Something Different

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic

Hi again, this is a short story (or it might be reflective, honestly I have no idea where this was going)about me writing this short story. Originally it was a piece I wrote for my National 5 exams (equivalent to credit level). It IS meant to be funny, but it might only be entertaining if you know me as a person and my personality, Im hoping that some of you might be able to relate.
Heres a couple of facts you might need to know before you read it;
Melrose is a small town in the Scottish Borders and is full of old people.
After this was written, it was handed to my teacher and was rejected two days later.
This is in no way a serious piece, I just wanted to do something different. Happy reading :D

As Adam slumped in his Ikea flat-pack chair, he let go a sigh filled with the scent of Melrose’s finest fish supper. His mother was never particularly good at cooking, but she got the job done. Not that Adam ever caused a fuss, oh no, he would wolf down his food in an instant never caring about the general conversation that went on around him at the dinner table. The indigestion was gnawing away at his chest, grinding him down. After two strenuous hours of cheering sweat-drenched school mates playing basketball, he really was not in the mood for writing a story. He didn’t even see the point in sport. Following ridiculous rules to achieve goals or points, he much preferred the simplicity of athletics. The pains in his torso were beginning to subside and a wave of relief hit him, well, it did not hit him as such, it was more like a gentle leaf falling and as this leaf fell, more and more of his trouble seemed to leave him. He thought to himself, “Wow, when did I get so poetic?” This however; was not the case.  Nevertheless, his smug grin gave him a newfound confidence and he set to work.

Every time he punched a button on his Tesco value keyboard a new symbol, almost always different to the last, would flash onto his screen in black. His mind, corrupted by violent videogames, pictured these black symbols as dark bullet holes piercing this wall of white in front of him. He would loose focus at an automatic rate, constantly forgetting where he was going. He didn’t want to go backwards though, progress means forwards, so every time he lost track he would simply place a full-stop after and.

His room was largely composed of  four walls and a king-sized bed that he was proud of, and that his friends were jealous of. His bed was the only place that he ever truly felt at peace. Where he could ignore everybody else’s catastrophic teenage dilemmas, most of which consisted of who dates who and how much people really hate each other. Honestly, Adam missed the days when he could go out and play tig, and no one ever thought anything of it. Nowadays if he went out to the park and started running after other people, someone would surely phone the police. Now he remembers why he sticks to videogames.

Feeling unsure about his approach to his creative peace, he messaged a friend by text. Adam wanted to do something different, but was this too different? Is there such a thing? Seconds past, the gruelling wait for that painfully loud chime which would indicate a reply, was imminent. Adam could feel it. His heart sank when the website told him that the text had been seen, but there was still no sign of a returned message. He was about to push the menacing red known only as the close tab button, tensions were high. However, something caught his eye… What’s this? Those holy words which  read ‘Typing…’ told Adam that there was still hope, still a way to amend what was wrong. 
“DA-DOING.”

At last, for at least a few seconds (Adam counted three), everything seemed like it was going to be okay. Then he realised how over-dramatic he was being and ‘piped down’. Result. She loved it. Adam didn’t need anyone else’s opinion, she was English instantly making her talented at the subject. He felt like he could fight a hundred grizzly bears just with his own wit and cunning. He did not want to do so as inevitably he would be battered and mauled into a useless lump of jelly. Again, this imagination which prevented him from being a normal, social person  was clouding his thoughts and thickened his mind. He was running dry of ideas, he didn’t know where to take his story from here. A fight between him and a hundred bears did seem interesting but unfortunately he is now a ‘young-adult’ and is expected to behave like one. So he went over to the window, in desperate search for inspiration. It seemed like it was an adult thing to do.

All he could see was silence and all that he could hear was dark; or something to that effect… Adam’s house had two floors and he was perched on the second of which. He felt mighty like an eagle watching his prey, or was that just pensioners walking to the bingo? He turned his gaze towards the street lights of a distant town, a shining mix of yellows and…well…more yellows, street lights typically only come in one colour. A car drove past his street, lighting up the silence. This enraged Adam as his perfect scene had just been destroyed, or maybe he just wanted to include a big word in his story.  Saying that he was miffed didn’t have quite the same effect. He decided that that was enough of the window.

As Adam walked over to his desk it appeared as though he was finally going to complete his story, but in a sudden twist of events he flopped on to his ever-comforting bed and rolled much in the same way a ball does until he could get the final inspiration for his story. It was all so easy before, the words flew onto the page in a whirlwind of thoughts and pathetic attempts to make the reader laugh. He endeavoured that when it came to show this piece to his teacher that sir might stretch to a wee smirk not because he thought this was amusing, but because he’s a genuinely swell guy  and would not want to damage Adam’s feelings.

Adam checked the word count tool at the top of his screen. Nine hundred and seventy-three, shoot. He thought to himself that maybe he could add a few words by just spitting out the first sentence he could think of.

Space shuttles are cool.


Submitted: March 27, 2014

© Copyright 2020 adamthomo. All rights reserved.

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Comments

Jaded Beauty

Very well written Adam, I enjoyed it. :) Please keep posting more. I am interested in your short stories. xJaded Beautyx

Fri, March 28th, 2014 12:12am

Author
Reply

Hey thanks for the feedback! I'll be sure to write more soon :p Got your comment and I'm gonna read your next chapter right now, see you on the other side ;)

Sun, March 30th, 2014 11:49am

cupcakelover21

Love the story Adam and can't wait to read more of your stories they are a lot better than mine heehee :D

Cupcakelover21 :D

Tue, April 1st, 2014 10:37pm

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