Story Time... Bite 2!

Hello!

So, a couple of months ago now, I posted a short story that I'd written. I was terrified. It was the first one I'd ever publicly posted and I didn't know what people would think about it, or if anyone would even like it and read it. 

It actually turned out to be quite a popular post (I was soooo happy with how it was received that I later posted a different story (HERE) if you want to check that one out, too). Back to the first story though; there was even one lovely man who commented telling me he'd love to read more of it at some point.

I had written more to it then but I wasn't happy enough with what I had to post it on the interweb for everyone to read. However, after a lot of editing, and basically just re-writing it actually, I think I'm happy with this little section, so I thought I'd post it on here!

Once again, I'm completely open to feedback and criticism - it's the only way I can ever improve!

So to Tim, who commented on not only the first part of this story, but the first story I'd ever posted for anyone and everyone to read, thank you so much. You have no idea how much that one little comment meant to me.

Here is part two of the story.

(If you didn't read the first part then just click HERE, otherwise I think you might struggle to make sense of this post and you're probably just wondering what I'm cracking on about!)

Bang, Bang - Part 2

“Don’t. Move.” The figure whispered.

Rose stood stiller than the statue in the town centre; the one that she sat under eating her lunch every day. Mundane memories like that seemed pointless now. She stayed in the exact position she had found him in. She was struggling to take breathes when necessary and the fear in her eyes couldn't be mistaken.

“I’m really sorry.” The figure whispered.

She was still facing him, her eyes staring into his. Rose could see the fear from her eyes mirrored in his. He was scared too. How can the one holding the killing device be the one that's scared? She thought.

“Please don’t move.” He whispered, again.

She wanted to nod. But she didn’t want to go against his commands. She didn't want to move. 

She stood still. 

Completely unmoving. 

Her heart pounding in her chest – she could feel it in her head. In her feet. She could feel her hearbeat everywhere. 

She continued to stay in the same position he had told her to; staring at his face. His scared face.

The sound of the trigger being pulled rang throughout the shop and Rose collapsed on the floor.

She stayed there for several minutes. Motionless. She had moved, though. She hadn't meant to. She'd moved. 

Rose mentally assessed her body, trying to focus on any points of pain. None made themselves obvious. She wondered if this meant she was already dead. She tried to remove herself from the darkness that was surrounding her. A pale figure was standing in her line of view, though. Her whole body jolted back, hitting a large shelf of tins, several of them falling around her. 

Great. Those can't be sold now. The boss is not going to be happy about that. She mentally chastised herself - she was in a do or die situation and she was thinking about some dented tins of peas!

She sat there, her body shaking, staring at the pale figure but all he did was continue to watch her. His deep, midnight blue eyes scared and… pleading?

He closed his eyes, squeezing them, like he was trying to crush images and memories with them. She took the moment to try and observe him. His pale skin made him look like he'd been hiding from the sun for his whole life. It was the first time that she had taken him in properly, his dark hooded jacket hid most of his face but there were still a few black strands of hair that managed to peek out. His head was bowed and his eyes still shut. Rose made a further assessment of him. His shoulders seemed broad but she couldn't see much underneath the baggy hoody. She noticed the dark circles under his eyes; they were more prominent thanks to his pale skin. He couldn't be any older than herself... Mid-twenties, maybe?

Rose tore her eyes away from him, looking to her right. The cash desk draw still sat wide open. She wondered why he was still here if he’d taken the cash. Why? Part of her hoped someone had heard the single gunfire bang as they were walking past the little shop . She knew it wasn't likely. Not many people randomly walked past the remote, village shop.

She averted her eyes to the right instead, her mind still swirling with “why’s”.

A growing pool of red covered the cream-tiled floor.

The gunshot hadn't been a mistake.

A whimper escaped her body, ruining her vow of silence.

A hand came out to touch her shoulder and she flinched. It jumped back to its owner’s side.

“I’m sorry.”

Rose finally looked at him. Her eyes meeting his. Her stare was that cold that he was the one to flinch next.

“I’m sorry.”

She was starting to wonder if those were the only words he knew.

The fear she had felt was being overtaken by anger; she quickly crawled to her boss’s side. Her hands fluttered around his wrist. She was once taught how to look for a pulse but she couldn't remember where the best place was to check for it.

She pressed her forefinger into his inner wrist, praying for something. Hoping.

“He’s already dead.” The voice was closer behind her than she had thought and she jumped again. “I made sure it was instant. He didn't suffer. It was quick. The bullet went straight through his heart. He didn't suffer.” The last three words were no more than an airy whisper so much so that Rose wasn’t sure whether she had heard it or imagined it.

“You murdered him.” Apparently from anger came bravery. Or stupidity. Rose couldn’t decide which.

“Please don’t say that.”

She turned to look up at him, only to find he was knelt down; at the same level she was.

“You murdered him.” She repeated. Her tone colder than the snow that crunched outside.

“Don’t say that!” He shouted and swiftly stood, turning his back to her.

Rose had found her answer. It was definitely stupidity. Her fear came back in full swing; her anger melting quicker than the snow would when the mid-day sun shone tomorrow.

THE Bucket List

Hello!

I have a list of things I want to do before I... pass over to the other side? Is that the nicest way of saying it? I'm not sure. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is I have a bit of bucket list. Things that I want to do before I die. It's not something I've ever properly written down or anything; they're just things that, somewhere along my way in life, I've thought "I have to do that someday!"

I've decided that it's maybe time I actually wrote them down, though... Or some of them, at least. This way, not only can I never forget if my clumsiness leaves me with amnesia, but there will be people to remind me that I made this list and never to give up on it. Here are a few of them.

1.

Publish a novel!

This one is something I have always wanted to do. As in, my whole life. Ever since I was just little. I've always wanted to have my own writing published. Therefore, it's a goal that I really, really, really, really, really want to achieve before I die! Like, seriously. Publish a novel. I have to do that.

And there's my bucket list over! Thanks for reading! Jokes. Don't stop reading yet! I was joking! Promise. I have just a few more.

2.

This is going to sound like such a silly one but, I want to get a tattoo.

I know what you're probably all thinking, if I want a tattoo, I'm old enough, I should just go get one. It's not that easy though. No one in my family has a tattoo. Nor are they very open to them. Even my brother, who was always the rebel child when he was younger, never came home with a tattoo. It's something that I really want to do but I feel like I would feel a lot better and a lot more confident about it if I had my family's approval. So I guess this one's more of a "get my family's approval for a tattoo" goal, than actually getting the tattoo.

3.

Own my own house/apartment.

This is such a stereotypical one, I know, but it's something I really want some day. I would just love to have a place that I could call mine and could decorate however I want... In fact it's the decorating and buying little, unique things for it that really gets me about this one. I love going into shops and looking at all the cute home decor and picking which bits I would have if I was furnishing and embellishing my own wee abode! So if someone would like to give me a limitless amount of money for when I decide to tick this one off my list, that would be great! No? Oh. Okay then...

4.

Travel.

Obviously I travel, I did a post (HERE) about going on holiday to Turkey with my mama last month and I loved every minute of it, but I want to travel more. I'm sure that sounds really greedy but the majority of my life we have gone to Turkey because my step-dad's family live there, and I always want to go some place different. I would love to go to Australia (bucket-list typical, I realise) or, more than anything, I want to go to New York. A lot of my friends have been there or are going there and they're very fond of telling me what an amazing place it is. So, I want to visit the Big Apple, Concrete Jungle, The City That Never Sleeps, New York - I want to go there soooo bad.

5.

Family.

I want my own family, like most people, but this one is more about the incredible family that I already have. They're always there for me and support me in everything I need and do, so I want to be able to give back to them. All sentimental and soppy of me, I know, but I really do want to be able to do for them what they've done for me one day. Okay, mushiness over.

So there are five things I want to make sure I try my hardest to do before I die. I'll probably have forgotten half of them before tomorrow but then they'll come back to me eventually, they always do. Or, now I can just look here and remember them - perfect!

Katie x

A Little Story

Hello!

I decided today was another day to take a risk and post a snippet of a short story I wrote. This was a task we were once given in a seminar, but it's not only been very expanded from its original hundred-word-long version since then, it's also been completely redrafted and changed.

Let me know what you think (in the nicest way possible) and I'm completely open to constructive criticism!

(I posted a short story I'd written last month, too, if you're interested, just click HERE)

Quick warning - it's not explicit but some people might consider it a little scary towards the end...

The Boy

It’s not slippery like a slide should be; it just feels like I’m walking on normal ground, but I’m not. I’m walking straight down the glowing, red helter skelter, my feet barely touching it. It’s what I imagine walking on air to be like… or clouds, but Jane and Tom say that’s not possible; they’re my foster parents, not my real parents. Everybody thinks I’m being silly when I tell them I can walk on anything, anything, but I can. Even the lady at the bottom of the slide told me to stop telling fibs and that’s why I’m up here; to show her that I’m not telling fibs. Mummy and daddy are gone now but they would have believed me, I know they would have. Daddy always used to tell me that nothing is impossible. He wouldn’t have called me mean names. Tom sometimes calls me nasty things, like “freak”, or sometimes worse… A lot of the time they’re worse.

I’m half way down the slide now, just on the curve in sight of the bottom. The lady in the yellow shirt at the bottom is staring at me with her mouth wide open. Now she has to believe me; I’m not lying. Her bright red hair stands out as she shakes her head and looks back at me but I just carry on with my even-paced walk down, eager to talk to her… If she’s still there, that is.

When I reach the bottom she comes running towards me. The rest of the park is nearly empty with just a few people dotted around in odd places, but I know none of them have noticed me. I’m good at reading people. Apart from this lady; I don’t know what she’s thinking. I think that’s maybe why I chose to show her what I can do; she might be special like me and maybe that’s why I can’t tell what she thinks.

“Kid, how’d you do that?!” She still looks shocked and I can see the strain in her forehead as she tries to figure it all out, figure me out.

I try to make words come out of my mouth but nothing happens. I don’t talk much normally. I don’t ever talk, actually. Jane and Tom don’t like to hear what I have to say, so I don’t ever say anything. In fact, nobody really likes anything I have to say. Mummy and daddy would have listened to me. They used to love to listen to my stories.

“Come on Kid, you’ve got to tell me how you did that.” She stares at me, her gold-y, brown eyes looking me up and down every few seconds. “At least give me your name, Kid.”

The lady kneels down so that she’s roughly the same height as me. She wears a name badge that says “Elle” on it, obviously her name. I know I can’t tell her so instead, I grab both sides of her head, pressing my fingertips into her hair. She jerks before falling completely still as I let my story seep into her brain.

When I move my hands back to my sides she falls to the floor, staring at me.

“What’s wrong with you?” She whispers, shaking as she slowly starts creeping away.

Turns out she’s not like me. It’s a shame, really. I would have liked a friend. My hands move back to her hair and move down to press the blue line on the side of her neck until she goes limp. There’s nothing wrong with me.

5 Things That Make Me Happy

Hello!

There are a lot of things that make me happy but here are just five - my indecisiveness made it extremely difficult to narrow it down to just five, but I've done it, finally!

1.

Books!

How can books not make you happy?! You get to imagine this whole new place and get overly-attached to characters and ahhh! I just LOVE books.

2.

The Little Ones

The little babies in my family never fail to make me smile. I told you all about taking the Daisy out the other day in THIS post and it was the happiest day I've had in ages because I can't not be happy when I see that cheeky little smile on her face (super mushy, I know!).

3.

Sunshine
I know a lot of people say sunshine makes them happy but when you live somewhere where sun is practically non-existent you crave every minute of sun you can get and you always appreciate it! So sun makes me extremely happy!

4.

Pajama Days

I know a lot of people say you should get up, get dressed and ready for the day every day but that just doesn't float my boat! I love the days when I have nothing planned and I can stay in my pj's and sit in bed with some tasty snacks and a book. Lazy days are perfect.

5.

Writing

When I can write for pleasure. Not to meet a deadline or because somebody wants me to - because I want to. That's when it makes me the happiest little bee around!

As you can see, it doesn't take much to keep me happy!

Katie x

Those Bad Habits

Hello!

I've recently had the realisation that I have a really bad habit when it comes to writing blog posts... I always start writing them really late at night. For example, I'm currently writing this at twenty eight minutes past twelve... At night. As in midnight. 

I know I should be in bed right now. 

I know I should be trying to get some sleep. 

I know I have to get up early. 

I know I'm spending my day tomorrow with a two year old. 

I know that if I don't get enough sleep I'm not going to want to run around after a two year old. 

Yet here I am. 

Still writing. 

Still wide awake.

I think I need help.

Most of my best stories (in my opinion) have been written in the early hours of the morning. Strangely for some reason, I'm okay with this habit, to a certain extent. It's when it gets to four/five 'o' clock in the morning and I'm  still on a writing buzz. The problem is, I'm on that kind of writing high where sleep is far, far away from me and there's no chance it's coming back to me anytime soon.

The other problem I always have is, I always have more of an urge to write when I have no time to write... It's really inappropriate! I would say my mind needs to get its priorities straight but it has. Writing always comes first in my head, unfortunately my university work disagrees - it's an ongoing war in my head and the right thing doesn't always win out.

I really need to sort my writing habits out!

Katie x

Story Time!

Hello!

I thought I'd be brave today (just like yesterday's post, HERE, said I should be) and share a story with you that I wrote a little while ago in a creative writing workshop. It's only a very short one and we had to write it in both first and third person, so here is the third person version but I can always post the first person one later to give you a bit more insight, if you want! I have also expanded on the story since then, so there is a bit more to it now but this is the original, short version. Let me know what you think, I'm open to criticism too, just make it constructive, pretty please!

Bang, Bang.

The noise echoed through the tiny, corner shop, making it all the way to the small staff room at the back where Rose sat, staring into her steaming cup of coffee, her hands wrapped around it to absorb the heat. Her head slowly lifted up a minute after the loud bang, a frown spreading across her pale face. She sat for thirty or so seconds longer, staring at the door expectantly, but nothing happened. Resigned, she stood up and, slowly, headed for the door, the plimsolls on her feet dragging across the old, carpeted floor. She pulled the heavy fire door, the strain showing on her face from the weight of it, heaving out a big sigh as she let it swing shut, her cup of coffee still sitting half empty on the edge of the table where it was left.

She walked through the short hallway to the shop floor and stopped. She stood in the middle of the aisle staring at the visibly open cash desk. You could see the slight tremble in her hands as they hung, limply by her sides and the hairs at the nape of her neck were all stood up on edge, alert.

There was another resounding thud that resonated through the small shop, coming from behind where Rose was stood. Her eyes closed momentarily and her previously heavy breathes came to a halt. It was several minutes before she reopened her eyes again and gained her composure. Slowly, her body started to turn, her clumsy feet turning a second later. The movement stirred the resting dust bunnies, letting them mix and swirl in the air before finding somewhere new to hide; somewhere safer. As she stood staring at what had been behind her only a minute ago her breath got lost in her throat, caught on her terror. Less than a couple of centimetres away from her face was a gun, a calloused finger resting on the trigger.

A Writing Genius?

Hello!

Writing is something I love to do and always have. I always feel like I'm improving with every story I write, every book I read, every song I hear, everything helps me write but I used to wonder if I'd ever be amazing and be at the point of no getting better.

One of the biggest things I've learnt from studying a creative writing course is that this is never going to happen and I'm fine with that.

"We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master", Ernest Hemingway definitely knew what he was talking about.

Everybody writes differently, reads differently and enjoys doing both of these things differently. If you think of your favourite author, chances are they're not mine and probably not your next door neighbours either and that's a good thing.

I read the stereotypical things like The Hunger Games, Divergent and Harry Potter but I know that not everyone enjoys these types of books - I will even admit that I didn't enjoy the Harry Potter novels as much as most people did when the books were first realeased - therefore, none of these authors can be seen as "masters", even if they write amazingly, because there is always room for improvement (in my opinion).

I like the idea of no one being a master of writing, it makes it something that anyone can do because there is no right or wrong answer, and there is no one ruling over everyone else. I also really like the fact that everyone can always improve on their writing because it means you're always working towards being a better writer, even if you're one of the best because you can't ever be the best.

Was that a bit rambly? Or does it just make no sense? It's something that I think about a lot but we all know nothing particularly sane happens in my head... Let me know!

Katie x