Short Stories
I'm a writer, by nature, and I'm working on a lot of stories right now. I thought I'd post one...
Heskey was seventeen with strange blue eyes. What made her eyes so strange? It was the way she looked out of them, like they weren’t hers. Maybe only her body was seventeen. Maybe she had an old soul like her next door neighbor lady declared one day.
“That Heskey Lawrence has an old soul.” She blew smoke out on her grandson who coughed in response.
“But she’s only in high school Grammy.”
She spat yellow on the tar floor of her porch. “High school my tooth.” She only had one. “Souls don’t go to no schools. They learn from the beat of the heart, the lick of the tongue.”
“You crazy.”
She smacked her lips. “Crazy, boy? I’m the only sane one left.”
“Ms. Lawrence,” said a dry voice out of pale lips that stuck to each other desperately between sentences. “I hope you understand that we aren’t trying to embarrass you or inconvenience you in any way.”
Heskey was staring quite absentmindedly. “Huh?”
“But we really draw the line at mass story telling.”
She blinked several times. “I really don’t understand, Mr. Marsh. Is this ‘bout last week? They were just bein’ rowdy and-”
“No excuses, Ms. Lawrence. I understand you have a very active imagination. But some of the other students...well they seem to have believed you.”
“I don’t know what you mean. It was just a story.”
Vice Principal Marsh, wearing a brown sweater vest and thick rimmed glasses, clutched a vanilla folder with vigor. “Mr. Meleager Price, I believe you know him?”
“Mel’s my best friend.” Heskey said casually. Her eyes started drifting again.
“He’s been found in a locker wrapped in bubble wrap.”
Heskey’s eyes flickered back to him, her lips tightened. “Is that so?”
“Yes. Luckily he didn’t suffocate.” Mr. Marsh took a sharp intake of breath. “Listen, I understand it isn’t your fault, children can be cruel-”
“We’re hardly children, Mr. Marsh.” Heskey started to push herself off the chair.
“Stay seated, Ms. Lawrence.”
“But I have class.” She calmly protested.
“I’m sure your grade point average wont suffer another five minutes. And you are a child, Ms. Lawrence. A young woman, yes, but making up stories and telling them to a whole lunchroom is immature and speaks of an unstable home. Now, I’m no counselor, but speaking of counselors, I’d like you to see Mrs. Fogg. She’s new here, but she seems very interesting.” His small mud coloured eyes squinted in a mock-smile. “Come on now, Ms. Lawrence, why don’t you talk to her and maybe enroll in a creative writing course.”
“Then wont I be corrupting the class with every ‘tale’?” Heskey’s sarcasm dripped acid.
“Well, I can only hope that you’ll find less harmful, less fanciful stories to make up. I really hope you apologize to Mr. Price.”
Heskey chewed a finger nail and mumbled, “Sure’ll do that Mr. Marsh. May I go now?” She scooted to the edge of the chair.
“Yes, yes I suppose so. Ask for a note at the desk, you don’t need a tardy on top of it all.” He placed a thumb and forefinger on his temple and began to jot notes. Heskey stared at him for a long moment, and then departed the cramped room.
Meleager Price was small for his age. He seemed even tinier in the corner of the large classroom, engulfed in a massive dark blue sweater and his face obscured by both his text book and his unruly brown curls. He was ignoring Heskey best he could through Biology, which was hard since she sat right next to him and asked him what she’d missed.
“Nmthng.” He mumbled and pushed his freckled face deeper into the book.
“Spoil sport.” Heskey whispered. She sunk into her plastic chair, pale arms out stretched in front of her, white-gold hair cascading behind her. Her pointed finger tips flipped numbly through sticky pages and her eyes flickered dully over the text until she found words that matched with the droning that emanated from an old form at the head of the class. Heskey unconsciously took notes and let her mind wander.
“Mel,” Heskey started in her soft voice. “Mel, why the hell are you mad at me?” They were standing in the hallway, in front of their nearly matching messy lockers.
Meleager shut his disdainfully. “You told them all. You said it was a secret and then you told them all.”
Heskey’s face lightened. “Oh so that’s what it is. I thought you were pissed about the locker thing.”
He shrugged. “Why would I be pissed at you? You’re not the jerkface that did that. Though you’re an accessory.” He blew hair out of his face glumly. “You said it was a secret. I haven’t told anyone for two years. More then that. And now the whole school knows.”
The laugh peeled and curled out of her mouth. “Meleager, you idiot, you think anyone here really knows? Or cares?”
“They wrapped me in bubble-wrap-”
“Which doesn’t even make sense. Not once did I mention bubble-wrap. Shows the IQ of these people.”
“Heskey, shut up.” Meleager leaned his head on his locked. “Just because they don’t believe you-”
“And you do? You can honestly say you do?” Her eyes seemed to invade his, and he turned away in response. “Fine. You don’t want to be friends, we don’t need to be.”
He turned back just as she closed her locker. “No, no that’s not- that’s not what I meant.” She walked past him, blond hair a flurry behind her. “Heskey.” He walked after her, soon catching up albeit with quicker and shorter strides then hers. “We’re still friends.”
“Okay.” Was all she said.
Heskey was seventeen with strange blue eyes. What made her eyes so strange? It was the way she looked out of them, like they weren’t hers. Maybe only her body was seventeen. Maybe she had an old soul like her next door neighbor lady declared one day.
“That Heskey Lawrence has an old soul.” She blew smoke out on her grandson who coughed in response.
“But she’s only in high school Grammy.”
She spat yellow on the tar floor of her porch. “High school my tooth.” She only had one. “Souls don’t go to no schools. They learn from the beat of the heart, the lick of the tongue.”
“You crazy.”
She smacked her lips. “Crazy, boy? I’m the only sane one left.”
“Ms. Lawrence,” said a dry voice out of pale lips that stuck to each other desperately between sentences. “I hope you understand that we aren’t trying to embarrass you or inconvenience you in any way.”
Heskey was staring quite absentmindedly. “Huh?”
“But we really draw the line at mass story telling.”
She blinked several times. “I really don’t understand, Mr. Marsh. Is this ‘bout last week? They were just bein’ rowdy and-”
“No excuses, Ms. Lawrence. I understand you have a very active imagination. But some of the other students...well they seem to have believed you.”
“I don’t know what you mean. It was just a story.”
Vice Principal Marsh, wearing a brown sweater vest and thick rimmed glasses, clutched a vanilla folder with vigor. “Mr. Meleager Price, I believe you know him?”
“Mel’s my best friend.” Heskey said casually. Her eyes started drifting again.
“He’s been found in a locker wrapped in bubble wrap.”
Heskey’s eyes flickered back to him, her lips tightened. “Is that so?”
“Yes. Luckily he didn’t suffocate.” Mr. Marsh took a sharp intake of breath. “Listen, I understand it isn’t your fault, children can be cruel-”
“We’re hardly children, Mr. Marsh.” Heskey started to push herself off the chair.
“Stay seated, Ms. Lawrence.”
“But I have class.” She calmly protested.
“I’m sure your grade point average wont suffer another five minutes. And you are a child, Ms. Lawrence. A young woman, yes, but making up stories and telling them to a whole lunchroom is immature and speaks of an unstable home. Now, I’m no counselor, but speaking of counselors, I’d like you to see Mrs. Fogg. She’s new here, but she seems very interesting.” His small mud coloured eyes squinted in a mock-smile. “Come on now, Ms. Lawrence, why don’t you talk to her and maybe enroll in a creative writing course.”
“Then wont I be corrupting the class with every ‘tale’?” Heskey’s sarcasm dripped acid.
“Well, I can only hope that you’ll find less harmful, less fanciful stories to make up. I really hope you apologize to Mr. Price.”
Heskey chewed a finger nail and mumbled, “Sure’ll do that Mr. Marsh. May I go now?” She scooted to the edge of the chair.
“Yes, yes I suppose so. Ask for a note at the desk, you don’t need a tardy on top of it all.” He placed a thumb and forefinger on his temple and began to jot notes. Heskey stared at him for a long moment, and then departed the cramped room.
Meleager Price was small for his age. He seemed even tinier in the corner of the large classroom, engulfed in a massive dark blue sweater and his face obscured by both his text book and his unruly brown curls. He was ignoring Heskey best he could through Biology, which was hard since she sat right next to him and asked him what she’d missed.
“Nmthng.” He mumbled and pushed his freckled face deeper into the book.
“Spoil sport.” Heskey whispered. She sunk into her plastic chair, pale arms out stretched in front of her, white-gold hair cascading behind her. Her pointed finger tips flipped numbly through sticky pages and her eyes flickered dully over the text until she found words that matched with the droning that emanated from an old form at the head of the class. Heskey unconsciously took notes and let her mind wander.
“Mel,” Heskey started in her soft voice. “Mel, why the hell are you mad at me?” They were standing in the hallway, in front of their nearly matching messy lockers.
Meleager shut his disdainfully. “You told them all. You said it was a secret and then you told them all.”
Heskey’s face lightened. “Oh so that’s what it is. I thought you were pissed about the locker thing.”
He shrugged. “Why would I be pissed at you? You’re not the jerkface that did that. Though you’re an accessory.” He blew hair out of his face glumly. “You said it was a secret. I haven’t told anyone for two years. More then that. And now the whole school knows.”
The laugh peeled and curled out of her mouth. “Meleager, you idiot, you think anyone here really knows? Or cares?”
“They wrapped me in bubble-wrap-”
“Which doesn’t even make sense. Not once did I mention bubble-wrap. Shows the IQ of these people.”
“Heskey, shut up.” Meleager leaned his head on his locked. “Just because they don’t believe you-”
“And you do? You can honestly say you do?” Her eyes seemed to invade his, and he turned away in response. “Fine. You don’t want to be friends, we don’t need to be.”
He turned back just as she closed her locker. “No, no that’s not- that’s not what I meant.” She walked past him, blond hair a flurry behind her. “Heskey.” He walked after her, soon catching up albeit with quicker and shorter strides then hers. “We’re still friends.”
“Okay.” Was all she said.