I took part in Chuck Wendig’s weekly challenge. Again! Wooho. This week it was writing a 1000 words story in 10 chapters. It’s still up till March 28th, so feel free to get involved as well! For this challenge I’ve decided to adapt a story I was working on some months ago, but couldn’t push it through. I am not sure about the genre, though. Do college stories count for YA? Anyway, have fun reading.
Carol was not exactly sure if she was sad or happy.
It was not the biggest of her problems, though. She tried to decide on flavors of a bunch of energy drinks she was picking in the store. She also tried to decide on what school to choose the next year, where to move in and how much she should be paid in her job in future. If she was getting one.
Some confusing thinking on nature of happiness was not the part of the shopping process. After all, nothing bad could happen to anyone in the supermarket, unless, one is a character in Stephen King’s story, but that was hardly the case with her daily life.
In the line, a tall young guy with a Whitmanian beard was staring at her slippers. She considered changing her shoes, but she didn’t. The market was right below her apartment.
Carol checked out man’s outfit. Her slippers were still more hipster an accessory than guy’s thick glasses and probably more cozy than his elegant brown leather shoes.
Huh. And one may think that hipster culture cannot go far enough in boots like that in the middle of European summer.
Three years at linguistics major taught her, that simple patterns are usually the most effective. Therefore, each day of her last exams session looked pretty much similarly. Theory, grammar, vocabulary. Always in that manner.
Hint: the more repeatable the exercise is, the more slutty the music you listen to, the better.
Whenever a subject needed more attention, Carol used to pack her notes to her leather bag and go to a nearest fast food restaurant. The noise did not annoyed her at all. She was annoyed only by a constant need to count all the money she had, so she can make it through with just one more week with ten bucks.
The drill repeated all day long, till evening. At night she was finally getting mad.
When city lights were turning orange, Carol used to put the notes aside, put her headphones on and turn the music on, but this time, with the highest level possible.
Carol jumped and twisted. You know this feeling, right? Her mouths were a soundless valve for all the stories of those, who are confused at some nights, lovers left not waken up, sweethearts, who want to be the only one to love, taken for who they are, or just for those wondering on the realism of the real life, accompanied by some fabulous chorus, begging for their escape.
Carol’s performances’ biggest fan has been observing her in silence, smiling coyly.
He saw her studying earlier on, and overheard her reciting some notes on psychology or culture, like they were a Hamlet’s monologue.
Carol spotted him when the playlist finished. She bowed down towards her fan and approached him slowly. He let her touch his pale skin and her fingers slip at his bruises, indentations and all the kisses marks left by her. Whenever she passed any exam session she used to kiss her favorite poster of her idol, as his reward for bringing her luck. So far, five marks were left on his paper presence, together with a few small stains of markers and wine.
Wine was reserved for Fridays.
Carol did not mind at all drinking a whole bottle of cheap wine by herself. During the exams time she did not used to invite anyone over anyway, so she could have time for all the movies she wanted to watch, but did not admit it in public.
Hot summer day has just relaxed by letting it rain all along the evening, cooling the air and wetting the windows down. The doctors in a Netflix drama were fighting for their love again as Carol let her hair down.
That’s when you rang the doorbell.
“He didn’t call me back!” you cried.
You nodded and burst in tears as she handed you another Kleenex. She offered you some wine, but you refused.
“Do you have martini, maybe?” you asked. She nodded and headed to the kitchen. You glared at the poster above her desk.
“Now you have two alcoholics to care about buddy. Welcome to the club.”
You could hear Carol’s laugh from across the apartment.
You could not recall how both of you ended up undressed. You turned your head and here he was. Still sleeping. His face was pale just like in a magazine Carol showed you the other day.
He always looked pale. It was a part of his exotic charm. Right beside that smile he gave you the previous evening when you opened the doors to him.
“I hope you like irises.” he said covering his face with a violet bouquet.
You grabbed him by his jacket and the last thing you portrayed was his honey colored hair on your shoulder.
He stared, inanimate. Cold, like a glass of martini Carol handed to you.
“It must be hard, but it will get better, you see.”
She smirked and you made a toast for better days to come. Carol was a living proof that things can get to its best, after all. Two years older, with so much accomplished, she seemed such a mature and a figured out person to be.
“I think, I might be your biggest fan, you know?” you said, making her laugh again.
“Darling, I am a poor material for an idol. Why not Yongh-un?” she pointed at the poster and paused, taking a deep breath. “Or, you know what? Screw Yongh-un.”
You pretended you haven’t heard this one.
“I can be your idol if that makes you feel better.”
You leaned over Carol and kissed her on her cheek. You could feel she got all stiff and jumped in her seat slightly.
At least you don’t have to kiss a paper persona no more.