Frankenstein

Well... Halloween is coming up soon and I thought my post should have something vaguely spooky related. Have you ever read Frankenstein? I haven't, though I would like to, but I do know something about the plot. I got to thinking this morning, what was going through the monster himself's head when he first came to life? Here's my imaginings.....

I drew in a musty breath, letting dirt fill my body. It felt clean, even... good. My eyes roved the room. A strange flicker of light shone inches away from me, it coaxed menacely, I reached towards it, and a ghostly jump leaped inside me as pain shot through my hand. I turned away, startled... and saw a man. His face was a complete mixture of emotions, disappointment, hatred, fear- a wisp of excitement? I stared into his eyes and tried to understand. I wondered, why?


Thinking was hurting my head, tormenting it. Thoughts were sprinting through my brain, when one skidded to a halt. For now I understood. This person, this thing in front of me, he must have created me. But he didn't look happy. He looked like he hated me. My heart thumped painfully and loneliness' cold touch seeped through my veins, through to the tip of my fingers. But that felt like nothing to what I felt next. For I saw a monster! A monster that made me gasp to look at, a digusting creature so horrible tears rose to my eyes, and I shook uncontrollably like the devil himself had possessed me.


A soft sound made me turn my head. My creator was backing away from me- I reached out to him- but then he screamed.
"Stop, please!" he begged me.
I was confused. I had only been trying to help. Sadness threatened to kill me as he ran away. What had I done? Why did he not want to see me? I felt trapped in a maze of darkness. I resolved to find him, I managed to sit up- but then my eyes reached something that made me bury my head in my hands.


For I had just seen my reflection in the mirror.

Spooky! Till next time!
From The Girl With The Notepad :)

Train

I hope this sweeps you away... that's what I was aiming for, anyway.

Imagine... a seed. It's little, underground, unnoticed. A drop of water from the land up above drips slowly down, down, down... it hits the seed. Suddenly, there's hope. Suddenly, the seed begins to grow...

Imagine... a tree. Your tree. A tree you've known since it was a little seed. Go there. Feel its breath. Look at its leaves, or does it have leaves? Is there fruit? Is it a happy place?

Leave your tree now. Go to a station. A train station. A train station you've never seen in your life before.  You're helpless, lost. You look around for someone to ask what to do. There are many people like you. People who stick a mile out because they don't know what to do.

Suddenly a guard shouts, "All tourists get on now!" You're unsure, as are many people around you. The guard repeats. "If you don't know where you are or what to do, GET ON THIS TRAIN NOW!" You have no choice. You step on the train.

But this is a train journey like no other. At times, the driver seems to have gone mad. Or even, at times there doesn't seem to be a driver at all. The train hurtles dangerously from side to side. Each corner comes with a shout from the passengers. Is it from fear, worry, or excitement?

But at other times... the journey is peaceful. You're relaxed. The tracks are straight in front. A woman sits next to you. You smile at her, as if to say, "This is the life, isn't it?"

But this journey has been going on a while now. And suddenly it hits you. Suddenly you panic. You don't know where you're going! Is this train ever going to stop? You ask the woman next to you. "Do you know where we're going?" She shakes her head. You ask the guard. "Where are we going?" He doesn't know. Nobody knows. Except the train driver, and you don't even know where he is!

But there's nothing you can do, and after a while, you sigh and except this. The train hurtles on into the distance.........

But who is the train driver?

From The Girl With The Notepad :)

An Arranged Marriage

Are you guys getting sick of my stories? I hope not, but hey, tell me if you are. I don't want to bore you! I wrote this when I was in a thoughful mood:

My bare feet touch the ground softly, and my thoughts swirl. It’s dark, but lit by the moon. I steal away to the river and sit, staring out at the water. There’s a slight breeze, cold, but that doesn’t matter. What is cold to a few minutes of peace? A few minutes of freedom? A few minutes to imagine myself into the girl I used to be.

But I’m not a girl anymore, even though I am but sixteen. For I am married. You can’t be a girl when you’re married. At least, that’s what my parents tell me anyway. My parents tell me a lot of things. They were the ones who explained to me the rules of my religion. Rules which clearly stated, they said, that I had to have an arranged marriage.

But I don’t understand. Marriage to me brings to mind the words of love. Trust. Compassion. Not arranged. The wedding day should be filled with love, not with solemn faces. On the wedding night the bride should be celebrating with her husband and her family. Not sitting by a river at midnight, in a flimsy white nightgown and bare feet, while her husband snores in a house a mile away.

The smoothness of the water calms me and my agitated mind. But, oh, what I would do to slip off my clothes and go swimming! I’d swim until I found my soul mate, someone who would take me away from rules and a husband who I didn’t relate to, to a magical land where everyone can do as they please.

Maybe he’d be a merman.

I tear my mind away from my daydreams. I think about the day I’ve had. How everyone had gasped when I refused to do the ‘Kiss the bride’ bit. I don’t care. And I don’t understand how my parents can think its okay to commit a sign of love with a person you don’t.

The breeze picks up his pace, and blows flower petals to me, which get caught in my hair. I shake them out, sighing. I guess it was time to go to home to my husband.

So I stand up, smoothing out my nightgown. Then I blow hundreds of kisses to the ripples in the water, because it is the only thing I have ever truly loved.

I can’t change the situation I’m in. But I can truly say I have now found peace in myself.

What do you think?

From The Girl With The Notepad :)

The bus story.

This story idea has been in my head a while now, and I think it's time it saw the light!

The School Girl
The bus is here. Finally. God. There is no point being on time for a bus.
I get on, and it 's pretty full. Full enough for there to be only five seats left. But which seat to choose? Next to a fat woman taking up one and a half seats, or a seat at the back next to a loved-up girl and her boyfriend? Not forgetting the frowny business woman, the man talking to his chocolate bar, and the beautiful teenager talking on her phone.
I choose the teenager, and she seems to look with pity at my brown, thin hair, my fat nose, and thick eyebrows. I sink into my seat with a sigh of longing.

The Beautiful Teenager
I snap my phone shut, and sigh. A girl of about 13 or 14 sits next to me, and I look at her with a urge to shout, "Don't EVER get a boyfriend!"
I can't believe John dumped me. He was my best friend as well as a boyfriend. And now he's fallen for the prettiest girl in school, and dumps me by the phone? The loved-up girl niggles annoyingly into my mind, the one who's sat at the back of the bus with her boyfriend. It's so unfair. How come she gets a boyfriend when I just got dumped?

The Loved-Up Girl With The Boyfriend
Matt's trying to kiss me again. It's so embrassing. Why does he try it on in public all the time? I'm sure we're annoying the other passengers. That gorgeous girl sat at the front gave me quite a glare.
I like Matt. I do. I just don't really love him anymore.
I wish I was strong, and independent, like that business woman over there....

The Business Woman
I frown with annoyance. Another rejection! I replay the interview over in my head. I thought it had gone well! Am I really so bad in person? I've been trying for almost a year to get a job now. I can't live in my parents house forever.
I bet that man in front of me has a job. I'm sooooooo jealous, even though he's obviously a bit weird.

The Man Talking To His Chocolate Bar
Stop it, stop it... Am I talking out loud again? People are looking at me as if I am. Okay, just put it in your bag. PUT IT IN YOUR BAG.
But somehow I can't. Somehow the chocolate bar is making its way to my mouth....
I wish I was fat again. Really fat. So fat, that it wouldn't really matter if I kept eating food. I bet that fat woman sitting near the window has no problems with calories. She's probably really happy.

The Fat Woman
Are people staring at me? I hate going out of the house. I always get stares. People saying out loud or in their heads. Fat, fat, fat, fat, fat.
It's not even my fault. It's not fair. Before the illness, I has a figure just like that cute schoolgirl sat next to the teenager. She looks like a daydreamer. Dream on, little girl. Life chucks a bunch of stuff at you and sometimes takes your figure with it...

And so the bus goes on, taking the people and their worries with them. If only we knew what people were thinking.......

Leave some thoughts!
From The Girl With The Notepad :)

A story of MasterChef!

My Mum was watching MasterChef the other day and it inspired the following story. Hope you like it!
"STOP!" I ran after the van, my legs burning, but it ignored my efforts, and drove into the distance.
I sank on a bench, and sighed in disbelief. In my hands I held a very important letter. It was an application to be on MasterChef! I wanted, more than anything, to get on that show- and I had only figured out how to apply two days ago. Tomorrow was the last day I could apply, and since the postman had been so damn punctual, my application would never get there on time.
I sighed again, and stared at my envelope. There was always next year. I was just about to turn around and go home, when I realised what I was staring at.
The address!
MasterChef Application
4 Ingleby Road
London
L234 6GH
I had no idea where Ingleby Road was, but I lived in York. It wasn't that far away from London. It must be possible to get into London before 2:30 tomorrow afternoon. I ran home to the mighty aid of Google.

Two hours later, and I was on a train, on my way to London. It was pretty late- like about eleven o clock, but I'd booked a room, in a cheap bed and breakfast (on Hotels.com) not far from the station, so I should be okay. I was so excited, I jiggled around on my seat, causing quite a few business men in scary suits to frown at me with dissaproval. I really didn't care. All that mattered was that I might make it on MasterChef!
The train ride was pretty quick, and I soon navigated my way to the bed and breakfast and signed in, before collapsing in my room. I put my envelope next to me on my bed, changed, and fell asleep.
Much to my dismay, I slept in, so I ate quickly the next day at breakfast, because I knew Ingleby Road was quite far away. Then I ran back to my room to collect my stuff and get my envelope. My bag was packed and I turned to the space beside the bed to get the letter.
It wasn't there.
I jumped up in shock. How could it not be there?! I looked again. Still no envelope. Now I was in a panic. I searched all around the room, under the bed, in the bathroom, in my pockets. No envelope. I didn't have another form! I ran downstairs to reception, and asked if the maids had come across anything while they were cleaning my room. It took half an hour to actually find the maid who had cleaned my room, and she was a from Lativia, and didn't understand the question. It was getting late and I glanced at my watch. 12 o clock! There was no point trying to get another form now, it was too late. I felt like crying, so I returned to my room to get my stuff and head home. I opened the door and I tripped over my bag. Cursing, I looked up, to see my envelope, crushed in the bin in front of me. It had a huge spaghetti stain on the side.
"That doesn't matter, no time to fuss, it takes two hours to get to Ingleby Road!" I said out loud, grabbed everything, and ran out of the room.

Letters plopped through the letterbox, and I ran to pick them up and see if MasterChef had replied, like I had been doing for the past three weeks. After I had ran out of the hotel, the bus had been late, and I had only just made it to 4 Ingleby Road in the nick of time, where I handed in my application at the front desk. But I still hadn't found out if they wanted me in the show or not.
"Come on, come on, come on........"
I sorted through the letters, each one falling to the ground of no interest, except for the last, which I held in my hands transfixed. MasterChef was written on the side! I ripped it open and read.
Congratulations, you have been accepted. YES! I thought. We loved how your envelope looked how it had come straight from the kitchen. The spaghetti stain! The below details are things you will need to know.
It then said all the starting dates and rules and things like that. I couldn't be bothered with reading that all now, I had to celebrate! I got out the wine, and imagined winnning the trophy.
It was a pity I couldn't cook, really.
I really enjoyed writing this, I hope you enjoyed reading it!
From The Girl With The Notepad :)

Surprise Party :)

Hey! The following (very short) story was written based on a similar experience I had myself. I wonder if any of you can relate to it?

The last balloon was blown up. Everything was ready. So why did her mum have to cancel everything again? Poor Ella never had any fun- her control freak mother saw to that. My name’s Jessica and Ella’s my best friend. Ella was so deprived of a fun life because her mother was so strict. And now I had planned a surprise birthday party, her mum had agreed, and then she cancels at last minute. Oh sure, Ella REALLY needs to come with her mum to the doctors today. It’s URGENT. So sorry Jessica, but all your hard work was wasted. Whatever. Ella would have adored  a surprise party.

We sat there, all the guests, picking at the food. We had a game of Twister, but no-one’s heart was really in it. But then there was a knock at the door.

“Um, what’s going on here..?”

“Ella??!!” we all shouted in chorus. “SURPRISE!!!”

“Ohmigod you GUYS! This is AMAZING! Thanks so much!” she gushed in amazement.

Later, when everyone was dancing around like mad things, I asked her if she had had a doctor’s appointment today.

“Um, yes, me and my mum went this morning,” she replied, not quite meeting my gaze.

“Oh,” I said. “What was it about?”

“Well..... My mum doesn’t want to say anything yet, but.... she’s going to have a baby!”

“Ella, that’s fantastic!” I yelled.

“I know, right? She really wanted me to see the scan when she told me, and it was all really sudden as the doctor had to ask to change her appointment at the last minute. I didn’t know why she was rushing through it though, until I walked through the door and saw all the balloons!” she said happily. “Come on, lets DANCE!”

She grabbed my hand and I severely told myself off for jumping to conclusions! 

Byeee!

From The Girl With The Notepad :)

The Family Essay

Hey! I wrote the following story to enter a Cathy Cassidy writing competition. It hasn't announced winners yet, so fingers crossed! Anyway, here it is...

I was born to the sound of beggars whining. There were street-sellers gawping, and a crowd of women dressed in strange colours, gabbling at me with sounds that I couldn’t understand. Cows wandered by and surveyed the scene. My mother panted with effort. She turned to me, her hazel eyes glittering with tears. Tears full of fear. Fear of raising me in the slums without anyone to support her... For now, it was just me and her, alone in India. She was my world. She was responsible for another human being- a human being with a heart that needed nourishing, a brain that needing teaching and a stomach that needed to be filled...

 “Oh, what a load of rubbish,” said Sophie, as she finished reading.

“It’s true! Every word of it!” I said, in a rush to defend my essay- My Family.

Sophie stared at me.

“Okay, okay... maybe it’s not completely word for word, hand on heart, true. I’ll write it again,” I said with a sigh.

I turned away and began a fresh page.

You’ve asked me to write about my family. But, what happens when you don’t have one? I live at number 15, Questone Street. Yes, the orphanage.

I’ve got nowhere else to go, so I have to stay. The supervisors don’t care about me, so I’m not going to call them my family. Are you really going to substitute your parents with people who make you wash the floor with your clothes? (From Oxfam, by the way.) There are other kids there. But they all bully me. It’s easy for them to beat me up. And if I don’t do their chores, I pay for it, big time.

No, I don’t have a family. So this essay is going to be about the only thing I have closest to one, my dreams in my head...

“LUCY! Are you kidding me? God, you really love making yourself the victim!” Sophie said.

“Oh give me a break, Sophie! My family is so boring! I have a Mum, a Dad and an older sister. My Mum works as a secretary and my Dad is a manager at Sainsbury’s!”

“You’re going to get NO marks if you write something like this! It has to be a truthful account!”

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in.” Miss called.

The door opened.

“Miss Smith? Is Lucy James in here?” said our head teacher.

“Um, here, Miss.” I said.

“Would you come with me a moment, dear?” A sound of muffled gasps ran across the room. Our head teacher, Miss Bryers, had never been known to say dear in her life.

I stood up and followed her down the corridor into her office. Someone familiar was sitting there.

“Mum, what are you doing here?” Panic filled me.

“Lucy, sit down please,” said my Mum. Her voice was shaking.

I sat down.

“Lucy. Your father’s had a heart attack,” she said.

The room started spinning and Mum became a blurry shape, disappearing in front of my eyes. My head floated away, while my body stayed calm and sensible. It nodded while Mum talked. It got in the car to go with her to the hospital. It hugged my sister, found crying on the back seat. It behaved exactly like everything was going to be alright, when my head was full of panic.

Seeing my father was worse. He was breathing, but he had so many drips and cords attached to him I could hardly see his face. His eyes were mere slits. His body had become a mess of tangled wires. Where was the man who stood at the back at school plays with the camera?  The man who knew all the football scores and regularly blamed the SatNav for getting us lost. He was gone. I stood there awkwardly, while Mum took one hand and my sister Isabelle took the other.

“It’s going to be alright,” were the words they uttered, all through the night. It was like a lullaby. After eight hours, I sank down on a waiting chair, and fell asleep.

I don’t know how long it was before I opened my eyes, suddenly alert and awake.

But then I looked over at Dad’s bed, and stood up in shock. Most of the wires had gone. I could see Dad again. And he was looking at me, awake and smiling.

“DAD!” I yelled, and ran over.

“It’s okay, darling. I’m going to be alright.”

Two tears ran down my cheeks.

“Really, Dad? Are you sure?”

“The doctors say I’ll be fine. I’ll have to lay off the bacon for a bit, though!”

He looked so alive. I knew then, that he was going to be alright.

“Here, read it.”

“Forget it Lucy! It’ll just be another story! What is it this time? You’re a stolen child from America who lives with evil unicorns?”

“Sophie! Read it.”

I handed her a piece of paper, covered in my writing. She sighed deeply, and then began to read. After a while, she looked up.

“Wow, Lucy, it’s the truth! It’s your actual family! It’s so good, though. Really funny, too.”

Then she went back to it to read the ending.

My family is pretty normal. I’m not an unwanted orphan or a street child living in the slums of India. But we are unique. So what if my Mum’s just a secretary and Dad’s just a manager from Sainsbury’s?  It doesn’t make them any less special to me.

I didn’t realise how amazing my family was until my Dad had a heart attack. We pulled through. We clawed our way back into normal life. We’re invincible!

It doesn’t matter if your family is just one person, a group of people, or the cat that sometimes comes to your house for food. Who cares? As long as you love them, you’ve got a family to last you forever...

That's the story for today! See ya!
From The Girl With The Notepad :)

Smile!

It's my first ever blog! Everyone's always going on about how cool blogging is, so I thought I'd give a try. I love writing, so this blog is going to be filled with stories and stuff. I'd love to do something to do with writing when I'm older.
Anyway, I'm going to start with a short story. It's called Smile!

I sat, hunched over my Starbucks coffee, a book in my hand. I was pretending to read it. The book was only there as a disguise for my real activity to pass the time: people watching. Sounds boring, I know, but you'd be surprised of the variety of people that come into Starbucks on a breezy summer afternoon.
So anyway, there I was, watching a guy trying (and failing) to catch the attention of the pretty waitress, when the door burst open, letting in sunlight. I turned to see two girls come in, and blink momentarily when the darkness of Starbucks hit them compared to the sunshine outside. I watched as they walked over to the counter. After a while it was clear to me that they were sisters.
The older sister had dark outlined eyes and thick, heavily straigthened hair. She had on a pretty blue dress and golden gladiators covered her feet. She was gorgeous. Whereas the younger sister, she wasn't gorgeous. But, she was... interesting. There was something about her that made you want to look at her. Dark curls clustered around her small face. She had chestnut eyes and a sweetly pointed nose, and she wore a simple white dress.
They sat down at the table near me, and sipped their drinks, chatting away. Suddenly the younger sister's mobile went off. She gazed at the screen for a few seconds. And a blush creeped into her cheeks. She smiled.
At that exact moment, out of the corner of my eye I saw my watch, telling me it was time to go. So I gathered my things and stepped into the sunlight, leaving the sisters behind, but still thinking about that girl's smile. It stayed in my mind and bugged me like anything. Finally, I stopped walking and took out my phone. I dialled a number, spoke for a few minutes, and then went on my way.
Today, for the first time in years, I was going to see my dentist.

That was it! I know it's not that good, but hey, I'm only practising! I'd love some comments to tell me how I can improve!
Bye for now....
From The Girl With The Notepad :)