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What Do You Think Of My Short Story?


Eats hoops and leaves
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From this stupid collection of short stories that I'm doing called 'Shortish stories that are really failed novels', because I lack the discipline to write a novel.

He couldn’t believe his fate. Sitting on this annoyingly narrow, damp doorstep. He couldn’t sit on the wall – he’d look stupid. So he’d sit on this narrow, damp, uncomfortable doorstep. He’d sit here for hours, maybe, until his brother arrived home from school and let him in. He could go to the school and ask for his brother and the key himself, but the whole class would laugh at him. It would be the second time this week, and something like the fourth time this month. So he’d sit here and slowly get angry, working himself into a frenzy then feel stupid as this charged-up rage vented away once he heard his brother’s shouting as he strolled up the road.

Despite the rain cutting through the sky for most of the day, the sun was out now. The puddles bounced fresh glare straight though his eyes and into the back of his skull, and the skin he’d covered with a coat to protect from the damp was now prickled and sweaty. All very pleasant, but he had absolutely nothing to do with himself. Well – maybe he did, come to think of it. He noticed that there was enough battery life in his walkman for a good few hours of head-nodding. So Liam sat there on the doorstep, building little structures with the stones that made up the floor of his driveway. He carried on doing this for several songs until he noticed a girl walking past his driveway entrance. He thought two things, and these were: ‘this is a cul-de-sac, I wonder where she’s going?’ and the second, the far less original ‘blimey’. See, Liam thought that she was far more attractive than anybody else he’d seen up to that point in his life. She wore amazing clothes too: a brown skirt that ended just below her knees, a creamy blouse, an extremely thick black hair band that reminded him of 1930’s French glamour girls who wore moles on their lips, and over her shoulders she struggled with a massive red rucksack that bulged out in back-aching lumps. Liam felt the blood rushing through his body and a thousand fantasies played out in his head. She even worse scruffy trainers, he noticed. Liam saw her doing homework under a blue lamp, looking out of her window to watch the traffic when she got bored. She ate her breakfast listening to the radio in white pajamas with red hearts on, the smell of bedwarmth still clinging to them. She got wildly drunk and had far too many friends. She was easy going, playful and possessed a wit beyond the sharpest of any Jedi’s lightsaber. She read lots. She wouldn’t mind him punching her back when she punched him. She’d explore castles with him, listened to him talk about his records. That rucksack probably had an expensive computer in it, or ice-skates. She was into fun things. She probably had a pet snake or something.

Some of these scenes may have been the product of an optimistic mind, but Liam was right about one thing – she was smart, and sensed Liam gawping at her. She turned around, meeting his eye quite by accident. She turned a shade of red and quickened her walk (which was difficult because of the ice-skates, or whatever it was in that bag weighing her down). Liam thought that even in this hurried state she exuded a calm with the world that he ached to learn about. But she had looked at him! Probably nothing. Girls were weird like that. They wouldn’t even sneeze at him usually. Accepting his fate as the lonely boy on the doorstep, but delirious with lust, Liam sat there and imagined saving her from a gang of knife-wielding maniacs (of course she’d join in – those trainers meant she could kick some jaw) and rescuing her from burning buildings. If he could have seen the outrageous grin on his own face, Liam would have punched himself in the neck. But his mind went deeper into the dream.  What if he went to the shop, came back and she was waiting for him in his room? (Presumably after breaking the door open.) Lying on his bed, skirt hitched up over her knees in a most delicious, untidy manner, arms massaging her own waist while her thighs pushed up and down as she thrust the excitement she held for Liam into the air and gasped with the power she held with her body. Well, even a conversation would be nice. A chat about something meaningless, but the topic validated because it was going into her ears.

Understandably lost in these thoughts, Liam crashed back into real life, where he nearly lost it completely as he looked at the girl standing over him. ‘What are you doing sat there? Are you a thief?’

Liam spoke through cotton wool. ‘Uh, no.’

‘A useless thief?’ came the reply.

‘No, I’m out. Locked out. What about you? I mean, you?’

‘I’m talking to you.’

‘Yeah! Haha… ah.’ Liam gibbered. His brain kicked him and asked what it was he thought he was doing. Then his head went warm. Then his ears. Bugger.

She actually smiled instead of punching him. ‘Oh, I don’t have a key for my house yet – just moved in – so I thought I’d say hello. Bored.’ She sang in the sweetest voice Liam had heard this side of 9PM. He noticed her shoes moving about in what was left of his stone structures, and became aware of his position. He quickly stood up, trying not to look at her legs, waist, breasts and to not fall over at the same time.

‘Ah, what’s your name?’ This was good. Fill those silences.

‘Melanie.’ Melanie replied.

Immediately Melanie became a word with a million connotations. Not least this exotic smell that wafted from her hair.

‘Well hello Melanie, I’m Liam’ he said, offering his hand. Melanie shook it with a serious face then sat down on the step and looked up at him. ‘So, what are you into then, Liam?

Harsh as you like please - it's the only way I'll learn.

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Well, I must first say - I am no literary expert - I bot a B in higher english 2 years ago and my opinion is probably not worth a whole lot. But things I picked up on while reading this were..

Some of the language seems a bit crude, in the first paragraph for example "annoyingly narrow" and the repetition of the word damp don't lend to fluid reading, and repeating a boring descriptive word like that so soon in a short story (where you have less words to work with so each is more important?) isn't somthing i'd imagine is good.

The ideas are very good though I think (seems like it might be aimed at at mid-teens?), all well linked together and easy to relate to. Gets much better in the third paragraph, but I think you'd want to get that engagement early on.

But yeah, I quite like it and know the story well :P

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