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Week 25 (Apr. 13 - Apr. 18)DONE
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Name:Scribbles and MasterpiecesWords: 1,517
Genre: Fiction
By: Clare
Notes: yet another long story with no apparent point. I'm sorry bout all the mistakes, I'm to tired to edit...
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Chris walked into the cafeteria during midday lunch break, and grimaced at the noise that an enormous body of teenagers can make at the crescendo of the day. He passed a giggly group of girl, and one called out, “Hey Chris, why don’t you come and sit with us!”
He rolled his eyes and kept walking. The girls burst out in indignant huffs and poorly hidden giggles. Chris couldn’t help but shake his head and roll his eyes again. He supposed he had just brought on the horrifying wrath of the insulted girls, who were probably at this moment saying how rude he was, etc. Oh dear, however would he survive? He shook his head again, sighed, and walked over to his out-of-the- way table. Sitting down, he slipped on his headphones, trying to tune out the endless wave of sounds. He hardly suppressed a groan. To think he had two more semesters in this hell hole.
He got out of the large cafeteria room as soon as he was done and made his way to art class as quickly as he could. Art class was the only thing that kept Chris from complete insanity. Last year he hadn’t even had that. This year his parents made him take the class in hopes of getting him educated in the ‘correct’ form of art. He’d dreaded it at first, but it turned out to be pretty cool thanks to Ms. Allen, the art teacher. She was open to all kinds of art, and encouraged it all.
He got there fifteen minutes early, as usual, and grabbed for the nearest stack of paper and pens. He sat down at his usual desk and started to draw. By the time the rest of the class got in, he had a half formed picture of a warrior whose sword was raised in defense. The sword seemed to emerge from the opened mouth of a dragon at the hilt of the sword.
Chris saw a shadow fall over his paper and glanced up. It was just another art class student. She was looking curiously over his shoulder at the drawing. He quickly shoved the scribble into his desk ignored the girl.
No one else here did his kind of art. His was a mixture of all kinds of art. People didn’t know how to classify it, because the people didn’t look real enough to be real people, but it was certainly more intricate than anime. He mixed painting with crayon and colored pencils. He mixed modern with medieval art. It was always something odd and usually completely random. His favorite thing to do was scribble little pictures on some loose leaf paper with his black pen. He had a black pen attached to a chain he always wore on his jeans. He never went anywhere without a pen or pencil. Usually during most classes he’d doodle endlessly. He also drew on his own arms and hands when paper wasn’t available. No one could tell if he actually had a tattoo or not.
Right now he was scratching a Celtic knot on his forearm while waiting for Ms. Allen to come in. By the time she got there he had finished an elaborate design that had a dagger seemingly stabbing through the entire thing. He heard someone sitting beside him say, “Whoa,” in a quiet voice, but he didn’t acknowledge it.
“Hello class!” Ms. Allen said. Everyone liked Ms. Allen, because she wasn’t the type of teacher who expected you to answer. She was totally relaxed, but she got you moving if she wanted to. It was always fun though, whatever she had in mind. Chris looked over and gave her a small nod and said, “Sup?”
“Hi Chris,” she said as she passed. Chris was a special favorite of hers, though he didn’t know it. She took interest in his wild and unpredictable imagination.
“Today,” she began, and everyone started to shut up, “And for the rest of the week in fact, we will be looking back on the Renaissance era.” She pulled the projector into place and turned the lights off. Chris settled down for the speech. With Ms. Allen, it was bound to be something interesting.
The film started to roll and Ms. Allen started to talk.
“The Renaissance was one of the greatest eras for painters, as you all know. Famous artists such as the well known Raphael, Michelangelo, and of course the ever famed Leonardo da Vinci, excelled in this age. The art was centered mainly upon paintings of holy men and woman, angels and devils, God and heaven. Religious art changes from era to era, and from each artist and the place they come from. Some artists envision Mary, said to be the mother of Jesus Christ, with blond hair if they happened to be from a place like Switzerland, Poland, or Germany. Italians painted their men and woman with darker skin and rounder features. Mary, said to be from Nazareth, the city in north Israel, would have been neither. She would probably have had darker hair, slightly darker skin, but in that age they would not have had extra food to become round on, so both of these versions were slightly wrong. The reason is that these artists all based their paintings on real men and woman living in the Renaissance time itself, therefore there are many paintings where these holy people are wearing a style of clothing that would have been unheard of during their own lives....”The talk went on, and Chris was immersed in his favorite thing: Art.
He walked out of the class lost in thought. An idea was blooming in his mind.
That night he climbed out his window around 12:30. He made his way slowly to the neighborhood park. He was still lost in though. He toyed with his chain as he waited on the swing.
Finally a pair of headlights crawled into the parking lot.
“Bout time,” Chris said to the approaching figures. It was a girl and boy who looked the same age as Chris. They were all dressed in your usual Goth-outcast attire. They looked like the kinda of druggie gangs that police would just love to lay hands on. Good thing they never got caught.
“Hi to you too, so what’s on the menu tonight?” asked the girl.
“Harkins Square,” Chris said, “That ugly new bookstore building sort of hidden in the corner is just begging to be turned into a piece of art. Lucky for us, the cops don’t seem to like Harkins Square.”
“Okay, let’s go then!”
Half an hour later they were spraying on the paint. Chris had looked into the window and thought for a moment. Maybe he’d actually be doing these people a favor. Everything was on sale. Looked like the book store was losing far more than it was making. Though not many people really thought much of it, building design really attracted people. Ugly building, less browsers. He shrugged. Either way, this horrible hunk of concrete just thirsted for something to bring it to life.
So two hours later, their work was finally done. Chris nodded, satisfied, and signed his name in small complicatedly made letters at the bottom. Christopher. He smiled for the first time since the previous day had begun.
The next morning Richard walked to work like he did every morning. He sipped his coffee and tried to get his mind of the pounding headache he had. He was going to be out of work pretty soon, the way things were going. He shook his head sadly and turned the corner.
His jaw and coffee cup dropped at the same time. The entire front of the book store had been covered in graffiti. It was amazing. It wasn’t your usual graffiti, but something different. The words “HARKINS SQUARE BOOKSTORE” were scrawled above the door in elegant gold letters, and the rest of the wall had been covered in different designs that showed all different genres of books. A huge fire breathing dragon seemed to come from out of nowhere, clutching the doorframe with its enormous black claws. In another corner of the wall, two lovers curled up together surrounded by vines of flowers which grew up and around an arch and began to sprout roses and thorns and is reached a woman clothed in a dark cape, with an evil glint in her eye. There were cowboys, fantasy creature, ancient Egyptian figures, Renaissance artwork, and everything else imaginable, all crowded on the front wall of the bookstore. Richard stared at the intricate design that all seemed to merge together perfectly and swore. It was like no graffiti he had ever seen. It was strange and beautiful at the same time. Real and unreal. Richard wasn’t sure if he should be happy or angry. He looked at the crowd that was starting to gather around the amazingly painted building and shrugged. However it turned out, it couldn’t be worse than before. He made his way through the gathering people and unlocked his doors. Questions and customers followed.
iz not!!!! it's awesome haha.... i'm gonna start doing that thing with the pen on the chain now, that's awesome :D
Mod
Words: 2448
Genre: Fiction/Graphic/Cartoon
By: Arthur
Notes: yet another long story with adventure to find a bucket of slime… in high school I would write stories and draw characters, blah blah blah °> °> <•<• wish I could upload a cartoon strip “What do you mean you forgot my sword? Argh!”
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I Bet You A Bucket of Slime!
Once upon the time it was just in the early morning in mid Barbarian’s Middle Veil. A dark and luminous cloud was over a lodging on the street. It was overtaking the sun which slipped behind it. Nothing but a small wind was in the Veil that morning. Early to rise early to bed. The early bird catches the first worm. Lansalot stood in his doorway of lodging. He was in lodging away from harms way of the roads and for the night. He found he had had a restless and fitful sleep.
He had sent ahead his Sidekick to find breakfast in the hamlet. His strength and weight mightily pressed against the frame and lent its hinges loosen and crack.
He looked down to his armored boots in shame of his peculiar shape and size. Still mud from yesterday collected on his boots from far fields and roads. He wasn’t surprised he stepped in dung. Where was his sidekick?
He brushed his enormous chin in need of a shave. Lansalot never would travel undressed in his armor to the nines. As each morning when he rose to place his chain mail back on he checked to see if the Sidekick had polished and cleaned and repaired his armor outfit. It seemed Sidekick had neglected his duties because of an arrival in the late night, and now out looking of breakfast. Food would be scarce in the Middle Veil. It only had paths leading to it from the far farmer fields. It seems Middle Veil was built upon a little creek in a large wood off very large grassy plains. In the far distance was a valley and maybe a river.
Stepping out from the lodging Lansalot looked for a place to sit. He did not ride upon a horse, he was even considered too large. In fact his servant boy Sidekick was fit to ride. Lansalot would not buy a horse for a servant boy. So each walk in the holy lands. Now off in Viking land looking to conquer it. Lansalot would need a large horse.
Both the he and his Sidekick had walked through fields and along roads before they found the farmers fields here. Here? Where was here? Neither of them had known. The Middle Veil was a little nothing hamlet in a forest in the wilderness of yet unconquered land. Viking land. The king of Britannica would say ‘tis . . .’ he said tis before most everything, “Better a hovel than no hen house”. It was a true saying for the King had no education and still managed to conquer Britannica.
It was an odd saying too but Lansalot coveted every word of the King. Britannica’s land region did not span out this far to these yet unconquered Viking lands Lansalot found himself in now. Lansalot had been on a Holy Crusade many years and have spoken of of conquering the neighboring lands single handedly.
Everyone feared Britannica because it was impossible to conquer. And the King. Everyone but the wizard that despised the King was ruled by Britannica and by the King’s charms. And to get someone to come to Britannica to tutor the King also was impossible. It was well known that the King is suspicious and depersonalized. The King would prove to behead an attempted assassination rather than too let them try. He would even behead his own wizard if he didn’t prove useful time to time.
A crowd of people appeared before Lansalot. They had someone surrounded, and Lansalot was then cursing for just who. That was when he noticed Sidekick had stood up in the center. He was standing between to gregarious men. They each had a firm clasped handhold on either shoulder of Sidekick. They appeared shouting and yelling. The Sidekick stood silently as he does, but Lansalot grew inpatient, as he did.
He stepped towards Sidekick and said, “What is going on here, Sidekick?”
Sidekick has long sand colored hair and bands it flat to his head with a metal flat wire that goes around his temples. He dresses like a Shepard or a pathetic stripped Elvin fighter and not much larger than one. Only nearly six feet tale, he some times travels without boot wear when his soles wear out and there are no shoe makers.
As it was the story unfolded and went that Sidekick had found a boy crying his eyes over a weather barrel in the alley. A kitten had fallen into the weather barrel and could not swim. The child could not reach it as it was about to drown under. Sidekick happened by, took the wet cat out of the barrel, saving it, gave it to the child. The towns’ people praising him for his heroism stood there praising.
Lansalot nodded, “That’s fine!” he exclaimed to everyone.
“If he hadn’t happen by then then what?” asked an ornery old man in praise.
“That’s fine!” exclaimed Lansalot again.
“I think the child is mute but has stopped crying, the man gave him back his kitten.” Exclaimed with passion a passing man.
“That’s fine!” exclaimed Lansalot.
A townie said, “Let’s give them a reward for his deed!”
It wasn’t above the crown to take rewards, so Lansalot patted that man on the back and said, “That’s fine!”
And he exclaimed it.
The butcher said he would give the men a free breakfast.
Lansalot said “That’s fine!” and nudged the Sidekick for creating this public indecency.
-continued
Mod
The group gathered around rock in a circle that had a fire burning. The men sat. It took a little time before Lansalot and Sidekick felt well around this strange town folk. But the men began sharing pieces of meat and eggs. Lansalot noticed as they consumed the food that many of the men were almost as tall as sidekick making Lansalot a little apprehensive or nervous. He constantly was in check of all possible and dangerous situations. If they were Viking he may say something to alert them of his intentions of his holy quest. He decided not to pledge the men to his kingdom as the bearded men swallowed their food. He merely watched and listened to every word. They spoke because in a dialect language he didn’t know. Vikings he thought, and possibly very ruinous and dangerous.
“Are you men in need of any services?” Inquired the smartest looking one with glasses. He had large frumpy looking ears that really bent down from weight of the glasses. He had a beard that fell to the ground and was wizen grey and pointed at its end. He did not look harmful so Lansalot decided he was the mayor of Middle Veil.
Sidekick looked up quizzically.
“Yous in town for a church meeting?”
The mayor looked to Sidekick then at Lansalot. They both shook their heads no. it must of looked strange the servant responding. The two looked away in deeper conscious thought worried. The mayor grew relieved. But the mayor passed it off as absurd and waved away his morning yawn, he then said “Sure, unless if yous are in further need I’ll get back to work. I swear to you that a brave deed you did young?” he waited for the name.
“My Sidekick,” Said Lansalot.
“Sidekick.” He pronounced it aware the young man be a servant. “I thank yous from the bottom of my heart,” he said to Sidekick, then askance looking over his crowd, he waved bye to them on leaving, “from the whole hamlet!” said again leaving.
“That’s fine!” exclaimed Lansalot and the mayor left.
Lansalot took it as the last opportunity this time afforded to corrupt the men remaining. “We are going.” He told them.
He then had to pause after a sharp whisper from Sidekick to his ear, “What?” he said.
Sidekick whispered something more to him, they offered me a good price on a horse. he said.
“Unless you did have a sizable horse for me?” He corrected them. He was asking though he had doubt.
“No sir, youd need a mighty fine mare. We had a few ponies. A fieldwork mare horse. A small one for your servant boy.”
“That won’t do.” He said. “And did you think I am a slime and would steal your mare even for my servant for his brave deed done. I am shocked. We go. Does the sun set there?” he pointed more north.
-continued
Mod
“I said slime, what of it?”
“Did you know of a beast living in the water? About fifteen miles north? A water hole beginning in of a pond it inhibits?”
“Jeez, no! What of it? Make sense man,” It was the beginning of a greedy business transaction. “Are you marking out there is a quicksand?” Ah think! “Thank you again of warning us afore!” He said turning his beady eyes to that direction.
“Not a quicksand. He said a monster!” A short bald tubby one exclaimed.
“Is such true? You men know of such a beast?”
“I knew he was not from here.” The bald one said.
Lansalot shrank from his knowing.
“Changes from water to slime. It’s growing in the water.” Another man said spitting a cherry pit with eerie fear transfixed in his eyes.
“If I see it I’ll turn back and tell you if it’s getting bigger.”
“Will one day multiply and take over the wood.” Another with shortened hair admitted.
“The wood? I don’t believe it. What would you give me to get rid of it?” Lansalot asked. What would or wouldn’t they give? Gold earned for a beast. Better yet recognizing the blazon of Britannica for conquering this monster and saving the wood?
“Up north you’ll see it. Follow to the north.”
“Thank you for your hospitality. We may go south.”
“Aren’t you a knight, sir?” asked one of the men.
“What? How dare?” Lansalot steamed. He fidgeted in his armor. “How dare you accuse?”
“Accuse? You bring a mute?” the haughty one said to them.
“Alright, I’m a holy missionary. But he’s not a mute, he’s a servant!” Yelled Lansalot.
Some of the men were hanging their heads in the upcoming argument staying safely out of its design.
“He knew he would be wronged by evil conversations. He works for me!”
“Beg pardon, sir, but we know you was a knight.”
“Your servant was brave so we said nothing.” The bald one proclaimed.
“What brazen do you carry?” one asked spitting a cherry pit.
“Brazen? Why? It’s carried over in war or a laird’s land house or Kings castle. What are you implying?”
“That if you don’t help us rid the slime we will run you out. If we send word to the next place of destination of your description?” threatened the bald one.
Sidekick now was fritting away and quietly whistling in worry ways.
“How shall I prove I beat the monster?” He asked.
“I bet you a bucket of slime that no one could carry a bucket of it off unless it was killed!” suggested one of the man within the absurd argument. He was the one who begun the tale of the slime.
“You mean you’ll pay me and not blackmail me? Fine. What do I get in return?”
“We are poor. You are good looking. You do this service you get pardoned. If you kill the monster we will proclaim our land to your King. What do you say?”
Lansalot said. “Alright.” He paused, then “I bring back a bucket of this monster slime you proclaim Britannica and its King! We are on our way!”
They traveled north in the wood, going along rocky hills of little rigid walls painted in Viking graffiti. RED BEARD. COAST RIDERS. Boats. Curses. And X’s. Skulls and unnamable nightly shapes. They found they were at the watering hole then stopped there in disbelief. There was a large bubble pouring from its mouth slime. There was a strange noise within it. Sloshing sounds gurgling through a drain in its center and water and steam shooting straight up.
“I’ll smash it!” Exclaimed Lansalot. Make me a lance demanded Lansalot.
“Now?” whispered Sidekick, unsure he had understood the intend of its use.
“Yes you idiot. I will smash it with a lance!” he said brutally.
Sidekick went off into the wood collecting fallen tree to sliver into a lance.
When he returned an hour latter he had carried one chopped by axe. It was magnificently heavy.
“That will do.” He stood up, weighing it. He heaved it under an arm pit and ran towards the bubble. It collided with a thud. The force bent the lance and did no damage. But the mouth then stopped spitting out slime. The spurting in the center stopped. Then suddenly an eye opened and turned to Lansalot.
The eye opening bubbled out in anger and then out came a six foot tale baby slime. It walked on legs and wore a cloak. The first to begin its spreading to take over the wood. Lansalot got here just in time. “My mace,” he shouted to Sidekick. He pulled a long mace from a carry sheath and hurried to hand it to him.
He struck it with his powerful mace.
“Ouch.” The monk wore a mask. The mask flew several feet off. He held his nose. “No more. Oh!”
Lansalot recognized the Monk. “It’s you Fredrick! French Monk of Paris,”
How dare the French and Frederick create slime?
“I’ve got a good mind to kill you this time man, what ails thee?” Lansalot demanded.
The plot was simple. He rope bound Frederick who had built a factory to create potions for the French King of Paris. He had hidden his laboratory in this wood.
Sidekick returned by foot to the hamlet carrying with him the bucket of slime.
“But what of your sir?” they inquired.
“He’s well. Only sore and scathed by the fight. I must return. Here is a token of our lord. Remember you are bound by your debt to Sir Lansalot of Britannica and the King. You have sworn.”
“Aye, we did!” pronounced the mayor. He was proud as were all of the men. Proud as the entire inhabitant of Middle Veil. Freedom of the monster of Middle Veil. And Long Live the King!
The ‘Slimy’ End
LOl awesome story arthur!!!!lol i always bring a pen everywhere I go to, but not on a chain. I should try that though, thatd be aweshum...
that would be! i need to get a chain now...
Title: NamelessAuthor: Sunny
Words: 1479
Notes: Some more strange ramblings. I wrote this when I was sick so it’s pretty weird (although in the original version the mane character ends up going on a psycho killing spree so….). And yeah, if i win then i would like my story to go up on Short Stories Galore! :)
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I sighed; the first day of school at Ledger High was always torture for me. What made it worse was that I still had all of this year plus another before I could leave school and the country. Plus my favorite teacher, Mrs. Peters, had left at the end of last year because she wanted to have a family. She had taught the only class I liked; art.
And for some unknown reason (perhaps God had a personal vendetta against me) I had made to school early. Meaning that I had no choice but to stand in the hallways alongside rest of my moronic classmates until Mr. Jackson came and opened the door to his classroom. Gritting my teeth I passed through a group of shouting jocks and continued walking.
Just like every morning, the crowd parted for me, making an alleyway large enough for two people to walk comfortable through. They never made eye contact, and rarely seemed to notice why they had moved; generally people at Ledger ignored me, when they weren’t ignoring me they made rude comments. I wasn’t really hardwired for school, I planned on being an artist once I left high school, then all I would have to do was draw.
Several lockers away from my own a passed a blond boy with freckles who, upon seeing me, crossed himself and muttered what sounded like some sort of prayer. I grinned in response and started a low muttering chant under my breath that inaudible except for the name ‘Satan’. I had known the boy since sixth grade and he been convinced that I was an agent of the devil ever since, I occasionally helped his theory along.
The boy’s conclusion was understandable; church was a big part of life in Ledger Texas, I didn’t attend and coupled with by all black attire everyone assumed I was the Antichrist.
As I approached my locker I saw that I had been assigned the one next to Tiffany Hewet. Joy.
I listened in on Tiffany and her posse of giggling, blonde friends as I spun my combination lock and stacked my books inside. “—And yesterday I went to Hollister too!” exclaimed Tiffany. “I got this totally adorable white mini skirt and this fantastic top that completely matches my eyes!”
“Hey Tiffany, look, I got this shirt yesterday also!” I said, turning towards her and raising my voice. “It totally matches my eyes and my hair! Plus black is a very slimming color.” I spun, displaying my dark, skull-covered T-shirt.
“That’s nice, Regina,” muttered Tiffany, turning and quickly walking down the hallway.
I rolled my eyes; no one in this thrice damned school understood sarcasm. It was an art that I had perfected years ago, but it was being wasted on these idiots. Seizing my English book I strode down the hall to Mr. Jackson’s class—I was going to be early for yet another part of school, this was not my day.
* * *
I was returning to my locker after English when I realized that I couldn’t remember the number. I was about to start digging through my backpack to find the scrap of paper it was scribbled on, when I glanced up at the row of faded orange lockers and saw that I didn’t need the number to find my new locker. It already stood out.
I rolled my eyes; they had graffitied my locker. The word WITCH was scrawled through the middle of my locker. Snorting, I pulled out several Sharpie markers from my hip pocket and started embellishing.
By the time the bell rang for my science class I had turned the WITCH into an enormous, squirreling design that took up most of my locker. Standing back, I smiled at my accomplishments, I quite liked it. The nasty orange had annoyed my for as long as I had gone to school here, this was a definite improvement.
I suffered in silence through Mrs. Lamb’s Science and then was shuttled off to Mr. Mason’s history class. Apart from art, history was my favorite subject, not that it interested but because of Mr. Mason. He had the roundest head I had ever seen on an adult and it was made even more noticable by the fact that he had no hair. His glasses nearly cover his entire face and his pants could usually be found somewhere around armpits. His shirts (what little you could see) were usually some sort of checked mustard yellow flannel, in addition he had bad hearing so he didn’t really talk, he shouted. I guess he assumed that since he couldn’t hear himself when he wasn’t, neither could we.After fifteen minutes and three cartoons of Mr. Mason I raised my hand.
“Yes, Miss Green?” bellowed Mr. Mason.
“Mr. Mason, I don’t feel well,” I said, widening my eyes and placing a hand over my stomach.
“Again, Miss Green?” asked Mr. Mason, exasperated.
“I’m afraid so,” I said in as sad a tone as I could muster. “You know about my condition.” I tried not to smile, had no condition worth mentioning except chronic boredom and pathological lying but Mr. Mason didn’t need to know that.
“Very well, Miss Green but you’re going to miss an extraordinarily good lesson about the commerce and trade of the 1820s.”
“What a shame Mr. Mason. I feel terrible about having to leave!” I said in a tragic voice.
I grinned as the door swung shut behind me and I heard Mr. Mason resume his lecturing. My grin widening I and jogged to my locker and took out my box of deluxe Sharpie markers. Fifty-nine colors. Happiness in a box.
Pausing only long enough to decide what part of the school I wanted to tag I started down one of the many winding hallways. I had been sneaking out of history class since the middle of ninth grade so I had already done the obvious places like the bathroom stalls and the gym walls. I briefly contemplated doing Ben Johnson’s locker as payback for his doing mine but decided that it didn’t deserve to be blessed with artwork such as mine.
I was determined that one day I would graffiti the principal’s office, but not today. Today I settled for the strip of wall between the cafeteria and Mrs. Peters old classroom. To start out I drew a fairy dancing on a mushroom, then I added an entire garden behind it. After that I drew a sleeping dragon curled around an enormous book and in the lower corner I did the Mona Lisa in anime (this version involved her wearing an outfit similar to my own and holding a Sharpie. The only thing I didn’t change was the mischievous smile).
“No offense da Vince, but mine’s better,” I said, a huge smile spreading across my face.
Glancing at my watch I realized that it was almost time for lunch. I had to get out of here before students and teacher alike flooded the halls. I shoved the markers into my backpack and dove into a bathroom just as the bell rang.
Once the stampede of yelling and gossiping students had dwindled I emerged from the bathroom and headed out onto the patio to eat my lunch and draw.
* * *
“Hi,” the voice was male and coming from over my shoulder.
I closed my sketchbook and turned, unsmiling. The man was looked like he was about twenty-one, dressed in worn blue jeans and a black t-shirt advertising some band I never had heard of. He was good looking and his voice was slightly accented.
“You like to draw?” he asked, smiling.
I nodded. Who was he? I had never seen him before, he looked to young to be staff and to old to be a student.
“You did some great work on the walls around this place,” he said, grinning widely.
I stiffened, how did he know it was me? “Who are you?” I asked, openly hostile.
“Jason Adams, I’m your new art teacher,” he said.
My mouth opened slightly, so he was a teacher.
“Expecting someone older?” he asked, reading my expression correctly.
“Yeah.”
“So was I. When I saw your artwork I thought it must have been a hired artist, until I saw you drawing outside my classroom. There’s a scholarship for young artist, it will allow you to graduate early and study abroad. Sound like something you’re interested in?”
“Sounds great, I’d love to get out of Ledger. Especially to draw,” I answered. I grinned, maybe Mrs. Peters wanting to have a family wasn’t such a bad deal after all.
LOL! that was so great sunny! lol my favorite parts:although in the original version the mane character ends up going on a psycho killing spree so...
no one in this thrice damned school understood sarcasm
and
Fifty-nine colors. Happiness in a box.
LOL sooooo much better than mine. I feel like going out and doing that all over some high school hallways now....
On another thought, I think I'll sit this one out. Great job on the stories above guys, good luck to all! @.@
hahaha, thanks! now i want to graffiti something!! guess I'll have to settle for my hand... :)
yeah me too! even MORE than before!
Ok ppl, contest over! GO VOTE! = ]
Congrats sunny! You and i have tied!
u spell it with a 'h'? strange person! lol, still an awesome word although it puts me in mind of wHip cream :)
lol woot? whoot? idk why i did that, but i guess i doo... hrmmmmmm....whipped cream? yuck.
she means... it's from family guy >.< "ooh, could you pass me some cool wHip?" "what?" "cool wHip."
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This week's Topic is graffiti. If anyone has any objections to this topic, please go to the Objections post. The rules are pretty loose. You could write about any types of graffiti, also known as tagging, or drawings or writing, scratching, painted or sprayed with symbols anything just have the word graffiti in the story.
Weekly stories must be at least 500 words long to 2,500 words long. (if the whole story won't fit in one post, divide it into two)
Good luck!
Arthur, [acting for Clare:]
P.S. PLEASE say if you would like to have your story on Short Story Galore, if you win. This way it wouldn't take me ages to get your consent afterwards. This includes adding a link to your stories. If you want to have your story on the Short Story Galore, but not the link, just say so.