Word set 1 story:
A girl named Heather with a pink ribbon in her hair walked purposefully into her school cafeteria, and took her usual seat in the corner. There was a tall window to her left side, and she glanced out of it suspiciously. Christopher was still playing on the swing; that meant she had plenty of time.
Her eyes darted manically back and forth, scanning for other children who might foil her plan. Feeling satisfied that nobody was watching, she pulled out her lunchbox. It was pink, with grotesquely bright colored ponies on it. She had gouged their beady eyes out with a screwdriver, and drawn fangs protruding from their lips. This was why nobody sat near her at lunch.
A few girls were observing her, however, and they snickered at her strange behavior. They watched as she pulled a box of paper clips out of her lunchbox.
“I bet she eats them!” a chubby girl named Julie exclaimed. The other girls just giggled with disdain. Heather continued to remove strange objects from her lunch box: yarn, play dough, and what looked like small doll clothes. The three sneaky girls at the table moved closer to her table.
Heather began to attach paper clips together, creating the shape of a person. She made a lumpy looking sphere with the play dough, and drew a grinning face in it. She finished it off with the doll clothes. It resembled a little boy. She glanced out the window at Christopher, who was still swinging away happily. With an evil sneer, she dunked the doll’s head into a bowl of chili. Seconds later, she heard a yell. Outside, Christopher had flown off of his swing, and landed face first in a puddle of mud. The principal rushed over to help him, and Heather grinned.
Her eyes darted manically back and forth, scanning for other children who might foil her plan. Feeling satisfied that nobody was watching, she pulled out her lunchbox. It was pink, with grotesquely bright colored ponies on it. She had gouged their beady eyes out with a screwdriver, and drawn fangs protruding from their lips. This was why nobody sat near her at lunch.
A few girls were observing her, however, and they snickered at her strange behavior. They watched as she pulled a box of paper clips out of her lunchbox.
“I bet she eats them!” a chubby girl named Julie exclaimed. The other girls just giggled with disdain. Heather continued to remove strange objects from her lunch box: yarn, play dough, and what looked like small doll clothes. The three sneaky girls at the table moved closer to her table.
Heather began to attach paper clips together, creating the shape of a person. She made a lumpy looking sphere with the play dough, and drew a grinning face in it. She finished it off with the doll clothes. It resembled a little boy. She glanced out the window at Christopher, who was still swinging away happily. With an evil sneer, she dunked the doll’s head into a bowl of chili. Seconds later, she heard a yell. Outside, Christopher had flown off of his swing, and landed face first in a puddle of mud. The principal rushed over to help him, and Heather grinned.
Set 3:
Bob the janitor of the office building mechanically swept the aisle between the rows of cubicles. It was getting late, and the last employees were finishing up their work for the night. The shuffling of papers and clicking of keyboard keys could be heard throughout the office.
Bob dreamed of becoming a famous author. He planned to publish a narrative one day about janitorial life, and all of its grimy adventures. He couldn’t afford anything to type on though, so his ideas remained just a dream. As he swept up some pencil shavings and hairs, he heard the last employee close the exit door. Maybe…
There was an old typewriter in one of the cubicles. He didn’t know why, since most of the employees used computers nowadays, but he saw it as an opportunity to write to his heart’s content, without the risk of having his documents discovered on a computer. He threw his broom aside and sat down at the typewriter, his heart beginning to race.
His fingers flew across the keys frantically, as memories of his most clogged toilets and rancid smelling trash cans poured onto the pages. He typed late into the night, until his eyes drooped with fatigue. He took the last paper from the typewriter, and set it on the hefty pile he had amassed. Bursting with pride, he tucked the papers under his old coat and went home for the night, unaware that he had left behind a pager of his narrative.
The next day, the clerk who used the typewriter entered his cubicle and opened up a filing cabinet. He took out a puncher and some carbon paper, and prepared to begin his work. Suddenly, he spotted a stray paper he hadn’t noticed. It had been typed on his very own typewriter. Anxiety began to overcome him, as he scanned the keys with searching eyes. There! On one the keys, there was a greasy fingerprint. He began to shake and sweat, rage filling his entire being. He hated fingerprints. Whoever had done this would pay. Looking over the paper, he saw that it belonged to Bob the janitor. He took his puncher in his hand, and set off towards the broom closet, his thoughts on nothing but vengeance.
Bob dreamed of becoming a famous author. He planned to publish a narrative one day about janitorial life, and all of its grimy adventures. He couldn’t afford anything to type on though, so his ideas remained just a dream. As he swept up some pencil shavings and hairs, he heard the last employee close the exit door. Maybe…
There was an old typewriter in one of the cubicles. He didn’t know why, since most of the employees used computers nowadays, but he saw it as an opportunity to write to his heart’s content, without the risk of having his documents discovered on a computer. He threw his broom aside and sat down at the typewriter, his heart beginning to race.
His fingers flew across the keys frantically, as memories of his most clogged toilets and rancid smelling trash cans poured onto the pages. He typed late into the night, until his eyes drooped with fatigue. He took the last paper from the typewriter, and set it on the hefty pile he had amassed. Bursting with pride, he tucked the papers under his old coat and went home for the night, unaware that he had left behind a pager of his narrative.
The next day, the clerk who used the typewriter entered his cubicle and opened up a filing cabinet. He took out a puncher and some carbon paper, and prepared to begin his work. Suddenly, he spotted a stray paper he hadn’t noticed. It had been typed on his very own typewriter. Anxiety began to overcome him, as he scanned the keys with searching eyes. There! On one the keys, there was a greasy fingerprint. He began to shake and sweat, rage filling his entire being. He hated fingerprints. Whoever had done this would pay. Looking over the paper, he saw that it belonged to Bob the janitor. He took his puncher in his hand, and set off towards the broom closet, his thoughts on nothing but vengeance.
Jimmy was playing in the school yard one day when he came across a photograph laying on the asphalt. It was a photo of a girl giving the peace sign. The girl, Jimmy thought, was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Whatever Jimmy had to do, he would find this lovely girl and meet her.
ReplyDeleteWhen the bell rang and he went back to class, Jimmy showed the photo to all of the kids in his class and to his teacher, but no one recognized the beautiful girl giving the peace sign.
Through the day he showed the photograph to everyone he met: The bus driver, the man at the corner store, his mother, but no one had ever seen this girl before. Jimmy had to find her, he had to see this beautiful girl.
That night, Jimmy lay in bed, staring at the photograph of this girl giving the peace sign. Suddenly, he heard a tapping on his window. He sat up straight in bed and turned his head towards the sound. There, behind the window, peering in at him, was the girl from the photograph.
Jimmy jumped out of bed with the photograph in his hand. Jimmy ran down the hall, and opened the front door . The girl was out on the lawn and began to run up the road away from him. He chased her across the lawn, up the road. He needed to talk to her and tell her how beautiful she was.
"STOP!, WAIT!" he cried out; suddenly, she stopped in the road and turned to him as he ran up to her.
As Jimmy approached his girl, he heard the screeching brakes and turned to see, at the last moment, the headlights of the truck that knocked him down and killed him.
The truck driver, realizing that he had just struck something, scrambled out of the truck to investigate what he had just hit.
Searching with his flashlight the truck-driver found the body of a little boy, with a photograph clutched in his hand.
Looking at the photo in the little boys hand, the truck driver saw the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Holding up three fingers.
I love your stories, Cecilia. Very dissetteling (is that a word)?
ReplyDeleteThanks for reading! Your story was interesting as well. Is there significance in the girl holding up three fingers instead of two? It seemed like it might be a refference to something.
ReplyDeleteAnyway, I like the idea of people commenting with their own writing.