Creative Writing Writing practice

I got an idea... for writing practice for all who need it/want it... someone writes a sentance, people then pick it up, and interperet it however they wish and write a short story, with that line as the first...

The first practice line is...
'Of everything I had to do that day, the last I expected was to find her on my doorstep, especially on the 10th anniversary of her death.'

Run wild! Fanfic... Original... however you wanna do it! Let's hear what you can do with this line!

-UK

 

Of everything I had to do that day, the last I expected was to find her on my doorstep, especially on the 10th anniversary of her death. Of course, she didn't look quite the same as she had back then. The cremation probably had something to do with that. All things considered, she looked phenomenally better than I would have expected.

"Phew, I'm dying for a drink. Dying! Get it? Ha!"

I was too surprised by her actually being there to protest, and she easily nudged me aside as she pushed the door open a little wider and came inside. I was still shocked and helpless to move as she rattled through the contents of my kitchen. Tea bags, coffee, milk, water, fruit juice, soda, my collection of sophisticated alcohols, I heard her going through them all until she settled on a bottle of Schloop, which of course was the only brand name she would recognise, every other brand in there was more recent. I stared down at the mess she'd left on my hall carpet as I heard the faint hiss of the bottle opening, and tracked my eyes slowly along the floor to where she stood. The fridge door was open and it blocked part of my view, but there were ashes on the floor and the movement of her neck and upper body as she noisily drank from the bottle was all wrong. The floor was starting to get wet under her feet.

She finished the bottle and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, leaving fragments of old metallic purple lipstick smeared over it. "What's all this stuff? Red wine? A slow cooker? Six chopping boards? You got domesticated? Chuff me, what happened to your life?"

"I'm still living it." I couldn't prevent myself from sounding defensive.

"Yeah, of course you are. And just look at you. You're so smartly dressed and co-ordinated. Those distressed jeans look so new and carefully made. And you've ironed that blouse too. Yeah, you're really living."

"Ten years have gone by, and I'm happy with my life now. I'm older, and wiser, and richer. I can wear dry-clean clothes at the weekend if I want. And, by the way, What are you doing back here? I killed you ten years ago!"

"Ooh, careful, the neighbours might hear. Wouldn't want to upset the neighbourhood watch."

I forced my voice down to a whisper. "You have no right to come back."

"Come on, you're nothing without me. Just look at you, look at this place." She waved her hands dismissively at my built in hob and hand painted spashback, the tasteful coordination of the tiles and window blind and utensils and stencils on the cupboard doors. "I mean, beige? You know, beige? Honestly?"

"Beige is a good colour for a kitchen. If you don't like it, you can leave. In fact, you can just leave anyway."

"Pfft. I don't think so. Where else could I go?"

"There's a graveyard a mile away. You're dead, you don't belong here."

She snorted derisively, scattering more ash across my immaculate counter top. "I don't recall you ever consecrating my body to the ground. Or putting me in consecrated ground come to that. Not that I mind, it wasn't really applicable to me anyway was it?"

"You're not real."

"That's right. I'm not standing here with you in your kitchen right now. In fact, I'd rather be sitting down, it's not easy standing around in this condition, it takes a lot of effort. I bet you've got a lovely three piece suite, really well padded and tasteful and clean. And beige."

"Oh no you don't. You'll mess it up. If you really must sit down I'll fetch a chair for you."

I rushed into the dining room and grabbed an easy to polish wooden chair. By the time I got back she was peeling potatoes.

She grinned infuriatingly at me. "You got a deep fat fryer? I fancy some chips."

"No, absolutely not. I don't eat anything like that any more. You can't stay here, how am I going to explain you to Phil?"

"Phil eh? Who is he? What's he like? Will I like him?"

"Look, will you just go away? I shall call the vicar if I have to."

"What, to come round for tea and scones?"

"No, to exorcise you!"

"Oh, I shouldn't think that will work. Not for me."

Of course, it probably wouldn't. What was I going to do? I couldn't leave her here by herself, what on earth would she get up to? I phoned the office and feigned a case of food poisoning for the day. Then I sat on the stairs to try to think, but she wandered out of the kitchen and waved the sliced raw potato under my nose. "So, what am I supposed to do with these then?"

"How could you eat them even if they were cooked? You're dead."

"Oh, rub it in why don't you? You're being such a cow about this."

I stared at her, her bondage mini skirt and torn tartan shirt and worn out black leather jacket. A whole can of hairspray used to hold her artifically black hair in shape, so hard and pointy that it was dangerous in crowds. Her black suede shoes, pointy toes and pointy heels and lots of pointy straps in pointy buckles. Her black lace fingerless gloves and torn fishnet tights. Face so white and eyes so caked in kohl that she looked like a scary zombie panda. "I'm really sorry", I mumbled, "It was just something I had to do at the time."

"Yeah, well, I suppose I must have been a bit inconvenient."

"I'd never have got that job if you'd been there, and it's been such a good job. It's paid for all this stuff and I have so many friends there. I've really missed you though."

"Glad to hear it. So, what do we do now? I'm sick of being dead, I can't change the batteries in my CD player and just look at the state of my fingernails...."

I looked up at her. Shallow and vain, she was literally what I'd had to lose of myself to grow up. But being a grown up was so very dull without her. Even Phil, wonderful lovely Phil, was dull. And I don't honestly like beige very much at all. "I'm not going to let you take over like last time, you have to understand that."

"I wouldn't even try. I can tell you've got a lot stronger in the last 10 years, and I wouldn't want to piss you off again now I know what you're capable of."

"Good." I put my arms around her and embraced her tightly, and her body crumpled into ash on the carpet as her soul filled the vain purple and black hole in mine. "Welcome home", I whispered as I vacuumed up the mess she'd left and then wrote a note for Phil before leaving.

 

When I was 12, I saw my father die.

When I was 12, I saw my father die.
He was beaten to a pulp. He held out his hand for me. Pleading. I just stood there. I felt nothing. I thought of everything he had done. To me. To my sister...

My sister. She probably had it worst of all. She couldn't live with what she had been through, so she decided to die. No one was at her funeral. There was no one else. Just me and Her. My mother died when I was only four, giving birth to Karyn. I barely remeber her. It was a long time ago. Fourteen years.

So here I am now. Alone in the dark. Gun in my hand.

It was only two months ago, Karyn's funeral. I remember the pain. I still feel it. I couldn't cry, I still can't, even after everything I've done. I never shed a tear. Sooner or later this solitary existence will kick me back on to the streets again.

My father deserved it. He made me what I am now! I pray that he is burning in agony in his own hell! I Hate Him. The clip on my gun is running low. I had shot the last person four times. Or was it five. What does it matter. He deserved it!

My mind... it's just full.

How many were before that man tonight? If you'd call him a man. There was the first one. Attacked me with a knife. He was a junkie. His hands were shaking. I easily overpowered him. I didn't mean to stab him. I didn't. The knife just... No, he deserved it, They all do.

The blood on my hands. I was disgusted. I was horrified, but that was only temporary. I saw the junkie's body on the ground I saw what I had done. I saw myself...

The next one was trying so mug an old lady. He didn't see me coming. Never had a chance. She thanked me and asked my name. "I don't have a name." It may as well be true.

After that I found the ones who deserved it. Pimps, dealers, scum all of them. I killed them gladly. I got my gun off one of their bodies. Which one was it? I don't know there faces are all blured now. The man tonight. He was as deserving as the rest, wasn't he. I saw my father in him. Isn't that enough.

When Karyn was alive, it wasn't like this. I looked after her. I loved her. Why couldn't she have forgotten? Blanked it from her mind? Why? I couldn't. Why? Why should she be able to.

That man was not as guilty as the rest. I saw my father in him though. That is enough. Isn't it? But what if it isn't? What if I was wrong? No. But...

Why do I go on. Maybe... Maybe Karyn was right. Maybe she was right. I have some bullets left. I don't have enough to kill them all. I have some though. That man today. He was just a man. He was innocent. He looked like my father. Is that a crime?!?! Why? My father deserved it. But that man. I shot him in the face. I shot him Six or Seven times in the face. I only have one bullet left. I can't kill all of the guilty. But I can kill one. Karyn. You had the right Idea.

 

Of everything I had to do that day, the last I expected was to find her on my doorstep, especially on the 10th anniversary of her death.

"Mike..." she said. I just couldn't believe it. It was HER! Many feelings came to my mind...

"this isn't happening, this isn't happening", i said, stepping back. "You're not real, you're NOT REAL!"

"Mike, don't do it, please!"

I was stunned. Do what?

"Huh?" I asked her.

"Don't end up like I did... you have a whole life ahead of you".
I was shocked. No, not shocked. PETRIFIED! My whole life came to my mind in just a few seconds.

I didn't tell you how she died. It was my fault. MY FAULT! I LET HER DIE DAMMIT! If i just had prevented her from going with her new "friends"... but i had been a coward. WHY, WHY!!! I always blamed myself for it... but what could I do? What?

And as a coward, i took refuge in gambling. I began to gamble, hoping i would get enough fortune to buy luxury and pleasures... and forget this horrible pain that had been eating me from the inside.

Boy, was I a good gambler. I wasn't a fool. I bought all the gambling books i could get. I learned to "win and walk". I began getting rich. I learned all tricks, legal AND illegal. Fooling the cameras wasn't easy, but i was one of the few fortunate guys who learned to do it.

But that brought its own problems.

Then I met Rusty. Yeah, THE Rusty that had owned the 15 best casinos. We became friends... and some months later, he wanted to give me a percentage of his business. All i had to do was...

open my door and do a phone call. But I couldn't. She was standing on the doorway.

There she was... telling me not to end up like her. What could I say? There I was... ready to do my first really dirty job. It couldn't be a coincidence.

I dropped my portfolios. I ran away, screaming... I tried so much to forget her, and now she was haunting me.

The next thing I remember is that I was crying next to the river... asking her for forgiveness... forgiving her... and... trying to forgive myself.

"Michael", she said with her sweet voice. "I forgive you." I turned around, and i found only one thing. A white rose. She always loved rare flowers. I cried all night. All night.

The next morning, i woke up, holding onto that white rose.

"Are you OK mister?"
"What... who are you?" I asked.
"Are you the guy who lives in a yellow and green house, Jackson Avenue #47?"

"Yes... that's me." i said to the police officer, still dizzy. "Wait a minute, what happened?" i asked, getting up.

"You're really a lucky guy", he said. "If you hadn't been drunk, you wouldn't have made it."

"Drunk? Wait a minute... i'm not drunk..."
"Yeah right, they all say that..."
"Wait a minute. What happened? WHAT?" i asked.

I ran to the house... and to my surprise... there was nothing. It was all blown up. That b******... he only tried to get me killed.

That was it. I quit. I moved back home. I had nothing to do in this filthy state.

The first thing i did when i came back home, was putting the white rose in a flower vase... next to her picture.
"Joseanne..." I said, with a breaking voice.
"i can only say...

Thank you."

THE END.

 

All right. I'll start you off with a new one.


There it stood, magestic and beautiful. It was impressive for us, my companion knight and I, an entertainer, who had journeyed from afar to serve at the palace. The queen herself had summoned us. And now, as my brother and I passed the massive gates and doorway, we realized that it was not a dream, and that we were, in all reality, in the main hall of the castle, finally royal attendants. I am a dancer, and my name is Natis. My brother, Natan, a knight from Cyenig.

Here commenced our most extraordinary adventure ever.