One Minute Story

I have one minute to write a masterpiece. Well, maybe it doesn’t have to challenge Dickens, but I’ll try. But what is there to write about? Animals, they’re fun and fluffy. Well, some are. Especially not Hippopotamus’, they’re fat and have bad teeth. They’re breath wouldn’t be much better. But, back to the point, what to write about? How about writing about summer? It’s hot, and at the beach there isn’t a better place to be when it is sweltering hot. Hot enough to cook an egg on a car. Man, I could go for scrambled eggs right now, and bacon. Oh man, I would down that meal so hard. Oh god, I mustn’t let my mind wander. I need to write my own War and Peace. Except I’ll probably call it Bacon and Eggs the way I’m going. The kids across from me are unusually excited by their computer screens. The culprit would most likely be games. Shouldn’t they be writing their masterpieces? A clap of thunder broke the silence in the room, so loud, that the teacher’s mug of coffee started rattling violently. Then almost on cue, rain started pouring. Oh god my mind is wondering. Come on Charlie, write your own Harry Potter. Oh, I know write about a lost dog. A lost dog who has magical powers maybe. The owners name could be Alan, and his worst enemy, the cat, Tim. The timer buzzes. ‘Times up, show us your story.’ Oh crap. 

Opinion piece

Predicting the future

These days it seems that the future is not too blurry after all. With the world becoming such an impatient and sceptical place, people are now turning to telling to future to solve their problems. But why spend precious money predicting the future, when it can be spent on now.

I’m sick of people saying ‘ahh, the world is going to end’ and ‘oh, on the 21^st of December 2012, we are all going to die’. Hey fellas, how about we all just chill out, and focus on now. Sure, horoscopes are fun, but you don’t need to take them seriously. Apparently I’ve been close to getting a girlfriend everyday for 5 years.

People go to one of those ‘gypsy’ ladies, who by reading the creases on your hands can tell your future. I’m sorry, but I don’t believe that for one second. This so called ‘gypsy’ probably comes from a family in Australia, and grew up liking Maths and English like everyone else. Then decided, ‘oh, wait, I think I want to tell peoples future, I can make people believe I am psychic, yet, I’m not.’

The real thing that frustrates me in this topic is that telling your future makes you devalue life as a whole. The mystery of life is one of most precious questions, one in which I think god meant us not to know. Let’s keep it that way. Instead of letting some made-up so-called ‘Armenian gypsy’ do the deciding for you.

POEM PART 3

The man was bald, fat and old,

He was wearing a tank top, even though it was cold,

‘Why are you up so early this day?’

‘I was kidnapped, take me home, I think it’s that way’

The man slightly hesitated, slightly confused,

Then a smile showed up, he was slightly amused,

‘Sure thing buddy, home you’ll be soon’

The lights lit up the street, helped by the moon

 

Within seconds he was home at last,

He hopped out of the car, ran for the door fast,

And banged on the wood, screaming out hard

But the man pulled out a gun, ‘that’s not very smart’

For soon enough Tim realised he was in dream,

And woke up to his bed, again a quarter past three,

He stayed in bed cautious, and scared,

Suddenly in jumped a great golden hare,

‘I am the magical hare, named Ben’

‘Please god, no, not again!’

Poem PART 2

Gagged and tied was young Tim Magoo,

Wherever he was going, who knew, not you,

The car stopped, and Tim went rolling,

The appeared at the door, the man who stole him,

He tore off the gag, and gasped for air,

‘Where the hell am I?’ said Tim, in despair,

‘You’re a long way from home, and you’ll never go back’

Said the powerful man, with a red baseball hat,

He picked him, dropped him on the grass,

It felt like forever, only 5 minutes had passed,

But Tim was brave, courageous and fit,

And started planning his escape bit by bit

 

The antagonist man came back to get him,

Yet this time for Tim, it ceased to fret him,

For the plan had been born, brave and smart,

And he’d thought of it himself, right from the start,

The man came over, shifty but smart,

But Tim knew nothing could live in his heart,

Wretched and evil, a terrifying face,

And that’s when the plan came into place

 

Tim jumped up, frightening the man,

‘The kid’s running away, damn, oh damn’

Tim ran like never before,

But behind he heard the cars engine roar,

Desperation kicked in, adrenaline followed,

He ran to the park, and found a tree, hollow,

The hopped into the trunk, full of darkness and gloom,

He hoped that the evil man would not arrive soon,

He waited for what seemed like forever,

And thought of him mum, oh he wouldn’t forget her,

He hopped out of the trunk,

And ran for the road,

Beside the rain went for the gutter, by flow,

But before him on the road, sat a great creature,

‘Hi, my name’s Gary, it’s a pleasure to meet ya’.

 

 

 

Poem #1

The movie was violent, not bright or true,

The image was too much for young Timmy Magoo,

The scene was showing the irrelevant hero,

Whose so called acting brought Timmy a tear though,

Buff and handsome, nothing like Tim,

The man was a darling to his mother and him,

Just then, the hero, he jumped off a building,

‘An impact,’ Tim thought, ‘surely would kill him’

The scene sped up, intense in sight,

Just he woke up to the dead of the night

 

Brought to reality, deep in bed,

He started to wonder what just happened in his head,

He looked at the clock, a quarter to three,

‘ a quarter to three, too early for me’ said he.

He lay in bed, restless and bored,

In the other room, his father, Chris, snored,

He went to the kitchen, to grab a bite,

The food would taste better in the middle of the night,

He grabbed a banana, yellow and delicious,

Here’s a fact, it’s also nutritious,

He looked at the door, locked with a key,

‘However on earth will I open thee?’ said he.

He looked in the key box, brown and round,

And soon he found the key,

Not lost, now found

 

He ran to the door, excited by a thought,

I really hope that I won’t get caught,

He inserted the key, and opened the door,

And ran onto the street he lived on since ‘94,

 

Not a person in sight, isolated and alone,

But suddenly in the distance, young Tim heard a moan,

He got frightened and scared and ran for the door,

The door was closed, and the key was no more,

Suddenly, behind him stood a man,

Behind the man was a big black van,

Timmy screamed, called for help,

But was taken, and all that was heard was a yelp.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1000 word story

Tim Smith hopped off the crowded number 16 tram at stop 39 every day, and today was no exception. He walked to the shelter first, as it seemed like it was going to rain, and pulled out his headphones. It seemed he had no time to listen to The Clash, as he had to think about more important things. He would have to take his half an hour walk home quicker today, as he was sure, by the dramatic change in temperature, and the dark muggy clouds looming around in the atmosphere, that a storm was due. He slipped his iPod into his pocket, and took a step out of the shelter. Suddenly, a young teenager, wearing a black hoody, a black skirt and black shoes, bumped into Tim, and his iPod slipped out of his pocket, and fell to the hard asphalt. He heard a crack, and before he picked it up, the teen ran away, shooting in front of the tram, obviously grinding the driver’s gears, represented by the seemingly endless ding of the trams bell. He looked down at the iPod once more and picked it up. It was broken, no doubt about it. Stuffed. He groaned, and as the tram set off for the rest of its journey, Tim was left there to wonder at his luck. It couldn’t get much worse. Wrong. A drop of rain landed on his left shoulder, and that was his cue. He started running home.

After 5 mins of a slow jog, he grew tired, and looked down the endless road. He soon stopped by a bin, and decided it was time for a new iPod. He placed the iPod in the bin, and kept walking. He still had about a good 20 minutes of walking left, and he had no AC/DC. Suddenly, Tim felt as if he was being watched. He stopped walking and turned around. Nothing. He was so sure that he was being watched. He turned back and started walking again, getting even more scared with each step. The street seemed enormous to him, and the constant walking, without the iPod, enlarged the fact that he had a long time to go. Suddenly, to his right, a large black van entered his view. He stopped confused by the sudden movement, and all of a sudden the door opened. Tim Smith was grabbed by 2 masked men, and thrown into the van. The van sped off. Two witnesses were present.

Gladys Gardiner was watering her garden at the time of the kidnapping. She had lived in the same house for 40 years, and she had no intention of changing that. Her husband, George, had died 10 years earlier of a heart attack, but the constant surveillance by her daughter kept her feeling safe and set. When she saw the black van, she didn’t know what to think. The first thing she thought was ‘oh, how cliché.’ Little did she know, that this action would be on the news the next morning, and also all over the papers. When questioned by police, she told them about the black van, and nothing else could be said. She wasn’t much help to the police, and she felt bad. But what was she supposed to think?

The other witness was a lot more interesting. Alice Robertson, a 16-year-old girl from Richmond was on the way to her boyfriend, Todd’s house. An interesting point about Alice is that she was following the latest wave of Goth. She listened to Goth music, and she wore black. She told the police this, and they added this to their notes. When asked if she had seen this man, Tim Smith, she blushed. When asked ‘why are your cheeks so red?’ She hesitated before answering ‘I think I bumped into him.’ The policemen looked at each other, stumped. ‘Anything else happen?’ The girl blushed even more. ‘I think, when I bumped into him, I broke his iPod, or something. I was in a rush, I thought that Todd thought that I was cheating on him. I didn’t think to stop. It only sunk in a few minutes after, so I ran after him to say sorry. I finally found him, but as I walked up to him, the van came up and took him’. The police sat there, desperately trying to write down the information just uttered. The girl placed her hands on the smooth table, and started to cry. ‘It’s alright Ms. Robertson, it wasn’t your fault’. She replied, ‘I know, but I saw someone being taken away, a life being taken, and in the process, other peoples life being changed forever.’

Tim Smith was running. The hard asphalt slammed against his feet, bare and blistered. He had his work shirt on, and his pants, but no socks or shoes. The slap of his feet in the night broke the silence, as he finally veered down his street. He had evaded death; he had escaped the van, and the conspirators looming inside it. But he was sure they knew where he lived. He finally reached his front gate, and after 2 hours of running, found the spare key and ran in. He needed protection. He then thought of his wife and his child, on holiday at the family farm, but due back this night. He was determined not to leave them anytime soon. He ran to his cupboard, and climbed the small ladder to the second level. Suddenly he heard the door slam open.He heard fast running, he had no time to waste. He found his gun cupboard; he was an avid shooter. He found the key beside his bed and opened it. Inside he saw his shotgun, and immediately grabbed it. He pumped the gun, and it was loaded, ready for whoever it was. Suddenly the door opened, and in the heat of the moment, shot the gun.

Tim Smith went pale, before falling to his knees, and fainting, his head slamming against the ground. For before him, was his wife, who was running to him to give Tim some good news. She was pregnant. The door opened, and the young child opened to door to the bloody scene. 

1000 word story. Part one.

Tim Smith hopped off the crowded number 16 tram at stop 39 every day, and today was no exception. He walked to the shelter first, as it seemed like it was going to rain, and pulled out his headphones. It seemed he had no time to listen to The Clash, as he had to think about more important things. He would have to take his half an hour walk home quicker today, as he was sure, by the dramatic change in temperature, and the dark muggy clouds looming around in the atmosphere, that a storm was due. He slipped his iPod into his pocket, and took a step out of the shelter. Suddenly, a young teenager, wearing a black hoody, a black skirt and, even more surprisingly, black shoes, bumped into Tim, and his iPod slipped out of his pocket, and fell to the hard asphalt. He heard a crack, and before he picked it up, the teen ran away, shooting in front of the tram, obviously grinding the drivers gears, represented by the seemingly endless ding of the trams bell. He looked down at the iPod once more and picked it up. It was broken, no doubt about it. Stuffed. He groaned, and as the tram set off for the rest of its journey, Tim was left there to wonder at his luck. It couldn’t get much worse. Wrong. A drop of rain landed on his left shoulder, and that was his cue. He started running home. 

Short Story Ideas

• A man discovers a lost tribe nestled deep in the Amazon
• A man is followed home by a stranger he had seen earlier that day

50 Word Story

He cocked the gun, blood dripping down his newly bought shirt. The man knew he had minutes to live. He pulled out a machine-gun from nowhere, and with a sudden movement, loaded the gun, and ran a risky run down the hallway. GAME OVER. Damn, i have no quarters left.

Character Analysis

Albert Lynch walked down the large and surprising crowded suburban street, with his top button undone, and his tie loose. He held his briefcase firmly in his right hand, cautious of a pack of school children giggling and jumping around on the footpath in front of him. When they had past, he looked back, checking their every move, just in case anything happened. Out of nowhere, a small man appeared to his left. Suddenly Albert let out a small squeak, and the man looked confused. Albert started sweating and panicked. ‘Hey, buddy, what’s the time?’ Albert immediately reached down, and checked his brand new watch. He had bought the Rolex watch as a treat for himself. ‘Three-Thirty.’ The man mumbled something, which Albert had hoped was a thankyou, and walked off as quickly as he had come. A car roared its horn at a passing biker, frightening Albert, and he threw himself backwards. He suddenly felt unusually sick, which was very uncommon for Albert, as he stocked up on vitamins all the time. He had a burning headache, but it was a long walk to the nearest pharmacy, and he did not want to break his notes.

He looked up ahead, and saw a drinking fountain. He set his sights on the fountain. He could almost taste the ice-cold water touching his tongue. As he walked up, another man was going for the tap as well. They collided at the front of it. ‘Watch it, pal,’ said the man, who looked like he had spent his fair share of days in a cell. ‘Oh, I am, ahh, very sorry,’ uttered Albert, now gripping his suitcase even harder. As the man walked away, Albert watched him, making sure he did not retaliate any more. When he was sure that the man was at least 100 metres away, he soon turned his view on the fountain, and leaned in for the kill.

He had been walking for around 10 minutes, and he had finally reached his bus stop. At the bus stop stood an elderly woman, giving a lecture to a teenager about manners in modern society. Also standing at the stop was a very attractive brown haired woman, reading 1984 by George Orwell. Albert knew that the woman had brains, as she was reading, what he thought, was the greatest literary achievement of the 20^th century, if ever. The woman looked up, stared at Albert and smiled at him. Albert was captivated by the glare of the woman, wondering if, one day, he could be lucky enough to get a girl like her. The staring went on for a while, and Albert wanted it to never stop. He then looked down at her left hand, and on it sat a golden ring, with a large, extremely well cut diamond gilded onto it. Albert looked back at the woman, whose face had turned to one of awkwardness. Eventually the woman looked back down at the book, and Albert went back to look at a lone fire hydrant on the other side of the street. He knew that he would just go home, eat dinner, do work and go to sleep, alone…