The place for you to showcase your work and get feedback on it. Post your blogs, literature, youtube videos, music and anything else you think would fit. Important: Please read the Welcome sticky before posting, there are several specific rules for this forum.
As part of my English tutoring course I've been told to analyse this as a beginning of a story... can anyone help?
My thoughts are broken in a way which will make them difficult to write, kind of bumpy, incongruous, but I shall write them anyhow. I would hate not too tonight as it has been a night which has risen beyond my somewhat high expectations of life and if I don’t document it, I fear, it may simply vanish.
I shall start by describing the weather, clichéd maybe, but it must be of some significance or else it wouldn’t be clichéd. A powerless spring morning sun attempted to heat the high street, from my bedroom window I could see a gang of shapeless grey clouds tyrannizing above, they would set the mood for those impacted by nothing but what the world hurls at them, grey, sad, boring.
Though for me, it was a usual morning; I followed my list without any usual slip ups caused by laziness and lack of willpower:
• Wake up
• Tidy room
• 30 mins of biology
• 30 mins of chemistry
• Get stuff
‘Stuff’, intentionally ambiguous of course, I couldn’t very well write down ‘Get high down the at the skate park with peers’ Mum and Dad would no doubt stumble across my list and brutally murder me, as it does not conform to their obscenely square, magnolia painted vision of life.
By ‘peers’, I mean Hahira, Johnson, Harry and Mr Triumph (actually Mr Truim but spell check keeps altering it and I think Mr Triumph sounds better anyway.) Hahira is my only friend in my village, she moved here recently from a town just outside, she doesn’t go to school, but is on an apparent gap year on the instruction of her parents to improve her rather pathetic A level results (C, E, E) She is very beautiful which I am not at all fond of. Her pale grey eyes and dark blonde hair seem to captivate all the shallow boys. She is dreamy and impulsive. Not much else to say.
Johnson, around my age, is a boy he is not very boyish in the fact that he quotes literature and is driven entirely by emotion, I like Johnson - he makes me feel pretty.
Not like Harry, Harry epitomizes all boys he is shallow, and disgustingly logical his use of language is poor in spite of his private education. He is irritatingly gorgeous.
Finally Mr Triumph, he is the supplier, he is 30 years of age, albeit, looks as though he is nearing 50 (that will be the 15 years of abuse his body has endured.) Anyway, Mr Triumph is a peculiar man, although irretrievably normal when compared to tonight’s events. He has a bold head, his arms is saturated with tattoo ink, slender of stature and a croaky, slightly echoic voice. I don’t really care for him, he creeps me out with his staring, but I suppose he supplies us well at a relatively good price.
Hahira knocked on my door at precisely 12:05 this irritated me slightly, I hate it when people are early, it lessens my makeup caking time. Nonetheless I greeted her as usual shouted up to Mum ‘Bye me and Hahira are just popping out for a walk, I need to freshen my mind for revision.’ I then slammed the door, slamming doors is a perfect way of venting anger. We walked down the high street the conversation was usual…she spoke of her weekend away with some guy? I listened then proceeded to speak about my weekend with two guys one called Ben the other Jerry (of course I didn’t actually eat any of this!)
We were walking across the field on the way to the skate park, I spotted Harry, Hahira clearly did as well as her mannerisms became more exaggerated and almost flirtatious (she is such a show off!)
‘Hey girls, Mr Triumph will be meeting us in 10 minutes and I’ve just had a text from Johnson, he’s gonna be late, rough night apparently.’
‘So we gonna just get messy here or go down to the trees. I’m dying for a spliff!’ Hahira said back, directly to Harry, now that there was a boy in our presence all attention on me swiftly vanished.
To document the rest of the conversation, I feel would be a unnecessary waste of time. It was just casual talk, Johnson and Mr Triumph arrived, we all walked down to the trees, it was quieter down there and besides, a gaggle of year 8 girls had gathered round at the skate park.
Mr Triumph handed out the stuff; we all inhaled simultaneously and waited for that moment of euphoria.
This was pretty much the outline of every weekend for the past two years, it had begun when I was 15, at first I was apprehensive, concerned about the ‘risks’ but now it was just routine. But this time was different, of course it was, or else I wouldn’t be writing this.