Is it I am or I will or is it maybe I shall? Is it Mary and I or I and Mary? It’s all very confusing. I have never finished writing a story before and the thought about finishing this story is giving me goose bumps.
This story kept me up all night long. I had dreams about it, but now I struggle with the most confusing part, not because I don’t know how to write, moreover because someone in school has once told me my grammar sucks.
I want to write my own story , but I'm scared of how it will end.
As I sit here in my mother’s house, yes my mother’s house. I’m only sixteen you know. I ponder on the beginning and the ending of the story. I think the climax of the story is excellent, whether someone else would agree is rather a fact I do not wish to go in all depths on now. The beginning of the story feels too stretched and the ending to shallow.
Lucy meets Dave, Dave was in an accident, and then they marry each other.
The story feels too bland and predictable.
Yes the story kept me up all night, not because it’s predictable, but the way the accident happen feels so real/ realistic.
I am forced to write a story, but the word forced is only used in this sentence, because I am now currently writing my essay for my assignment in English. My English teacher Mrs Pretorius is a lovely lady, but she can be rather strict when she doesn’t get your story/ I mean don’t u-n-d-e-r-s-t-a-n-d your story.
I am currently debating whether I should have sticked/ I mean stood by my decision to take English First Additional language rather than the subject I now am struggling with writing essays which is English Home Language.
My imagination is rather far stretched, but I don’t know how to put my imagination in words.
As a drama student for nearly my entire school life this should come easy for me, but I struggle with the concept of putting my emotions on paper.
The pen in my hand, yes I’m old fashioned, sweats in my palm, the paper in front of me feels too big for me to write even a single word on it. I have the story in my conscious mind, but I don’t know how to put the story in words.
The pen is now between my teeth I’m biting on it.
The wind is knocking on the window it reminds me the time is ticking.
My pet cat ‘Lucinda’ nuzzles up on my lap and purrs under my hands touch.
Her purring: a constant mockery to my indecisive brain.
I reach for the pen which now is biting with little holes of frustration.
Its 3 am in the morning I put the pen down.
I have finished my first story.
This story indeed kept me up all night again.
‘Lucinda’ has already started her morning patrol around the neighbourhood, but I’m still sitting here in my chair not with a second of sleep in my system.
My eyes feel droopy, my head feels foggy. My left hand is full of pencil markings and my body feels sore.
I waddle to the bed in the best effort to not knock anything of while getting to my bed. My rooms a mess, there’s papers everywhere, pencils on the floor and drawings on my wall. Who knew I had a hidden talent to draw the story and then write it.
I climb in bed I wrap the covers over and I fall into a deep slumber.
“Lucy stop you don’t have to see this.”
Lucy doesn’t register what the officer says she can’t register, because the previous night she and Dave had a huge fight and now Dave might be gone forever.
She runs past the officer, not bothering the screams and honks of the people and the cars around her. She has to tell Dave she loves him, before it’s too late.
There before her lays a broken Dave, his eyes are shut, but his mouth is open. Before thinking Lucy kisses Dave on the mouth. Dave doesn’t move.
“I love you; I didn’t mean it when I said I don’t. It’s just … It’s just …”
Lucy starts crying.
Dave suddenly stirs and puts his hand against her cheek.
His still injured but the news he just received is the best ever news he could receive.
He loves Lucy with all his heart. He wants to tell her that he didn’t mean it when he said he didn’t want children that he was just in pain when he was younger and the thought of children makes him scared.
Lucy smiles a tear falls onto Dave’s cheek.
“Emily wake up, you’re going to be late for school”
I wake up with a startle thinking I forgot something then reminders I have written my first story. Everything is going to be excellent today. I wipe a stray tear the dream and also my story in the back of mind is agreeing with me that today are going to be a good day.
I open my closet and pick out a bright purple and orange dress: My favourite dress with matching pump shoes. I quickly get dressed brush my teeth and hair and reach for my story.
The heading reads: a Dream that had to be put on paper.
Most wouldn’t understand the title of my story, but I do. I love it. It’s a constant reminder that emotions could be put onto paper.
The bell rings.
I walk into my English class.
The teacher asks for the essay papers.
She calls our names to hand in the papers.
My emotions are piling high.
A single tear falls.
I hand in my story.
I feel empty without my story now, but then yet again it’s my story and no one else’s and it’s my first, but not my last.