Published May 15, 2008
Pretty short.. just a little idea I had. Be honest, is it a dud?
"And den duh modthter popped outta duh clothet," I slammed my face against the fake wood surface of my tiny desk, my forehead hitting the name tag labeled "Alec-Sandra Durben".
I lifted my head up and sighed, smoothing out the small ladybug sticker who's edge was lifting up revealing a sticky gray spot on the laminated cover of my name tag. Killing the useless braincells of my seven-year-old self wasn't going to help me in this situation.
"Ok Al, deep breaths. Listen to Terrence read his story, "The Friendly Boogeyman". It's all good. Maybe, like Maggie's story, you'll wake up and it wall all be a dream. Mom will call you downstairs any minute for breakfast. Strawberry Pop Tarts, mm-"
"Miss Durben, may I ask what is so important that you felt the need to share with the class and interrupt Mr. Hastings' story?" Oh gosh. I said that aloud didn't I?
"Sorry Ms. Kayfield," I began, kissing up to the teacher, "I was just contemplating writing my own story in the first or third person, or possibly making an attempt at the rather uncommon second person perspective. I didn't realize that I was speaking aloud." Too much?
"Oh, well, Miss Durban, try to keep your thoughts to yourself next time," Ms. Kayfield said, sounding flustered. "Second person would be quite interesting though." She grinned and winked at me, still looking a tad confused. I just grinned back, then stared down at my desk.
This whole acting like a second-grader thing was going to be a lot more difficult than I imagined.
Three hours of pizza fractions and "Flat Stanley" later, my mom was standing in the doorway to pick me up. I jogged over to her, and she gave me a hug. Ms. Kayfield eyed the two of us suspiciously.
"Bye Ms. Kayfield," I said waving and dragging my mom out into the hallway.
"Wait just a moment Alec-Sandra!" Ms. Kayfield called after me. I stopped, twirling around in my shiny blue Mary Janes and facing my stout thirtysomething teacher. She looked at my mom. "I know your daughter's secret."
Oh no.
"Alec-Sandra," I blinked in the morning sunlight. "AL!" Mom screamed up the stairs. "BREAKFAST!"
I looked down at myself. I was 5'7 again. I'm 15! IT really was all a dream, thank- Hah, yeah right. I wish things would happen this way.. But this isn't that kind of story.
Two weeks ago on my fifteenth birthday, I wished I could be a kid longer. Now, wishing on your birthday candles is a bit superstitious, but it's tradition. I couldn't just not. But I wasn't expecting this to happen. I've gone back in time and I'm trapped in the body of my second grade self. And if I don't find a way out.. I'll be twenty-one on my fifteenth birthday.
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139,521 Literary Works • 672,595 Reviews
Ok, thanks.
I've edited, now.
=]
Interesting! But wait she's still seven right, to be perfectly honest i think i would love to be back in second grade. I would live it up so much. But if it wasn't a dream she shouldn't have gone on about the first vs third vs second so much and should have made it less obvious. still could be very interesting.
Great Idea for a story! I've always wanted to do one of these!
Your seamless interchange between thought and spoken word makes the speaking-out-loud bit especially well done.
She grinned and winked at me, still looking a tad confused
this is probably the best example I could find of you representing how people actually act. It's one of the most attractive aspects of your writing, keep it up.
"I know your daughter's secret."
Italicise this, don't bold it, same with the "I Wish" later one. Having said that, the italising of "I wish" is good, because it foreshadows your explanation.
Quick question, has the kid gone back to the time of her seven year old self? Or has she just...shrunk? The reason I'm asking is whether the mom knows or not.
Maybe in lame stories.. but this isn't a story.
I don't know, next to everything else this seems kind of tacky. Go the other way, out on a limb. Say "this isn't that kind of story". Please? For me?
Keep it up and keep me posted,
Rubric