I'm in a college crw class, and I'm wondering if this wouldn't be entertaining for other college kids to read. Our assignment is to write in first person and makes sure they are an active character, not passive.
Here is what I have:
Becca and I were sitting Indian-style on my floor, picking strawberries out of the beige carpet and plopping them into our mouths. Becca had spilt them earlier while she ran around the room looking for eyeliner. We were getting ready for the first day of high school, so cleaning up after ourselves was the last thing on our minds.
“Autumn, get your damn hands off my cool whip,” said Becca as she snatched the 8oz jar of fluff from my lap.
“I can’t believe how light it is!” I laughed flinging her the lid like a frisbee.
Becca started eating the cool whip straight from the container with a plastic spoon. “Are you nervous at all?” she asked with a glob of cool whip in her mouth.
I winced as Becca shoveled it in, “that shit is disgusting. My sister usually freezes it then eats it like ice cream. Why doesn’t the little piglet just eat ice cream?”
“Well are you?”
I shook my head no. I was lying. Earlier, when I was applying mascara, I’d stabbed myself in the eye three times because my hands behaved like those of an old man with Parkinson’s disease.
Becca scooped up a clump of cool whip onto her spoon and wiggled it in front of my face. I wrinkled my nose and titled my head away, “There’s no way in hell I’m going to eat… that.”
My ten-year-old sister Haley cracked open the door to my room and peeked her pudgy cherub face in.
“Haley, Get out!” I shouted.
“Mom says for you to go get me a glass of orange juice.”
“Go get it yourself,” I said, biting into a strawberry.
Haley flung open the door and put her hands on her nonexistent hips. She cocked her head to the side and said “Bitch, please.”
Becca opened her cool whip-filled mouth in amusement. The spoon slid out and fell to the floor. Becca started blotting the white substance out of my carpet with a paper towel, yet craned her neck up in order to watch my reaction. I shot off the floor and held my breath. My jaw tensed and my right hand formed the perfect shape in order to hit a disobedient child. But after quickly scanning her face, her turquoise rimmed glasses, and her pink-banded braces I prevented myself from slapping the shit out of her. I thought about how miserable she’ll be next year starting middle school, and smiled at her in pity. She took the smile as vulnerability and whispered in a satanic voice that only younger siblings can possess, “I mean it. Go. Get. Me. Orange juice!”
After that I couldn’t stop myself. I took my palm and smacked it against her cheek, leaving a pink mark below her left eye. She stood there for a moment with a blank look. Then the muscles by her eyes started to flex, her forehead wrinkled, and her bottom lip ejected itself forward. She opened her mouth and squealed, “Moooooooooooooooommmmmmmmmmmmmm!”
She scurried out of the room and down the halfway. I knew I was going to get in trouble, but didn’t care. It was my first day of high school. Mom would go easy on me. I knew she sensed my stress; therefore she was bound to make an excuse for my behavior, to my sister. Something like, “Haley sweetie, your sister is trying to get ready for school. Leave her alone. She can’t handle being around you right now.”
I usually don't write teeny boppy stories but this is allll that I can write right now. I am literally brain dead, and originally this story was about nothing but cool whip (which I have been eating, straight from the jar).
Here is what I have:
Becca and I were sitting Indian-style on my floor, picking strawberries out of the beige carpet and plopping them into our mouths. Becca had spilt them earlier while she ran around the room looking for eyeliner. We were getting ready for the first day of high school, so cleaning up after ourselves was the last thing on our minds.
“Autumn, get your damn hands off my cool whip,” said Becca as she snatched the 8oz jar of fluff from my lap.
“I can’t believe how light it is!” I laughed flinging her the lid like a frisbee.
Becca started eating the cool whip straight from the container with a plastic spoon. “Are you nervous at all?” she asked with a glob of cool whip in her mouth.
I winced as Becca shoveled it in, “that shit is disgusting. My sister usually freezes it then eats it like ice cream. Why doesn’t the little piglet just eat ice cream?”
“Well are you?”
I shook my head no. I was lying. Earlier, when I was applying mascara, I’d stabbed myself in the eye three times because my hands behaved like those of an old man with Parkinson’s disease.
Becca scooped up a clump of cool whip onto her spoon and wiggled it in front of my face. I wrinkled my nose and titled my head away, “There’s no way in hell I’m going to eat… that.”
My ten-year-old sister Haley cracked open the door to my room and peeked her pudgy cherub face in.
“Haley, Get out!” I shouted.
“Mom says for you to go get me a glass of orange juice.”
“Go get it yourself,” I said, biting into a strawberry.
Haley flung open the door and put her hands on her nonexistent hips. She cocked her head to the side and said “Bitch, please.”
Becca opened her cool whip-filled mouth in amusement. The spoon slid out and fell to the floor. Becca started blotting the white substance out of my carpet with a paper towel, yet craned her neck up in order to watch my reaction. I shot off the floor and held my breath. My jaw tensed and my right hand formed the perfect shape in order to hit a disobedient child. But after quickly scanning her face, her turquoise rimmed glasses, and her pink-banded braces I prevented myself from slapping the shit out of her. I thought about how miserable she’ll be next year starting middle school, and smiled at her in pity. She took the smile as vulnerability and whispered in a satanic voice that only younger siblings can possess, “I mean it. Go. Get. Me. Orange juice!”
After that I couldn’t stop myself. I took my palm and smacked it against her cheek, leaving a pink mark below her left eye. She stood there for a moment with a blank look. Then the muscles by her eyes started to flex, her forehead wrinkled, and her bottom lip ejected itself forward. She opened her mouth and squealed, “Moooooooooooooooommmmmmmmmmmmmm!”
She scurried out of the room and down the halfway. I knew I was going to get in trouble, but didn’t care. It was my first day of high school. Mom would go easy on me. I knew she sensed my stress; therefore she was bound to make an excuse for my behavior, to my sister. Something like, “Haley sweetie, your sister is trying to get ready for school. Leave her alone. She can’t handle being around you right now.”
I usually don't write teeny boppy stories but this is allll that I can write right now. I am literally brain dead, and originally this story was about nothing but cool whip (which I have been eating, straight from the jar).