Hello everybody! Now that i am done eating gallons of left over party food i have decided it is time to do some blogging, and what a good time too! guess what? give up? OK, well i entered a competition, it is called the fabostory. Pretty much its just like that game where you write a sentence of a story and fold it over and pass it on. well, it's sort of like that, except the sentence is a fabulous chapter you have written. i entered my version of chapter two ( you kind of have to read chapter one first) and no, i did not win... but i got a special mention!!! to see my funky skills just go the the fabo blog and click on the 'winning entries' and then it says
'But there were way too many excellent entries, so I couldn’t resist posting a couple of outstanding examples. This next one is by Ben of -(my school went there)-. Read Ben’s story here …'
And because my story was such an 'excellent entry' i will share it with you, right here right now. I can tell you are crying with excitement.
The dream ended in blood, and tears. This one did anyway. Even after several years Remy couldn’t let it go. Each and every night, the dream followed the same exact path, Remy had memorized it word for word right up to the bit where Remy left the tent. Every night a different scenario played out in his unconscious mind. At first they were cheerful, matching Remy’s now deceased innocence.
But as the months flew by the dreams changed. The endings were now filled with gore and blood. Tonight’s dream had ended with a bear attack.
The dreams used to make perfect sense. But now as a thirteen year old, Remy lay under the filthy bed sheets, all he could do was cross analyse every dream with the logic with made him the much tormented teacher’s pet. In a weird way it kind of gave him closure.
All Remy could do was give a small melancholic laugh at his latest dream. ‘A bear, who had no fingerprints and left absolutely no DNA, had abducted his father.’
But it was no use, ever since his mum had pretty much given up on life; his old house had literally fallen apart. And because of his mothers ‘let’s sit in bed and mope around’ approach to life, their old house had been quickly sold by the bank, leaving them with the little money his mother hadn’t squandered away. They quickly moved into a low budget flat where they had ‘lived’ until they were evicted. They had continued this pattern of despair, until no landlord would take them and they decided to move into a low budget motel. Remy predicted they would be evicted in less than a fortnight due to the recent condition of the place.
At first Remy tried to help out his mother in her time of need, but as the months disappeared so did Remy’s admiration for her. Now he just saw her as a washed up woman too scared to face the world.
He despised her. Sure, he had obviously been sad and depressed but he got back to life and faced the world! But I suppose Remy hadn’t been the main suspect in the police inquiry.
Remy finally got out of bed plodded over to his closet but stopped himself before he took out his school uniform.
It was Sunday. Even though he was certainly not popular at school he dreaded weekends. In his opinion, the less time with his mother the better.
So as he crawled out into the filthy hallway, feeling the crunch of deceased cockroaches under his feet which used to disgust him, but now he just accepted it as part of his life. His mum’s door was firmly closed, nothing new there. Another thing that had nothing new was the fridge and pantry. Well, honestly they had nothing at all. He grabbed a twenty dollar note from his mum’s purse, which strangely always had a couple twenty bucks in it every morning. One of the many odd gestures to show Remy that she still cared. And even though Remy despised her he still cared too. In a weird sort of way.
Remy grabbed the crumpled notes and exited the crummy motel, jogging to the nearest dairy. Remy walked into the shop and grunted what could be perceived as a greeting to the stone-faced shop keeper. He grabbed a box of wheat bix and a two litre bottle of coke. It should last him for about a week. For lunches and dinner he simply ran out to the nearest takeaways.
He tried a smile at the keeper as he exited the shop and sighed as he confronted the icy winter’s morning.
He raced back to the nearby motel, ate breakfast and waltzed back on into his bedroom. He stared around the plain room. A pile of homework lay on his laminate desk. He wouldn’t do it; at the school he attended currently homework was pretty much just given out and forgotten. Even then, he was still a teachers pet, but at the moment teachers pet meant he actually came to school and didn’t get involved in gang fights.
He sighed as he confronted the bland yet filthy room.
When he was younger he would try and make the best of the situation, but life had toughened him up. He knew what could be thrown at you and he sort of knew how to deal with it. Much unlike his mother, who had just woken up.
Not that it meant much. All she ever did was lie in bed, luckily Remy didn’t have any friends because he couldn’t come up with how he could explain his situation to them. Not that they would have cared anyway, kids in his area grew up in a very troubled environment, troubled, but much different to Remy’s. But today Remy felt an uncertain need to greet her.