List of /fiction writing
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The Buddy ProgrammeRead on…
Okay, I know the challenge was to write a piece of fiction every day, but I wasn't feeling that spark today. I know it doesn't bear well for things to come to run out of juice after a week, but we'll see.
Anyway, I thought I'd just tell an autobiographical story from my past. I've told it at parties a couple of times already, but maybe I can up the quality in the process of writing it down.
I went to school in Germany where secondary school runs from grade five (around age 12) to grade twelve (around age 18).
In my own second year the school introduced a "buddy programme" where older kids form grade eleven were paired up with the newly arriving kids from grade five. The goal was to give these new arrivals a person to turn to if they had some trivial problems. The young kids were referred to as "buddies," the older kids as "mentors". I was in grade six already, so I didn't get a "mentor," but I did see these odd couples walk around the school yard during recess.
Obviously most of these Buddy relationships quickly stopped and the kids found friends within their own grade and age group. But a number of them didn't. I remember being confused by seeing some of the little kids still tagging along with their "Mentors" a couple of weeks in. And the strangest thing was that these Buddy couples were the ones that seemed the most dysfunctional: The little kids would often be berated, made to carry backpacks or would awkwardly hover around a conversation their mentor was having with their friends.
In hindsight I recognize the manipulation tactics that are now so often reported on in the context of toxic (often romantic) relationships. Back then it just seemed odd. But what elevated this oddness to a completely new level was when two "mentors" got into an argument. I never found out what the original dispute was about, but the important thing is that the two decided to settle it by having their little "buddies" have an actual fistfight.
The poor kids were in too deep already and it only took minimal convincing for them to have at it. I can't give you the details of the fight as I wasn't present (and also it's two 12 year olds hitting and kicking each other), but I did see the loser after. He was just a bit bruised and mostly just a bit muddy.
I was surprised to find a lot more buddies pairing up with their mentors again after that. When I asked a class mate about it she explained that the mentor of the winner had rewarded his performance by doing his homework for a week.
There had been a couple more fights (all unprovoked, "just for fun", as I could tell) until the mentors all got together and planned a big tournament to find the "best Buddy."
Thankfully the teachers caught wind of that before it actually happened and the buddy programme was shut down. When that didn't stop the buddies from tagging along with their mentors a rule was put in place that forbade "association of children more than two grades apart."
They had teachers policing the school yard and splitting up buddy-mentor couples. There still were four more fights before all of these relationships were ended, at least on school grounds.
Read on… -
Tea PartyRead on…
"Two cubes of sugar with yours, Jasmin?" asked Gina. "You know it," replied Jasmin while Phoebe added some honey to her own cup of tea.
The three had met once again for their Saturday afternoon tea party. "Cheers!" They raised their cups. "Here's to never forgetting our roots."
"To our friendship, here and now."
"To a future of fame and justice!"
"Woo," they all affirmed, lowered their cups again and took some tentative sips. 'Peppermint' for Gina, 'Autumn Delight' for Jasmin, and 'Angel's Touch' for Phoebe.
"Oh, that's really good," remarked Jasmin after a big sip.
"You always say that." Gina rolled her eyes.
"Well, it's true. 'Autumn Delight' is the best tea flavour anyone has ever come up with. You can really taste the coming winter."
'What's that even supposed to mean?' thought Phoebe. 'She always says that. Does it taste like brown leaves?'
Jasmin and Gina turned towards her. They stared like they'd just seen a ghost.
"What?" asked Phoebe nervously, "Have I got something on my face?"
Gina blurted out, "Did you just think something out loud?"
"Huh?" Phoebe took a moment to process the question, but couldn't come up with anything better to add than "What?"
"You wondered whether my tea tastes like brown leaves, but, like, out loud," Jasmin offered.
"You're messing with me, right?" Phoebe laughed nervously. 'They can't really hear my thoughts. That's just silly.'
"It might be silly, but we can definitely hear them," replied Gina.
"What! No. Okay, okay, wait. I'm gonna think of a number and you tell me what it is." Phoebe closed her eyes and thought of the number six.
A couple of seconds went by. "Well?" asked Phoebe.
"You weren't doing it right. You got to think it out loud again," protested Gina.
'So they can't actually hear my thoughts,' Phoebe thought, relieved.
"So they can't actually hear my thoughts," repeated Jasmin and Gina as one.
Phoebe jumped up in shock, knocking over her chair. 'Am I going mad? What the f*ck is happening?'
"Maybe you are. But if Gee and I can here it both then maybe it's us that are going mad?" offered Jasmin. Gina added, "And are you censoring yourself in your own thoughts? You are allowed to think the word 'fuck', Phoebe."
"Can you hear my thoughts?" asked Jasmin excitedly. The other two girls listened, but couldn't hear anything.
"Nope. Maybe if you drink some of her tea? 'Angel's Touch' does sound ominous, maybe it's that," suggested Gina.
Jasmin quickly grabbed Phoebe's cup and downed the rest of the tea. She looked at her friends expectantly.
"I can't hear anything," said Phoebe and added in her mind, 'Maybe Gina can hear it and I can't, because I can already think out loud.'
"Nope, I can't hear anything either," admitted Gina.
'This is so spooky,' thought Phoebe, 'why is it me?'
"Oh, I've got an idea!" Jasmin was suddenly excited, "what if we're in a story and Gina is the main character. And we've got a narrator that's limited to Gina's POV!"
"Why would I be a main character?" asked Phoebe. 'On the other hand, I've always felt like I'm destined for greater things.'
"Okay, girl, don't get too in your head now," replied Jasmin.
'Well, I didn't want to say it,' thought Gina.
Phoebe made a high pitched noise of surprise. Jasmin's expression switched to annoyed as she thought 'Ugh, am I really the only one that can't think out loud?'
Read on… -
MikeRead on…
"Ah, the CDs." Mike took a moment to catch up. "You are the guy that bought three copies of the same CD a couple days ago," the woman behind the counter explained.
"Oh, yeah," Mike scratched his neck in embarrassment and avoided eye contact.
"Well, have you come back to get another one?"
"No!" Mike asserted with a bit too much force, "I mean . . . no."
"Hey, I'm just messing with you," the woman chuckled, "I never caught your name by the way."
"It's Mike."
"What a fitting name for a patron of a record store."
"How so?"
"You know, because it sounds like 'mic' as in 'microphone'? Well, maybe that was a stretch. I'm Trish by the way."
She extended her arm across the counter. Mike's mind was racing. Why was she making small talk with him? Was she flirting? Why did he act like a complete idiot in front of her? Probably because he found her hot. Definitely because he found her hot. After she had rung him up on Tuesday he hadn't been able to think of anything else; Her Skull Maniacs shirt, her muscular arms, that cute scar above her left eyebrow, the— He was suddenly brought back to reality when the woman, was it 'Tess'?, pulled away her hand that must've been outstretched for a while.
"Anyways, can I ring you up?"
"'Anyways' isn't a word."
Wow, that's the first thing you tell her after standing there like your brain had bluescreened? Idiot! Why can't you just be normal? Mike broke out into a heavy sweat. He turned around and started walking. Well, that's a store I can never return to. What a shame, they had such a good selection. "Mike? Where are you going?" How am I literally too stupid to visit a store? I must be the dumbest guy to have ever existed. "Mike?" Let's just go home and sit in the dark for the rest of the day. Or maybe I'm too dumb to do even that?
Safe at home, Mike thought when he closed the apartment door behind him and sunk to the ground. Oh, come on! Mike stared in disbelief at the Spinning Sisters album in his hand.
Read on… -
The WoodcarverRead on…
Was she really gone? I stand here, alone, at the foot of the stairs, staring in disbelief. I feel a cold gust of wind. Then, suddenly, my whole body feels freezing. I notice that I'm just in my nightgown. The door in front of me is ajar. I'll have to close that door before any more of the snow blows in.
I'm terrified to find that I can't move. How long had I been standing here? Had my bones frozen? "Elizabeth!" I cry out. My throat aches and my voice sounds strained. "Elizabeth, please close the door. I'm cold." I barely manage to get these words out. Cold tears roll down my cheeks. What had happened?
Where is Elizabeth? Finally, I gain control of my right leg and drag my right feet forward, making a start towards the door. In spite of the numbness I can feel my toes run up against something on the ground. Something brown-ish? My eyes aren't what they used to be. I must have left my glasses on the nightstand upstairs. Why had I been in such a rush to come downstairs?
Ever since my precious Laureen, God bless her, had been trampled by that horse I've been having these 'episodes,' as Elizabeth calls them. Moments in time where something else takes control. And afterwards I find myself standing—often in front of something broken—with no recollection of what happened. It's gotten so bad that I've needed Elizabeth to deal with clients and take their orders to me. I'm scared of what might happen if I had such an episode in front of one of the townspeople.
My right leg gives way and I fall to the ground sideways. A sharp pain runs through my hip. I still can't move. My strength has left me. Sixteen hours in the wood shop will do that to an old man. "Elizabeth," I sob. The wind whips snow down the back of my nightgown as if to taunt me.
I feel something soft and warm against my face. It's a . . . a gingerbread cookie? The realization shoots an electric jolt through my body. And with it the memories come flooding back. I had been awoken by some strange sound. I had come down the stairs to investigate and I'd found Elizabeth, my dearest, ready to leave. Yes! She was going to leave me—leave me for good! I had wanted to stop her, but she just . . . left?
Tears are again streaming down my face and are soaked up by the cookie. How could my sweet, sweet angel leave me? I need her here. I need her to help with the orders, I need her to care for me. "Eli—" my voice cracks and the cold travels deep down into my lungs.
I need her right now. I can't move. I can't close the door.
Read on…
So cold.
Elizabeth. -
The Woodcarver's DaughterRead on…
"Where are you going?"
Liz froze dead in her tracks. The sudden stop forced the basket she was carrying to swing and one of her precious gingerbread cookies to fall to the ground where it broke in twain. She had spent the past four nights in the kitchen to get each and every one of them perfect. Each night she had snuck in after her stepfather had gone to sleep upstairs. She trusted he'd be dead asleep after having worked 16 hours in his workshop. And then she had worked with nothing more than the light and warmth of a couple of candles all through the night. In the morning she had cleaned up everything and hidden the night's batch in the barrel next to the shed with the big saw. Today she was finally going to sell them.
"Elizabeth, I asked you a question."
Her stepfather's words pierced her cold like icicles. Just like the weather had turned cold in the past months so had his demeanour. He had never been a cheerful or even friendly man, but now that Christmas was nearing the many orders for his hand carved wood sculptures had him even more on edge. He wouldn't allow himself nor Elizabeth to take even a moment off. Liz knew better than to slack or even complain and did her part cooking and cleaning.
"I was going into town. There's a market going on."
She did not dare lie to the old man.
"What a waste of time," he replied, "we don't have any money to spend on some useless Christmas knick-knacks!"
Liz felt tears welling up in her. But then she found strength in the thought of all the town's people enjoying her beautiful gingerbread cookies.
"I'm not going there to buy anything. I'm going to sell."
"Sell?!" the old man sneered, "You know damn well that I'm only doing work on commission. And I've already got orders that'll last into the new year!"
"I'm not going to sell any of your sculptures—"
"What else do you have to sell?" he interrupted her, "your body? I doubt you'd find a man who'd take it even for free! You harlot!"
Liz yelled out in pain when his backhand struck her cheek. She couldn't hold back her tears anymore. "God damn you! Damn you to hell!" she cried out, turned and ran out into the snow, and towards town. She did not see the old man try to follow her, nor did she see him slip on the broken cookie that had fallen to the ground. She did not hear his yell nor the crack of his skull on the second step of the stairs.
Read on… -
RespiteRead on…
Aven stepped out onto the balcony, sliding the glass door closed behind them. A shiver went down their spine. The jean jacket they'd thrown on was doing little in shielding their rough skin against the light autumn breeze. The sun had gone down hours ago and a waning moon hung in the sky. Aven leaned over the railing and looked down at the empty street. A draft went up through the boards and along their bare legs. That's autumn all right.
Not wanting to catch a cold Aven let themselves fall backwards into the hanging chair and wrapped themselves in both blankets. The rope creaked under the sudden weight and the seat span slowly back and forth. Liam had assured them that the suspension system would be able to support up to 200kg and Aven trusted him more then the suspicious noises the chair made. Aven fished for the pack of cigarettes in the left inner pocket of their jacket.
Liam had left two days ago to help out with Vicky's booth at Gamescom in Germany. The guy that originally was planned to help her out had fallen ill last minute and Liam had seen lots of Vicky's game already. Gamescom is supposedly a great opportunity to market your game and drum up excitement.
Aven took out a cigarette and parked it between their lips.
Obviously Aven hadn't gotten time off work on such short notice to join Liam, Vicky and the others. They'd been lucky to be allowed to draw up the Van Dijk's kitchen plans from home to avoid finding a catsitter for Momo and Nino.
They shook the lighter out of the cigarette pack.
How the fuck did Liam manage to get anything done at home? Momo takes every opportunity to jump up on the keyboard and the different package delivery workers coordinate to show up at the most inconvenient times! The Wi-Fi is spotty and Marloes and her husband are renovating their bathroom!
A spark lit the gas and Aven covered the small flame from the breeze, guiding it to the end of the cigarette. They closed their eyes, took a drag and let themselves be filled with warmth.
Read on…