dressed, fancy, rich and annoying people just sitting around enjoying white wine and champagne. Everyone, sadly including me, were wearing either suits or dresses that were digging into dreaded places. I could hear the clinking of glasses and the clacking of heels all around me.There was a light breeze that came from the ajar window. Taking a sip, I noticed people were looking at me strange. Probably because I am the only person here with blue hair. I felt so out of place. My dress was super tight, I could barley breathe and I walked like there was a stick up my ass.
“Hello, Mrs. Below” An old man with grey hairs said as he walked up to me.
Great, now I have to try to make conversation.
“Uhhhh.” I could feel sweat trickle down my face. If I said the wrong thing, I would be in serious trouble. Trust me, the whole “Be nice to the stock brokers” is soooo lengthy.I set my glass down softly and looked the man straight in the eye, like I was taught.
“Bathroom.” I muttered, as I quickly scurried off upstairs.
In Reluctant Warrior, Laura is a timid, shy young woman who has spent her life thus far not only hiding in the shadows, but expecting to be regulated to nonentity.
Until the hoons who invaded Jess’s graduation party ram her car over the cliff. Until she hauls Jess and herself out of her car as it pivots on the guard rail, in the process of toppling over.
She knew that she didn’t have the strength to pull the two of them out in time. She knew she had ‘help.’ But was reluctant to accept that it was angelic help.
Until she stands up against the new Minister in church. He was distorting the gospels to deliver a misogynistic sermon, seemingly to vilify his wife. [Still had ambitions to be Pope, even though he had the choice to leave the monastery in order to marry, to join the Anglican Church so he could continue as preacher.]
Until she stands up against the local bullies, used martial arts training to defeat them.
Until she finds herself the local spokeswoman against domestic violence in their rural town.
So many good stories, so much talent here in these comments. It makes me sad that many here will never fulfil their potential, not because of lack of love, but because you sadly cannot eat love. As my people say, a writer’s bread is one with nine crusts. But, I hope you all take heart, and don’t be disheartened for not getting noticed, as I personally, sadly, don’t have time to read all of them.
So, here’s my story, loosely based off a RP character I had developed through writing and playing over the course of two years.
She looks at her drink with a quiet sigh, sitting at the bar in front of her, wondering if she should just finish it in a single gulp, then leave. Her assistant has left her there, went on to do whatever it is that young corporate employees do these days, something probably involving a bathroom and an illegal substance, to her best guess. Maybe even another young, attractive employee. Possibly both. All the respect she had from others did nothing but act like threads to her senior executive’s business suit. A vale of respect, authority and power, meant nothing in the confines of the party lounge. In her own eyes, she was old, too old. She yarned for peace and quiet, some place where her ice shell wouldn’t start to break. She took her drink, washing it down quickly and headed out, for the embrace of emotional safety.
Party. He hate it, a lot. Especially when the girl swarmed around him, desperate to take photo and handle him with their hands outstretched, to stroke him and let their wandering hands grape him in uncomfortable places. This was the life of a wealthy heirs and it was one of the turn offs for him, it was probably the only one. He glanced to the left to be mesmerized by the beauty of the girl that stand beside him with her hand holding out her oversized leather jacket. Her small beautiful face was framed by her cascading dark brown hair, unwilling to meet his intense gaze she focused her eyes downwards. He got to his feet slowly admiring the strong malicious aura that surrounded her as they stood in front of the other girls. That girl turned to face him and he immediately took the chance to analyse her as he would probably not get another chance to do so, so thoroughly.
“Nice to meet you.” She looked up, that her eyes were deep brown, brimming with secrets and outlined with her dark long eyelashes.
“Hmmm…Joanna. Do I know you?” She spoke but the words never reached him as he was captured by her soft pink lips, wondering whether they really were soft as they looked.
“Come with me,” Frantic, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her out the door, the leather jacket dropped to the floor as she exited the room with the man that reminded her of her first love.
Practice:
She walked in, looking around, heart pounding in her chest with sweat beads pouring down her forehead and cheeks, flowing under her chin, falling onto the floor. The tightness in her chest felt just like she had been shot. Her fingers clenched into her palms until they bled, her body visibly shaking as she stared ahead into the lustful eyes of the man that desired to kill her. Her personal thoughts and feelings were jumbled. Would they interfere with this?
“I’m tired of playing these little games with you, ” He spat, “insect!”
“Then what are you waiting for?!” She spat back, “bring it on, hot sauce!”
I don’t know what I’m doing here, I hate parties I said to my sister. I wanted to scream it from the highest rooftop, but I held my cool. She stood there with her arms crossed, her eyes darting back and forth almost at DEFCON three. She sighed and looked at me with a smug look that lifted the corner of her face. I’m sick of your verbal diarrhea, Get over it she said, you think you’re the only one who ever got dumped before? You’re here know have some fun. Her words were pointed and sharp, but what hurt the most was I knew she was right. Especially when I realized everyone there was staring at me. Some whispering, some giggling. I felt my ego shrink, and just wanted to hide. I turned away, put my head down, and headed for the door, and plowed into someone almost knocking them over. Oh crap I thought how can this get any worse, finally I got the nerve to face them, and when I looked up my mouth dropped. The hair on the back of my neck stood up straight. I was paralyzed. And then she spoke. Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, clumsy these days she said. She turned her face sideways like she knew me, her eyes grew big as she smiled. Richard she said, is that you? Maggie is that you I stuttered? Yes, she said. My mind went back in time, this was the girl who use to live next door. The girl with the matted hair who kept it under a baseball cap. Who had dirt on her face, and wore coveralls. The tomboy who played baseball with me. I looked up at her marveling, the girl who didn’t care how she looked, and there she was ravishing in a tight dress. Her face tanned a deep brown. Her teeth blinding white, dangerous to look at, like an eclipse. It was impossible not to admire her, hard not to do something to contain her beauty-drink her, ingest her, sneak into her dress and hide for the rest of my life. My knees grew week, and even though she was talking I never heard a word. Someone tapped me on the shoulder I glanced around, it was my sister smirking.
The loud, upbeat music seemed to pound through his ears as he looked around for his brother, appearing lost. It was the first time he’s been to a large scale party like this, and it was disorientating. He really shouldn’t have taken that offer from his brother, who had practically pleaded for him to ‘have some fun for once’. Electrifying neon lights glimmered on and off, reflected from the silvery disco ball and he closed his eyes to shield it from a bright flash of a camera.
“Haha! Aren’t you a cutie!” The brunette giggled, visibly flushed from drunkenness before stumbling towards him. He took her shoulders to steady her from falling onto him, keeping a polite distance away, swallowing before moving ahead to look for his older brother, Kyou. The strong smells of alcohol and sweat made him mildly sick, but he composed himself, his ocean blue eyes sharp and focused as he searched through the crowd.
He was undeniably handsome, shaking people’s hearts as he passed by them, evading collisions with swift, smooth movements even when it seemed impossible due to the sheer amount of people. His expression was unamused. There was a certain peaceful quality about him which dislikes conflict, but it co-existed alongside his natural empowering intimidation.
Finally he found him—surrounded by scantily dressed girls and drinking his head off, his stupid big brother.
At his sprawling villa Mr.Kenny Roberts held a party every month for his employees. As the MD, he thought this was the best way to promote social bonding. He would attend to every
detail, make elaborate preparations, organize music and dance and freely chat with
colleagues with lots of jokes and interesting anecdotes,
I was attending such a party for the first time. I was new to the company and those who knew me had said that I was not a ” party animal”.
I still had to go to this party because my absence would be noticed!
It was a hot summer evening and I had put on my office wear rather foolishly, a black trouser and a plain white shirt with full sleeves. I reached the villa in time. Mr. Roberts
stood there at the entrance as if he was waiting for me and for no one else. He
had the special knack of making an employee feel very special. ‘Come in,
Adrian’, he said, putting his right hand on my shoulder. ‘Good evening, Sir’, I
said, rather formally and in a feeble voice, my hands quivering as his strong
hand reached out for a handshake.
Just then a lady called out to me. ‘Come in, Son ‘, she said. She was a slim, of average height with long hair and a pointed nose. ‘Glad to meet
you again, have been waiting for you’. She quickly turned sideways and spoke
rapidly to a few persons in uniform.
Her words to them were commands, her voice one of magisterial emphasis.
Yes, I had met her. While waiting for the final job interview outside Mr.Robert’s office, she had strolled in and had stared at me for some time. Again during
lunch on that day in the company’s canteen she had walked through and seeing
me, pulled up a chair to ask me a few questions. Questions about me, my parents, my father’sjob, where they lived and so on. I had then taken her to be a junior HR
Officer.
Today, she looked different.
She was sprightly and flitted from group to group with a charming smile. I slipped out and went to my close friend, Aaron who was looking lost, and asked him who she was. ‘Don’t you know?’ Aaron said“she is the wife of the boss. Mrs. Roberts. Comes often to the office. She owns the company as much as he does.”
Just then, Mrs. Roberts reappeared. “ Son, where are you? “ she said and suddenly
“ I see that your sun sign is Taurus. I too am a Taurean. Tureens and Capricornians make a wonderful pair”.
Mrs. Roberts talked about sun
signs and their compatibilities for a while as if she had studied them in great
depth. She then held my hand and said, “Come with me, Adrian”. She took me through
the thick smoke and noise to a quieter corner and said” Meet my daughter, Tina.
“ ‘Ah, you look a wonderful pair –just
as I thought! Let me put some music for you too to dance.”
I was tongue-tied. There was
an awkward pause. There was no way I could dance. “ Nice to have met you, Adrian”, said Tina.
This interview, I thought,
was far tougher than my job interview. I found I was perspiring profusely. I
thought I had to choose between Tina and my job.
((Here we go. I’m not good at this describing stuff, but I’ll try.))
Before Lucy arrived to the party she had a unhappy expression on her face. Her friends from school were holding one of their many infamous parties and Lucy needed a place to escape. Once she entered through the front door of the house she could already hear the loud music and chatter coming from the inside. When she entered the party the entire living room was packed with noisy teenagers doing a variety of things. Lucy didn’t pay attention to any of it as she headed towards the kitchen where her friends of invited her and the drinks were. After pushing through hoards people Lucy made her way into the kitchen and found her friends speaking to each other with slurred voices. Lucy greeted them and they handed her a drink. The alcohol stung her throat and taste wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t Lucy’so bottle for the night. After drink down one bottle she helped herself to some more and her friends who couldn’t even stand or walk properly didn’t mind if she did. After 3 or 4 bottles Lucy’s vision was slowly turning into a blur. She had finally lost herself.
Forcing myself to wake up, shower, shave, wear appropriate clothes -as mother would say- and drive all the way to my parents house was the perfect description of dreadful. Not that I hate my parents, none of that. We have had good times and not so good others in this old house, like most families. Listening to a good old piece of my mother’s work on violin or simply read next to my father were the memories that haunted me, when I was back in the city surrounded by millions and no one at the same time, that made my heart jumped.
It wasn’t going to be one of those days I enjoy the little things that made me feel at home. Because the house was full of people laughing over a joke that truly made no sense, eating the shrimps cocktail and cheese, dancing to the colourful and sensual sound of latin music, men talking about business and women about their sons. While them on the other side flirted with the slutty women mother had the decency to invite just to show off for as many people she could.
Oh! The night can not get better. I thought sarcastically.
I dragged my feet through the crowded room. They felt like two cement blocks sticked to the floor because deep down I knew with every tissue, every molecule. Damn. Every atom of my body that I would not get away with going early or have a relatively peaceful night if I didn’t go to mother and let her show me off. But it was better than greeting all these dumb minded and materialistic people. My hands started sweating and I couldn’t help to think: Incredible. Now I have the Niagara falls in my hands and soon I will be drowning Wilmslow. The ever presented feeling of their eyes watching me, was distracting. As if they were pulling my hair and grabbing my hands to stop me from walking towards her. Their voices knocking all coherent thought that decided to cross my mind and conquered it. It was all I could do, hear. Because my legs no longer obeyed the command of walking and I was paralyzed in the door leading to the yard.
“Eugene!”, it was suddenly ghost quiet in my mind but for the erratic tum tum of my heart. I heard the shhhh of my bloodflow trying to soothe me but my heart was persistent. It was an orchestra reaching its crescendo faster and faster. Harder and harder. So fast and so hard it blocked the sound of the laughs, voices and the sensual tango. Oh. So. Hard. It could break my chest open as easily one would break a cookie. Because that voice was unmistakable.
Into battle.
The sound of music breaks the deafening silence in my mind. I walk quietly, almost without sound, toward the constant beat, being sure to stay on the outside edge of the path. My feet shuffle a bit, the soles of my shoes scuffing the pavement slightly. It’s Ansels 21st birthday party, the biggest event of the new year so far.
Once inside, I glance left and right, searching for someone or something, but not really knowing who or what I am looking for. The beat of the music is almost as fast as the rate my heart beats at this moment. I tug on my shirt sleeves, pulling them over my palm, something I tend to do when I feel nervous or unsure. I begin to notice the crowd, the slightly drunken yelling and the shouts of people from opposite sides of the room. The air begins to feel heavier, I begin to sweat slightly, but force the thin pressed line of my lips into a smile when I see a familiar face approach me.
“Lara!” Ansel shouts, walking towards me, a big grin on his face. He pulls me into a big bear hug. I stiffen slightly but relax myself, only he has that effect on me. He relaxes me but is also quite perplexing at the same time. “Hey, happy birthday grandpa,” I say with a small smile. He pulls back and makes a face, trying to look like an old man, forcing wrinkles to form on his forehead. “Isn’t it past your bedtime young lady?” he says in a grumpy voice. I laugh lightly. “Come on, I want to introduce you to some people,” he says, pointing at the crowd. Momentary bubble of happiness burst. Oh great. Taking a deep breath to steady my mind, I let him lead me into the crowd….
First off, let me start my critique by stating to you, I am not perfect – I am working on perfecting my craft and welcome all comments to improve, so my response to you is based on how I wish for others to critique my work.
I think you could shorten some of your sentences and have them give a bigger punch. For example, “I walk quietly, almost without sound…” – as the reader I say to myself, well isn’t that what walking quietly is? The description of the room could be shortened too.
When I get to the bottom paragraph I was scratching my head. Is Ansel the grandfather? Why did the character stiffen, because in the next sentence you say “he relaxes me but is also quite perplexing…” It doesn’t seem to go together.
Please remember, this could entirely be me and my interpretation of the words on paper.
Keep writing!!!
“100 people.” Daniel thought when he entered the booming hall way. While passing the mirror, he relocated the single strand of hair which had moved, despite his ferociously applied hair spray. Tucking his half of his favorite shirt back into his pants, he strolled on towards the entrance. In under an hour, Daniel knew that people would pile out of the doorway due to the overestimation of party hall’s capacity. He remembered how stubborn Zack had been during the planning of his birthday
party, thinking about how much he had to push until the birthday boy was willing to drop his idea of having a foam blower. The thought of his clothes getting wet, made Daniel even more than this crowd.
A mystery hand landed on his shoulder. “Hey, Daniel.”
As always, Zack looked great. With his hear waving up, his radiant smile and, for the occasion, his seventeen annoying chin hairs trimmed away, all Daniel could do, was to feel a fire of happiness burning inside him. He was happy his best friend was turning sixteen.
“Did you remember my request?” Daniel asked. He knew he was supposed to congratulate Zack, but he needed to know if he was going to have a shot at surviving the party. He needed to ask this question.
“We’ve talked about this, Daniel. Remember? Reserving 3 tiles as your personal ones for tonight, is not going to happen. What I did get for you, are those thick curling straws you asked for. The yellow one is the jackpot, if I remember correctly?” Feeling the weight and form of the straw, Daniel managed to smile a little, in turn creating an even brighter smile on his best friend’s face. “Now, before you dry out, I want you to get yourself a drink and go have some fun. But don’t let yourself be let down about three tiles to stand on. Okay?”
What else could he do, but to make sure that smile wasn’t in vain.
Moving, twisting and bumping between the awkwardly shaking people between him and the bar, he reached his destination.
“About five minutes left.” he thought, glancing at his wrist watch. He wondered how Zack would react when he came to give him this drink and his birthday present on the exact moment he was born, sixteen years ago.
“An Ice Tea and a Tequila Sunrise, please!” He barely managed to let his voice be heard over the loud thumping of the speakers.
“I’ll have a Tequila Sunrise as well!” Next to Daniel stood the girl with the ever present smirk on her face and the blond braid over her shoulder.
“Her.” Daniel thought as Emily hugged him.
“How are you, Daniel? Why the two drinks?” Daniel had to read her lips, her high pitched voice not being able to carry over this noise around them.
“Oh, this one.” He grabbed the Tequila. “It’s for someone else.” He had to answer only the last question. Those are the important questions, he remembered himself. He could only answer the last one.
“I thought so. I would have been the first time I saw you drink a drop of alcohol.” Emily smiled that annoying grin of hers. Daniel couldn’t understand why other guys would do anything she’d asked when they had that smile thrown at them. There was something about her, agreed, but more in a friendly than the commanding way all other men seemed to take it. Yet for some reason, Emily always found her way to Daniel.
She glanced at her phone.
“Two minutes left.” he thought. “I can’t be late, or it would ruin the effect.”
“Well, I have to get going.” Emily said, giving Daniel a little hug, trying not to spill her drink.
“Weird woman.” Daniel thought to himself as he put his straw in his drink and stirred, five times counter-clockwise and 4 times clockwise, as always. He had been a little boy when he had noticed that his drinks tasted far better when he stirred them before consuming, but he couldn’t drift into old memories. He had to get back to the entrance, where Daniel would still be greeting new guests.
Managing to reach the hallway without spilling, he turned to find his best friend. But instead, both drinks fell to the floor, thee glass shattering just like his heart did.
It took everything Daniel had to pull himself together, trying hard not to show his best friend the tears rolling down his face as Zack glanced around, searching the source of the shattering glass.
The only thing Daniel would remember about the party, was the sight of both Zack’s hands and lips being occupied by the girl who had ordered a Tequila Sunrise, barely a few minutes earlier.
I would agree with Frederick. Initially was put off by the lengthy sentences, but when I read on I wanted to know more. He was invisible because of a shroud? That was a surprise – and a good one! Keep writing, Rich!!
Gunner hated parties. He detested anything that required him to engage in forced social conversations. For him, life was not about the obligatory do’s and don’ts. Life was about being real. And this frilly, drink from a punch bowl cotillion was nothing but a sham.
He stuck his finger in the collar of his shirt trying to pull the damn bow tie away from his windpipe. Whoever invented these monkey suits should be shot.
A waiter walked by offering him a glass of champagne. He took two. Alcohol always made things better. He made his way to the back of the room, refusing to make eye contact with the females vying for his attention. If there was anything he despised more than parties, it was needy women. You know the kind, the ones that want you to rescue them from their dull, cookie cutter lives.
Gunner relaxed against the wall while finishing his bubbly. He glanced at his watch. Good. This was almost over.
“May I have your attention please?”
A hush went over the room.
“Thank you. It is my pleasure to introduce to you our Humanitarian of the Year, Gunner Williamson. Come up here, Gunner.”
Thunderous applause filled the tiny space. Gunner put on a fake smile as he slowly sauntered to the stage. All he had to do was give these faux philanthropists a few words to stroke their egos and he was home free.
Man, he hated parties.
How anyone could concentrate in this environment was beyond him, perhaps this is why he chose here, to distract, to test his mental resolve, shit just focus on the task at hand , stop thinking about it and concentrate, he chastised himself as he slipped passed two meagrely clad young ladies grinding to the low thudding of the music.
The room filled with moist heat radiating from every individual in the room, entwining and swaying in a ritual reserved now only for the drunk and decadent, seeking acceptance within a community of those looking to forget their mundane existence, to experience excitement in whatever form they could find it..
Darkness filled the room as the music came to a peaceful lull for a split second between musical tracks, he continued to weave his way between people searching for the heartbeat that belonged to Azziezel,
Illuminating the room once more as the music started to play again his refulgent green eyes met hers, coming to a complete stop, his long flowing white coat ebbed around his muscular body.
How was this possible?, she could see him, no perhaps she was looking through him at someone behind him.He darted between another group of people and once again looked towards her , which by now was somewhat disconcerting to him as she was definitely meeting his gaze.
Crap!, no! , my shroud must have fallen , how? , nobody else around him was still aware of his presence so how ?, how could she see him ?.
Hi, I’ll have to admit: I had to give myself a break while reading your text. I had to reread your first sentence four times because of it’s length and complexity, but when I managed to struggle myself through it, I was rewarded towards the end.
I have no idea what the deal is with the shroud, but I’d like to know more about it and the context of the fragment you just posted.
Is it part of a larger story you are writing?
Hi, thank you for the feed back.
It was part of a story idea that I once had but never fleshed out so I thought I would use the exercise to see where it would take me .
Azziezel is the mentor of my main character.
He has tasked him to find his location , but he must remain undetected in doing so.
Shroud is an illusion type magic that requires extreme focus on the casters behalf.
Mayik, the hero:
He is married, and against all odds, happily married. And even though their attempt to start a family ended in miscarriage, their urge to get a child of their own was pushed to the background by Marc.
This boy completed their incomplete family with an amount of joy and happiness they’d always dreamt of.
Mayik was a very skilled hunter, teaching his skills and knowledge to Marc, who spends most of the time with his teacher.
Steve, the villain:
As the father of Marc, he has always envied Mayik. While his son refused to spend any second longer than necessary with his father, it always hurts to see his own flesh and blood run to another man to be instructed in the art of hunting. Two years before Mayik first came to the village, Steve got wounded at the spine during hunting, resulting in paralysis from the waist down. His dream to have two hunting sons would have to be accomplished through Mayik, using the mAn as a tool. but it still hurt that he barely got to see Marcs skill improve.
But with his sudden reduced capabilities due to his paralysis, his marriage seemed damaged as well: his wife didn’t desire him the way she used to, not since she gave birth to their angel of a second son.
He hated Mayik for having everything he wanted, for having everything he had, yet he had chosen the wrong way to express this hatred: physically assaulting the members of his family who gave him a reason to hate the bastard called Mayik.
This is my first time posting something like this on any website, and I know this is pretty long, but I’d really appreciate some feedback. BTW this is YA lit.
The car sputters along
the road, but I suspect it won’t make it.
“I seriously doubt that
we’re going to find one at a party,”
I remember saying to Asa.
He condescendingly smiled
at me, “You’d be surprised. What teenager wouldn’t want to go to a party?”
Finally, the car
collapses at our destination. I grimace at Boone in the mirror. He smiles
lopsidedly back at me.
“I can’t believe I have
to do this,” I say to him. “And why me? Why not one of the, one of the… ditzies?”
He laughs, “Because you’re
the best. Now stop stalling.”
I sigh and drag me feet
out of the prehistoric car and look up. Holy
cow. This place is huge! I wonder what the spoiled teenager whose parents owned
this looks like. I imagine I tall blonde, her hair perfectly curled in a dress
so short it could be sold as a shirt. I reluctantly walk into the mansion.
The noise is deafening,
especially for me. It literally hurts. I cringe and press myself against the
wall, trying to escape the bass pounding in my ears. Party cups liter the
floor, and drunk teenagers stumble around. My quick eyes scan the crowd, but I
haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary. I walk up the marble staircase,
constantly searching.
Suddenly, I pick up a
conversation.
“Guys, guys, look at
this,” I hear a girl slur. Then I hear a small crowd gasp.
“So pretty!” Another girl
exclaims.
I quicken my pace and
follow the sound. I takes me to the third floor at the far west side, in a
small bedroom. I crack the door open, silently, and look in. A thin tall girl
stands in the center of the room. Her strawberry blonde hair up in two dumb
looking buns. But most importantly, I see a set of wings growing out of her
back.
I sharply suck in a
breath. She let them see! I slam open the door, startling the crowd. They all
look intoxicated enough, they’ll probably not even remember this.
I grab the girls arm and
start dragging her down the stairs.
“Hey, stop!” She
protests. “W-what do you think you’re doing?” I finally just scoop her up in my
arms, even though she’s a good five inches taller than me. People’s eyes just slide over us.
I get her outside and
dump her in the car.
Boone swears, “That was fast.” I shrug off his
compliment. “What is she?”
“Just another ditzy,” I
say, “As if we don’t already have enough of them.”
“Well, they only last a
couple of months,” He says, starting the car. I stare at the girl. She’s
crying. I swear under my breath and slide as far away from her as I can in the
limited space.
“W-where are y-you taking
me?” She sniffs.
I awkwardly stuff my
hands in my pockets, “Um, we’re taking you somewhere where, uh, somewhere,
where…”
“Somewhere where there’s
people like you,” Boone cuts in. I throw him a grateful smile. He grins back at
me.
The girl doesn’t respond,
she just looks out the window. Soft snores start floating out of her.
“Ugh, she’s just so freakin’
stupid!” I finally explode. Boone raises an eyebrow at me. “She showed her
wings! To, like, ten people!”
Boone doesn’t freak out
like I thought he would, “They were drunk, they’ll think it was the alcohol
tomorrow.”
“But what if some of them
weren’t?” I say.
“What are they going to
do? Nobody’ll believe them,” He says. “So, let’s add her to your list.” I know
he’s trying to distract me. “Isn’t she your one hundred fiftieth?”
I allow myself a smile, “Something
like that.”
I saw them all around me. A hundred smiling guests. I supposed beforehand I should be happy about coming. They were here for me after all. My very own farewell party. I walked over to Charles, my best friend, and whispered, ‘I’m not expected to make a speech or anything, am I?’ He laughed and whilst tapping his glass, called everyone for attention, ‘Welcome everyone,’ he began, ‘Ben has something he’d like to say.’ Sometimes I just hated Charles. How could he do this to me? I smiled nervously at the hundred staring faces. ‘Um…’ What a great way to start, I though. ‘I’d just like to thank you all for coming to see me… before I… um… go away.’ My face went bright red. What do I do now? I had nothing left to say. ‘Um…yeah, so continue talking.’ Every laughed and went back to chatting away. I turned to Charles, absolutely furious. ‘Sorry, man,’ Charles said when he saw my face. ‘Boy, you sure look angry. Your face is redder than it was while you were making your speech.’ All I could do was storm out. Well, he’d organised this farewell party. Now he’d ruined it. I felt more like saying ‘good riddance’.
With my arm linked to Craig, we stroll into the grand ballroom. Two words: white and gold. I must’ve counted at least ten crystal chandeliers hanging on the ceiling while gold curtains draped across the 25 ft tall windows. Extravagance level: Prince of Dubai.
“In through your nose, out through your mouth”, I tell myself. I wouldn’t say I’m necessarily nervous. I have a God given talent to gab, but it’s just that what makes me on edge. If you take a look around, the women stand to the side of their significant other and flash their veneers while batting their lashes. Unlike the women here, my veneers are meant to talk. Craig turns to me, “Remember these men are here to get their egos pet”, in return I flash him a smirk, “Thanks for the reminder..”. As if I didn’t already know this. Heck, anyone would know this after about five minutes here.
Craig leads me over to go talk to a colleague of his. I put on my best smile and waltz over. I’ll admit, this guy isn’t as bad as some of the others, his stories are quite entertaining, even if they’re over the top and probably half are made up. Plus, I’d rather talk to anyone as long as I can stay clear of one man in particular. His name is Peter Wein, and he happens to be Craig’s boss. Why you might ask? Well, Peter is what you would refer to as a close talker. He’s a heavy scotch drinker and likes to talk about five inches away. There isn’t anything much worse than having moist, hot, liquor breath sweep across your face into every pore and wafting up into your nose.
After hearing the same story for the third time, I find myself looking across the room, I catch peoples lifeless gazes and insincere smiles. When all of a sudden a jolt goes through my body, and I notice Peter making his way towards my vicinity. I franticly blurt out that I need to go to the bathroom. Not my most koi moment but I needed to make my escape. If this is what my night entails, I decided that I’ll need some liquid courage and head to the bar. “Shot of your cheapest vodka, stat! Thank you.” The bartender gave me a wide eye look. I don’t think it’s everyday he gets asked for the cheapest vodka.
Music blazes through my ears but unlike others, it doesn’t faze me or engulfs me. It just gives me an opening. I regret wearing a skirt now, the only good thing is that it highlights my tanned legs when I dance. I try to find an opening into the dance mob but everyone is too clustered or busy making out. I look at them pitifully, they don’t know the right time to make out in a rager. I see a guy with jet black hair and an ear piercing. Sweet. Just the type of guy I need. I walk close to him and take his hand flashing him a flirty smile, he understands what I am doing but he looks at another girl. Oh great, he has a girlfriend. This night just got more interesting. I drag him slowly but slyly and I whisper in his ear, “it’s just one dance, you will be black to your wife in a minute”. I see him blush and I smile back, he is so cute. Exactly what I need. I dance slowly at first with him as we make our way through the mob, he starts to loosen up and I pick a drink from a tray and hand one over. He gulps it down without asking. He frequently turns back looking at his girlfriend and it infuriates me but makes the chase so much more worthwhile. I place his hands on my hips and move closer to him, I see his shock as was expected from an innocent guy like him. But I pretend it to notice and move closer, I continue dancing noticing people watching the both of us. As I see ore people approaching, I notice his blonde haired girlfriend walking over. I let her take the bait, I kiss him, making sure to make him interested, he holds me more tightly exploring my lips with much fervor I never knew he had. His girlfriend comes to where we are standing, I know she is about to make a spectacle so I just say,”thanks for making my night”, and I walk away.
I return to the back of the house to see Chase waiting for me,”well that didn’t take long”. “I told you I was good, so how was my audition “, I ask back. “How can I say no. Welcome to the CIA”.
Any help would be appreciated:
Robert Beake smiled as his 1974 Mercedes E-Class skid into the nursery’s parking lot. He would always try to touch the base of the 4 foot clay pots. Sometimes he would miss by inches, other times we would over calculate and slip into the chalked out parking spot, the last, however, he crashed dead straight into a terracotta display, sending shrapnel and chaos into the unsuspecting buyers. The gold fender whooshed past a Greek-style potting base.
Missed, the young man thought. No carnage, but no finesse neither. Oh, well! There’s always next week.
He chuckled as he stepped out of the coupe. The next was his favorite part and he would relish it like a fine aged cognac. Dust crashed over his open top like a wave and he bellowed in laughter as the porcelain skinned and blue-vein geriatrics jumped, fell, slipped, howled, and cursed the boy freshly spoiled out of school.
It might be his Dad’s place, no doubt by the smirks and leers the young man gave as he marched through the front doors every Friday, demanding cash for the weekend’s partying, but that gave him no right to treat decent, paying customers the way he did. Old man Beake should be ashamed of himself! the codgers and croons tried to bring light that reprimand was needed. Alas, the boy spat next to their shoes and rubber-tip cranes, dust still scratching their eyes moist from eye drops as he strode past them.
His gold-rimmed aviator sunglasses glinted in the gentle sun as he placed it on top of his head caked with gel and smacked a hanging pot with pink and white petunias. The petals and leaves would dangle down as the young man patrolled in and screamed for the old man to step out of his office.
p { margin-bottom: 0.1in; line-height: 120%; }
The music wasn’t loud enough. The room wasn’t dark enough. The people were moving all united by the heartbeat. But they weren’t lost enough. They were
still alive a looking around to make sure they other people were
enjoying this too. “Why are we here.” I shouted.
“You need to get out more!”
Yeah, okay. That table, right there it was positioned so that I could see what the DJ
was doing but not get my eardrums liquefied by the bass. Order some
drinks. Complain about the song selection.
“You wanna dance?” I said.
Tyler knew it had been his idea to come to this party, but he regretted it as soon as he reached the door. He knew that his girlfriend loved parties, and had jumped at the chance to bring her to one, but he also knew that this wasn’t his element.
He opened the door, taking in the scenes of chaos around the room. How they crammed so many people into the house was anybody’s guess. As he walked, he searched for his girlfriend through the crowds, he felt them. The eyes. He could feel the entire room staring at him, letting him know that he wasn’t welcome there.
Settle down he told himself. It’s all in your head. There’s no one watching you.
But he couldn’t settle down, and he risked a look around. There he locked eyes with one boy who was definitely staring at him. The boy’s lips started to move, but Tyler looked away and dug his way deeper into the crowd.
He heard the whispers as he passed between two girls.
“Freak,” one said.
“Worthless,” said the other.
Tyler quickened his pace dodging and weaving through the crowd, but it was no use.
“Shouldn’t be here.”
“Doesn’t belong.”
He was drowning in the voices. They surrounded him, piercing his skull, and ringing in his ears. He slammed his hands over his ears, desperate to silence them. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. “Shut up,” he screamed.
The entire party stilled, and the music cut off. There was total silence. The whispers however, kept going.
Lena walked into the ballroom #5 and groaned aloud as she saw over a hundred people. She hesitated near the door before sliding to the side with a mumbled apology as a line formed behind her. Music pumped from the speakers near the stage, a long buffet table to her right and tables to her left. She saw many faces she knew including her sister surrounded by tuxedoed men. Lena rolled her eyes and aspired to get lost in the crowd before someone saw her.
Lena shuffled left, weaving in and out of the couples chatting and the waiters offering drinks. A champagne glass appeared in front of her face. Lena skidded to a stop and glared up into the greenest eyes she had ever seen.
“Champagne, miss?”
Lena shook her head. He smiled, crooked teeth and dimples. He brushed past her, smelling of cologne and fried food.
“Wait.” Lena grabbed his arm. “Aren’t you suppose to card me?”
“Mr. Besh assured me that everyone here is old enough.” He glanced over his shoulder before setting down the try of champagne flutes. He held out his hand. “I think I need to see your id anyways.”
“I bet you use that line on all the girls,” said Lena. She let go of his arm and wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans.
“Only the pretty ones.”
“Yeah right.”
Since he was still waiting, Lena huffed and dug her id out of her back pocket. It slipped from her fingers and knelt to pick it up.
“Here- oh damn it!” She dropped the id again.
“I’ve got it, hang on-“
“I’m sorry! Let me-“
They both knelt at the same time. Lena’s forehead whacked his nose.
“My nose!”
He fell backward into the table with a loud gasp, the champagne glasses crashed to the ground. Lena stood and tried to help him up, only to slip on the spilled champagne. With a screech, she fell forward, landing on top of him.
Holding his sleeve to his bloody nose, he held out her id.
“Nice to meet you Lena Besh.”
Lena snatched up her id, shoved off of him and ran from the growing crowd of gawkers.
Adult lit
I walk in and check out the venture. Loud music is playing hip hop and rnb with beautiful women dancing and men trying to catch their intention. The venture has long glass windows at the back that shows the night as a backdrop and the balcony outside. The moon is shining perfectly and brightly reflecting off the glass of the windows. I turn to my right and see a woman who is at the bar staring my way. She is dressed in a tight black mini dress that shows her curvy physique. Her hair is styled in long brown curls that hang down to the her shoulders. Her face reminds her of a Greek goddess with her big brown eyes and kissable lips. I smile in her direction and she sends me one back. Giving me the cue I need to head in her direction.
I pushed open the door, trying as hard as I could to exude confidence, just as Asher had said. I was still trying to figure out what the hell he was thinking, bringing me to a party of all places. I know I had said “anywhere”, but this is not what I had in mind. I made my way inside, pushing past people, mumbling an “excuse me”, or “pardon”, every now and then. When I had gotten about halfway across the room I suddenly realized how many people were surrounding, and I could feel the bubble of anxiety rising up to my chest. Suddenly, the shoving became much more insistent and aggressive as I rushed to get out of the mob of people. Pushing past the last person I stumbled into a less crowded room, and took a deep breath. There was a table with food on it, and I was immediately drawn to it, but I recalled Asher saying he would be by the pool table. The inner turmoil was frustrating, food or Asher? The answer was obvious, but that didn’t mean the food wasn’t tempting. I looked around and saw the pool tables, but Asher was nowhere to be seen. That bubble of anxiety was coming up again, along with a string of doubts, Did he forget? Did he just not want to come? Did something happen to him? As all these thoughts flooded my head, but as soon as I saw him emerge from yet another door, and all the doubts left my mind. He saw me and grinned, strolling over in his typical fashion. I smile threatened to split across my face, but I couldn’t smile, I had a bone to pick with him. “You came,” he exclaimed. “I didn’t think you would come, I mean I know it isn’t really your scene, and I could tell you were nervous about it, so I was-
“Its fine Asher, don’t worry about it,” I said. He seemed so flustered, and excited, so I didn’t want to rain on his parade.
“Do you like it?”
“Uh… yeah. It’s just great,” I responded, trying hard to sound enthusiastic. He had done a lot for me, the least I could do was something he seemed to enjoy. He sat there for a moment, not saying anything, with an almost blank stare on his face. And then, he burst out laughing.
“Your face,” he wheezed. I could feel the heat radiating off my cheeks. What was he laughing so hard about? Was he drunk? The laughing slowly ceased, and he rubbed his face, suddenly looking much more somber.
“I’m not stupid Char. You didn’t actually think I would take you here, did you?”
I nodded sheepishly. He smiled and rolled his eyes, something he did quite often. ‘C’mon you dork, this isn’t what I wanted to show you. It’s out here.” The way he called me dork was so different from the way she called me names. He could call me dork over and over again, and I could always here the love and endearment behind it. She never sounded like that. I took his hand, and he led me outside. I knew no matter what happened, I loved this man, he was my other half, no matter how cheesy it sounded. I loved him.
This definitely took way longer than 15 minutes, but it was pretty fun. Comments and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated! Thank you!
Lol another addicted writer (it took me more than 15 minutes to wrote mine too)! xD
I liked it but I keep wondering what Asher shown to Char… It was really easy for me to understand. The only confusion I’ve encounter was at the end; I might be wrong but I think you inverse the «he» for the «she». I also liked how you made the main character telling us she was in love; I could easily relate with that. Keep up your good work!
YA lit:
I’ve never smoked a cigarette, but right now I’m wishing I had at some point in my life. Not that I could have gotten away with smoking at my father’s work party, but I longed to do something other than hover by the food table. The smell of bbq sauce having been out for hours in room temperature filled my nostrils with disgust. My bra was cutting into my side. I threw my laundry in before we left thinking I’d have time to wash the one bra I had that fit properly, but then it was announced that we were going to be leaving early, and I got stuck with one I outgrew three years prior. I was anxious to find a bathroom to adjust the cutting at my side, or at least find a good place to lay low for awhile.
I didn’t even want to come tonight, but Kathy asked me to and it’s hard to deny her anything. For a step mother she’s pretty wonderful, and I have a hard time denying her much. My father is standing on the other side of the room laughing and talking with a few women coworkers from his office. His hair is slicked back to perfectly, and a cold glass of white wine is in his left hand. The liquid sloshes up the side as he seems to tell a joke, and the entire group throws their heads back in laughter. It’s hard not to resent that the only time I see him with a smile on his face is when he thinks I’m not looking.
“You’re Seth’s kid, right?”
I turn and see Joe from accounting. I’m not sure what his last name is, but having been dragged to several of my father’s work parties by Kathy, and I’ve met Joe at least twice now. I’ll be eighteen next month, and I attempt to shove down the resentment at him calling me a kid. He also seems to have completely forgotten my name which irritates me more. Joe has a tan line around his left ring finger, I look to the left and right of him, and I can only assume that Sue is no longer in the picture. I remember Joe. I remember Sue. I remember that they have a house on the west side of Lake Eerie, and that his daughter is two years younger than me, and plays soccer. I think her name is McKenzie. So why Joe can’t remember who I am, or that I’m practically an adult infuriates me.
“Yep.” I reply looking away, my fingers itching for the feeling of a cigarette that I’ve never experienced.
“I recognized you from your red hair. It looks just like your mother’s did. What a neat party.” Joe replies, sticking one had in his pocket, while using the other to reach for a deviled egg and shove it in his mouth. It takes everything in me to not move my upper lip in disgust, or show how much the mention of my mother upsets me.
“Super neat.” I say, pushing off the wall I’m leaning against, and moving through bodies, the shrill laughter surround me is creating a headache. I feel the strap around my midsection burning into me now. I have to get out of here. I don’t know why I wore this dress. I don’t know why I’m even here.
‘The Lady in the red gown’ was how she was addressed for the rest of the evening.
Though a mystery to everyone except to the host, she was evidently the centre of attraction at the party.
Her graceful moves across the dance floor complimented her beauty .
Though a total stranger she seemed to be at ease and very naturally comfortable as though she always belonged there.
While people refilled their drinks after the dance number there was a melody being played at the piano.
The place was enthralled by the melodious notes from the Piano. All eyes turned to the pianist and a beautiful voice sung a song which was nothing less than divinity. All seemed to have come to a standstill at the otherwise happening party. Not a soul at the party was aware of the fact that they were mesmerized. Caught unaware by the soulful singing of the ‘The Lady in the red gown’.
I love the mystery factor that added to the story. The flow was great, and the word choice was superb. Overall amazing job!
Oh my god. This, this is my heaven.
My eyes roam across the HUGE table that is loaded with food that I can only dream of ever seeing. Croissants, chocolate, chicken, and a whole lot of other stuff that don’t and do start with C. I’m sure I’m drooling by now, and my stomach rumbles quietly. Looking around for any security guards, I creep towards the heavenly sight. If I fill up my knapsack, it’ll keep me and my brother going for days! Glancing around to see all the rich people in fancy clothes dancing and laughing, all of them drunk and acting like idiots, I start to fill my bag quickly. Fruits and pastries, ohhhh lil’ bro will love that- “Caught you, you little thief! You trying to get me fired you brat? I hope you like getting pounded-”
A large hand has grabbed my wrist and is tightening with alarming strength. Hissing slightly from the pain, I start to flail. “Let me go you pathetic excuse for a babieca!”
“No can do, you rotten thief, and you’ll pay for calling me that.” And with those words, he drags me away to who-knows-where. But I still smirk at his back, him no doubtably triumphant over catching me. Then I bite his hand. He let’s go quickly with a pained yelp and I immediately break away cackling as I go. I have food for me and my brother AND I got to bite a jerk. Best party crash ever this year.
Ava Olson stands next to a beer covered table, of both cans and spills, in the basement of a senior she barely knows. Her expression is different from everyone else’s at the party. The room is full of smiles, laughter, and shouts from people getting super into the beer pong tournament. While all of this typical teenage behavior is going on, Ava is looking around nervously.
“What the hell is the resting bitch face for?”
A pit enters Ava’s stomach when she hears that, but is then relieved when she sees it’s just her friend Cassie.
Cassie is actually the reason Ava is at the party in the first place. She’s apart of the popular crowd and Ava hasn’t even really spoken to her since the 5th grade. Up until this year, when they were assigned to the same table in study hall table.
Cassie then puts her arm around Ava and whispers, “Relax, girl, it’s just a party not a cult gathering.”
Ava laughs, “I know, I know. It’s just,” She hesitates, “. I dont really talk to any of these people. Plus I’m worried if my mom finds out I’ve been drinking she’s gonna seriously freak out.”
“First of all, don’t worry about your mom. We all have parents here, ya know. You’re 16. This is what us high school girls do. Sneak around with alcohol and boys. Its all good practice for when we hit college.”
“Yeah, that’s true I guess” Ava says.
“Plus, my friends are you’re friends,” Cassie then leans in close to Ava. “And speaking of my friends, guess who asked about you.” She said with a smirk.
Ava was a little confused about who could possibly be asking about her. She doesn’t ask who, she just looks at her friend with creased eyebrows.
Cassie rolls her eyes with a smile of amusement. “Joey Peretti!” She says in a loud with whisper.
That’s when Ava’s whole demeanor changed. She has had a crush on Joey since middle school. She’s overwhelmed with excitement, but also pretty dumbfounded. Joey had never ever paid any attention to her, along with all of the other boys. He was always flirting with and chasing after the hot-popular girls. Girls like Cassie. Ava thinks and then says out loud, “Why did he ask about me? I didn’t even think he knew my name.”
“Because you’re finally not dressed like a 5th grader. Thanks to me.”
Before they left for the party Cassie forced her out of her old areopastel polo and shorts that compared very well to what old men wear when they go golfing. She dressed Ava in her clothes fit to be worn by Kylie Jenner. Not to mention all the makeup Cassie caked on her face. Well it seemed like a lot to Ava since she doesn’t know the first thing about that stuff. Hence another reason why she felt out of her element. But Cassie assured Ava of how much of a “hottie” she is and that she just doesn’t know how to use her looks to her advantage.
Cassie suddenly shouts across the crowded basement, “Hey, Joey!”
To no surprise, Ava’s face goes into a panic and she mouths to Cassie “No, no, no”. Cassie then gives her a look that clearly means “stop it and relax”.
Joey then is right behind them and says hey. Ava takes a deep breath.
“Ava and I were just talking about how awesome it was when you won the baseball game with that grandslam.” Cassie lied. Ava wasn’t even at the game.
Joey looks at Ava with a proud expression. “Oh really? Yea, him hoping to get accepted to a good baseball college next year.”
Ava’s tongue is in a knot but she finally makes out the words, “Cool, Duke University has a really good baseball program. I’m actually applying there as my safety school.”
Instantly after Ava said it she thought it was so lame. But it worked.
“No way! That actually one of the schools I’m trying to get scouted for.” Joey nudged her on the shoulder, “if we both end up there, we’ll be partying together before we know it.”
“Well let’s party together here in the meantime,” Ava said that sweetly but she was still amazed at herself for saying something seemingly so flirty.
Cassie looked at her friend impressed then chimes in, “shit, I’m out. I gotta go look for another beer.” She then winks at Ava and says “talk to ya later.”
Ava, again, felt nervous but actually excited and curious at the same time. Who knows, maybe since she was now at the bottom of her bud light platinum she was “feeling it”. She looked at her crush in his eyes and automatically let out a charming smile. She doesn’t even know how cute she is.
He tilted his head at her with a grin and says “so weird, I saw you when you got here and could barely place who you were. Then I realized you’re the girl in my history class who’s the only one who raises their hand. You just look so different tonight.” Then he quickly added, “good different.”
Ava let’s out a little nervous giggle and says “Yea, Cassie got me all dolled up.” And looks down at her getup and is actually starting to like what she sees. Then pops her head up and says, “I hope I’m not annoying in class always answering! It just get so awkward when the class is silent for 30 seconds everytime after Ms. Burke asks a question.”
Joey laughs and says, “No, no. It’s not annoying at all. You always answer the question as if you’re asking if you’re right. And of course, you always are. It’s cute. Always thought I should ask you to be my tutor.”
“I’d love to be your tutor!” Oh jeez maybe that was too enthusiastic, she feared. “I mean like if you really need help, I wouldn’t mind at all. History is fun for me.”
“Yeah, that would actually be so awesome. I need to up my grades. Here, give me your number,” he says as he hands her his phone.
Ava hopes her hand isn’t shaking too obviously as she enters her number in. Then he says, “and maybe, we can do other stuff too.”
He said it in a way that Ava knew exactly what he meant. She had butterflies in her stomach making her feel tingles all over.
Joey tells her they should go over and sit down somewhere, and that’s what they do. They talked and laughed on the couch for what felt like hours. Ava was on cloud nine, especially since when his friends came to ask him to come on their flip cup team or go out and smoke with them, he told them all “nah, I’m talking to Ava.”
Finally after Ava had waited years and years for her first kiss, it actually happened. And not just with anyone, but with Joey Peretti. She would never in a million years think that he would actually be interested in her. And it wasn’t just a kiss. It was a full on makeout. A few short hours ago Ava was begging her friend not to force her into a crop top and practically crying about lying to her parents. Now here she is, laying on a couch in the middle of a pretty crazy party, with one of the most popular guys in school right on top of her.
Suddenly and much to her disappointment, Cassie comes over to tell Ava they have to leave. She’s clearly drunk but surprisingly responsible. “Sorry to interrupt you’re boner, Joey. But it’s almost 4 and my parents are cool but not that cool.”
Ava and Joey say they’re goodbyes and Joey says to her, “I can’t wait till our study sesh.” Then kisses her on her hand.
On the drive home Ava and Cassie sit in the back seat of the DD’s car and are so giddy discussing their night. Especially over Ava’s.
“I’m so proud of you!” Cassie says as she is shaking her friends body. She calms down a bit and then says, “I’m telling you girl, life is gonna be so different for you now. Like you’re finally becoming a teenage slut like me.” She was joking at the end, yet it did have a little truth to it.
“You know what, Cass? Can you take me shopping tomorrow?”
Cassie tell out a joyful screech and hugged her best friend.
For the rest of the night Ava was thinking about how much she can’t wait for summer and senior year. And for once she was excited about school for the fun she’s going to have, not for working towards her college credits.
Sorry about all the typos! Didn’t have time to proofread.
(I know my text is long and I honestly don’t really know how much time I’ve been writting it, but anyways, here it is! I’m sorry in advance for all the mistakes that I might have wrote. Hope you’ll enjoy it!^^)
A girl is sitting in the living room at the party of her school. While the music is playing loud, she is nibbling her nails, like she was waiting for something. She looks at her watch and tap repeatedly the poor floor with her left foot.
“Bzzzzt.”
The girl blenchs and takes her phone out of her pocket. She unlocks her iphone, click here and there before ending on her new private message. She froze. She closed her cellphone and she gets up, mechanically. She looked at her left, then, her right. All drunk people partying and dancing as they could. She inspired loudly. She got only 45 minutes to do it, there was no time for freaking out.
She walks fast toward what seemed like an improvised bar. She stops in the front of a guy, standing behind the bar, drying a glass, looking straight at her. She gulped and slowly continue her way to him.
“Come on Bethy, you can do this!” she cheers herself up.
“Hi there,” the guy said to her. “Hi,” she said looking the other way, “Can I have hum, a drink please? The strongest you have,” she proceed while twisting her hair around her finger. “I’ve never seen you before… You’re not the type that usually goes to parties, aren’t you?” ask the barman while pouring whiskey in a glass. The girl forces to grin at the guy: “Yeah… Not really. I am not used to crowded-and-noisy places”.
The guy tends the glass to the girl, but when she tries to take it from him, he still have his fingers closed on it.
“What’s your name?” he asked her. The girl bite her lower lips. A typical habbit she had when she’s about to tell a lie. “I’m Elizabeth. Elizabeth Wats.” she said confidently. “But you can call me Beth though,” she saids with an honest smile. “Can I have my drink now?” she asks after a pause. Her hand was on top of the guy’s one. They were somehow cold and makes Beth uncomfortable.
The guy stopped glancing at her, a bit embarrassed and let her to have her drink. But Beth haven’t finished. She had to have answers, a track… Or else, there’s going to be consequences…
Beth played with her glass, unsure what to do. “What is yours?” she asked to the barman with beautiful messy hair.. “You’re name,” she added after he looked at her with a lost glance. “I’m Micheal,” he answers, “Micheal Johnson”.
Beth grinned at Micheal before drink her whiskey, one shot. A member of Johnson’s family, huh? He was the key for winning her bet.
“Nice to meet you, Micheal.”
Haha what if my character wouldn’t even go to a party? Or if I can’t picture the sort of people who would go to a party with him? He’s a mentor to my protagonist, a Dumbledore/Gandalf type. That’s why I’m having so much trouble fleshing him out. I see him as a kindly grandpa just as my protagonist does, but don’t know who he is under that.
have arrived at the party”.Ariana nervously declared to herself as she unconciously wipe the front of her dress and entered the building.Even at the front door of the building she could hear the loud noise and the indistinct voices of people enjoying themselves.
Asking herself how she got suckered into coming to the party for the thirtieth time ,she mindlessly sipped the drink and took a seat the the stools at the bar.It wasn’t like she knew anyone at the party and her roommate Lara has gone to mingle (if you call sticking your tongue down the first guy you meet socializing).Around her people were drinking, laughing and talking to each other among other things she didn’t want to mention.
So this is what all the fuss was about ? With all the kissing and sexual innuendoes she might as well strip naked .she had a feeling she would fit right in .She thought with an unimpressed look on her face.Realizing she was being a judgey bitch she decided to order more drinks and enjoy the party.
“Well, you are definitely new.”She turned to the voice behind her and relaxed when she realized it was the bartender from earlier.”What’s that supposed to mean?” “I meant no offense but it’s just that since you sat down you haven’t made any effort to speak to anyone and you keep making weird faces as if you disapprove of everything and so I believe I am going to help you by asking you this life saving question .”What are you doing here? Were you dared to or something ?” “No ,I lost a bet .” “Ahh,what was the bet ?” He asked with his eyes twinkling obviously interested .
“Nothing you need to know about .”She said quickly.Thinking about the bet now she blushed furiously and shot him a dirty look as she realized that he was enjoying her discomfort .”Raymond Chase “.He said stretching out his hand .”Ariana Carter .She shook his hand and smiled back.
“Since we are not discussing the bet, what did you going out have to do with you losing the bet.Don’t get me wrong I just think they could have picked something interesting .”
“I agree infact I-”
“Like skinny-dipping”.”Hey!”.He stepped back as she tried to hit him.”This was supposed to help me socialize and be friendly you know .” “I can help with that ,I know everybody . By the way, your friend looks like she is having the time of her life .”True enough she turned around to find Lara dancing with some guy .
ave arrived at the party”.Ariana nervously declared to herself as she unconciously wipe the front of her dress and entered the building.Even at the front door of the building she could hear the loud noise and the indistinct voices of people enjoying themselves.
Asking herself how she got suckered into coming to the party for the thirtieth time ,she mindlessly sipped the drink and took a seat the the stools at the bar.It wasn’t like she knew anyone at the party and her roommate Lara has gone to mingle (if you call sticking your tongue down the first guy you meet socializing).Around her people were drinking, laughing and talking to each other among other things she didn’t want to mention.
So this is what all the fuss was about ? With all the kissing and sexual innuendoes she might as well strip naked .she had a feeling she would fit right in .She thought with an unimpressed look on her face.Realizing she was being a judgey bitch she decided to order more drinks and enjoy the party.
“Well, you are definitely new.”She turned to the voice behind her and relaxed when she realized it was the bartender from earlier.”What’s that supposed to mean?” “I meant no offense but it’s just that since you sat down you haven’t made any effort to speak to anyone and you keep making weird faces as if you disapprove of everything and so I believe I am going to help you by asking you this life saving question .”What are you doing here? Were you dared to or something ?” “No ,I lost a bet .” “Ahh,what was the bet ?” He asked with his eyes twinkling obviously interested .
“Nothing you need to know about .”She said quickly.Thinking about the bet now she blushed furiously and shot him a dirty look as she realized that he was enjoying her discomfort .”Raymond Chase “.He said stretching out his hand .”Ariana Carter .She shook his hand and smiled back.
“Since we are not discussing the bet, what did you going out have to do with you losing the bet.Don’t get me wrong I just think they could have picked something interesting .”
“I agree infact I-”
“Like skinny-dipping”.”Hey!”.He stepped back as she tried to hit him.”This was supposed to help me socialize and be friendly you know .” “I can help with that ,I know everybody . By the way, your friend looks like she is having the time of her life .”True enough she turned around to find Lara dancing with some guy .
Aliza followed her bestfriend, Marvel, around the house weaving through people either dancing, talking, drinking or in some cases, all three. This wasn’t the first party she’s gone to, with the blasting music and detectable smell of alcohol filling her senses. However, the glow and the dark decorations and clothing was new and unexpected.
“Here, drink this.” Marvel said, handing her a cup filled with clear liquid. Aliza grabbed the glass and drank. Her throat burned as she handed the cup back to her friend.
“Hay Marvel,” She said looking at some people across the room. “I think that’s Loyal.”
“What, him here? There’s no way.” Marvel said, filling both of their glasses up again.
“And why not?” Aliza asked. “He’s gone to more parties than I have.”
Her friend shrugged. “Ok maybe it is him, but you guys haven’t seen each other in what…”
“Four years.” Aliza finished, finished off her second cup. “I’m going to go see him.”
“Ok I’ll be by the food if you need me, and don’t drink anything unless I give it to you. We wouldn’t want you jacked up on who knows what.”
Aliza smiled. “I know, relax will you.” She walked in the direction of her old friend. Her hands tingled as the two drinks made their way into her system. It took longer to get to him that she thought, having to push passed dancing couples and two drunks toppling over each other in an attempt to fight. Aliza eyes lit up as she tapped the boy on his shoulder.
“Aliza?” He smiled.
“Hi Loyal, it’s so nice to see you.”
On the way to the party, I made some rules for myself. First, I would not stay longer than planned. Second, I would meet as many people as I could. Third, I would try to listen more than talk. And fourth, I would have a good time.
Rule one was easy, I arranged for my sister to call me before I turned into a pumpkin. Second rule would take some scouting skills. Number two stated I would start my conversation list with those that had dressed like me, then with those that looked like me, then, and here is where I expected things to get interesting, those at the party that appeared completely opposite from me. This would be people with whom I normally would not cross the street to say hello to on the street (or at a party). Not because I am a snob, just I tend to gravitate on my own orbit. I figured that was enough thinking-time to act.
I entered the room feeling fresh and confident and spotted a gentleman about my age. I approached slowly and when the time was right I introduced myself to the small group. They were very cordial and yet a bit stale for such a nicely dressed group. No talk of sports or politics which I devour. Just mundane gab. An about face found me in a group of young professionals that appeared like myself. Yet, after one minute of my ears burning, I left for the wine table. Too much liberal politics going on in that group. Not good for my health and sanity.
Finally, as I was selecting a nice glass of South African red, I waited for the call from my sister. Then a young woman approached me in a swagger that I could not resist. She had the broadest, warmest smile on a tanned angelic face. She asked, “Are you as bored as I am?” I reminded myself that I would listen more than speak. So I gazed into her brown eyes and that spoke for itself. She asked in a slight accent if I would like to get some fresh air. I reached into my coat pocket and turned off my phone.
I hope people still read these…I’m new at this and I’m not sure about this characterization thing.
***
She walked through the giant brown French doors of the mansion
and could already smell the must and cologne of new people. People of all
shapes and sizes were mingling and drinking champagne out of expensive
glassware. Samantha lifted off her coat and handed it to the tall doorman who appeared to be on duty. She took a big deep breath, held her shoulders high, and turned into the big entryway.
The first man that walked by, immediately stopped and asked for her name. Samantha smiled at him and obliged his request. She gave him her hand as he kissed it and gazed into her eyes. Needing to continue her rounds around the room, she said ‘nice to meet you” and kept walking.
She admired the vintage wood carvings in the walls and the old Roman furniture. Samantha grabbed a fresh glass off the tray being passed around and finally spotted her subject across the room.
I’ve been mucking around with a few concepts for a story but i can never finish one, mostly due to my characters. Hopefully you like this little excerpt :).
Breathe Madeleine, take long deep breaths. Yes, thats it. Act like there isn’t a hundred or so eyes on you.
‘Princess?’ a familiar husky voice snaps me from my internal monologue.
My eyes quickly shift upwards to a pair of familiar black eyes. Landon. I smile at his confused and concerned expression.
‘Are you okay?’ He asks.
I nod, ‘I’m fine, thank you Landon.’
He smiles and nods back, ‘Good, because everyone is waiting for you.’ he smirks, ‘Your Highness.’ he knows how much I hate it when he calls me that.
I narrow my eyes slightly but my place my hand in his as we descend the staircase towards the crowded ballroom floor. Bodies are pressed together and swung around while others are standing still amongst friends and strangers chatting and staring at us, me. As Landon and I make our way to the raised stage where my parents are sitting. I nod and smile at those we pass, welcoming and thanking them for coming.
‘Your smile seems a little forced, don’t you think Princess?’ Landon whispers in my ear and I can practically see him smirking.
‘Shut up.’ I say in a sing-song voice through my smile, he just laughs quietly.
I know I use a cliche in my 1st chapter, but overall, i think it adds to the suspense. Please tell me if you like it or if i need improvement!
The rain pounded harshly on the windows of the Pritchard house while Elliot sat at the kitchen table doing homework. There was a knock on the door, and Elliot went to open it. But when she opened the door, she was surprised to see a tall man in a black hat, a trench coat and black sunglasses.
Is this some kind of joke? People were always pulling pranks on her, because she was what they called a “nerd”. Suddenly, a deep, hoarse voice spoke from under the coat. “May I come in?” Elliot stepped aside to welcome the man into her house. “Excuse me, sir, but, who exactly are you?” The man stopped. He turned to face her. He appeared old, and his graying hair poked out in little wisps of silver from under his hat. “You are Elliot Rebecca Wilson-Pritchard, age 13, from the Pritchard residence on 335 Orchard Circle, am I correct?” Elliot stared at the man in amazement. “How- how did you-?” But the man interrupted her as he continued his speech. “And you are William Jason Pritchard’s granddaughter?” But Elliot just stared at him. “Hmm, brown eyes, brown hair, pointed nose, you must be… Where is it…” The man mumbled to himself as he rummaged through his satchel.
Then, after about a minute of searching, the man seemed to have found what he was looking for. “Ah, here it is!” He pulled out a small device that looked like a barcode scanner, then pointed it at Elliot, who was looking at it with a stupefied look on her face. After a couple of seconds, a mechanized voice spoke: “DNA scan complete. Living blood relative of William Pritchard.” “Ah, yes, leave it to George to put my AFS in the most secluded area in the satchel. I’ll get him for this, I swear..” But Elliot was still staring at the device. “You didn’t answer my- my question…” “Ah yes, your question! How stupid of me.” The man took off his sunglasses to reveal aged gray eyes. “Now, my name is Henry McTrevor. Also, are your parents home?” “No. Why?” The man’s smile morphed into a frown.
“Listen, I need you to go upstairs and pack up all your belongings.” “But-” “There’s no time to explain, Elliot Pritchard.” The cheerful expression had now vanished completely from the man’s face as he crouched down to her level and put his hands on her shoulders. “All I can tell you for now is this.” The man paused and glanced around the room, as if making sure that no one was listening, then continued with the speech. “Elliot Pritchard, you are one of the chosen ones.”
It took me a few minutes before i realized that Elliot was a girl, but i liked it. Although if i was a young girl and some strange guy showed up at my door, i wouldn’t let him in.
//I hope you like it~!
Abigail glanced all around her, blaring sound of vibration bounced off the walls and entered her ears. She shuffled around, awkwardly. “God I hate Finn for dragging me here,” She thought to herself in annoyance. She moved past the large crowds of drunken teens and hung over adults. “Why the hell am I here anyways!” She exclaimed to herself under her breath, people’s bodies and arms pushed against her. Excitement and wildness hung in the air, her stomach flip flopped around at the sight of so many people.
“Hey Abby~!” A smooth tone made Abigail almost jump out of her skin, she whipped around; almost smacking the person who’s voice had scared her but she stopped abruptly. There stood Jackson Gonzalez, one of the most popular and (might I had) cutest guys in school.
“I- Um..Jackson! H-Hi!” Shoot. She wanted to kick herself right now and then for being such an idiot in front of him. Until now, she realized how clammy her hands felt, the sweat forming on her forehead.
“I never saw you come to any of Micheal’s parties before,” He paused for a sec, his hand running through his wavy brown locks, he laughed a bit to himself before looking back at her, “I thought you always stayed home- at least that’s what Finn always said.” He ended with a sigh as Abigail felt her eye twitch. Her heart began to race as she thought to herself angrily,
“I am going to kill you, Finn!” Abigail realized Jackson was staring at her, and her cheeks reddened suddenly with color. “I..,” She started to state but Jackson cut her off, his broad reckless, caring grin widened at her as he took her hand in his.
“Hey, wanna dance?” He questioned, a soft pastel pink blush spread across his cheeks as he looked in her eyes.
My character is at a party with a hundred people. First my character comes in. She looks around to see if anyone is watching. She takes off her coat. She shudders a little bit, but the coat is taken from her. She smiles politely at the host as he describes the day that he had trying to get the party together. She waits and listens, nodding her head as the man continues to talk. When he casts brief glances around the room she takes a moment to survey the room. She gets stuck on a gentleman in the corner. There isn’t much light so she can’t make out his face. She squints.
The host is still talking to her. She doesn’t realize it, but she has folded her arms across her chest and is rubbing her arms. The host is still holding her coat and is halfway through an anecdote about how difficult it is to find crème fresh in these parts so he just made his own. He catches her eye as her gaze is frozen on the man in the corner. He turns to see what she is looking at. He doesn’t say anything but gives her a puzzled, unsure look and puts her coat in the closet.
When the host’s back is turned the lady walks slowly toward the corner without saying goodbye to the host. He begins telling his story again but she is not behind him like he expected. He turns and is surprised to see that she has gone. He calls her name but she pretends not to hear only jerking her head slightly to the right when she hears her name. She acts like she turned to admire the fabric of the lady’s shirt that is just passing by. She grazes the fabric with her fingertips and gushes about how sheer it is while still glancing at the mysterious guest in the corner. The guest with the fantastic fabric begins to walks away and mentions she’s with some guests on the other side of the room. She asks the lady if she would like to join them. She nods her head and directs her eyes to the corner. The other guest nods in acknowledgement slowly and walks away without another word. The lady with the fantastic fabric is gone. The lady looks down at her shoes. She asks herself if she should have worn them they are so pointy and tall and tight on her feet. She tries to expand and contract her toes to keep them from getting a cramp. With her hands behind her back she looks up again at the corner. The corner is now empty. Almost pitch black.
The lady looks around. She holds her hand to her chest while spinning around 180 degrees. The mysterious individual from the corner is now right in front of her. She looks into his eyes for a moment. They both look each other in the eye. There is a glimmer of recognition for both of them. The woman doesn’t smile the man doesn’t nod, they both stand looking at each other, still, like a monument to better days.
She looks down again and takes a deep breath. She looks up at him as if she was doing a triple dare. Someone calls to the man from the other side of the room. He answers them and motions to her. He will be back in a minute. He walks away. The lady folds her arms across her chest again. She begins rubbing her arms noticing that she has goose bumps. She goes to the closet to get her coat. She wraps it around her and quickly walks out to the back patio.
She looks out into the backyard. It has torches lighting the way through a maze of shrubbery. She goes for a walk deep into the shrubbery. She passes by a couple having an intimate conversation on a bench on the side of the walkway. She doesn’t acknowledge them. They do not acknowledge her. She hears words but they don’t register. She runs both hands through her hair, pinning it behind her ears. She walks faster so she doesn’t have to hear what they are saying. She is guided by the sound of the foundation that pours in the distance.
She walks through the maze, not knowing which direction she goes, only that she is getting closer or farther away from the sound of the flowing fountain. She wanders for a while. She has slowed down her walk. She can’t hear the couple anymore. She finally comes up to the fountain. She sits down and dips her hand in. But she’s looking off into the distance. She lets the water pour through her finger tips and shakes the water off to put her hands into her lap as she looks up at the sky. She hears footsteps. She starts. She hears a familiar voice. Her heart beats faster, she straightens out her hair. She puts one arm behind her and leans on it as she looks up at the stars.
It was exactly who she expected it to be. A knowing smile came upon her lips as she turned her head away from the direction of the man. She always knew how to get what she wanted without even really trying.
Luna walked around the outskirts of the loud party. As most would imagine, the starry looking stage and the buffet table was full of people. She was staring into the ocean of crowds, hopefully spotting something in there that would be interesting. At some point, though she spotted aa pair of red eyes, ones she recognized t be her best friend’s. Unlike her, he enjoyed being with the crowd up close.
She trekked around a little more, looking at the scenery around the party rather than the main attraction. She was surprised to see fireflies in thee pine trees, and sat down to watch, with eyes locking on each one of them very closely. Someone tugged her hair.
Her heart skipped a beat, and she snapped her head around. “Who’s there?”
Her best friend stood there like nothing happened though he knows very well indeed, that he scared her half to death. “I was wondering where you were. I saw you looking at me once,” he said. “And I was wondering when you’d show up to crash the party.”
A sweet smile tugged at her lips. “What’re we pulling this time?” She asked.
“I dunno. Explosives?” He replied, his mischievous grin plastering his face.
“Why am I here again?”
Rebecca doesn’t mean to be a Debbie Downer, but she doesn’t mean to be a Pushover Patty either. But what’s a woman to do when two of her best friends are party animals?
Standing to the side, perfectly misplaced like a wallflower, Rebecca watches the ‘adult festivity’ with deadpan eyes. “You could’ve been at home, basking the heat while gazing at snowfall, with herbal tea spiked with granddaddy. But no Rebecca, you allowed your so called friends drag you down from paradise into the inferno.”
Speaking of so called friends, Tracey and Francesca are hitting off with some guys as always. Rebecca raise a cool eyebrow at Francesca theatrically laughing at one dude’s piss poor joke. ‘And those two were Prom Queen rivals. Boggles my brain that we used to have slumber parties and playdates. Nevermind sharing bubble baths till we were six.’
“Thank God I’m asexual.” Rebecca finishes off her champagne and trudges back to the bar. “Four years of this and I still fail to see the fun in drunkies dry humping in public.” She hates this risque facade of a cocktail party, she hates that she’s wearing a gown that’s not for bedtime, she hates that she’s actually wearing red wine stilettos for this shit!
“Why am I here again?” She grouses for the nth time.
“Wouldja quit ya bitchin’ already?” The bartender responds uncouth to her rhetorical question.
“Wasn’t asking your perspective, Bubby.” She says aloof, “Now be a good beer-belly Santa and fill’er up. Please and thank you.”
Said ‘Bubby’ flipped the bird at the sardonic woman, but refilled her champagne glass nevertheless.
Smirking, Rebecca boops him on the nose. “Much obliged, Booba-latchy.”
historical fantasy/ sci-fi
Christy pulled into the driveway, enjoying the idea that the Durango made fresh tire tracks in the crusty snow. That is so me, she thought, smiling. Patrick Stewart’s gravelly voice wandered through her mind as she grabbed the present for the exchange with one gloved hand, then, tossing the car door shut a little harder than she expected, trudged to the door. A pleasant rush of warm air attacked her glasses first, but she had been there before and knew generally how to get down the hall even with steam blindness. She relaxed instantly; the other women were already there, but they were still chatting and laughing with each other. It was always so awkward to walk in late and have all of those eyes staring at her like she had just dropped the baby into the punch bowl. No one seemed to notice she was there. Par, she thought, but continued to keep a cheerful smile on her lips as she slid the gift onto the plastic-wrapped table and sat at the last table alone. She pulled off her driving gloves, and unbuttoned her coat. Somehow the idea of hanging it on the coat rack never appealed to her. She shifted in her seat and waited for someone to say hello. No one did. Eventually, the thin woman in charge managed to get everyone’s attention, and the exchange began.
For French Readers.
Victoire frappa à la porte. Elle pouvait entendre la musique à travers celle-ci. Personne n’étant venu lui ouvrir, elle frappa à nouveau, plus fort cette fois-ci. Finalement, une jeune femme aux cheveux très courts, vêtue d’une micro robe à paillettes lui ouvrit.
Victoire essaya de se présenter, mais la jeune femme ne semblait pas se soucier de présentation, à la place elle lui fit signe d’entrer et referma la porte derrière elle, avant de s’élancer à la poursuite d’une grande femme au physique sportif. Il sembla à Victoire
qu’elle avait déjà vu cette femme quelque part, mais elle n’eut pas le temps de retrouver son nom dans sa mémoire qu’elle ainsi que sa poursuivante étaient déjà loin.
Elle s’avança en direction de l’immense pièce à vivre où des dizaines de personnes, majoritairement des femmes dansaient, parlaient, riaient, …
À l’intérieur, la musique était encore plus forte. Elle eut un mouvement de recul. S’il n’y avait pas eu son désir de revoir Abigail, elle serait sûrement repartie aussitôt. En fait, elle ne serait probablement même pas venue. Mais à présent elle était là, et Abigail aussi puisque c’est elle qui l’avait invitée. En s’avançant un peu plus dans la pièce, elle se rendit compte que celle-ci donnait sur une terrasse aux dimensions encore plus immenses que la pièce où elle venait d’entrer. Elle décida d’aller prendre l’air afin de se donner par la même occasion un peu de courage avant de partir à la recherche d’Abigail.
Traverser la pièce bondée de monde n’avait pas été une mince affaire. Les femmes dansaient et se faisant changeaient inopinément de direction. Victoire s’était excusée à plusieurs
reprises lorsqu’elle avait percuté les personnes sur son chemin vers la terrasse, mais personne ne semblaient s’intéresser par ses excuses. Les invités s’amusaient et ne se souciaient pas d’elle.
Finalement, Victoire était arrivée sur l’immense terrasse, où comme elle le découvrit il y avait presque autant de monde qu’à l’intérieur. Toutefois, à sa grande satisfaction, la musique était
nettement moins forte et les invités plus calmes. Ici, les personnes étaient dispersées par petits groupes ou en couple. La plupart discutaient et leurs voix étaient à peine audibles en raison de la musique qui venait de l’intérieur de la maison. Certains des couples se tenaient un peu à l’écart et s’embrassaient. Victoire se sentait mieux là qu’à l’intérieur, mais cette amélioration ne suffisait pas à chasser en elle le sentiment qu’elle avait de ne pas être à sa place dans cette fête.
Elle regarda à l’opposé de la maison vers la nuit. Elle regrettait vraiment d’être venue. Elle avait beaucoup aimé sa rencontre avec Abigail après que celle-ci l’ait percutée avec son vélo devant sa maison de thé. Mais elle cherchait quelqu’un dont les goûts auraient été plus proches des siens. Rectification, elle ne cherchait personne, personne depuis Élise. Abigail lui était tombée dessus, littéralement, et elle n’aimait pas, vraiment pas du tout, le sentiment qu’elle éprouvait d’aller au-devant de complications.
Elle se concentra sur l’observation des alentours de la maison. Elle essaya de percevoir la nature qui entourait celle-ci. Mais, aussi loin de la ville, par une nuit sans lune comme celle-ci,
la chose était vraiment difficile, si ce n’est impossible. Elle s’était presque complètement laissée absorbée pas son observation, lorsque quelqu’un lui toucha légèrement l’épaule en l’appelant par son nom. Avant même de reconnaître la voix, elle reconnut le parfum de la jeune femme qu’elle avait rencontré quelques jours plus tôt. Abigail était là.
Please don’t hold back with advice:
The patterns from the dark shadows only added to the eeriness of his demeanour. His toenails collected the rich, forest soil. The trees told him to continue. They were curious of him, but they just wanted him out of their forest. The trees did not like the supernatural; they liked running their own existence at their own speed. Edging out their lives on a completely different time scale. The hunched figure, however, needed something done now. He could not wait. His predator eyes darted in every direction even though he walked straight forwards. He knew where he wanted to go. The shack was waiting for him.
“Where are you going?” The strange creature spoke to the hunched figure only minutes before. “Where are your clothes? Speak.”
The figure straightened to meet the gaze of the strange creature. The predator eyes searched for contact amongst the black pits of the owl-like face. “I’ve got to do it.”
His white teeth glinted a soft pink as the setting sun cast the lake into a peach-coloured haven. The creature bowed her head and retreated slowly into the bushes, watching but not interfering. As the hunched figure clambered out of the cold lake, the trees saw him coming to them. They were disgusted at the prospect of him tainting their trunks and fresh flowers. The flowers retracted from him and the branches coiled away as he left the lake, pushing through he rushes to stand on the shore. The owl creature trotted away to nicer thoughts. The aura of the figure’s sincere demeanour desecrated the peace of the natural forest and lake scene. The figure’s dwindling wisdom fought with his conscience. He told himself that it was wrong, but his conscience strove to insist that justice must be served.
He started at a lumbering jog. The hunter’s steps pounding the Earth like a running horse, but treading lighter than a wolf’s. His misty breath that hung in the air smelt of the fish he had lived with for so long in the lake. He still dripped with water, and his long curly hair was straight and black from being wet. His eyes were wide with madness. His jog surged into a frenzied sprint. The peachy sun was almost set now, providing him with just enough light to make it through the forest. He had lost all sense of self in order to be ready for what he was about to do.
All around him disapproved, but they knew it would be coming eventually. They did not stop him- nothing could now.
He slowed to a long-stepped run, his body relaxed but his mind discharging all emotions at once. His face could not express it all, so displayed the foremost feeling- determination.
The soil became dryer the further he got from the lake. So did his strength. He had never gone this far from it. He looked almost with desperation for the shack now. Unyielding canopies and prominent trunks blocked out almost all light now. He almost missed it.
The small wooden structure loomed past his left. He turned on the spot and ran at it without missing a beat. He watched it with relief. His ferocious eyes studying/remembering all the cracks and mould that made it what it was.
At that moment, when all in the forest were sure that nothing would stop him, he froze. His movements stunted until he was walking jerkily. His predator grace had left him, and he limped to the house now. Determination was sunken in sadness and nostalgia. Fascination. It all seemed so familiar, but he had never been here before. Yet he knew it so well, in spite of his long life with the fishes. He climbed the front steps slowly and paused at the front door. There was a light on inside. He knew there would be.
The stained-glass window could be looked through. He saw the table that he knew would be there, laden with the food he expected. The armchair, the bed, the lamp and the kitchen bench. It confirmed his memories/guesses. It was like seeing a friend after a long time.
However, this place was not a friend to him. No, this was his Ragnarok; it was where all of his life’s punishment would be re-administered. Nevertheless, it was necessary. He wanted it, needed it. He collected the energy to twist the knob, and the room opened to his view. He could see it clear as day now, without the warping effect of the stained glass.
He touch the loose door handle, hoping it would open without effort. He could not bring himself to fight to get into the house. He wanted to get it finished.
He took the faithful step into the house. “Hello.” He heard. His shaking gaze moved slowly towards the woman in the corner. She repeated in the eerie tone. “Hello, did you bring the children?”
“No.” The man replied weakly, rocking back and forth. “I came instead.”
Heart pulsing. Palms sweating. Lips quivering. She tells herself “Breathe”. She stood in the doorway of the ballroom scanning the room for a face she recognized. She knows no one.
“Excuse me Miss. Do you know where the Gatsby table is? That’s where the Bride told me to sit.” The petite elderly woman at her elbow was wearing a blush pink Chanel boucle suit and a classic pearl choker.
“Whatttt aaa coincidence” she stuttered. “Thattt’ss my table too. You can follow me if you want.” The woman smiled warmly, nodded, and grabbed her hand. Something about the woman’s aura was calming, and she could feel her heart rate coming down to normal. They slowly walked to their table. Their hips sashaying between the tables, as they made small talk. By the time they reached their seats, they were strangers no more. Friends.
This is my first characterization practice! I did it in fifteen minutes. I would love feedback!:
Lilly was outgoing. It showed, big time, especially at parties. She was moderately popular, and her brownish-red hair was always braided. However, this party was different from others. The reason? There were more people than she had seen at any party before- one hundred!
All the girls wanted to dance with the “cute” boys. Lilly on the other hand? Her best friend was Dean. She danced with him multiple times, but mostly everyone was a blur. Everyone was spinning, trading partners. Lilly danced with Dean first, then James. Gavin and Tom were next, she lost track there. By ten o’clock, Lilly was breathless. Her cheeks were flushed from the peppy dances, she made her way over to the refreshments, dipping herself a glass of the cranberry punch. She was standing there, watching the dance, when she saw him.
He was cute. There was no denying it, considering Maya, Taylor, and Skylar, the leaders of the “Populars” were following him, talking his ears off. They backed him up and he accidentally bumped into Lilly. Her punch spilled all over her, and she lost her balance.
“Oh! I am so sorry.” the boy said, then turned back to the other girls.
“Can someone get some napkins?” he complained, and they were off, tripping all over each other.
“Hey. I’m really sorry about your dress.” he said in a much kinder tone than before, hastily coming back to Lilly.
“It’s fine. At least you got them off you, right?” she asked.
It got a smile out of him. She did try to hold back her spunk, because it always ruined her relationships with boys.
He helped her up, his hand warm, strong, and soft all at the same time.
“I’m Aiden. Want to dance?” he asked casually, either still feeling sorry for her or having the same emotions Lilly was.
“Sure!” Lilly replied a little too enthusiastically.
He didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he pulled her into the dance. When Maya, Taylor, and Skyler came back with the napkins, Lilly and Aiden were deep in the dance.
“I’m Lilly by the way.” Lilly said softly, trying not to break the connection while they were dancing.
Although there were so many couples dancing, to Lilly, it was only her and Aiden.
I really like this. You gave us just enough to wonder. So we have names, but we dont know if they will be significant or not unless we read more. Also, with the descriptive words you use, I can easily picture a spunky, upbeat girl. She sounds like a fun person. The only thing I would change is where you say in the first paragraph that there are 100 people at the party. I fell like, in real life, there would be no way to know for sure that there are exactly 100 people. Other than that, if this were the beginning of a book, I would definitely want to read more!
I wrote this characterization based on Heroes and Villians… I forgot to post it on Friday!
– Collin: shy, dark hair, not particularly popular or talkative,
He has this huge thing for Evelyn, but so does Mason
-Mason: outstanding, smarty, mister popular, blonde hair, every “popular” girl likes him- except Evelyn
Plot: There is a school dance that is very important for the kids because it determines couples and status’. Both boys want Evelyn as their date. Evelyn despises Mason, but going with Collin would ruin her. Of course, she has other options, but eventually they get taken because they are “cute”. Mason is used to getting what he wants, but not this time. Collin ends up with Evelyn, because she decides to follow her heart. It turns out he is nice, quiet, “cute”, and is WAY better than Mason. Mason ends up taking Grace, the “leader” of the populars, but chickens out because he told everyone he was taking Evelyn, and if he shows up with someone else, it would ruin him. He ruins himself anyway, because Evelyn shows up with someone else. Not only is it not Mason, but it is the least popular boy ever! Collin and Evelyn have a great time.
Now Mason is just mad. He tries to get in the way of them, and Collin (being one who is easy to be pushed around) doesn’t really try to resist. Evelyn on the other hand is furious, and even though he gets in the way of the Collin and her, she still refuses to go out with him. She slaps him (hard mind you) across the face and walks away, joining Collin.
Everyone (especially Collin) has a new respect for her. She develops a thing for Collin, and eventually they are an official couple. Evelyn isn’t worried about social status anymore, so she doesn’t care what anyone says.
They are together for three months. Then, Collin has to move away.
Here’s the thing, Mason convinces his dad (Collin’s house owner) to ask for the house back. Collin catches him, and finally speaks up. Everything goes back to normal, Collin and Evelyn’s relationship relationship stronger, and Mason’s dad catches wind of the situation. Mason is punished. THE END.
(That was just an idea, but I will probably write something based on it!)
Scrunchy. That’s what her dress was It was making her thighs itch, and making her brain regret attending the party. The stereotypically loud but completely unexiting music busted its way through her ears and filled her mind with momentary thoughts and judgements of the music selection. Still, the dress was too itchy and too revealing.
It’s not like the boys looked at her thighs or anything. Moreover, it was the girls. They stared and whispered.
There went her attempt at fitting in.
The lighting was purple. Bright, energetic, and dark at the same time. But then again, which party doesn’t feature purple lighting?
As far as she knew, purple lighting was everywhere, and in all the parties she went to.
But, it wasn’t as if she was invited to many parties.
The dress was still scrunchy.
She hated this party. A lot.
So much for my well-tailored clothes. That rainstorm ruined them, though not significantly, but enough to decrease their charisma. Well, that was not a problem, since my charisma would supplement it enough for today’s party- a celebration for the famed businessman and my close friend for many years- John Tucker.
I walked towards the entrance with a mixture of curiosity and excitement; I had heard that many eminent men and women would be in attendance. I straightened my back, and walked through the entry door.
As soon as I saw the people, my brain nearly exploded. To call these people eminent was a great understatement. I nearly felt like running away. I broke into a sweat as my eyes ran over the city mayor, a senator with his wife, a television actress and even an honest-to-gods NASA core member. What was I, a job-seeking wimp doing in front of these few hundred great people?
After a minute of thought, I decided that to have a nervous fit was not an option. I instead went to these people, greeted them with a smile and talked to them. I had to sit after talking to the mayor and the actress as my legs were threatening to buckle under my pitiful mind’s strain.
I finally met John Tucker-the host-and after staring for a moment, said,”Some friend circle you’ve got, Tucker.” He laughed, saying that the busy ones had not even attended the party, to which I nearly threw up. I decided that as soon as food was over, I would flee from this scarier-than-death party. I was, after all, a wimp seeking a job.
I love how you show him, both inside and out. What I mean is, we see the person he portrays, Someone strong, confident, and with charisma. But we also see, his hidden side; his vulnerability. Although this is just a snippet, I already feel like I would like this character because of how relatable he is.
I stood in the corner of our large ballroom and watched all the people who had invaded my home. My greatest wish was to be somewhere else. Anywhere else, really. Maybe at a cute little coffee shop reading a book. Or in my room snuggled under the covers watching something funny on TV. But, alas, I was here in this ballroom of our oversized, overpriced house watching overdressed men and women socialize in an attempt to raise their social standing or further their business endeavors.
My mom and dad were in their element, rubbing elbows with other rich and famous business moguls and making deals over cocktails and gossip. It was all kind of amusing. Looking at the people in the room, it was hard to imagine them in the “real world”. Sure I could see them on extravagant shopping sprees or vacationing at exotic resorts, or even in a boardroom bullying people into doing their bidding. But I could never imagine them doing ‘normal people’ things like reading a book, or sitting around chatting over a home cooked family meal.
As I stood watching the crowd, I started to image outlandish stories with the partygoers as the stars. Mrs. Prichard, who in real life was known to cheat on her husband with his co-workers, was, in my imagination, a spy who slept with men in exchange for secrets. Her husband wasn’t actually a businessman at all, but her government handler. But, instead of helping her, he was actually a double agent working for the Russian mafia. I looked around curiously. Who would play the role as my Russian mob boss? Ahh, Jasper Eldridge. He was perfect. In reality he was the head of one of the worlds wealthiest companies. Mergers and acquisitions were his forte. He was known for being a hell-raiser and a hard ass. Perfect. As I imagined him having a coded conversation with Mr. Prichard, the imaginary double agent, I smiled in amusement.
The bored look on his face as Mrs. Prichard shamelessly flirted with him was priceless. It went well with the story I had playing in my head. I was contemplating whether I should move closer, when all of a sudden he looked up and caught me staring. I wanted to look away, but his hard, unyielding gaze caught me by surprise. I was frozen in shock and embarrassment at being caught. His bright blue eyes narrowed at me and his body shifted in my direction. The though of him coming over and confronting me, broke me from my trance. I made a quick retreat using the preoccupied guests as my cover.
By the time I made it to the closest bathroom, which was luckily unoccupied, my heart was beating crazily. That was close. The thought of socializing with anyone from my father’s world was terrifying. Having been forced to come to most of the parties my father hosted, I was always able to avoid interacting. I was a pro at being inconspicuous.
Toni clambered across the backseat of the limo after Soona stepped out. It took a moment to realize, when she felt the freezing air behind her, that another man had come to open the limo door on her side, to help her climb out her own side, that there was no reason for her to scoot clumsily behind Soona. But it was too late. Her feet were already touching, reaching for the curb, for the red carpeting in front of the theater. The bare soles of her feet slid on the thin shoes. She longed for her socks and boots.
Soona reached for Toni’s arm and they walked up the carpet passed the calling fans on both sides, passed the photographers into the quieter theater lobby.
“Just stay close to me, okay? Just do what I do.”
“Sure, ” Toni said. They handed their coats over to girls no older than Toni. Toni knew they were looking, wondering why she was with Soona, who was already waving hello and greeting friends, or seemed to be greeting people she knew.
As Jose looked around he realised how many people were actually there. He felt extremely out-of-place and the situation was somewhat made worse by the fact that he knew no-one there; well, nobody apart from Ellen – but she had disappeared the first chance she had got. ‘So much for “I’ll show you ’round”’ thought Jose. Weaving through the crowd, trying to be as inconspicuous as he could, Jose saw around sixty people before he lost count and he thought that this place might have more than a HUNDRED people! Finally, Jose found a giant table where snacks had been placed on.
A plethora of food was laid onto the table and it made Jose’s stomach ache. Looking around to make sure that nobody saw him, he slowly crawled under the table – dragging his rucksack behind him.
When he was finally under he calmed down. He rooted inside his bag and picked out a book that he had been reading recently. With ravenous intent he opened the book to a small bookmark and started reading as all thoughts of Ellen and the people outside the drooping tablecloth fell away.
After fifteen minutes, Jose was rudely interrupted and was exasperated; he wanted to be left alone!
“Look, I am incredibly sorry,” he said without looking up.
“But I cannot talk to you at the moment… as you can probably see, I am reading this book at the moment.”
“Cut the crap, mate. Why yer under the table Jose?” the person replied. Jose looked up confused and saw Ellen looking at him from under the edges of the tablecloth-
“Oh, um sorry Ellen but… Actually, I could ask YOU why you abandoned me?” Ellen looked guilty…
A bathroom. A bathroom of all places was where Sariya decided to hide herself. Her friend forced her to go to the party and then ditched her about 10 minutes after they arrived.
“What a friend you are, Kaysie,” she thought to herself, pressing her back against the wall. She crosses her arms and huffed in frustration and annoyance only to uncross them. She had no idea what to do. She didn’t like being near people she was unfamiliar with. But even so, she forced herself to peek out from behind the door and then exit the bathroom. She felt as if eyes had begun to burn holes into her. She tried ignoring the feeling of being stared at by people but she just couldn’t. So, she ran, sticking out like a sore thumb.
Exiting the building, she couldn’t help but feel relief. But that feeling soon went away once she realized something. She had to find a way to get home. With that realization in mind, she sunk to ground, her head laying on her knees.
“Why did I let you get me into this?” She thought to herself once more. She didn’t want to move, not yet. She had to get herself together. But she still felt mad at her friend for leaving her. “You idiot!” She accidentally yelled out loud, attracting the attention of the people in the area. She quickly went back to laying her head on her knees and looking down.
“I’m an idiot…” She quietly said to herself.
I dodge groups of elderly gossiping matrons, their eager eyes open for eligible men to pursue as husband material for their plain daughters. There is a little bruise in my heart seeing them like that, their sole interest in life was matchmaking. Nobody was ever going to matchmaker for me. I am the rebel of the family and they know it’s useless to make any plans for me. I would just do the opposite of what they wished, and they knew it well. They had given up on me long ago and I was likely to remain single unless I mended my ways. I lifted my chin. No gossiping old woman was going to choose a husband for me. I know who I want to marry, although I am only sixteen. The gossips need not know this, besides, they would scoff at me for setting my sights so high. Too bad for them. The Duke of Humberley it is for me. I don’t care that he’s already had 2 wives who have died under mysterious circumstances. That’s because I am the one for him, his true love, predestined since the world was born. I knew he was here somewhere, probably in the library playing cards with his friends. I strolled down the wide hallway, intent on finding him. I smoothed my already perfect hair and stroked the silvery silk of my gown very my hips. Would he come with me if I tried to lure him out to the garden?
He was scared, yet his face showed no signs of such.
To him there were hundreds and hundreds of people chatting and having fun, while he was standing like having friends was an expensive luxury.
How could people get along with each other so well?
He grabbed a cheese cracker from the table alongside him. His eyes widened as the salty snack crumbled as soon as he touched it. For a second he looked everywhere, scared that people saw his mistake.
Then he remembered than no one cared about him again-
“Hello there!” A voice pulled him right out of his thoughts.
A girl in a blue dress greeted someone apparently. He looked to the direction that her eyes pointed at, in the off chance her boyfriend was somehow next to him.
Wait a second…
There was no one nearby….
Oh no….
If his sweat and gulp weren’t obviously noticeable, then he didn’t know what was. With the same expression he had from the beginning, he took some courage, and faced the girl.
“Hello.” Shoot, he used a monotone voice! Now what was he gonna do.
15 min Characterization Exercise
Character in a room with 100 people
Start Time: Aprox 11:35pm Sun. 9/10/17-12:08 Mon 9/10/17
“Ok, I’m here Mike… so what’s up!”
“Take a seat at the bar. What’s your hurry? You’re late any way, Jack. You lucky they haven’t arrived yet. What took you so long?”
“I had some stuff to take care of… and stop calling me Jack! If you can’t call me Jay, don’t call me nuthin’ aaite?” Jay replied. As he took a seat at the rather crouded bar. “You know I don’t like parties! And who’s all these Niggas anyway? Must be a hunda’d of”em! “
“Listen bro, ah…Jay, you know If I say it’s about to go down it’s…”
Suddenly shots rang out and Mike, llike a pale manikin with its mout agape and eyes bugged out in surprise, fell over on Jay as everybody hit the flour or bolted over each other heading for the only exit out of the huge born of a building out in the middle of who knows where…..
Hi Beverly,
I really like the way you use dialogue to develop the action here. I really struggle with getting my characters to speak, so I like to learn from seeing other writer’s use it. Was wondering if you could develop the setting a bit more earlier on in the scene. I like the phrase referring to it as a “huge barn (?) of a building out in the middle of who knows where.” Maybe if it was introduced earlier it could contribute more to the atmosphere. Also was wanting to see more of the the “hunda’d” people at the party before all hell breaks lose. Might make the terror of the situation come to life if I could see specific people reacting to the outbreak of violence. Great job on using dialect, too. I think I’m going to try that in one of my next pieces to see if I can add more color to my characters.
I find a lonely place to sit, smoothing out my dress. Holding my special deck of cards in my lap, I observe the cheap decorations and hastily put together snack tables.
Parties are boring when you already know people, but luckily this one is filled with strangers.
I begin to play my favorite game by pulling a random card from my deck. The six of hearts. I scan the crowd, my eyes settling on a pudgy boy in a red shirt with swirls upon swirls. Fits well enough.
Next, the eight of clubs. Eight turkey club sandwiches sitting on a plastic platter spray painted gold being sneaked off by a girl who dressed down in jeans and a big hoodie.
I’m down to one card when I’m approached by a vision in a blush colored dress. “Come on, Nori, dance with me, just once.”
I carefully out away the cards and hand her the last one, the queen of hearts. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Hi Altair,
Very much enjoyed the light feel of this piece. Not sure if that’s what you intended, but the “eight turkey club sandwiches made me chuckle a little bit. Not sure if you intended that as some kind of metaphorical reference to the nature of the other people at the party. . . maybe an interesting place to develop it a bit. Would have liked to have seen why the place she chose to sit was so “lonely.” Also, wondering if the “queen of hearts” is a bit too pat of a choice of card to play. . . maybe something darker and more intriguing, like the jack of spades (I don’t know much about card reading here, so I’m just guessing). I got a great sense of emotion from reading this though, and wanted to find out more by the time I was finished. . .
Alana was standing in a corner with a sore back and bags under her eyes, looking at her cellphone, contemplating whether to call the uber or not. She had promised her friend she would slip through that party uninvited with her, and that was the only real reason she was there. That, and the food. She walked towards the table, grabbed another chicken pastry, and bit it. Gosh dang, were they delicious. But then she saw something that at first shocked her, but then nearly made her throw up: her boyfriend kissing some red headed random in a tight dress. Her heart accelerated, her vision blurred, and she no longer felt pain in her feet as she approached the unthinkable scene.
Hi Desiree! Great job of generating a high level of suspense in such a short space. I really felt like I was getting to know Alana as a real flesh and blood person in the space of just a few lines. There’s a natural flow here in her thoughts that draws me strongly in as a reader. The use of “gosh dang” took me back a bit as I wasn’t expecting the strength of the impression the dialect made on me. . . not sure if that’s a negative thing, but I did find it remarkable. Also liked the use of the word “random” to describe the girl in the dress. Gave me a strong visual image of the girl and the boyfriend.
Thanks for your feedback, Jorge! I’m glad you liked it. 🙂
Okay, here’s my practice. I’m really struggling with dialogue. Part of me resists it very strongly.
O. Jones showed up at the party at a little after nine o’clock. He parked his little volvo sedan beneath a towering oak tree, got out and pulled his guitar in its soft shell case from the back seat. He made his way carefully through the maze of four by four trucks and SUV’s. The trucks were mammoth, huge metal and chrome obstacles fitted with huge tires and great shining bumper guards. He could see off a little distance the blaze of a great bonfire and he headed toward it. He eventually found a kind of rough path littered with beer cans and discarded liquor bottles that gleamed dully in the light of three quarter moon shining down through the branches of the nearly bare trees, a few of which still clung to ragged, drooping leaves of shattered gold and red. The late fall rains had left the trail mushy and puddled with cold rain water.
O threaded down the path, carefully avoiding soaking his shoes, breathing with his steps, calming himself for his performance. He emerged into a group of burly men. Their heads all shaved or naturally bald. They stood in small groups here and there around the great leaping fire that burned in the middle of the clearing. O stood there for a moment, trying to make out Seth amidst the partying hunters. It was the first day of hunting season and Seth’s birthday.
He didn’t see Seth anywhere, but he could make out a wooden platform just beyond the bonfire where a P.A. system had been set up. He worked his way through the crowd toward the stand. He felt as if he were invisible. He heard snatches of conversation, talk about bucks and stories of buckshot and dead deer. Just as he approached the makeshift stage, a great hand fell on his shoulder and pulled him around until he found himself looking up at Seth, who grabbed him abruptly and pulled him into a great bear-like hug that threatened to pull all the air from O’s lungs. Seth held him in the hug a little bit longer than O was comfortable, and he resisted trying to pull himself free. . . letting go of the impulse to break the hug and get back to his car and away from this lunatic gathering in the moonlight. Seth finally backed away, and shuffling, unsteady on his feet, his eyes bleary and red from the day’s drinking and feasting on venison and pork shoulders, bellowed, “Hey everybody, the music has arrived! This here is the best guitarist in the state!”
EIGHT
Every Fall, near the beginning of the semester, as unfailingly as Labor Day and the assault of various pollens that made Charles Warner’s life miserable until the first frost, academic institutions welcomed new additions to their faculties. For years Charles had been able to avoid most such gatherings at Aztec, pleading one excuse or another, while his late wife reveled in the chance to make new friends. Now it was his turn. There was no graceful way of avoiding the welcoming reception for new faculty that he now plodded toward, sniffling as he went. Dean Georgescu had specifically asked that he attend so that she could introduce him to other college officers and department chairs in the College of Arts and Sciences. There weren’t too many command performances in academe, but this surely was one.
He pulled a campus map from his jacket pocket and tried to locate the Conference Center where the reception was being held. It was not on the main campus, not being part of the original architectural concept of the founder, but located on the northern boundary of the campus grounds, backing against a low ridge of hills that formed part of the campus green space. Finally he located the Center complex and found that it was, fortuitously, a decent walk away from the academic buildings. He had neglected his running for nearly a week since arriving on campus and, but for the gauntlet of pollenating trees along the way, he relished the idea of a walk along the shaded grounds.
Progressing towards the conference complex, he noticed others converging from different directions as they made their way to the center. Most strolled along leisurely, singly or in twos or threes, lost in casual conversation. An occasional lone figure, like Charles, moped along, taking his or her time. It was amusing to speculate on which of the pilgrims looked forward to the meeting and which were trying to think of an excuse to turn back. Ultimately, all continued, however; those reluctant ones probably reasoning the it was only once a year and it was easier to put in a token appearance than to explain their absence. Charles planned to make such a brief gesture, then excuse himself, pleading allergies to the inevitable mold lurking in the furniture and books of Mainwaring’s buildings.
On reaching the steps to the entrance of the Center, he was pleasantly surprised to find that his nasal passages had apparently come to an accommodation with the local environment. He was even able to imagine having a brief conversation without interruption by a sneezing fit. The large, open foyer of the building served as a registration area with a centrally located table staffed by a male and female pair of student assistants handing out name tags to new arrivals. Various administrators milled around, smiling and shaking hands. Charles stopped to get his name tag from the table and was surprised when Dean Georgescu joined him.
“Professor Warner, welcome again. I see you found your way.”
“Yes. It was easier getting in here than my first time in my office.” He smiled to take off any waspish edge to the remark.
“I’m sorry about the confusion. I trust you’re settling in all right?”
“It’s taking a little time. I’m getting some different furniture. It seems that my allergies were uncomfortable with the upholstery on the older wood furniture. I’m changing to something a little more spare.”
“Well, I’m glad that you’ve found a solution. Please come with me into the ballroom and let me introduce you to some of our academic family.”
Charles nodded and followed her into the larger meeting room that occupied the center of the first floor. The design reminded him of a hotel ballroom rather than an academic building — almost as if someone had designed a conference center for a hotel and switched it to the College.
“Is this used for meeting space as well as for — uh — assemblies such as this?”
“Yes.” The Dean indicated a projection booth above them just over the main entrance. We can seat about 350 people when we’re set up.” She waved at a tall, burly man in a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches standing midway across the room. “That’s Dr. Russell — Alec — our Provost. I don’t know whether you met him during your interview visit.”
“No. I was told he was out of town.”
She set a course for the Provost with Charles in her wake. “Alec. I’d like you to meet Professor Charles Warner, our new Physics department chair and Wilder Professor.”
Charles extended his hand and murmured a greeting. Dr. Russell engulfed the extended hand in a surprisingly rough paw and rumbled “Glad to have you, glad to have you. Getting settled, are you?” Without waiting for a response he continued. “Were you here on a visit before? I don’t recall meeting you.”
Dean Georgescu spoke before Charles could respond. “You were out of town when he came on his campus visit. It was nearly a year ago around Columbus Day, as I recall.”
“Ah, yes. Family business. Well, welcome anyway. If you find time, make an appointment for a chat and I’ll give you my short history of the place.”
“Thanks. That would be very useful.”
Russell nodded to them, then excused himself and headed for another group across the room. “He tends to come across as abrupt, but actually he’s quite friendly.” The Dean smiled conspiratorially. “Some of us call him ‘The Bear’.”
“Ah.”
“Oh, there’s Dr. Sanders. Another new faculty member. Please excuse me, I have to say hello and circulate.”
“Of course. Thanks for the introduction to the Provost.”
Charles stayed by the bar, nursing a glass of cheap Riesling as he surveyed the room, remembering why he had avoided these events in the past. Too many faces. No way to escape without the Dean noticing. He tried locate other newcomers to the College by the color-coded sticky labels everyone unavoidably acquired at the welcome table. He didn’t relish making small talk in general, but at least with people from his college there was a chance of finding something in common, even if it was only the Dean. There were not many from Arts and Sciences as far as he could tell. He found that surprising since it was one of the larger colleges.
His internal debate about whether to exchange the wine for club soda was interrupted by a familiar voice.
“Life is too short to drink cheap wine.”
Harry Peters had slipped up unnoticed during his scan of the room.
“Professor Peters! Now I know three people in the room.”
“It’s also informal so no titles and first names are required. Unless you want me to address you as ‘Wilder Professor and Chairman’.
“Charles will do fine. I haven’t had a chance to thank you for getting me into the building when I arrived. It might have been a long morning if you hadn’t come along.”
“You’re quite welcome. Are you all settled now?”
“Settled doesn’t really describe it. But I can get into the office now. I’m waiting for some furniture to arrive before I bring in all of my things.”
“That’ll be a change. I thought it looked like an antique furniture shop when I arrived twenty years ago.”
“It did convey a sense of permanence.”
Harry chuckled.
“My allergies picked up a cocktail of dust and pollen that might have dated from the original occupant.”
“You have hay fever, too?”
“Did you assume that the red-rimmed eyes had been specially made up for the reception?”
“Seriously, if you would like the name of an allergist, I can recommend one. I go to Martin Wallace.” Harry withdrew his wallet and extracted a card that he extended to Charles. “Here’s his contact info. He’s very good.”
“Thanks, that’s very kind. I’ll check him out.” He pocketed the card and looked around the room. “Meantime, you could help me by pointing out anyone here that I absolutely must meet. I’ve been introduced to the Provost already.”
Harry swept the room with an appraising glance. “I don’t see anyone that is an absolute must. Just don’t get caught like her.”
His gaze led Charles to a woman with striking reddish hair nearly pinned against the far wall by a tall figure, hunched mantis-like over her. It was clearly a one-sided conversation that he noted she managed with a familiar skill. She maintained a pleasant smile, punctuating her nods with an occasional low laugh or sip of her drink. As he watched, Charles didn’t see her speak at all for fully a minute before she appeared to make a short remark. Her captor apparently thought it amusing, bobbing his head and shifting his posture without giving her an exit path before he continued his monologue.
“Do you know who they are?”
Harry studied the pair briefly before responding.
“He’s Mike Pollit, Distinguished Professor of Philosophy and renowned as a crashing bore. Never wants a conversation, only an audience. He’s known for zeroing in on some poor soul, buying him — or her — a drink, and regaling his prey with some interminable description of his latest theory. Everyone on campus knows his trick. She must be new.”
“She’s managing him quite well. Do you recognize it?”
Harry glanced at them again and turned back. “Sorry. I don’t understand.”
“She’s playing a game with him. I call it the Listening Game.”
Harry snatched another furtive look. “How does it work?”
“Confronted with a bore and no easy exit, think of something completely different from whatever he’s going on about. I generally use some mathematical problem that currently interests me. Catch the pattern of the bore’s monologue and develop a set of responses that make him think that you’re listening. Wait him out while you work on your internal task.”
“How do you shut them off?”
“Eventually they wear down. Just never accept a refill if he’s bought you a drink.”
“Looks like she’s got a different exit strategy. She appears to be leaving.”
“That’s an advanced move. It actually takes more skill than just waiting him out.”
“Well I’ll have to work on that. I’ve got to leave now. Simon’s preparing his Provençal speciality for dinner tonight.”
“Simon?”
“Oh, sorry, you haven’t met. Simon’s my partner.” Harry pronounced the name a la Francaise. “Chef and part owner of Le Petit Bistro. Best restaurant in town.”
“I’ll have to try it sometime. I get tired of my own cooking. Heating is a better description.”
“By all means. Have a good weekend.”
Following Harry’s assessment that there was no one essential for him to meet, Charles yielded to his natural inclination and made an unobtrusive escape from the gathering. Other than the opportunity for watching another player of The Game and getting Harry’s recommendations, it proved as unproductive as he found most such events.