Ha!
Kinda funny. Because I’m writing a blog. Get it? Get it?!
So, took a writing course with my mother for the past few weeks. We didn’t really like it, yet we haven’t missed a class. I suppose in the end it wasn’t as bad as we thought in the beginning, we just didn’t feel like it was too extremely helpful but I figured, I’ve paid my money for it, I’m going to get all it’s worth – even if it’s not worth much.
Our teacher, he’s very, well: We should try this. Do you want to do that? Does anyone want to read? How about this?
No! Just tell us to suck it up and do it! I feel like he’s never taught, not just this course, but any course before and yet he’s mentioned a number of times things he’s done with previous classes.
Regardless, this class hasn’t been totally useless. Mom and I have a blast making fun of things. Mom feels bad because she knows what it’s like to be up at the front of a class. We make it fun anyway (not necessarily of the class) with writing notes to each other and certain gesture or faces. It’s like being back in high school again, only with your mother, but it’s okay because your mother is much cooler than she was when you were in high school.
Mostly I write notes to her. One day when the teacher went on and on about something he always refers to and I wrote to her, “I hate his stupid parrot with the wooden leg. Shut up teacher-face!” (Something you may not know about me, I make a lot of something-face remarks. Like jerk-face, or fluffy-face, or whatever-face.) There was one time she looked at me and pointed to her eye, then pointed with two fingers to both her eyes, then pointed at me. I just nodded in understanding. I then wrote to her, “I poke my eyes out for you.” She loved that!
The other reason why this class hasn’t been totally useless would be because I’ve actually been writing. Imagine that?! (Didn’t expect that one did you?) It didn’t start off as much but then teacher-face actually said a thing or two that gave me some ideas to expand on my original idea. I don’t know if it’s going to turn into a long short story or a novel or even finished at all but I feel kind of good writing about it now. I guess I’ll keep you posted.
I’d like to end this entry with a very short exert of my longshortstoryfinshednovelpossiblynovella that I would like to for the moment call, The Loves and Losses of Seth Rayner.
Happy reading!
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He couldn’t understand how it could have gone so far.
He stood there, his long dark hair, greasy as usual, twisted with the buckles that lay on the shoulders of his long black coat. While his hair matched the bags under his eyes, it was a great contrast to the colour of his skin. He stood tall, even in his fear. He had always excelled at hiding his emotions and finally it was serving him well. His clenched fists were sprouting red through the pale but the darkness of the room hid them, like gloves made of shadows.
He had always been such a good kid. He could just imagine his parents saying that – at his funeral perhaps – they would stare down at his cold pale (although no more than usual) body, perhaps even a tear. “You used to be such a good kid.”
How could it have gotten so far? This is what Seth was contemplating. How could he have come from being such a good kid to a confused and angry “wannabe” Goth now staring down the barrel of a gun.
Seth loved baseball as a boy; his first love. His second love, if you want to call it that, was Billy Webster. Billy was “the cool kid.” That fact was certain but it was Billy himself that had to convince Seth of this and he succeeded in the most subtle way.
Seth was walking home after playing a game with his friends. With his glove on his bat and his bat resting on his shoulder, his only thoughts were of what was his mother making for dinner. He was approaching the corner where Billy was sitting under the shade of a dishevelled tree.
“Hey kid,” Billy said. They were the same age, and Seth knew this, but he delivered it with such confidence that Seth had unconsciously second guessed his own level of maturity. Seth stopped and looked over at Billy.
“You were just playing ball?” Billy asked.
Seth nodded. “Cool,” Billy said. He then turned away and half chuckled to himself. Seth walked on, his head full of childish wonder. If it was cool, then what was so funny?
The man turned the gun from Seth to the brown lab that was sitting a few feet away. Titus; the only thing Seth cared about since his days playing baseball. He found Titus on night when he was cutting through a neighbourhood where cocaine dusted the streets - the Black Rock Borough - to get to his own - the Mary Jane District. He was just a puppy then, sitting on the curb and whining. Seth figured that someone let him out and either forgot about him, or lost him. Either way, given the neighbourhood he was in, Seth didn’t feel bad about taking him. He figured, maybe he couldn’t give Titus a better life then his previous owners, but he could try. And the dog might as well be with someone that would love him. He could love a puppy.
Now Titus, only two years old so Seth figured, had grown into a large and loyal dog, strong and well behaved, and had no idea what a gun was. Seth nearly gasped with the man pointed the gun to Titus. The man had guessed Seth’s weakness, and guessed right.
Breathe, just breathe, Seth told himself. Hold strong.
“It’s just a dog, man,” Seth finally said. This was a mistake. As he said it, his voice cracked ever so slightly. Barely detectable, any normal person would not have heard it. But the man was clearly not a normal person. The voice crack changed everything.
When the man pulled the trigger, every bit of air left Seth’s lungs. The dog whimpered, the man laughed, the kid screamed.
It wasn’t until a few days later – just when Seth finally got his first encounter out of his mind – that Billy talked to him again. This time it was outside the corner store two blocks from Seth’s street. Billy was standing outside the store as Seth approached.
“Hey kid.” It was that word again. Kid.
Billy continued, “Hey, you got an extra dollar?”
Seth shook his head. “My mom wants her change back.” Billy half chucked. This was all too familiar for Seth. “Besides,” he continued, “dinner’s almost ready and I have to get juice.”
Billy took a moment then went ahead. “You’re chatty today,” Billy said with a crafty smile. “Hey kid. I got an idea. You give me a dollar and I’ll help you out with the juice.”
Seth hesitated, unsure. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“The guy in there doesn’t pay attention. I haven’t done it before but I could try. My brother’s done it. I’ve seen him. I know I can try. I don’t mind.” Billy’s shrewdness was now turning to childlike enthusiasm.
“I should go.” Seth wasn’t sure what Billy was getting at but he knew he didn’t like it. He stepped into the store. Two minutes later, when he stepped out again with juice and his mother’s change Billy was gone.
After what seemed like eternity, Seth looked to where Titus would be lying dead. He was confused to see there was no dog at all. The man was still laughing. Seth heard a noise and looked behind him. Titus whimpered in the corner, unharmed. That was when the tears started.
The man looked down on Seth. He wore a devious smile. A trace of Billy Webster.
“Let’s go,” he said. It was the beginning of the end.
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To be continued . . .
