The Story In Which Nothing Happens: Part 1

I was going to come home and have a bitch about school protocol and junk like that, then I realised it would probably be better not to have a libel suit against me. So instead, I’m serialising the weird story I wrote for my mocks. It’s odd. And contains a lot of references to things I have written in the past. But embrace it 🙂

She was a woman of unusual taste. Matters such as part-time emplyment, state examinations, up-and-coming trends were rarely an isue for her. She was highly more concerned with the simpler pleasures in life, the smell of new money, slipping between the sheets of a newly made bed, the pop of a spoon against a new jar of coffee and above all, the satisfying feeling that overcame her when a business question balanced. Altogether quite lost in her own thoughts, Emily Barrett was a freak.

He was, in every sense of the word, ordinary. Unspectacular in all aspects, everything from his appearance (brown hair clipped to an appropriate level above the ear) to his clothes (non-descript jeans to match his seldomly worn non-descript glasses) to his attitude (perfectly polite to attending adults, non-confrontational with his peers) attracted nothing more than an acknowledgement of his existence. Neither without flaw nor horrifically damaged, Alex Reddin was simply usual.

There was an arch acting as a gate to the park. It was a large arch, its grey colour darkening speckle by speckle as the lightest of raindrops fell on its surface. This, along with years of stone erosion, grafitti removal and chewing gum disposal, made the arch seem as alive as any of the blades of grass growing a metre from its base. These too were collecting droplets, inviting woodlice, beetles, slugs and snails out to play, drawn in by the growing humidity. The picturesque quality was soon disrupted by the cacophonous crunch of a twig underfoot a descending size seven blue kitten heel.

Her mother had questioned her footwear on leaving the house. Emily had failed to see the reasoning behind “saving her brand new shoes for a better day.” Shoes were shoes and these were pretty shoes. All the better for exploring the park in. Besides, one only saved things for a rainy day, and given the current weather conditions, she could scarcely think of anything more appropriate.

Not thirty minutes had gone by and the snails were met with a casualty. Amongst the dampening leaves, the shell of one had splintered on impact of a Nike trainer against its surface. With rain growing and camera in tow, Alex had barely heard the squelch of entrails against his shoes and decided to continue jogging. What a day for photography but he had felt inspired. As he left the house, the mist had seemed beautiful and the drops were not yet heavy enough to completely change his opinion. But he was still a sensible perosn and logic would have to prevail somewhat. If he could find shelter, his secret artisitic ambition might not be dampened.

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