Writing: random short short story?
Word Count: 528
I’m not doing anything.
“Yea, yea-yea-yea. “
Trumpets in the other room. Or clarinets. Maybe a little squeaky, either way. I can’t tell.
“Nine plus ten…no.”
My backpack, leaning against my leg. My tarot card bag is on the top. I can see it in my peripheral vision. My right foot hurts because of the way I’m twisting it.
“You’re the one that dealt me both jokers.”
“You’re the one that took both jokers.”
Come to think of it, my other foot is a bit sore as well. But not really.
“Eight minus four is four!”
“…Take it, take it.”
“Do you need someone to help you in math?”
I ought to be doing something productive now, like homework. I want to have time to write and draw and what not later anyways.
“Is it three times eight? Is it really? Today’s my lucky day!”
I’m afraid that I’ll be too lazy to do homework or write or draw or what not later.
“Twenty plus four.”
That’s been happening a lot lately. Being too lazy to do anything. I don’t want to do anything yet I want to do something. It’s really upsetting.
I feel lonely, but it’s stupid to. Music coming from the other room, three friends sitting about a foot away, and I’m sure there are more people milling around just outside one of the doors.
“Wait, wait—what just happened?”
The bell rings, but there’s no silence to shatter.
“If she doesn’t call me, you call me.”
Why is it always “shatter” silence? Shatter is too special a word to use simply for breaking quiet.
“Well I have to go—bye Ella!”
I leave too. I might as well. I’m walking home. I scamper out to where I meet my friend to walk home. My feet are numb, but just a bit.
“Rose, do you know where Patrick is?”
I have an original character called Silence. Silence Winds. She’s a diviner. “Shatter” would be appropriate if she was broken.
“Poncho! The poncho matches the bag!”
“Yes. Yes it does.”
“Touch. Touch touch Feel feel.
I’m wearing a white ribbon in my hair.
“Touch touch feel feel…”
Not many people—no, no one—has noticed. Well, noticed it’s white at least. I suppose that’s a good thing. White ribbons in hair aren’t a good thing. It’s a grave thing, very grave. I can feel a physical weight pulling on my hair because of it—extra gravity.
“Hey, It’s Ella!”
“Don’t disturb her! She’s in the middle of an inspirational moment!”
My friend’s grandmother died yesterday. I don’t know how she’s taking it mentally, but she seems to be ok on the outside. I don’t exactly know how death is like—death of a close one, I mean. I don’t want to bring it up because I’m afraid it’ll make her miserable. Not to mention it would be very untactful.
“Oh! Are you coming to see the play?”
Yet I want to support her and let her know we’re all with her if she needs us.
“Yes, on Friday.”
White ribbons in the hair mean death and mourning.
Artist's Note: Hi! I know this is ridiculously late...and that I haven't posted anything for a month...but..yea...X.X
About this post: Most of it was written at the end of school on Tuesday (April 12, 2011) in a moment of inspiration and I expanded it a couple hundred words yesterday. All of the dialogue was actually said, except for the last two dialogue lines ("Oh! Are are you coming to see the play?" and "Yes, on Friday"). None of it was me speaking. The underlined names are the ones I changed....it's also underlined because I felt like underlining it....
And of course, I was wearing a white ribbon in my hair. I'm very wary of posting this, but I suppose it's all I can do. :( Rest in Peace.