My prompt: Genre: Realistic
Element: your story must be written in the future tense
So, naturally, I started writing things in the past tense. XD
Then I started over and this came out.
Rated for some harsh language-- I change when I'm writing. I really, really do.
Edit: I changed the spacing on Word, but it won't really work here, so I'm leaving the extra line spaces.
-----------------------
I am not going to be a happy camper this summer.
Why?
Because I'll be going to summer school. I'll be forced to endure long, boring classes with few bathroom breaks and fewer snack breaks while half-listening to the teacher I’m supposed to be paying attention to, attempting to take notes, ignoring the obnoxious come-ons of a certain noxious Jeremy Cowls, and generally just wishing I were someplace else.
To make matters worse, my friends will be all over the world. Tanya’s family will be going to Spain as “One big history lesson”, Marcus’ family will be visiting the land down under, “Because it’s cool,” and Natalie will be flying to Portugal for a mission trip. Even Sandy, who hates travelling, is being dragged on a trip to China because they have ancestors there or something.
Me? Oh, I’ll have plenty of choices—Christian camp in California, band camp in Arkansas, horse camp in Alabama, even a family vacation in Colorado, which is something we only do once every other year because of my dad’s crazy work schedule as a firefighter.
But nooo, I’ll be stuck here. I’ll be forced to babysit stinky, crying toddlers and noisy, disobedient kids as a way to actually pay for the extra schooling that I’m going to so obviously need. Now, normally, I don’t mind this. I like kids. They’re fun to be with. They’re fun to play with. They’re fun to mess with, ‘cause they’ll believe practically anything you tell them, no matter how outrageous it is. They don’t judge you the way older people so often will, because they’re young and they don’t know any better. That’s how kids are.
But if I have to do something that normally provides money for gifts and movies and things that I actually want, just to pay for something I really, really don’t want at all…
Let’s just say I’ll be resisting some serious urges.
And no, those urges definitely will not be maternal ones.
Hey, I’m sorry, but when you’re stuck down south, in the heat, doing something to pay for something you need but don’t want, surrounded by screaming kids who won’t listen to you for several hours while thinking, “I’ll bet my friends are having the grandest time right now”… well, you’d be having some serious urges too.
I might even be forced to get a real job.
UGH.
Do you know why I babysit? It’s because I don’t want a real job. I’m not a very structured person, and the only jobs I’d want have to do with writing, kids, and animals. I don’t want to be a waitress, I am not cut out to be a saleswoman, I do not want a job stocking shelves or moving boxes, and a desk job (which I wouldn’t be able to get anyway) would absolutely, positively kill me.
And I’m not even joking about that last part. I’d commit suicide. (How could anyone not?)
On top of all that, I’m going to have to listen to my mom bitch, bitch, bitch about how I should have passed all my classes and how she doesn’t know where she went wrong with me and how my friends are such horrible influences on me and GodDAMMIT Fye, why didn’t you study?!
And because she’s my mom and I hate these rants and she’ll never listen to anything I have to say in my own defense, I’ll only mumble and groan and roll my eyes and say, “Mom, shut up” before getting the heck out of there as quickly as humanly possible. And then she’ll cry and I’ll feel bad, but not too bad because, come on, mom, aren’t you tired of this routine already? So then she’ll get mad and storm off spouting things about what a horrible daughter I am and how she would never have dared to use such language in front of her mother. At which point, I’ll roll my eyes, walk away, and pretend like nothing happened.
Of course, she doesn’t actually like fighting with me, so she’ll eventually break down and come running to me crying, saying she didn’t mean it and she’s so sorry and Fye, could you ever find it in your heart to forgive me? To which I’ll pat her back and mumble the most encouraging things I can think of (which usually isn’t all that much—it’s a little hard to sympathize with something that’s a daily routine). Then we’ll hug, kiss, make up, and do the whole thing all over again the next day.
Yes, this summer is going to be positively awful. And the kicker is, it’s not even going to be my fault.
It’s going to be the fault of my stupid big brother, who is currently blasting his music so damn loudly that I can’t even hear myself think.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some cords to cut.
------------------
I rather like this.

