Background
This is how I feel sometimes during the middle of the school year and I have about six assignments to write... This particular short story is inspired by 'The Writer' by Ellie Goulding of which I listen to when I'm in this situation. Only thing is that the exciting stuff doesn't happen. Bummer. :P
Short Story #6: The Writer
There, another paragraph finished. I looked at the pile of assignments that I had to go through and wished they were just story plots I had to write into novels. The common misconception with my schooling was my friends thought because I wrote novels that my English marks would be through the roof. The simple fact is that no, they’re not.
A fail here, barely a pass
there; my life is a rollercoaster. With basically every writing
competition I get some kind of award but schooling the only sky-high
marks I receive are in Japanese, a subject in which I find a high
level of interest. Each evening after a stressful day of school I get
hounded because of spending all my homework time doing Japanese and
writing novels. The temptation is too great.
Night seeps through the
edges of my blinds, choking the weak light that my lamp casts around
the room. My brain throbs from being worked too hard but despite
working the assignments for the past two weeks I still get behind.
Tomorrow was the hand-in date.
My pen tapped against the
table until I finally sighed and got up. Walking through the backyard
I sat on the swing chair and pulled my knees up, wrapped my arms
around them and held them tight. I heard a twig snap somewhere but it
wasn’t until two arms circled around me that I realized there was
someone there.
“Hello,” I said, knowing
very well who just snuck up on me. He walked around the swing and sat
beside me, weaving his fingers through mine. The stars twinkled above
like diamonds on a piece of black velvet. “What are you doing
here?” He smiled and tucked away a loose strand of hair, my skin
tingling.
“Inspiring you,” he
said, tapping my nose. “You can do it. You’re smart and
beautiful. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you could.”
Happiness spread through me, greater than what any writing on a page
could give me. I sat up straight, a bolt of inspiration sizzled in my
mind like a sausage on a barbeque mid-summer. I pecked him on the
cheek and ran inside, sitting at the desk and watched my fingers fly.
I was a writer after all.
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