A Car, Some Keys and Junk

Well trained fingers screwed on the last cap before slamming down the bonnet with a clang. He tested the keys in the ignition again and this time, a pleasant roar sounded from within. Perfect.

He took the keys into the next room and placed them on the rack with the other hundreds in various stages of tarnish. He then returned for an old rag, and began wiping the grime off his fingers, looking around as he did so. Three cars in this shed, all old bombs. Scraps of metal lay around on the floor, easily stepped on or tripped over, with the exception of a few placed leaning against the wall. The whole place was a junk yard, really. He might have a go at cleaning up later, although it never lasted. The other guys weren’t interested in keeping it tidy.

[141 words]

Choosing a Name

She slouched in the chair with exhaustion. Too long a day, up too long. Names waffled through her head, unorganised and restless. She was sure they were there on purpose to annoy her, to prevent her choosing a name tonight for a new character, a new name to give life too. Or technically, two. But not one name would settle on the right character. They swamped her thoughts saying 'pick me, pick me'. She moaned, rubber her eyes, took another sip of water before continuing through the next ten pages. One would surely stand out from the rest.

[98 words]

Editing vs Videos

Editing a book was like making a video. There were always bits you wanted to include, but couldn't. It would end up too squished and do more harm than good. The video would lag. You found it hard to chop up the long scenes. Sometimes they got so boring to the point where you had to cut to split them up with something else. Editing a story was exactly the same. It was hard, but it always worked out in the end and you were rewarded, eventually.

[87 words]

In Work, At Work

The prospect of being over felt great. Well, almost over, anyway. But it also left her busily trying to multitask - finishing off the final touches, trying to talk to everyone trying to get their word in, meanwhile having to write something as part of a story for your daily in three minutes. Of course, she doubted whether half the dailies could be called stories. They were just random thoughts and mumblings, usually narrated by herself. But it kept her writing mind at ease. In work. At work. It helped. Supposedly.

[91 words]

Thought that Counts

27 October 2010

Excitement stirred. Still, she was nowhere near finished, but it looked great, so far. No doubt, there would be unforeseen problems. Nuisances. But they could be worked around. Finish the assignment, then she could continue endlessly. Of course, it would be late. These things always were, but it was the thought that counted, right? It'd be worth it in the end. Maybe it would be her best yet. That would please both parties then.

[74 words]

New Outlook

26 October 2010

She thanked them as they closed the door, then sat down timidly on the bed. Why did he have to go and do what he’d done? What would she do now? She buried her face in her hands. Sometimes, just sometimes, she wished life was different. That things never had to change. Perhaps then living it wouldn’t be so hard. She should’ve been thankful. She was with nice people, it hadn’t taken long. But perhaps that was half the problem. It seemed too easy. What happened to how long these things were supposed to take? She combed her fingers through her hair and got up. Her feet led her to the window and she looked out over the street that wasn’t hers. The new outlook on her life.

[128 words]

Word Limits

What's worse than an assignment going over the word limit is not knowing whether or not an assignment has gone over the word limit. It would all be well and good, if they kept telling you the same word limit over and over. But no, every time it was written down, it was changed. Someone just couldn't make up their minds. Now I had to wait and see. To find out whether or not I would need to cut back. I didn't want to. That would just be horrible. Still, I had that feeling... that inkling... maybe I should cut back. Annoying little... assignment.

[104 words]

Random Yeah

You know when you get inspired by something else you see and you get really excited about the ideas it provokes in your mind? And you think 'yeah, I can do that! I am so gonna do that. That is awesome.' And you keep telling yourself that. You put it onto your to-do list and you say you'll do it in a week when you have spare time. Yeah? Then eventually it piles up and up and you know that deep down you really wanna do it and you have ideas for it, but then you keep deliberately putting it off and off, knowing it'll be just another cause of procrastination, and whatever. But it's still distracting you and you wanna try it? Well that there, that's me now. :)

[129 words]

Plots

One year since I finished Innocence and thinking about other plots...

When coming up with a story idea you need a plot and character. The character needs to have a problem to overcome, and this needs to be solved in the end. I had characters, but no plot? Because it wasn't my style? Because it wasn't my genre? That wasn't going to hold me back. Slow me down, maybe. Why then, would it bother? Wouldn't it be easier for it to just step away? Why did it have to stand in the road, blocking my path? I wanted it out. I wanted the lines to entangle in a web that would eventually structure the tale of these characters. Why wouldn't it hurry up?

[112 words]

Warrant

Hm, new story ideas forming, anyone?


She turned the music down, unsure whether or not she'd heard a knock at the front door. The music was hardly loud to begin with, just being at the back end of the house was enough to limit the hearing. The knock came again, much louder, thumping at the door. She jumped of her seat, cautiously peering through the kitchen to see if she could see a car parked in the driveway. She couldn't.

"This is the police. Open up!"

Her eyes widened in shock and curiosity as she headed briskly for the door, grabbing the keys off the bench as she did and swinging the door open.

"Sarah Banx?"

"Yes?"

"We have a warrant to search your house."

The bewilderment heightened as she unlocked the fly screen. "What for?"

"Murder."

[131 words]

Approaching Stress

Stress always comes at the last minute. You know you've done all you can, you've done your best, and yet it still comes, always. It creeps up from behind. It says "are you sure about that?" It eats away at your worry. It questions your prior beliefs. Maybe I could've done better, maybe I should've changed that. But it's too late now. This is what you'll hand it. This is what gets graded. This is what will get you that pass, or that fail. The stress is continuing to form, take shape. You should have nothing to worry about, and yet you do. You always do. It continues, slowly. You have to beat it. Beat it with your fists, against all your strength. You've done what you could do. It was out of your hands.

[135 words]

Bleakness

The drowsiness was overwhelming, and yet, she stayed up. It was the bleak kind of feeling. The I'm just awake for the sake of it? I'm not really doing anything, but I need to stay awake. I try and be awake and I just can't, it's just that dull, zoned out mode... and yet you stay up. 'Cause you don't want that pile of work tomorrow. Or you don't want that fight for sleep. Or it's simply too early. You can't go to bed. You haven't done everything you wanted to do. It'll get done of course, while your minds in overdrive. Just give it time and it'll be done. Tiredness. Bleakness. Unthinking. You'll get there, to that bed, eventually.

[120 words]

Knife Carrier

She stared at the knife in her face as the line picked up rather quickly. Too quickly. Her Mum wouldn't find her phone that quick, and even if she did, she still needed time to properly think and gather her thoughts. A female voice spoke into her ear.

"Emergency services. Do you require police, fire or ambulance?"

She paused, eyes looking up at the man in front of her, pretending to wait for the ring to end.

"Hello?" they inquired. Probably thought it was going to be another time-wasting prank call. It was far from it.

"Hi Mum, it's Sara."

She could feel their confusion on the other end of the line. A mature voice, asking for their Mum, on what was clearly not the right line?

"You know how you love me and all..."

"Uh," the woman gathered up her senses, "Yes. Yes, what's the problem?"

"Do you think you could pick me up?"

"Are you in trouble?"

"Yeah. I'm at the train station. The buses already left." - She knew she wasn't making herself clear, and with the knife, it was hard to - "There's just some jerks hanging around here, I really want to go home. The buses take ages."

The guy gave a wave of the knife towards the girl's face. One wrong move...

"Which station?"

"Mimpala."

"Okay, that's good. Do you think you could tell us your situation at all?"

"No, don't be silly." She fought to focus, to come up with codswallop that the woman would somehow be able to understand. Her heart was racing. Would they understand? Could they hear the fear in her voice? "I can hear you chopping up food in the background. What's for tea?"

"There's a knife involved?"

"Yeah. Ugh, can't we have something else?"

He was pointing at his watch. He wanted to hurry up the process.

The girl stammered over her words, "How long do you think you'll be?"

"There are cars three minutes off. Do you think you'll be okay?"

"Yeah."

"Is there anyone else around?"

"No."

"Could I stay on the phone?"

"No. I don't want you having a crash," Sara let out a nervous laugh.

"There's someone on the way, okay? Just try and stay where you are."

"Thank you. Love you too, bye Mum."

"Keep safe, Sara. You're doing great."

He snatched the phone from my hands. "What took so long?"

"You don't know my Mum," the girl shrugged, eying the phone nervously, but he didn't check the call register. "She loves to talk."

"Right, let's g-"

He was interrupted at the sound of sirens. Didn't they know to approach silently in a situation like this?

"You called the fucking police!"

"No," she shook her head.

"Yes you did!"

"No," the girl replied, firmer, "I didn't."

Then the cars were pulling up and he grabbed her arm. The voices were yelling, loud and dominant - knife and gun holders.

She found his moment of distraction and punched him in the side before wriggling out of his grasp and pelting towards the overpass stairs, two at a time. She landed straight into the arms of an awaiting officer she hadn't seen before. She was saved. This time.

[533 words]

Ryan's Thoughts

Hmm, if Innocence was 1st person...

The story I want to tell you has no definable start and not everything is solved at the end. The happiness is short lived, minimal. Don't get me wrong, I'm a happy bloke. You need to have that contrast in our careers. I loved my career. It made you feel as if you were doing something for humanity. You got to meet people. You got to make a difference. At least, that's what you keep telling yourself. I should begin with one of the two most important people I met on the job. It was also one of my most terrifying days as a father.

I got that call nobody ever wants.

The one that says your child is missing.

[120 words]

Glass Prison

He sat staring unhappily out the window. To see the outside world and not be able to touch it... he touched the glass with his fingers. Then he began hitting it and punching it. Surely it would break... but then one of them came and pulled him away and he stumbled to the floor. They were never going to let him out of this prison and still they wouldn't given him an explanation of why.

[75 words]

Previous Cries

He traced a finger over the stained walls, again trying to wonder what it was like for the previous prisoners. It was cruelty. He wondered what was racing through their minds at the time, wondered exactly how many had been here. Was it just the two sons, or more? There he was, sharing their horrors, yet they didn't know it. No one knew it. It was just him and those men, and considering how he hadn't been found yet, he was finding it difficult to believe outsiders would ever find a lead. He hoped, certainly. But how was he ever going to get out of this mess?

[107 words]

Soaked

He stood in the pouring rain, unseeing. His hair was sodden in his face, his jeans drenched, the shoes had giant puddles in them and yet he didn't care. He was done with trying. He didn't care anymore. The rain set shivers up his spine and he stumbled blindly forwards through the wind, looking for a direction in which to go. He wanted home. He took a few more steps, swaying with lack of sleep, food and energy. If this was the way life was, he wanted it to drain him away. Let the water wash him clean, let the wind rub him raw. Then he collapsed and lay there on the flooding pavement, soaking up the emotions.

[118 words]

The Miserable Grimace

One time, she had made me laugh so much I was still clutching my stomach for an hour afterward. It was over a paperclip. Now normally you wouldn't find such ordinary stationery objects funny at all, and in all seriousness, they're not. At times though, the most bizarre stories can come out of these everyday objects, and you and your friends will turn silly over them. This was one of those times. Thinking back, all I could do was let out a miserable kind of grimace. Whoever said remembering the good times was beneficial, was wrong.

[96 words]

You're Sure

Of all the times you swiped on and off the bus, on and off the train, there has only been a handful - six or seven? - times officers have checked for tickets all year. Now, the one time you're unsure whether you swiped on or not, distracted by taking photographs at the station for your university assignment, here they are. You think you swiped on. You're 90% sure you did. You always do. Now you're paranoid, petrified as you take your seat at the opposite end of where the ticket officers are. They don't look like they're moving your way, but you know they will. You keep telling yourself you swiped on. You're 80% sure you did. You can't sit there for fifty minutes wondering. You need to know now. You can't remember. You're 75% sure you did.

They never came and checked.

[144 words]

Assignment Fun

Assignments, fun? Never. Still, it was starting to feel like Persuasive Writing all over again. A subject I hated in theory, but truthfully did well in - and had fun with the assessment, a humorous rant over the nextdoor neighbours. So, when I now studied Literary Studies - such boring theory... historical jargon.. and the assessment comes and you're stressed about it when truly, if you had've thought about this before, you could turn it into something fun. A story, yes. A story ranting about the assignment? Excellent. Maybe. Hopefully. Look like an idiot, take a few snapshots, include them nice and artistically.. maybe you'll get somewhere. Maybe you'll pass with flying colours. Maybe it won't seem like such a bad assessment after all.

[124 words]

It Would Wait

She grinned to herself. Another day wasted, but for good cause. For once, it was not Neopets that caused the distraction. If all went well, it would turn out great. As always. She'd be happy. She already was. The person was going to love it. Adore it. Cherish it. She knew. She couldn't wait to send it to her, to give it away, to share. Though it'd be another month - or more - away... and she really would be wiser spending the time before then working on other things. Assessment for example. Writing. This could come later. It would. It would wait for her.

[105 words]

Achievement

The ideas of your dream projects coming to life aren't always as you imagined them. In fact, it's probably safe to say they never are - not exactly. There's always a slight change, something that you had planned to look better. Still just the accomplishment at setting out to do try it was enough to please you. Overall, it is a job well done, so you think. To begin with. You have to get through the rest of it yet, and that could still take some time. Some perfection. It could ruin what you've started or make it even better. Improve it. Work at it. The reward will come. That achievement.

[111 words]

Window Ledge

She clasped her fingers around the pen. He had been thinking of her. He had wanted to help her. Now they had taken them away from each other and he said if that were to happen, he wanted her to get away. In particular if she was scared, which she was, a bit. She stood up, and made her way to the door, checking again to see if it had unlocked itself yet. It hadn't. She instead turned for the window and pulled open the glass. They were up high. The ground was a fair way down. No way could she jump. She peered across the exterior wall. Maybe if she could get hold of the ledge... but what if she were to fall? Then what? Still.. to remain inside that tiny locked room... she placed her hands on the window frame and made her decision.

[146 words]

Genuine

His eyes scanned over the board. The blurred photos. The school photo. The notes. Could he really trust his judgment? They did have a point, he could see that. He had also been there and known what it was like. He had been the boy. This messages were his - the ones he had never been able to get out. Whether they liked it or not, this boy needed help and he was fairly sure the cries for help were genuine. What if they weren't?

[85 words]

Resisting the Urge

It was dark. The air was cool. The mind wandered. The urge fired up. Yet, she had to punch it back down again. Fight to pay attention to the voices in the room instead of the ones in her head. The ones in her head would have to wait. Just another two weeks. That was all. Two or three weeks. Although she had an inkling that by the time that came, the urge would long be gone. An unfortunate event. A disappointment. How could she keep it there, in its place, put it on hold for that duration? How could she keep that balance? She probably couldn't, despite the dreams. The desires. She could only try, and that was all. Give it her best.

[124 words]

Comfortable Silence?

She sat comfortable in the backseat, hiding behind the man and trying to catch glimpses of the guy in front of the man. She wanted to know why. Sure, practically strangers, she didn't know his name but she was sure he knew hers. Just the random acts of kindness that put a smile on her face. She convinced herself they wouldn't have talked anyway, just sat there awkwardly in silence. She appreciated the gesture. And she thanked him, although internally.

[80 words]

The Shadow

It was not her seat. It was nothing of the sorts. Yet no matter how many times she raced her, the cat got there first. and then she'd look at you with those beautiful eyes you can't say no to as she makes herself comfy as your back rest for the next hour, just waiting to stretch out when you get up. That or she'll move to the desk and start snuggling up to you saying 'Mummy, please.' and you have to give her that rub between the ears, that stroke of the nose. Then she'd watch you were typing and try and catch the words as they appeared on screen. Or not catch as such, merely follow them with that head of hers backwards and forwards, distracting you and blocking your view. But that was Shadow for you - she followed you around everywhere.

[145 words]

Not Almost Over

It was back to the start and yet, it was almost over. The whole thing was nearly over. The work was halfway. Time was being used. It was almost over. But what would that mean? Just the beginning of something new. More work. More time. More hours stressed over. Where was the fun in it all? Sure you could break away from reality every once in a while, a website, some DVDs. But reality never went away. It was always a looming shadow, just waiting to dampen your day. Or brighten it, if you're lucky. Sure things might soon be easing up for two weeks... but after those two weeks it would spike again... and after those two weeks... well, who knew?

[122 words]

Sea of Eyes

I took the steps outside. A swarm of familiar faces greeted me. Some were smiling, some looking at me with concern. Or was it pity? Names ran their course through my head as I began counting and identifying who was there and who was not. It was al too much. I wasn't ready. I turned around, ready to walk back in again and away, but the girl stood in my way, preventing me from getting past. I turned around again. Too many faces. Too many emotions. It was all an unsteady sea. I was thankful, yes, but I couldn't handle it. It was crazy how little it took to may you lose your mind. But my grandparents assured me I hadn't. They assured me my heart had always been in the right place. I felt her hand in mine, and I clasped it tightly for support. Someone yelled out encouragingly, and others followed their lead. I didn't know what I was supposed to say. Then Pa stood up for me, grinning like mad. There was a glitter in his eye, resurfaced after many months without it. I hope my face showed that I returned it.

[195 words]

Future Firefighter

I'd thought about what they'd said in the news report. Pa's cracked and crumbling voice, Grandma standing right beside him. He wants to be a firefighter. My heart shattered preciously against my chest, the sheer thought of recruitment beginning to slip quickly away. I'd dreamed of that career since I was little, shortly after the fire. I'd never considered anything different, despite my grandparent's attempts at trying to get me to expand my preferences. My constant refusals stopped them trying, knowing that I could love nothing more. Learning to save lives like that of my family. Of other families. How though, could I save anyone now? I could barely save myself and that was beginning to scare me.

[118 words]

The Book Itself

I've been reading The Book Thief by Markus Zusak... Love it!

The book sat teasingly in front of her, its cover stood in the air due to much reading. It just sat there, motionless, waiting to be picked up again and read. Finished. The pages themselves were light, somehow different. Easy to flick, easy to read. There was white space, wider line spacing. Each sentence crafted with perfection. A teeny tiny curl in the bottom right hand corner, but other than that, as good as new. A perfect spine. Not a crease in sight. Even the tears shed while reading had managed to stay away from wetting the pages. It felt cool, smooth, heavy, but within those covers was a work of art. A story. A tale. A life. When the words were read, they came alive beautifully. Beautifully in such a catastrophic way.

[133 words]