Short Story: Exposition
“People can be mean.” My daddy once said. And I agree. “They can be racist, sexist, and disappointing! But don’t let them ever stop you! There will be lots of bumps on your road to adventure. But some times those bumps are telling you to slow down and sometimes they give you a flat tire. Don’t let them ever get in the way! And sometimes it’s good to just take another path!”
That was a very confusing metaphor when I was a child. And I would think and think all night and day about what it might mean. I could never find a reasonable answer. I didn’t want to ask me dad because I thought he expected me to understand it already! I didn’t know how amazing his words really were but now I understand. And I know his voice will fill my head with happiness and joy forever.
Everyday my father and I would throw the football in our backyard. His fingertips would brush against the laces on the ball. All of my knuckles would be jammed by the end of the day, but I got used to it. His old hands were dry and scratched. Years of hard work and determination were represented with all the lines on his fingers.
He still tells me stories of working in his shop. Always volunteering to help anyone who needed it. He inspired me as a child to be like him. He seemed to be perfect but then again he also told me no one could be perfect.
Our house in Arkansas could fit three people but my dad was honest with me, he told me his heart was broken too many times to love anyone but me. He told me I was the most amazing thing that happened to him. HE said I could change the world, I laughed.
I told him that I couldn’t do that, but we could. “I’ve been thinking.” I said with a dangerous look in my eye. “If we teamed up we’d do double, we’d change the world twice.”
He held his head back and laughed into the clouds then said, “You are the smartest girl I have ever met!” And he meant it too.
We went right to work. He got a scrapbook from the back of his closet. “To hold all of our memories!” He said. He wrote on the front cover with black sharpie;
That day I asked him where we would get started. And he said he had to teach me a lot before we did anything. So he took me into our gigantic backyard and said, “See this?” I nodded, “ This is what you call work.”
I scanned the yard and saw sticks, weeds, long grass, and bugs. I looked up at him and asked, “What kind of work?”
But what kind of work.”
“Okay, um, when do we get started?”
He led me to our tool shed at the back of the yard. And in that tool shed was a HUGE lawn mower! It was twice the size of me and could run me over in a split second. It was like a monster compared to me!
“Your gonna ride this thing until the whole yard is done!” He said with a smirk.
I wasn’t mad but I did want to know how this would make us change the world! But I climbed on top the mower and my dad told me the basics. We rode up and down the lawn five times! And it took us three hours!
At the end of the day he took my small hand and said, “You’re going to change the world with or without me but you have to start out small.”
So we did, we rode lawn mowers for years earning money that could get me to college. And I never did stop dreaming with my father at my side, he was with me every step of the way!
Short Story: Exposition
It happened without any warning. It was a bomb that exploded through the phone. They didn’t even think about me! They just said a simple “I’m Sorry” cover-up. They don’t care about me and they never did. When my parents left me they didn’t give any kind of goodbye. And I know they aren’t coming back.
Because they are dead.
I say this without any source of simplicity. My tears stain this page that will be copied over and over again for any readers sake. My cheeks are wet and I can barely see this page. But I will keep writing until my fingers ache and the pages in this book are completely wet. This must confuse you and all of the other readers because I haven’t given you any kind of explanation of what happened or why I hate myself. So I will start with this:
My parents died in the explosion that killed three people and injured two hundred sixty four. They shouldn’t have died. Or I should’ve been there with them but I refused at that time. When I think back it seems that I would rather do nothing in my old apartment than hold my parents hands and die with them. And I am sickened by the thought that will always stay in my mind of my selfish doing. Now I have no family and I have nothing.
I will never forgive myself.
I have to get out of this place before I strangle myself with disappointment. But I still can’t believe that a nineteen-year-old boy could kill my parents with a bomb. I used to think my parents were invincible. Back when they were alive and I thought hiding under my covers would make me invisible. When we all sat at are small table in our small apartment. And we would pass plates full of breakfast, lunch, and dinner while listening to the sounds of New York five o’clock traffic. And sirens and horns would sound every five minutes. When you lived there longer you would get used to it. But my parents didn’t get to live a long life in that small apartment. And they never will be again.
I still can’t believe I could’ve been so gullible. I should’ve known better and maybe I wouldn’t be as hurt today.
I need to get out of the apartment where my parents abandoned lots and lots of memories. I have to get away from the life my parents used to live in or I will never have a life! I don’t want to make the memory of my parents disappear but I don’t think my parents would want me to live a life in debt to them. I have to get away from the place where my parents smiled and frowned and lived their daily life in. My parent’s souls will stay with me forever but if I stay in the place where my parent’s souls once lied I will never live life to the fullest.
The past should be in the past, right? But it seems that the past will only ruin my present and my future! Right now the past is coming up my throat and making me force out a scream that will only make my tears sting worse.
My parents shouldn’t have died on April 15, 2013. They were so close to the finish line. But that bomb wouldn’t let them run any further. They shouldn’t have died in the Boston Marathon of 2013. And although they didn’t get to see a finish line I hope this isn’t where there finish is, I hope this is just the starting line of a new beginning.
And for me.
Short Story: A Lawn-Mower Filled Love Story
I walk up and down each isle three times. My shoes click against the Linoleum floor. I feel that they are too loud compared to the silent store. As I grab soup and Raman noodles I can’t afford to buy anything else. I head towards the checkout. As I walk the room seems to be getting louder. I feel uncomfortable because of the change between silence and noise.
I start to realize that the noise is coming from small conversation and a loud advertiser in the front of the building. The advertisers voice is louder than the others but doesn’t make that much of a difference. Every other second I hear, “Would you like…” or, “You need this.”
My steps slow because I don’t want to add on to the noise the room is filled with. A light in my isle flickers a little and I jump. Afraid it will draw too much attention to me. But no one looks up except for the advertiser. I look away and find myself looking at my grocery cart. Then my head turns back towards the crowd and my fingertips brush against the cart handle.
Then I stare.
The advertiser is…
Standing next to a Coca-Cola sculpture, she wears kakis that stretch down to her knees, a Dave Mathews T-shirt and crocks. Her hair is tangled and ratty thrown into a ponytail. A hat lies on the top of her head and she has slight sunburn on the tip of her nose. A tan-line stops at her elbows. She grasps a small paper sign that says;
Lawn Mowing Service
Will be charged compared to size of yard
Call 555-4111 if you are interested in hard work!
Its cheesy and not thought through but my hand moves into my pocket and I can’t think straight. I grab the phone and dial 555-4111. As I press the touch screen my fingers shake. But I don’t stop myself. Maybe because I need to mow my lawn or maybe I’m just lonely. But I press call.
It rings once.
It rings twice.
I look over at the girl and her hand reaches into her pocket. I brush my hair back with my fingertips. It feels greasy and there is a line of sweat lining my face.
She puts the phone up to her ear and says hello while dropping the sign on the floor carelessly. Through the phone I hear, “Hello.” I open my mouth and say, and say, nothing. My words refuse to come out but I push harder and say, “Ummmm…”
“Yes?” She says. I see her eyebrows rise. But she doesn’t see me yet. Good? No… bad.
“Hello” She says again looking frustrated from where I stand.
“ Ummm I-I “
“Yes.” She says.
“I would like to…” I swallow hard, my cheeks burning. Why am I doing this?
“I’dlikesomeoneofyouremployeestomowmylawn, please?” I spit the words out like there is poison in my mouth. She looks at me. And I look at her. She looks confused. But then says, “Great, what is your address, phone number, and when would you like me to come over?”
She looks at me like I’m crazy and I probably am because I suddenly think, “She already wants my number?” Then I say, “uh its…” Before I say anything else she stomps towards me.
“Would you like to talk to me in person?” She says realizing that I’m her age, a teenager. Wait how old am I like five hundred? No, NO… your 20!
“Ummm… yes, I just couldn’t get through the…crowd.” She’s the first person I’ve talked to in person for a week and I just blew it. She looks behind her and smirks; there is no one in sight.
“So what is your number, address, and when would you like me to come over?” She says it to me like it’s a waste of her time but looks up at me with curiosity.
“Ummm… it’s, 555-4236, 2844 Lindsey Rd, and tomorrow at… 3pm.” She writes everything down on a notepad. “Are you sure you can handle this?” I tried to say that last part sarcastically but it seems she took it seriously.
“What are you sexist or something?” she says frowning.
“A woman can do anything a man could!” She almost shouts but then says, “Goodbye, and I hope you aren’t as disappointing tomorrow!”
She marches out the door without glancing back at me. Disappointing? Am I really disappointing to her? Should I care? Well, there is a beautiful girl going to your house tomorrow maybe you should! I say to myself. What am I going to do, I’m a mess!
Have you ever finished a 1000 piece puzzle? Or have you ever... almost finished one with only one piece left? You look everywhere under the couch, on the floor, but you still don't have a clue where it is. You look and look, determined to find that last piece. Then, you see a puzzle piece staring back at you under the carpet. You pick it up and try to fit it into that empty space. But it refuses to fit. No matter which way you turn it, how hard you try to force it, it just wont fit. Then, when you lay it on that empty space and step 1, 2, 3 feet back you see that this piece is exactly the opposite of all of the other pieces in the puzzle. You think," Well..., that isn't a piece in this puzzle!" And your search is still on! You also don't have an accomplished puzzle so you try to look everywhere! You search upstairs, downstairs anywhere! And you still can't find it. Then you sit, back down and look at the unfinished 999 piece puzzle. You look. Then, you look a little bit more. You turn the puzzle upside down, backwards, sideways left, sidewards right. And you think something doesn't look right. Like you've been taking other puzzle pieces from different puzzles and putting them in one big unorganized jumble. You think how could I have put totally opposite things together thinking they were a puzzle. Then think maybe if you find the last piece it will make sense. Then, you find it!
I am from the wet dirt in the backyard to the hidden candy in the laundry room. I am from the scratches and scars from trying to climb to the highest branch of the tallest trees. I am from the smell of popcorn and the stench of febreze. I am from the laughs and from the cries. I am from the sound of jazz music and the unstoppable noise. I am from the memories stuffed inside of my head, full of smiles and of frowns. I am from the sweet taste of crepes to the sour taste of lemon heads. I am from my amazing, wonderful and happy family.
Heros are the people in the story that "save the day" but I don't think heros are all that heroic. They just wait for the danger to come to them. I think the real heros go looking for danger. The real heros are the ones like me. I don't sit in my bedroom waiting for the villian to pull into my driveway. No way! I run out my front door looking for them.
When i step out of the door I see my good-for-nothing school.That's where all of the diobalical villiana hide out. THey stay in descize as "teachers" then BOOM! they go wild feeding on students brains and putting unimportant things like math, books, or science into their heads.
They should be having fun like me. Even though I was once trapped in that cage, I never fell for their evil discizes. I knew they were evil all along. You see, I don't fall for evil... I destroy it.
Even if those teachers are evil they still can't go up against me so they say, "I can't stand you, Tomas the great! Get out of my evil dome and never come back," They try to stay away from me to this day.
When I got back from my quest that day my mom-oh, wait no- my sidekick yells at me when she should be cheering. And I think "What is going on? Have you forgotten my great deed?'' Then, I slowly come back into the real world and I see my house, not my castle. My mother, not my sidekick. And I am not Tomas the great. I am Tomas the kid. The kid who daydreams instead of saves the world. The kid who was expelled from school. And the kid who is going to have to deal with a mad Mother. And a furious Father who is about to come home.
On the first day of school everyone is nervous. They don't know who to sit by. They don't know any of the rules, so it's easy to break them. They don't know what their teacher is going to be like, strict or fair. They might have met the teacher but that must have been before school really started. So they could have just been acting nice when they are really evil. But you shouldn't be nervous because your not the only one who might mess up.
The last day of summer shouldn't be about worrying about school or work. It shouldn't be about sitting in bed waiting to go to school either. The last day of summer should be spent going to a water park, eating lots of ice cream, playing with your friends, etc. You should spend the last day of summer doing fun things. You do these things so you remember that summer isn't over just yet.
Last week I went to an amazing place called terra studios. It was a great place let me imagination grow and my thoughts wonder. Each part of Terra Studios made my eyes widen. Anything was art. Even trash cans were creative. They were called trash trolls and there was a troll with its mouth wide open, that's where you through the trash in. terra studios is a magical place where my imagination runs wild.
Life is like a microphone. You can turn the volume up so that you can be heard clearly. But you can also turn the volume down when you don't want to be heard. When you turn the volume down it's like turning down your life so that no one can understand you. But we need to be loud so that the world can hear us.