Weekly Short Stories Contest and Company! discussion
Weekly Short Story Contests
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Week 195 (December 30-January 5). Stories. Topic: Notebook Scribbles
Hey there, boys and girls! Guess what time it is! It's synopsis time! This week's Garrison Kelly story is going to be called "Not Gonna Die", a title stolen from a Skillet song. It goes like this: CHARACTERS:
Mario Gustafson, Lonely Exchange Student
Cassias Benavidez, Party Animal
Tammy Horowitz, Cassias’ Girlfriend
PROMPT CONFORMITY: Mario keeps a notebook diary of his depressing moments.
SYNOPSIS: With a college backdrop, Cassias throws a party in the apartment he shares with roommate Mario. While Cassias and Tammy are having the time of their lives, Mario is sitting on his bed silently crying the night away because he misses his family in Sweden. Cassias notices Mario being depressed and tries to coax him into joining the party.
Yay! I love Skillet :D That alone makes me excited to read your story.
I hope you like it when I get it written. :)
Title: A Monosyllabic SymphonyAuthor: Angie Duenas
Word Count: 755
Feedback welcome!
Also, luminol is the main chemical used in glow sticks. (That tidbit of information will make sense in a few minutes.)
Meredith found her math class too boring. You’ll love the new school, her parents had told her. It’s for gifted kids like you and it’ll be much more competitive and challenging. You won’t be so bored in all your classes.
When she enrolled at the “gifted” school, her parents had told the principal that she was advanced. Old Mr. Wright had allowed Meredith to take a placement test; that was the reason why Meredith was in an advanced calculus class as the only seventh grader among high school juniors.
But, in truth, it was much the same as it had always been for her in elementary: the class was too slow; the teacher repeated herself too often; none of the other kids understood the content.
She still found herself bored out of her mind.
During her lectures, she took dutiful notes because she knew her mother would be disappointed if she thought that Meredith wasn’t trying hard enough at her new, exclusive school. She copied down the examples on the board. But as Ms. Williams answered the (countless) questions from her confused peers, Meredith let her mind wander. Her hand scribbled her doodles in the margins of her notes.
Meredith found herself daydreaming about Kyle Andrews— the quarterback for the JV football team. He was six foot three and lean. A mop of dirty blond hair crowned his head, somehow falling perfectly no matter how he tilted his head. And those eyes! Oh those eyes! They were the perfect shade of brown and seemed to compliment the smattering of freckles on his crooked perfectly. She wondered if there could be a greater vision of perfection in the world. She doubted it. Kyle seemed to have descended straight from heaven.
And he sat twelve seats away from Meredith in calc!
She could never have dreamed to be so lucky in her life. She often found it hard to breathe when he looked in her direction or when she heard his name out loud. Oh, his name… The mere sound of it was like a celestial chorus of angels. It was like a monosyllabic symphony of harps.
His name was written a thousand times in her math notebook, in two dozen different fonts. Her daydreams of him were woven in between word problems, derivatives, and complex equations.
Which was ironic, given that his worst subject was math.
She was jolted out of her reveries as she heard his name spoken by lips that were not hers. Her head twisted to see who had spoken. It was Ms. Williams; she was talking to Kyle about his failing grade in calculus.
“Your notes are awful. It’s no wonder why you’re doing so poorly in my class. Why don’t you go look at Meredith’s to see how to write better notes? Then we’ll see how your grades improve.”
Kyle began to walk in Meredith’s direction and her poor, adolescent heart felt like it was going through cardiac arrest. She fought against the urge to swoon.
“Hi, um, Meredith, isn’t it?”
“Yes, my name that is.” She felt like she was going to die of humiliation. She sounded like Yoda all of a sudden. Meredith cursed her frazzled nerves.
His adorable mouth quirked into an amused grin. “I came to look at your math notes.”
“Um… yeah. Sure.” Keep your responses as short as possible, she told herself. Short answers equals less opportunity to make a fool of yourself. She shoved the notebook in his direction.
Kyle flipped through the pages, his grin growing wider by the second. Belatedly, Meredith realized that his name was all over her notes. The blood rushed to her pale face, where she knew he could see. Why don’t you just lay down and die?? she thought to herself.
But the star quarterback smiled indulgently at the thirteen-year-old standing before him. “Do you want to have lunch with me?” he asked her.
Meredith felt as if her insides had been filled with luminol and the resulting chemiluminescence was escaping through the very pores of her skin so that everyone in the room could see how she was positively glowing.
“I’d love to!” Her voices squeaked a bit in her excitement. Kyle chuckled at her exuberance. When the bell rang to signal the end of the class, he offered her his arm and together, they walked to the cafeteria.
After a long history of dissatisfaction with her schools, Meredith had lost hope. But maybe, just maybe, she was going to like it at her school after all.
That's such a good story Angie!
AUTHOR: Garrison KellyTITLE: Not Gonna Die
GENRE: College
WORD COUNT: 1,578
RATING: PG for a menstrual cycle joke. That's all there is this time. I swear, pun definitely intended.
Swedish exchange student Mario Gustafson was far from home and even further from happy. He couldn’t fight back the tears any longer. While there was a loud party going on in the living room complete with Beastie Boys music blasting out of the speakers, Mario stayed in his dorm room and sat on his bed with his knees to his chest. His sobs were quiet, but the liquid raining from his eyes managed to mess up the ink in the notebook diary he was writing in. It didn’t matter if his pages were soggy or not, because nobody would read them. No words, just tears, sadness, bloodshot eyes, black pajamas, and messy blond hair. Such a delightful combination for someone who missed his family back home.
After a while of hip-hop funky business going on in the living room, Mario’s extroverted roommate, a tall, dark-haired loudmouth in a toga named Cassias Benavidez, entered the dorm room to check on him. Mario didn’t even pick up his head to look at Cassias; the Swede just sat on his bed and sobbed the night away. Cassias on the other hand was eating a Butterfinger bar like a carrot and mimicking Bugs Bunny’s voice when he said…
“Meh…do you need a maxi pad, doc?” Mario’s drenched face finally shot up and he yelled, “Shut up!” right back at his supportive friend. Cassias tried to shrug off the anger when he held his hands up and said, “Hey, calm down there, Yosemite Sam, it was just a joke. Seriously, man, how are you doing tonight? Do I even need to ask?”
Mario snapped, “What do you think?” Cassias nonchalantly walked over to his roommate’s bed and took a seat for himself. The party animal said, “I know, I know. You miss your family and you want to go back home as soon as possible, but you can’t, because you don’t have a degree to return with. I’ve heard this story before. In fact, I’ve heard this story six different times already, each time from the same guy: you.”
Mario wiped his overflowing eyes with his wrist before saying, “You don’t know what it’s like, Cassias.” The party boy said, “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard that one before too. I don’t know what it’s like to miss my family…even though they live about 200 miles south of where we are now.”
Mario said, “Look, if you don’t have anything nice to say, just leave me alone.” Cassias said, “I’m trying to help you, Mario, in case you haven’t noticed. Did you figure out sooner or later that there’s a party going on out in the living room? There are people out there who could easily become one of your family members. Not like the ones you’ve got back home, but maybe they could be your American family.”
The depressed Swede counteracted with, “Yeah, that’s what I want: to mingle with a bunch of drunkards who can’t even recite the alphabet forwards, let alone backwards. If I’m going to have a so-called American family, they’d better have an IQ higher than their blood alcohol level.”
Cassias put a hand on Mario’s shoulder and said, “So they’re a little disoriented right now, so what? Friends are friends and the more of them you have, the less lonely you’ll be. It’s commonsense, bro.”
Mario flipped Cassias’ hand off of his shoulder and said, “You Americans with your shallow relationships and your stupid parties. A cheap date may be the only thing you need, but I want more out of a friendship. I want passion. I want kindness. I want my friends to be able to walk across the room in a straight line so that they can hug me.”
Cassias said, “Did I mention that we’re in a college dorm room and there are other college students in the living room right now? What more could you want? College students are some of the brightest people in our age group.” While the party beast laughed at his own stolen Emo Phillips joke, Mario was less than humored when he said, “I bet these drunken animals have more F’s on their report cards than the script of Pulp Fiction.”
Enough was enough. Cassias slapped his own bare knees before getting up and saying, “You know what? I’ve had it. I’m trying to pull you out of your little bubble and this is the thanks I get. I hate to let you down so hard, Mario, but there’s more to life than sitting in your dorm room and crying like a little girl. There’s a whole world of people waiting for you out there! You know, a world other than Sweden! When you’re ready to grow a pair, let me know and I’ll get you a beer from the fridge.”
As Cassias was heading back to the party, Mario said, “Who needs you anyways, Cassias! Go get drunk and fall on your face some more, we’re all really impressed!” Cassias stood in the doorway and held his hands to his hips in disbelief. Mario said, “What are you waiting for?! Go back out there before the beer keg gets empty! It might be your last chance!”
Cassias shook his head no and called Mario a, “Freak” before slamming the door shut and going back out to where the Beastie Boys action is. About an hour passed and Mario was still sitting on his bed sobbing his eyes dry and dampening his diary. After the obligatory hour was spent, the party hat died down and most of the college kids went home for the evening. Most of them, except for one.
Instead of swinging the door open like a primitive beast, the next person to visit Mario gently knocked three times. The Swede wiped his eyes and said, “Come on in.” The sweet lady that visited him was Tammy Horowitz, Cassias’ girlfriend and the sole reason why the party was playing Beastie Boys and not something else.
Tammy was drop-dead gorgeous. She had stunning black hair with strawberry red lips and a milky complexion. Instead of wearing cheap clothing covered in vomit and nachos, she wore something decent in the form of a long black dress and high heeled shoes. What a pretty lady like Tammy was doing at a rambunctious party like this was unknown to Mario, but he took a liking to her anyways.
Tammy said in a sweet high-pitched voice, “Are you feeling okay, Mario? Cassias told me everything that happened in here.” Mario said, “Yeah, what a friendly guy. I couldn’t ask for a better roommate.” Tammy sympathetically said, “I know, honey.” before tiptoeing over to Mario’s bed and having a seat.
The lovely lady looked at the soaking wet diary and asked if she could read it, to which the depressed Swede said she could. Despite the soaking wet paper and running blue ink, Tammy could make out what some of the pages said. She even read them out loud. “This is how it feels when you take your life back. This is how it feels when you finally fight back. When life pushes me, I push harder. What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger. The last thing I heard was you whispering goodbye. And then I heard you flat-line.”
Tammy smiled at Mario before saying, “I didn’t know you were a Skillet fan. I love this song!” The blond Swede went into defensive mode when he said, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not religious or anything like that. I just like their music.” Tammy said, “Same here. This is one of my favorites by them. Why did you write it down?”
Mario wiped his relentlessly teary eyes as he said, “I thought keeping a diary would help take some of the pain away. I thought it would be cathartic. But what good is catharsis if nobody cares? The only people who would actually care are back in Sweden.”
Tammy pressed her gentle finger to Mario’s lips and said, “They’re not the only ones who care, Mario. I care as well.” Mario said, “How can you care? You’re Cassias’ girlfriend. Cassias doesn’t give a damn about me. He just likes to pretend he does so that he can tell everybody how wonderful he is. He’s so arrogant.”
Tammy nodded at that statement and said, “I agree. He is an arrogant jerk. I don’t really like being with him. I’d rather be with someone who’s sensitive and kind.” Mario’s eyes dried up as he said, “You mean…” He couldn’t even finish his sentence while he gazed into Tammy’s beautiful brown eyes.
After a while of silence between them, Mario leaned in and kissed Tammy on her lips for the longest time. When the kiss broke, Tammy had a somewhat shocked look on her face, but offered no further resistance to the romantic kiss. Mario wiped his lips and said, “Sorry about that. I don’t know what came over me.”
Tammy smiled back at him and said, “Is that any way to treat your American family? With apologies?” Mario sat stunned in silence for a while and then said, “I won’t tell Cassias if you don’t tell him.” Tammy said, “I’ll let him down gently, but I won’t mention your name. I promise.” Tammy and Mario came together on the bed and hugged each other tightly. This was a feeling the sensitive Swede hadn’t felt in a long time and he was reluctant to give it up.
Angie, that has got to be the cutest story you've written so far! It made me feel warm and toasty inside, like a Quizno's sandwich! ^_^
Garrison:I read your story with Not Gonna Die playing in the background. (Though my favorite Skillet song has always been The Last Night.
I like the contrast you put between the somberness of Mario's situation. (As a side comment, Mario seems like more of a Spanish name than Swedish.) I liked the way you sometimes used light hearted adjectives in serious situations. It was refreshing.
You painted some pretty vivid images in the first two paragraphs, so good job. I also enjoyed the wit and banter between Cassias and Mario.
However, the transition into the conclusion and the conclusion itself seemed very abrupt. The change was just a bit bipolar.
This is definitely my new favorite for your writing. (Though not just because of the Skillet reference ^_^)
Thank you Garrison. That's very nice of you (even if your comment about Quizno's has just made me very hungry...)
You're such a honey bear, Angie. Thank you for the kind feedback! :)About the name Mario, I once saw an art film in which there was a German guy with that name. I figured if a German guy can have it, anybody can. I actually used to have a character named Carlos McKinney, Carlos being Spanish and McKinney of course being Irish. Sometimes it's fun to mix ethnicities. :)
Again, thank you for the wonderful feedback. You're the best. :)
That little anecdote just made me laugh. :D So thank you. It's always a pleasure to read your writing.
You want some more giggles? I'm sure you could use them. :)There are actual brothers who are MMA referees named Mario and Fernando Yamasaki. They're half-Japanese and half-Brazilian, but come on, when was the last time you saw a Japanese guy named Fernando? Hehe!
That actually did set me into a fit of giggles. :D
You know what the best part is? We're not done yet! Hehe!You know what my penname was before I decided on Garrison Kelly? True story. It was...Ryu Bashir. I am neither Japanese nor Arab. I'm a white American and I used to have the penname...(deep breath)...Ryu Bashir. Hehe!
That's great. :D I have a friend who's Chinese, but her first name is French and her last name is Italian.
Hehehehehe! Best ethnic mixture ever!Did you ever watch an episode of Seinfeld where a woman named Donna Chang turned out not to be Asian? Oh, the comedy that ensued! ^_^
Hahaha, I've never seen that episode before, but I want to now.
Chang was short for Changstein, which is a weird combination of Chinese and Jewish. The character was a white American from Long Island. Hehe!
I never realized that before, but it really is :D
The UFC is a wealth of weird name combinations. Their current champion in the heavyweight division is named Cain Velasquez. I repeat, Cain (Jewish) Velasquez (Spanish).
I've never thought about all the possibilities before O_o
There are millions of possibilties out there. For example, there's a Palestinian author out there named Edward Said. If you shorten his first name, he essentially becomes a Middle Easterner named Ed. Hehe!
Haha now I can't help but go through all of my friends' names to see if any of them have interesting combinations. :)
Let me know what you find. Maybe you have a friend named Bubba Melendez or Jose Sakamoto. Hehe!
Or if you're feeling VERY giggly, try out the name of former UFC fighter Antonio McKee. I repeat, Antonio (Spanish) McKee (Irish). He exists, I kid you not. Hehe!
This is more fun than a barrel of monkeys. Or as a Wheel of Fortune contestant once said, more fun than a barrel of Vikings. Hehe!
That's an interesting thought. I just imagined a Viking wearing a wooden barrel held up by suspenders XD
It's a silly image, but it's better than him being in a pink Snuggie. Hehe!
Actually, the McKee is Scottish. I haven't come across anything like that except that my pen name is Arabic and Persian.
Frank vs. HecklefordFrank found himself standing outside The Crusty Tail, a small tavern that overlooked the bay. Frank wasn't sure what he would find when he walked through the door, it seemed as though some of the people in this strange new world he had fallen into couldn't even see him, and most of the ones that could weren't even people at all. In fact Captain Al of the W.S.S. had been the only other 'person' that acknowledged Frank's existence in this world, and she had thought he was some sort of delusion brought on by a combination of scurvy and parrot fever. But Frank knew that he was real, and he was begining to think this place was real too.
Frank pushed his way through the door and entered the smoke filled sea-pub. No one seemed to take notice of his arrival, and Frank wasn't sure if that was because they couldn't see him, or if they just didn't care. Frank sat down on a stool at the end of the bar that no one else had gathered at yet, he pulled out the cassette tape labeled 'Call Me Al', and placed in on the counter in front of him.
'What could it possibly contain.' Frank thought to himself, 'Probably all of her most private thoughts, or the secret to who she really is, or maybe it was the tale of this weird new world.' But Frank knew none of that mattered, in this backwards world where would he find a tape player anyhow.
"Whatca got there?" a voice asked.
When Frank looked up at the man behind the bar he noticed that his bottom half looked quite lobsterish; before today that would have thrown Frank for quite the loop, but after his adventures with the mermaid, squidgirl, and goatpeople Frank took it all in stride. "It's a recording by Captain Al." Frank told the bartender.
"You mean Captain Alex Ferdinandles, the dread pirate queen?", the bartender asked in awe.
"Actually I believe it's Fairandiddles, and she didn't seem like much of a pirate."
"Oh she's a pirate, that's for sure, and the dreadliest of them all."
"Well, she didn't even think I was real, and the other girl on her boat acted like I wasn't even there."
The lobsterman bartender sat a tall frosty mug down in front of Frank, "Have a pint on the house, and lets get you straightened out. You're clearly quite confused."
Frank took a big gulp from the mug, and the drink burned all the way down his throat, and felt as if it would set his stomach on fire, "Good god man, what is this!?"
"Well it's Peppered Kale Ale with just a squeeze of fresh fishy juice. The favorite beer of the island, its sure to put hair on your chest, and a risin tide in your loin." the bartender anounced with great pride, "My own creation."
Frank looked inside his shirt and counted the same five hairs on his chest that had been there for some time, and was hopeful that the other half of the bartenders claim wouldn't come true anytime soon. "Tell me, what is this place? and how did I get here?"
"This world is one of the many crossroads of the universe." The bartender eyed Frank's mug and waited for him to take another drink, which Frank wearily did as he continued to hope that no tides would start rising. "You see your world, like all others, moves happily along it's own timeline. The same way a car travels down a road. There's the road behind, where you've already been; and the road ahead, which is where you are going; and the road exactly where you are, which is exactly where you were until you fell out of your world and into this one. Now these roads don't all run in the same direction, they all start where they start, and then head off in whatever direction they're going, some in a straight line, and others zigzagging all over the place. And every so often they intersect."
"And that's what this place is, one of those intersections."
"Oh my, no no. This is no mere intersection. If the universe were a roadmap, this world would be known as spaghetti junction. Where dozens of dozens of timelines intersect. You must of stumbled onto one of the doorways at just the percise point that the timelines crossed, and that's how you ended up here."
"Well why does it seem like some people here can't see me?" Frank asked.
"Because they can't, of course. All of the people from this world can see you, and you can see them too, but people from different times can't always see each other; sometimes you'll see them before they see you, and sometimes they'll see you before you see them, and sometimes you'll never see each other at all."
"And what about Captain Al? Which world is she from?"
"Now that's a good question, maybe even the best question of all." the bartender remarked, "No one really knows for sure. She just sailed in one day on the W.S.S.. Declared that she was a pirate queen, and she and her crew feasted and partied for a week of Sundays, and then she set sail again. She comes and goes as she pleases, but no one knows to, or from where. Her crew is most certainly not from this world, and most of them can not see anyone from any other time. But the Captain herself seems to be from this world and another, the daughter of two realms, and that is why she is held in such high regard, and any of her lost relics are prized possesions."
The bartender pulled something from behind the bar that was wrapped in a cloth and laid it gentely on the counter. Frank took another swig of his Peppered Kale Ale, without a second thought of its possible side effects. "Is that something of hers?" he asked in great anticipation.
"Yes." the lobesterman replied, as he began to carefully unwrap his sacred artifact. The bartender pulled back the last flap of cloth to reveal a notebook, the kind that Frank was quite familar with from his childhood school days, and that looked as out of place in this world as the cassette tape he now treasured. In the center of the cover was a large white sticker that read 'Al's Diary - SUPER SECRET PRIVATE'.
Emboldened by the drink Frank reached forward asking, "May I?"
"Of course, maybe you will be the one to make some sense of what she's written inside."
"Where did it come from?" Frank asked, as he slowly opened the cover.
"It was left behind, that first time she came here to celebrate with her crew. I've kept it behind the bar and vowed to place it again in her hands myself, but everytime she has sailed back since, she has never come off the ship."
The first few pages contained nothing but incoherent scribblings, some were big looping lines that went side to side, and others were straighter lines that went up and down, but none of it made any sense to Frank. Frank was begining to think the notebook was all a big nothing, until he got to the seventh page. His eyes went wide as he saw the stick figures. One seemed to be girl, and had on a big pirate hat like Al's, and the caption underneath read 'moi'. The other appeared to be a boy, upside down on his head by the mast of a ship, the caption for the boy read 'Vrank'. 'That's me, and how I met the captain, but how could she have drawn this before we ever met.' Frank thought.
Frank flipped to the next page. This time stick figure Vrank was tied to a post in a small room that appeared to be on the ship; and stick figure Al had her sword drawn, with a caption above her head that read 'time to play'.
Frank greedily turned the next page to see what kind of fun they would have, but there were no more stick figures in the notebook. The only other drawing was on the very last page, and it excited Frank the most of all, "This," he pointed to the picture, and exclaimed to the bartender, "I must find this."
"Well I don't even know what that is." the bartender replied.
"It's a tape player, I could use it to listen to my cassette." The picture on the last page was of a box like device with buttons on the front, and in the top right hand corner of the page was a drawing of a creature that appeared to be half man and half dog. "Maybe this dogman has it. Do you know who he is?"
The bartender snatched the notebook away from Frank, and began to rewrap it carefully. "Boy that's no labberdoodle you're talking about. That is Heckleford, part hyena, part two-bit theif.
And if he has something of the Captain's he probably came to it by less than honerable means."
"It's my only clue Lobsterman, and with the Captain sailed away I have to try and get it."
"My name isn't Lobesterman you dimwit, it's Clickclack Bigclaw. And I can tell you that you won't find Heckleford anywhere around here. He's been banished from this island."
"Well that makes no sense, you don't even have any claws. Clickclack Bigtail they should call you." Frank replied.
"Easy now, loosing a few pounds is my New Year's resolution." the bartender said, as he looked back at his big lobster half behind him.
"I'm sorry Clickclack, do you know where I can find that treachorous dog? I must get back the Captain's tape player."
"If I had to guess, I would say that Tortuga would be the best place to start. That's where every lily-livered, pox faced, grog snarfing, yellow bellied, scurvy infested, barnacle bottomed, hammock hogging, flea ridden rapscallion ends up. Why, if Heckleford were there, he would probably be their king."
"Then to Tortuga I will go." Frank announced boldly as he stood up from his stool, and put the cassette back into his pocket. "How do I get there?" he asked just as boldly.
"There is a small rowboat at the end of the dock. Row for five days towards the setting sun, as long as you're not capsized and eaten by phooey sharks you'll come to Tortuga."
Frank downed the rest of his Peppered Kale Ale, and marched out of The Cursty Tail.
"That boy will have a magnificent chest nest before he's rowed for two days." Clickclack said to himself, as he picked up the empty mug and headed off to check on his other patrons.
---------
After a day and a half of rowwing Frank's chest began to burn, he pulled his shirt off to splash himself with cool ocean water, but as soon as the sunlight hit his skin a full mop of chest hair burst out upon it. "Noooo!!!" Frank yelled, and then he looked down in fear as he thought back to what Clickclack had said about his special island brew. Frank grabbed the paddles and rowwed with all his might, trying to think of anything other than what might come next.
----------
-continued-
On his fifth night of rowwing an island appeared on the horizon. Frank had not felt any further side effects of the Peppered Kale Ale, but his relief soon wasted away when he got close enough to see the island clearly. Tortuga was not a regular island made of rock, but seemed to be a pile of wrecked ships of all shapes and sizes. Some right side up, and others upside down, and still more jutting out at the most peculiar angles; all cobbled together on top of a coral reef. There were several ships with black sails, and black flags around the small isle that looked much more piratty than the W.S.S. Frank could smell the tobacco and booze while he was still quite a ways off.
Frank felt a sensation rising up inside him, he knew what he needed was on that island, and he suddenly felt much braver than he knew he should as he defiantly rowwed on. Frank tied the small rowboat to a low point on the dock, and headed into the ominous looking island.
Frank saw what looked like ladies of the night, that were half girl and half squirel. A man with the head of a snake, and a lizard with the body of a man. Then Frank turned a dark corner and found himself face to chest with two very large dogmen. "Are you...do you...Heckleford?" Frank asked.
The two cackled maniacally, "Look Rover," one of them said to the other, "this puny thing is looking for Heckleford."
The other dogman cackled again and then answered, "He must want to serve himself up as a snack."
"Oh no...I think you misunderstood." Frank interjected, with none of the bravery he was feeling before. "I'm not a snack, he just has something I want, and I came to get it."
The two dogmen howled out with laughter even harder at this. "This one is every bit as dumb as he looks." the first dogman managed to get out between heavy breathes.
"Lets take him to Heck, he should be good for at least a few more laughs before he's completely devoured." his companion suggested.
In an instant Frank found himself snatched up by the arms, and being carried away to the heart of the island. They took him into a small room, lit only by a candle on a table, and shoved him into a seat on one side. Frank heard something stirring in the backroom, and a third dogman entered that was even bigger than the other two, Heckleford sat down across the table from Frank, "This doesn't look like much of a dinner." he said to the two that had brought Frank.
"It's more than just dinner, sir." One of them said quite nervously, "It's dinner and a show. He says you have something he wants."
Heckleford let out a low growl of disapproval at them, and they cowered back into the corner. "Is that true boy, and did you just think you would waltz in here and take what is mine."
"That tape player isn't yours." Frank declared, with his unfounded bravery that had failed him before, "It belongs to Captain Al..."
Frank had barely gotten her name out before Heckleford snapped his powerful jaws shut just inches from his face, and let out a bark that nearly toppled Frank over backwards. "How dare that sea winch send you here," he growled at Frank, "but of course she would be to scared to come herself."
"Actually, I believe she's considered a pirate queen," Frank interjected, "and she didn't exactly send me, in fact she doesn't even know that I'm here at all."
"Now that makes more sense." Heckleford said, as he reached into his vest and pulled out the small grey tape player, and sat it on the table in front of himself. "Why would she care to get back this stupid box that does nothing."
"Well if you don't have any use for it, I will gladly take it off your hands." Frank suggested.
"Oh, anything of Ferdinandles has some value, even if it doesn't work." Heckleford told Frank, "Besides, you have no need for trinkets, you are about to become my dinner."
"Bravo, you were really quite close, but I believe the proper pronunciation is Farfelnoddles." Frank replied, "And you can't just eat me, aren't you unsavory types supposed to settle these delimas with some sort of a contest."
Heckleford chuckled at the idea of playing with his food and agreed, "Alright boy, what do you have in mind."
"How about a contest of riddles?" Frank suggested, hoping that dogmen weren't that smart. "If I win you give me the tape player, and if you win..."
"I eat you."
Frank swallowed hard, he had never been good at riddles, and only suggested this because he had read it in a book as a child. "You go first." Frank quickly said, knowing that he would need time to think of a riddle.
"Fine." Heckleford said, and thought for a long moment, "Here is one with an answer you'll soon have use for. The one who makes it, sells it. The one who buys it, never uses it. The one that uses it never knows that he's using it. What is it?"
Frank was relieved, but also a little worried, because he did know the answer, "To easy, a coffin."
"Well if you have one better lets here it." Heckleford growled.
"Just a minute, I'm thinking." Frank told him.
"If you don't have a riddle, then you forfeit."
"Hold on, I said I'm thinking."
"It's now or never boy. Do you have a riddle, or are you my dinner?"
Under the pressure Frank blurtted out the only thing he could think of, "What kind of socks does a pirate wear?"
"What..socks.." Heckleford looked at his two henchdogs behind him, but they both appeared quite clueless.
"No getting help from them." Frank demanded, "That's cheating."
"The great Heckleford doesn't need to cheat to beat you."
"Then what is your answer?"
"Wait a minute, I'm thinking."
"Well come now, we don't have all day. Either you have an answer, or I win." Frank felt as though he had the upper hand.
"I gave you time, now let me think boy."
"Not this much time you didn't, now lets hear your answer."
Just then Heckleford looked as though he realized the answer, "Soggy. Wet and soggy socks."
"No." Frank said, "Wrong answer, I win."
Heckleford barked loudly, "It is too the right answer."
"Don't be a sore loser."
"If it's not the right answer, then what is?" Heckleford demanded through a low growl.
"Arrrrrgyle." and as soon as Frank had said the word he grabbed the tape player, blew out the candle, upended the table and ran out the door.
Frank didn't need to look back as he ducked and dived through the winding walkways of Tortuga, hoping that he was heading in the right direction. He could hear the howls of madness behind him, as Heckleford and his dogmen fought to untangle themselves from each other and give chase.
Frank heard the barks, and yelps following his trail, and he could tell that it wouldn't take long for before they caught up with him. Just as Frank felt they were only one turn behind him, he tripped and fell over a loose plank in the walkway.
"In here." a voice whispered, and Frank crawled into a tiny space just in time to not be seen. As soon as he had made it inside the door pulled shut. Frank found himself in complete darkness as the footsteps ran by.
It didn't take Frank long to realize he was in a box of some sort, but he didn't care, he knew it was better than the alternative. "Thank you." Frank offered, to whoever was in the cramped darkness with him.
"No need to thank me, Frank."
"How do you know my name, and just who are?"
"Me, I'm no one. Just a Buxton in a box, that slips out from time to time, and sees what's going on."
"Well that doesn't clarify anything at all." Frank replied.
"Don't worry about that. The coast is clear, you can slip out now. Your boat is straight ahead,
row back to where you came from and seek out the professor. He's the only one in this world that can power your new toy."
Frank did as he was told, and after five more days of rowwing he was relieved to be back where he had started, and even more relieved that he was back down to his orginal five chest hairs, and that the effects of the Peppered Kale Ale were not permenant.
---------
Feel free to critique.
Fantastic, Mandy! What an imagination you have. I've been looking forward to another installment - you'll have a novel in no time! This is easily my favorite chapter yet. Very imaginative, excellent dialogue and great pacing. You've done a top job once again with your time travel explanation. I love the crossroad idea and spaghetti junction. Big thumbs up!
Great story Angie, I think I would die if that happened to me.
Mandy:That was incredible! It was the most amusing story I'd read in a while. You had me laughing the whole time. It was so original. My favorite was Tortuga. It was really interesting to have an island made up of sunken ships. That was great. I can't wait for the next chapter. :)
Great story, Angie! I hope poor Meredith isn't going to be used for her maths ability. Although, maybe she wouldn't care too much.One thing that really stood out for me, is your writing itself - you write REALLY well. I found the structure allowed the story to shine through without being bogged down or fumbling over sentences. It was just a pleasure to read. Do I sense further chapters to come?
Well done, Garrison. I really liked your opening sentence, it drew me straight in and set the scene nicely. I also enjoyed your dialogue between Mario and Cassias and they way it bounces back and forth so easily. I haven't listened to Skillet, but I'll have to give them a try now.
Angie: I loved your story so much! When Kyle saw Meredith had doodled his name everywhere, I actually cringed for her. Really well written and overall awesome. Short, sweet and hooked me from the first sentence. Well done :)
Title: The Mystery of Aileen Longo (sorry, I'm not good with titles).
Author: Green Elephant Girl
Genre: There isn't really one. I think.
Word Count: 3,013
Aileen
Aileen Longo stood in the stationary aisle, gazing at the blank books overlapping onto one another on the shelves that stretched and climbed to the flaky plaster ceiling. Bursting with colour, their bright spines and covers were like exotic birds amongst the browns and beiges of Milner’s St department store, the home of everything anybody would ever need, ranging from microwave ovens to hand knitted laptop covers. But Aileen Longo was there for neither of those things.
She had come for the notebooks, and with a mission.
Joel
That girl was here again today. Jesus, she’s weird. You know what she was wearing today? A kimono. With a woolly beanie. Her ears were sort of sticking out from under it. And you know what was hanging off them? Long, dangly earrings in the shape of Santa hats. And to top it all off, she was wearing bright yellow ballet slippers.
I mean, seriously! She outdid herself today with her outfit. Yesterday, it was pajamas. With a snorkel mask and ski boots. The day before? A black-and-white striped onesie topped off with a huge brown sunhat, complete with fake flowers. It’s a matter of time before someone attacks her on the street for her revolting fashion taste. She’s just asking for trouble.
No, actually, that’s not fair. None of the stuff on her would look right on anyone else, but it just kind of… fits her. Not to say that she doesn’t get jillions of funny looks while she’s in the store. Believe me, she does.
But the seriously weird thing is, with a person like her, you’d expect her to come to the front desk after she’s done shopping with her arms full of cat food and sew-on googly eyes and duct tape and crazy shit like that. But she’s never once come to the desk with anything like any of that stuff. Actually, most days she doesn’t buy anything. But on the days when she’s in some sort of shoppy mood, she comes to the front desk with nothing but a grin and an armful of blank notebooks from the stationary aisle.
Like I said, weird.
Aileen
A new shipment or something had arrived. Aileen Longo could see. The third shelf down , instead of holding the nasty plastic green notebooks ($4.97) that it had for the past month she’d been shopping here, was bearing about ten glossy journals with misty blue covers and black polka dots. There was a strip of grey fabric wrapped around each one, with a faux-rusted silver buckle to keep the book closed. Ten dollars fifty.
They were very smart, Aileen decided. Pretty, perhaps. They didn’t shine like the others, but they were pleasant to look at, nonetheless. And they’d probably sell faster than the more cheerful-looking ones, truth be told. That was something about people that confused Aileen Longo rather a lot—how they would so often go for the gloomier option in life, the thing that wouldn’t make them smile, but frown.
It were almost as though people liked being sad.
Aileen Longo was around to help them be happy.
Joel
It was a slow day, and the weird girl, Rolf (the guy who stocked shelves) and Samanza Leigh were the only ones in the store. Once upon a time, Samanza had actually worked here too, but the boss (a walking bag of hair product, grease and horseshit) touched her butt one day and Samanza freaked. I don’t think he’d expected she’d react the way she did—she ended up quitting. It was a sad day when Samanza walked out of the store- she was smart, funny, and helped pass the time. Nowadays she only came in occasionally on weekdays to buy hairspray and stuff. She shot dirty looks at the boss whenever she walked past him, sometimes pulled the finger at his turned back. It was hard not to like Samanza.
It was a whole lot duller now without her around to snigger at the customers and shout lunch at Subway’s with. From what I’d heard, though, things had gotten a whole lot better for her once she left- she’d become a nurse at St Grace’s hospital, working nights. It was why she could only go shopping in the day, looking a bit bedraggled. I always made sure to say hi when I saw her, though, and once or twice I gave her a couple dollars off some stuff she was buying without telling her. Samanza was one of the good people, after all.
Justine at checkout four, the one opposite me, looked almost as bored as I was. She was chewing grape gum, and I could smell it from where I was standing. Her manicured fingernails rapped rhythmically on the counter over and over: tap tap tapTAP, tap tap tapTAP.
Justine was one of those sad, burned-out wrecks that had probably been popular in high school, but as an adult looked as though they were suffering from a permanent hangover. She was twenty-six and it had been nine years since life had been one big Friday night, full of too-short skirts, smoking behind bushes at school and kissing hundreds of guys at hundreds of parties. And still, she wore her hair high up on her head with one glossy black tendril hanging down either side of her tanned, freckled face, an abundance of mascara, and her work regulated skirt hitched high up her waist; probably exactly how she’d done it in her high school days. She was beautiful, lazy, snarky, flirty and full of attitude.
And I, like many of the idiots Justine had probably known in her teens, was completely head-over-heels in love with her.
Aileen
Aileen Longo reached up for the polka-dotted book and pulled the special pen out of her shoe (that was the bothersome thing about kimonos: they didn’t seem to have pockets). Aileen was suddenly rather thankful for having the insight to wear ballet shoes today, though; she’d had to go on her very tippy-toes to reach the shelf. The book was surprisingly heavy, as though it were already filled with secrets and stories and hopes and dreams.
That was the best thing about empty notebooks: they screamed of possibility.
Aileen Longo unbuckled the fabric and opened it.
Second best thing about notebooks: they had that gorgeous new smell in them. Fresh and old and new somehow all at the same time. Utterly delicious.
Aileen closed her eyes, and searched.
A few seconds later, the cap was off the pen and she was scrawling something on the inside cover of the book.
Joel
Another weird thing: I swear, that girl’s been doodling in some of the books in the stationary aisle. Weird goddamn messages. She must do it when nobody’s looking or on weekdays or something when nobody’s around to see anyway. I still don’t get why nobody’s pointed it out to the boss yet. It’s freaky.
I found out about two weeks while I was quickly looking for a gift for my niece, Elsbeth (total brat, by the way) and, after having gone pretty much everywhere in the store, I ducked into the stationary aisle, hoping to find a pink eraser or glittery pencil or something like that. Instead, I found one of those shabby-chic-ey Eiffel tower notebooks. She couldn’t exactly write yet (she was three), but I figured she probably liked French stuff. Girls generally do. (Especially Deidre, who left me for a French waiter five years ago).
I flicked through the book to make sure nobody had ripped any pages out (last year we had this homeless guy who said his name was Jandy coming in and doing that regularly), and then stopped. I flicked back to the start. Something had been scrawled on the inside cover:
Elsbeth
Look in your chest of drawers.
I naturally thought that this was weird as hell. How did someone know that this was for Elsbeth? And what was with the whole ‘chest of drawers’ thing? I grabbed another notebook off the shelf, blue with yellow stripes, and looked on the inside front cover.
This one’s not for you, mate.
I dropped it and swore.
In the end, I finished my shift with the creepy notebook addressed to Elsbeth, having bought it after all. I don’t really know why I decided to do it- I just guess I wanted to see what would happen, if anything at all.
About a week later, I got a call from my brother, Ted.
‘How the hell did you know?’ He asked, laughing into the phone.
‘Know what?’ I asked, unlacing a sneaker.
‘That Elsbeth’s teddy was in the chest of drawers, idiot. She was thrilled! I’d been lost for about a month and she couldn’t sleep without the blessed thing. She was keeping Lacey and I up all night with her screaming- you’ve done all of us a massive favor. How’d you know it was there, though?’
‘Oh- I- I have my ways,’ I said, trying to sound casual. But I was feeling pretty damn freaked out.
The weird girl was a witch or something.
Aileen
Aileen Longo had finished writing the day’s messages and was now exceptionally exhausted. Looking for them, searching for the right things to write to the future owners of the books took a lot of energy out of her.
She carefully placed Rosalind Fairchild’s fortieth anniversary present from her sister-in-law ($4.96) on the shelf and tucked a stray strand of hair under her beanie.
Now, to pick out some for herself. Aileen Longo had quite some story to tell, and she wasn’t even halfway finished yet.
Joel
Justine was fiddling with the sponge on her counter, looking as though she’d rather be falling off Niagara Falls in a barrel than wasting her time here. She looked beautiful even when there were sweat stains under her armpits and her nails were chewed right down to the quick. Terrified as I was, I decided to make some conversation. It would pass the time, the time that was dragging by so slowly.
‘Oi, Justine!’ I called. Too loudly. Too roughly. I sounded like a right douche. She didn’t seem to notice, though, and turned to face me with a smirk, her jaw still moving up and down with the gum. All ideas for interesting conversation fled.
‘Uh- d’you know what time it is?’ I was blushing.
‘Nine thirty-seven,’ she said, totally unfazed. ‘You know, you blush real easily.’
‘Crap. Do I?’ I flushed. Damn!
She was laughing now. ‘Yeah. You look a little like a tomato, sweetie.’
Her phone buzzed. It sounded like an angry bee. She pulled it out of her pocket and took a look at the screen. ‘Sorry. Gotta take this.’
I shook my hand at her, like, Yeah, no biggie. Go ahead. I’m cool with it, and leaned against the counter on one elbow, trying to look casual.
But I couldn’t have been less cool with it when she answered the phone with, ‘Hey, baby. You still coming tonight?’
Aileen
Aileen Longo had six brand-new notebooks now, each as colourful and bright as the last. As the ballet slippers tapped softly on the green lino of the supermarket floor, she looked around the shop, a little sad. This would be the last time she’d walk these horribly coloured floors, smell the overwhelming scent of cleaning products that was somehow everywhere, not just in the cleaning aisle. Her time here was up; she’d done her job.
She’d spent years travelling from store to store, yet none had ever meant as much as this one to her. She’d never been to one where there was a story unfolding before her eyes, and she found that she rather liked it. Aileen Longo loved stories, and romances were her favourites.
Especially when she knew there was a happily ever after on the way.
Joel
Justine had a boyfriend.
Of course.
All the girls that I fell for, it was impossible for me to be with them. They were taken or just walked straight out of my life.
The fact I’m too scared to do something about any of this doesn’t help much either.
Aileen
Aileen Longo was nearing the counter where that mustache-d teenage boy was, looking gloomily at the gum-chewing girl across from him. She was laughing flirtingly into her cell phone.
Author: Green Elephant Girl
Genre: There isn't really one. I think.
Word Count: 3,013
Aileen
Aileen Longo stood in the stationary aisle, gazing at the blank books overlapping onto one another on the shelves that stretched and climbed to the flaky plaster ceiling. Bursting with colour, their bright spines and covers were like exotic birds amongst the browns and beiges of Milner’s St department store, the home of everything anybody would ever need, ranging from microwave ovens to hand knitted laptop covers. But Aileen Longo was there for neither of those things.
She had come for the notebooks, and with a mission.
Joel
That girl was here again today. Jesus, she’s weird. You know what she was wearing today? A kimono. With a woolly beanie. Her ears were sort of sticking out from under it. And you know what was hanging off them? Long, dangly earrings in the shape of Santa hats. And to top it all off, she was wearing bright yellow ballet slippers.
I mean, seriously! She outdid herself today with her outfit. Yesterday, it was pajamas. With a snorkel mask and ski boots. The day before? A black-and-white striped onesie topped off with a huge brown sunhat, complete with fake flowers. It’s a matter of time before someone attacks her on the street for her revolting fashion taste. She’s just asking for trouble.
No, actually, that’s not fair. None of the stuff on her would look right on anyone else, but it just kind of… fits her. Not to say that she doesn’t get jillions of funny looks while she’s in the store. Believe me, she does.
But the seriously weird thing is, with a person like her, you’d expect her to come to the front desk after she’s done shopping with her arms full of cat food and sew-on googly eyes and duct tape and crazy shit like that. But she’s never once come to the desk with anything like any of that stuff. Actually, most days she doesn’t buy anything. But on the days when she’s in some sort of shoppy mood, she comes to the front desk with nothing but a grin and an armful of blank notebooks from the stationary aisle.
Like I said, weird.
Aileen
A new shipment or something had arrived. Aileen Longo could see. The third shelf down , instead of holding the nasty plastic green notebooks ($4.97) that it had for the past month she’d been shopping here, was bearing about ten glossy journals with misty blue covers and black polka dots. There was a strip of grey fabric wrapped around each one, with a faux-rusted silver buckle to keep the book closed. Ten dollars fifty.
They were very smart, Aileen decided. Pretty, perhaps. They didn’t shine like the others, but they were pleasant to look at, nonetheless. And they’d probably sell faster than the more cheerful-looking ones, truth be told. That was something about people that confused Aileen Longo rather a lot—how they would so often go for the gloomier option in life, the thing that wouldn’t make them smile, but frown.
It were almost as though people liked being sad.
Aileen Longo was around to help them be happy.
Joel
It was a slow day, and the weird girl, Rolf (the guy who stocked shelves) and Samanza Leigh were the only ones in the store. Once upon a time, Samanza had actually worked here too, but the boss (a walking bag of hair product, grease and horseshit) touched her butt one day and Samanza freaked. I don’t think he’d expected she’d react the way she did—she ended up quitting. It was a sad day when Samanza walked out of the store- she was smart, funny, and helped pass the time. Nowadays she only came in occasionally on weekdays to buy hairspray and stuff. She shot dirty looks at the boss whenever she walked past him, sometimes pulled the finger at his turned back. It was hard not to like Samanza.
It was a whole lot duller now without her around to snigger at the customers and shout lunch at Subway’s with. From what I’d heard, though, things had gotten a whole lot better for her once she left- she’d become a nurse at St Grace’s hospital, working nights. It was why she could only go shopping in the day, looking a bit bedraggled. I always made sure to say hi when I saw her, though, and once or twice I gave her a couple dollars off some stuff she was buying without telling her. Samanza was one of the good people, after all.
Justine at checkout four, the one opposite me, looked almost as bored as I was. She was chewing grape gum, and I could smell it from where I was standing. Her manicured fingernails rapped rhythmically on the counter over and over: tap tap tapTAP, tap tap tapTAP.
Justine was one of those sad, burned-out wrecks that had probably been popular in high school, but as an adult looked as though they were suffering from a permanent hangover. She was twenty-six and it had been nine years since life had been one big Friday night, full of too-short skirts, smoking behind bushes at school and kissing hundreds of guys at hundreds of parties. And still, she wore her hair high up on her head with one glossy black tendril hanging down either side of her tanned, freckled face, an abundance of mascara, and her work regulated skirt hitched high up her waist; probably exactly how she’d done it in her high school days. She was beautiful, lazy, snarky, flirty and full of attitude.
And I, like many of the idiots Justine had probably known in her teens, was completely head-over-heels in love with her.
Aileen
Aileen Longo reached up for the polka-dotted book and pulled the special pen out of her shoe (that was the bothersome thing about kimonos: they didn’t seem to have pockets). Aileen was suddenly rather thankful for having the insight to wear ballet shoes today, though; she’d had to go on her very tippy-toes to reach the shelf. The book was surprisingly heavy, as though it were already filled with secrets and stories and hopes and dreams.
That was the best thing about empty notebooks: they screamed of possibility.
Aileen Longo unbuckled the fabric and opened it.
Second best thing about notebooks: they had that gorgeous new smell in them. Fresh and old and new somehow all at the same time. Utterly delicious.
Aileen closed her eyes, and searched.
A few seconds later, the cap was off the pen and she was scrawling something on the inside cover of the book.
Joel
Another weird thing: I swear, that girl’s been doodling in some of the books in the stationary aisle. Weird goddamn messages. She must do it when nobody’s looking or on weekdays or something when nobody’s around to see anyway. I still don’t get why nobody’s pointed it out to the boss yet. It’s freaky.
I found out about two weeks while I was quickly looking for a gift for my niece, Elsbeth (total brat, by the way) and, after having gone pretty much everywhere in the store, I ducked into the stationary aisle, hoping to find a pink eraser or glittery pencil or something like that. Instead, I found one of those shabby-chic-ey Eiffel tower notebooks. She couldn’t exactly write yet (she was three), but I figured she probably liked French stuff. Girls generally do. (Especially Deidre, who left me for a French waiter five years ago).
I flicked through the book to make sure nobody had ripped any pages out (last year we had this homeless guy who said his name was Jandy coming in and doing that regularly), and then stopped. I flicked back to the start. Something had been scrawled on the inside cover:
Elsbeth
Look in your chest of drawers.
I naturally thought that this was weird as hell. How did someone know that this was for Elsbeth? And what was with the whole ‘chest of drawers’ thing? I grabbed another notebook off the shelf, blue with yellow stripes, and looked on the inside front cover.
This one’s not for you, mate.
I dropped it and swore.
In the end, I finished my shift with the creepy notebook addressed to Elsbeth, having bought it after all. I don’t really know why I decided to do it- I just guess I wanted to see what would happen, if anything at all.
About a week later, I got a call from my brother, Ted.
‘How the hell did you know?’ He asked, laughing into the phone.
‘Know what?’ I asked, unlacing a sneaker.
‘That Elsbeth’s teddy was in the chest of drawers, idiot. She was thrilled! I’d been lost for about a month and she couldn’t sleep without the blessed thing. She was keeping Lacey and I up all night with her screaming- you’ve done all of us a massive favor. How’d you know it was there, though?’
‘Oh- I- I have my ways,’ I said, trying to sound casual. But I was feeling pretty damn freaked out.
The weird girl was a witch or something.
Aileen
Aileen Longo had finished writing the day’s messages and was now exceptionally exhausted. Looking for them, searching for the right things to write to the future owners of the books took a lot of energy out of her.
She carefully placed Rosalind Fairchild’s fortieth anniversary present from her sister-in-law ($4.96) on the shelf and tucked a stray strand of hair under her beanie.
Now, to pick out some for herself. Aileen Longo had quite some story to tell, and she wasn’t even halfway finished yet.
Joel
Justine was fiddling with the sponge on her counter, looking as though she’d rather be falling off Niagara Falls in a barrel than wasting her time here. She looked beautiful even when there were sweat stains under her armpits and her nails were chewed right down to the quick. Terrified as I was, I decided to make some conversation. It would pass the time, the time that was dragging by so slowly.
‘Oi, Justine!’ I called. Too loudly. Too roughly. I sounded like a right douche. She didn’t seem to notice, though, and turned to face me with a smirk, her jaw still moving up and down with the gum. All ideas for interesting conversation fled.
‘Uh- d’you know what time it is?’ I was blushing.
‘Nine thirty-seven,’ she said, totally unfazed. ‘You know, you blush real easily.’
‘Crap. Do I?’ I flushed. Damn!
She was laughing now. ‘Yeah. You look a little like a tomato, sweetie.’
Her phone buzzed. It sounded like an angry bee. She pulled it out of her pocket and took a look at the screen. ‘Sorry. Gotta take this.’
I shook my hand at her, like, Yeah, no biggie. Go ahead. I’m cool with it, and leaned against the counter on one elbow, trying to look casual.
But I couldn’t have been less cool with it when she answered the phone with, ‘Hey, baby. You still coming tonight?’
Aileen
Aileen Longo had six brand-new notebooks now, each as colourful and bright as the last. As the ballet slippers tapped softly on the green lino of the supermarket floor, she looked around the shop, a little sad. This would be the last time she’d walk these horribly coloured floors, smell the overwhelming scent of cleaning products that was somehow everywhere, not just in the cleaning aisle. Her time here was up; she’d done her job.
She’d spent years travelling from store to store, yet none had ever meant as much as this one to her. She’d never been to one where there was a story unfolding before her eyes, and she found that she rather liked it. Aileen Longo loved stories, and romances were her favourites.
Especially when she knew there was a happily ever after on the way.
Joel
Justine had a boyfriend.
Of course.
All the girls that I fell for, it was impossible for me to be with them. They were taken or just walked straight out of my life.
The fact I’m too scared to do something about any of this doesn’t help much either.
Aileen
Aileen Longo was nearing the counter where that mustache-d teenage boy was, looking gloomily at the gum-chewing girl across from him. She was laughing flirtingly into her cell phone.
As Aileen passed the stand shelving OK! magazines, that girl the mustache boy had had a crush on to begin with walked out of the hair care aisle, looking a little tired, wearing pajama bottoms and a black singlet, her hair a tangled mess. Aileen was pleasantly surprised when she, unlike so many others, instead of staring very rudely at her and her outfit, smiled as though they were long time friends. Aileen beamed back, and went to wait in line at checkout three, the one with the mustache-d teen.
She came to the comfortable conclusion that she’d made the right decision.
Aileen Longo did so love happy endings.
Joel
The weird girl was at the counter now, smiling expectantly at me like, well?
I raised an eyebrow. ‘Mind putting your stuff on the counter?’
She obeyed, still grinning away.
She was buying another stack of blank notebooks, no surprise. I scanned them all under the machine and put them in a plastic bag with the swiftness and ease of a long-time checkout boy. Which I was.
God, what was I doing with my life?
‘That’ll be twenty-eight dollars fifty.’
And the girl, like she always did, plonked a handful of ten-cent coins on the counter in front of me. I didn’t even need to bother counting them- every time she’d done this before, it had been the exact amount she owed.
Jesus, she was the weirdest thing.
I scooped the coins up and dropped them in the cash register. ‘Have a nice day,’ I told her robotically, handing her the bag. She smiled even wider, of course.
‘You too,’ she said cheerfully, and began to walk off.
Aileen
Aileen Longo sneakily placed it on the counter, just behind the cash register where he’d only just see the corner of it. If he was looking.
Aileen Longo prayed that he was looking.
Joel
‘Wait!’
The weird girl spun around, her face practically glowing. I looked at her, holding the red notebook covered with golden swirls and dots. Why’d it been behind the cash register? She was lucky I’d seen the damn thing.
‘Is this yours?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s meant for you. Inside front cover.’
She practically ran out of the store, kimono flying behind her like some sort of superhero’s cape, her ballet shoes tapping across the floor. Justine across from me was still on the phone, but she turned as the girl ran out and smirked. She placed one hand over the speaker on her cell and yelled out, ‘You late for something, lezbo?’
I decided Justine was looking a little less beautiful right about now. The girl, however, just gave one clear, sweet peal of laughter and flew out the door.
‘Fucking weirdo,’ Justine muttered. She looked towards me expectantly, waiting for me to laugh with her. But I opened the book and read instead.
Aileen
Aileen Longo ran to the parking lot and danced. Twirling on the tippy toes of her slippers, shouting and whooping and leaping in the air. A mother with her two children shot her a filthy look and walked faster; a man with white hair clapped and whistled. A dog locked in the back seat of a car even looked out the window and began to bark with joy.
But Aileen Longo didn’t listen. She just danced and danced and danced. She pulled the beanie off and her hair was like black fire, long, dark tendrils whipping through the air and across her face as though it had a mind of its own.
Aileen was happy, and she didn’t care if the whole world saw.
In fact, she wanted it to.
Joel
It was another note, in the same handwriting as the one that was scrawled in Elsbeth’s book.
The one you think you love isn’t for you.
Look up. She is.
I looked up.
It was Samanza, walking towards me.
How had she known? How had that weird girl known that I’d always felt something for Samanza?
And what business of hers was it?
But I wasn’t mad. I was on top of the world.
The one you think you love isn’t for you.
It’d never been Justine. I guess I’d known all along. But I suppose that you can think you know something and still be so pleasantly surprised. I know I was.
The weird girl wasn’t weird; wasn’t creepy. She was a matchmaker or a miracle worker or something.
Incredible.
Samanza smiled at me uncertainly, wondering why I had a look on my face like that of a person who’s just been smashed over the head with a barrel.
‘Hey, Samanza,’ I said, and I knew I was grinning as hard, if not, harder than the girl. ‘You want to go for a coffee when my shift’s over?’
Aileen
Aileen Longo danced, but something was happening. She was fading.
Her body became stardust, golden and shimmering and impossibly wonderful. It fell apart and then was blown by the wind, up, up and away, into the sky that had never seemed quite so blue as it did at that very moment.
The man smiled still, watching as she flew away. He’d lived through hell, and he saw nothing wrong with a little wonder. (That, however, is another story).
The mother turned when the dog in the back of the car suddenly stopped yapping and stood flabbergasted. Her children watched, wide eyed.
The golden dust swirled and spread and drifted off in the breeze.
And Aileen Longo smiled as she flew away.
Her story wasn’t over yet.
Far from it.
She came to the comfortable conclusion that she’d made the right decision.
Aileen Longo did so love happy endings.
Joel
The weird girl was at the counter now, smiling expectantly at me like, well?
I raised an eyebrow. ‘Mind putting your stuff on the counter?’
She obeyed, still grinning away.
She was buying another stack of blank notebooks, no surprise. I scanned them all under the machine and put them in a plastic bag with the swiftness and ease of a long-time checkout boy. Which I was.
God, what was I doing with my life?
‘That’ll be twenty-eight dollars fifty.’
And the girl, like she always did, plonked a handful of ten-cent coins on the counter in front of me. I didn’t even need to bother counting them- every time she’d done this before, it had been the exact amount she owed.
Jesus, she was the weirdest thing.
I scooped the coins up and dropped them in the cash register. ‘Have a nice day,’ I told her robotically, handing her the bag. She smiled even wider, of course.
‘You too,’ she said cheerfully, and began to walk off.
Aileen
Aileen Longo sneakily placed it on the counter, just behind the cash register where he’d only just see the corner of it. If he was looking.
Aileen Longo prayed that he was looking.
Joel
‘Wait!’
The weird girl spun around, her face practically glowing. I looked at her, holding the red notebook covered with golden swirls and dots. Why’d it been behind the cash register? She was lucky I’d seen the damn thing.
‘Is this yours?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s meant for you. Inside front cover.’
She practically ran out of the store, kimono flying behind her like some sort of superhero’s cape, her ballet shoes tapping across the floor. Justine across from me was still on the phone, but she turned as the girl ran out and smirked. She placed one hand over the speaker on her cell and yelled out, ‘You late for something, lezbo?’
I decided Justine was looking a little less beautiful right about now. The girl, however, just gave one clear, sweet peal of laughter and flew out the door.
‘Fucking weirdo,’ Justine muttered. She looked towards me expectantly, waiting for me to laugh with her. But I opened the book and read instead.
Aileen
Aileen Longo ran to the parking lot and danced. Twirling on the tippy toes of her slippers, shouting and whooping and leaping in the air. A mother with her two children shot her a filthy look and walked faster; a man with white hair clapped and whistled. A dog locked in the back seat of a car even looked out the window and began to bark with joy.
But Aileen Longo didn’t listen. She just danced and danced and danced. She pulled the beanie off and her hair was like black fire, long, dark tendrils whipping through the air and across her face as though it had a mind of its own.
Aileen was happy, and she didn’t care if the whole world saw.
In fact, she wanted it to.
Joel
It was another note, in the same handwriting as the one that was scrawled in Elsbeth’s book.
The one you think you love isn’t for you.
Look up. She is.
I looked up.
It was Samanza, walking towards me.
How had she known? How had that weird girl known that I’d always felt something for Samanza?
And what business of hers was it?
But I wasn’t mad. I was on top of the world.
The one you think you love isn’t for you.
It’d never been Justine. I guess I’d known all along. But I suppose that you can think you know something and still be so pleasantly surprised. I know I was.
The weird girl wasn’t weird; wasn’t creepy. She was a matchmaker or a miracle worker or something.
Incredible.
Samanza smiled at me uncertainly, wondering why I had a look on my face like that of a person who’s just been smashed over the head with a barrel.
‘Hey, Samanza,’ I said, and I knew I was grinning as hard, if not, harder than the girl. ‘You want to go for a coffee when my shift’s over?’
Aileen
Aileen Longo danced, but something was happening. She was fading.
Her body became stardust, golden and shimmering and impossibly wonderful. It fell apart and then was blown by the wind, up, up and away, into the sky that had never seemed quite so blue as it did at that very moment.
The man smiled still, watching as she flew away. He’d lived through hell, and he saw nothing wrong with a little wonder. (That, however, is another story).
The mother turned when the dog in the back of the car suddenly stopped yapping and stood flabbergasted. Her children watched, wide eyed.
The golden dust swirled and spread and drifted off in the breeze.
And Aileen Longo smiled as she flew away.
Her story wasn’t over yet.
Far from it.
I'm glad you enjoyed it, Ryan! You've always been fun to get feedback from. :)
Please post directly into the topic and not a link. Please don’t use a story previously used in this group.
Your story should be between 300 and 3,500 words long.
REMEMBER! A short story is not merely a scene. It must have a beginning, a middle, and an end.
This week’s topic is: Notebook Scribbles
*Thanks to Edward for the suggestion*
The rules are pretty loose. You could write a story about anything that has to do with the subject. I do not care, but it must relate to the story somehow.
Have fun!