Snotty Norman and Spotty Sally Find Fame

Living through the pranks and big personalities at Arden White Primary School was pretty tough but starting secondary school and finding out secrets about your form tutor on your first day can be life threatening! Snotty Normal and Spotty Sally are thrown together as they uncover a secret that could expose the awful things teachers do to naughty students. Who can they trust to help them tell the truth about Evelyn Winsborough Academy?

Here’s a little snippet from my first draft:

The ear-piercing sound of the first period bell resounded across the school, instigating a stampede of footsteps to the next class. The new year 7’s tentatively got up and followed Mrs Whitby to the door. Organised chaos awaited them outside. Shoals of students swam by, blotting out the view of the quad and the fountain. One by one, the year 7’s disappeared into the fray, pushing towards their next class and hoping for a gap in the crowd to actually make it there. Signs pointed each newbie in the right direction and within three minutes, the quad was clear, the corridors empty and an eerie silence replaced the noise of just a few seconds before. Snotty Norman sniffled next to Spotty Sally; both looked confused and afraid. They had missed their chance. All the other students had listened to Mrs Whitby’s boring chat about where to go and what to do next. They had not.

The school looked overwhelmingly big and daunting. Where was Geography Class 7T? Without knowing it, without feeling it, Norman and Sally edged closer to each other, feeling the comfort of having someone else just as daft as the other. What were they going to do?

 

 

 

How to Inspire Words

Have you ever been tempted to write a short narrative motivated by music? It is a wonderful exercise that produces different effects to the words, sometimes attaching a rhythm or patterning to the narrative.

In my endeavours to find ways to stimulate my writing, I try to choose music from different genres. It can inspire thoughts about characters or influence a scene that has been suffering from mental block. Sometimes, it’s just for fun to relieve tension and let the mind flow, unimpeded.

Today, I’d like to share with you a little piece written under the influence of Clair de Lune by Claude Debussy. I’ve chosen an extended version that allows me enough time to become accustomed to the melody and then to submerge my mind into the emotional senses aroused by the music. Suddenly, the music speaks and all I have to do is note the words flowing from its narrative.

So, here it is – my little piece written under the influence of Clair de Lune by Claude Debussy! Enjoy.

Soft, sensual lips slowly murmured my name. I felt the quiver resonating through my body, sending shivers down my spine, extending outwards to my toes and the butterflies dancing under my ribs. Shadows of laughter hinted at those lips, so delicious and inviting. Yet, something held me back. Was it the unanswered question lingering in my dry throat, hungry for the lips to sate me? Was it knowing that once I succumbed to such sweet temptation, there was no going back? Or the fact that our bodies were entwined when they weren’t supposed to touch? Oh, sweet torture.

Angry, I let go of those long fingers wrapped around my waist. They slipped away, taking the warmth of their touch with them. Desolation engulfed my now hollow frame. How could I be so stupid? Those lips had promised salvation; knights willing to slay the hunger growling inside me like an ugly beast pushing and shoving at my maligned heart. Helpless, I watched as they turned down their protuberant smile and sharp lines invaded smooth skin around them. A sadness I had caused shaped something once so beautiful and eager. So easy it would have been to say yes; so easy to quiet the doubts pecking at my temptation.

Alas, those sweet persuasions were now far away and focused on a new prey, a prey eager to take the trip to fantasia.

I watch as they meet, the enduring touch divulging a missing innocence that was never there to begin with, the embarrassing tartness of such haste and machination. My heart cries at the betrayal but my mind celebrates its fastidiousness – the victory of overcoming a certain desolation that would have cracked an already fragile heart, the hurt that might have been suffered after such sweet salvation.

No. I refuse to watch any longer. After all, it is my birthday and there will surely be more hidden promises of amuse bouche awaiting to entice my appetite for amour.

 

 

 

Copyright  held by ©Eloise De Sousa (2019). All rights reserved.

The Pink Mask

Taster:

Crystal quivered as another sob escaped her swollen lips. How could such a simple plan go so wrong?  She had followed her sister’s commands to the letter.  Yet, somehow, somewhere along the line, what was supposed to be a silly prank had become real.  Her sister was dead.  Tangled, wild hair fell unchecked across her face as she turned to watch the paramedics load Harold’s unconscious body into the back of an awaiting ambulance.

She sighed.  All this for revenge.  Had she had the nerve, she would have stopped her sister in time; hindsight was a beautiful thing. After giving her statement to the police, she would be free to go, whereas poor Harold would be arrested for Melanie’s murder.  Crystal gulped down a nervous giggle.  Well, from another perspective, Melanie plan had worked!

With the body of her sister wrapped in black and tucked away in the back of another ambulance, the sirens wailed their despair as they pulled away from the crime scene.

The body of Melanie Kent wrapped in black, most becoming for any beautiful corpse, mused Crystal.  The heavy footfall of a very large man dressed in a heavy trenchcoat caught her attention.  His determined walk in her direction wiped the lingering smile off her pretty face.

“Detective Bob Jones, miss. I’d like to ask you a few questions about what occurred tonight.”  Heavy brows and the hooded, focused stare scared her. She wrapped the patchwork blanket tighter around her body.

“I already answered the officer’s questions detective.  What more do you want from me?”

Jones watched her. She was as slinky as a cat’s tail, curling her feline body into a protective stance at his scrutiny.

“Do you know the woman who was found in the bathtub?”

“N-no detective. As I told Officer Campbell, Harold and I were in the bedroom.  I got up to go freshen up and found her there. I tried to pull her out but…” A lonely tear wet her cheek. “The blood.  It was too much and my mind snapped. I screamed. Harold, he tried to help me but I knocked him aside and ran.” Her hand quivered as she cleared stray strands of hair from her eyes. “The next thing I remember is being wrapped up in this blanket and the police arriving.”

The detective watched Crystal picking at the blanket, as though trying to remove the lies woven within. He sighed. Life would be so simple if people told the truth the first time round.