Posted by Mrs. Emery
From Natalie: Begin your story with: “How many times do I have to tell you?”
Write for 10 minutes. Post your piece to comments.
Posted on February 21, 2017, in Writing Prompt. Bookmark the permalink. 6 Comments.
“How many times do I have to tell you? You can’t jump off the roof into the pool. You’ll kill yourself.”
However, Gregory didn’t want to live without testing this wild yet exhilarating idea. Of course the eleven year old ignored his mother once again and finally found his way through the secure lock that kept him from accessing the roof and achieving his dreams. As he looked down and stood before the bright blue pool as its water shimmered and moved underneath the sun that was beginning to warm the back of Gregory’s dry head, he took a deep inhale, preparing himself to create the greatest parkour video on the internet.
“Is it recording?” Gregory shouted down at his friend who was holding a video camera to his eye. After his friend gave a thumbs up, he jumped.
And he missed.
Not even realizing that he had to actually aim for the water, Gregory fell onto the deck, barely coming close to the pool. He did not feel this much pain or laughter out of his friend in his dreams, and what was supposed to be the greatest parkour video on the internet ended up being number one on the fails compilations.
Great job, Mary-Kelley!
“How many times do I have to tell you?” The scolding stare of my best friend Jasmine questioning my competence, “We get up on stage, and we discuss the topic we’ve been assigned, it’s really not that hard Alysha.” I sighed what must have been the heaviest sigh my lungs had ever felt.
We were subjected to discuss a writing topic in front of our entire school in the dimly lit navy blue auditorium of the middle school across the street from the high school – odd placement isn’t it? – and we had our lovely English teacher to thank for that. She sat us down about two days ago on a hot Tuesday morning in second period, telling us she’d signed up the entire class to participate. Great. My mortal teenage soul fills with the cliche angst of being surrounded by millennials I despise, and having to explain a topic to millennials I distrust.
The only one I did trust was Jasmine, who broke my internal mental vow of silence, “They’re starting to call names, pay attention shortcake.” Oh, I’d much rather explain how I got that nickname than explain acrostic poetry and read aloud one of my written poems to these 800-sum students. Woe is me, I’ll just make mental notes in my memory diary about today, and about how I should’ve expected the worst once my name was called.
“Alysha Maccey, presenting acrostic poetry!” Hearing a subtle applause, my heart skips a beat in order to maintain rhythm with the oh-so sarcastic slow clap of the century for me. Here goes nothing; that is the saying right?
Great job, Madison!
“How many times do I have to tell you!!” roared Samantha, “I like purple flowers! NOT PINK!”
The floral director hunched down and took a few cautious steps back.
“It will be ruined! The flowers won’t match the dresses, the dresses won’t match the flowers! The table cloths WILL match the flowers! That’s preposterous!”
The people standing around the angry woman gave her space and prepared to run if necessary.
She continued ranting. They continued inching away.
Before they got to 4 feet away she bellowed, “GET BACK HERE I NEED YOU!!”
They hesitantly took steps closer. She took a deep breath as one face in the crowd spoke very quickly and quietly,
“The tailor made a mistake and the dresses will be pink to match the flowers.”
“Hallelujah! I’m going to have a good wedding after all!” said the bride practically singing with joy.
Her would be husband snuck up behind her just then and said, “Honey, I don’t think I want to do this.”
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