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Sunday, 23 June 2013

Passing Notes

Erin bounced into the room, full of excitement. She loved writing and just couldn't hide the beam on her face. The class were taking a field trip to a news firm that day. Behind her, Matt dragged his feet, clicking a blue pen in his right hand. Hearing the sound, Erin stopped and turned.
"Matty, stop it. It's annoying."
"Stop what?" he replied, grinning.
"Mmmaaatttyyy," she dragged out his name.
"Eeerrriinnnnn," he sang in the same tone.
"Stop it!"
"Stop it!" he grinned mischeviously.
"Stop copying me!"
"Stop copying me!"
"Matt, Erin! Stop it!" Their teacher, Mrs Parkingson, ordered them sternly. "You two better behave yourselves today. I know how you both get when you're together," she warned, peering over her glasses.
As she turned her back, Matt nudged Erin. She looked over to find Matt mimicking Mrs Parkingson's face perfectly. Erin tried to stiffle her giggle making her turn red in the process.
Finally the two reached a glass room where roughly fifteen men dressed in black suits were sitting. Mrs Parkingson pointed them to the two remaining seats in the corner of the room, where they were made to watch the meeting take place.
The men in the room were cracking dreadful jokes to which Mrs Parkingson was cackling hysterically. Matt felt his head getting heavy and his eyelids seemed to be shutting on their own accord. Suddenly, Matty felt a folded piece of paper touch his hand. Opening it, he read to himself:

Matty Im bored. Talk to me.
Clicking his pen, he hastily scrawled:
so am i. i think im going to fall asleep
Haha I dont really know what they are talking about. Do you?
no. if I knew I probably wouldnt want to fall asleep. these guys have really deep voices. they sound like cows
you know, when a cow moos it goes mooooooooooo in a really low voice
Oh okay. it sounds like a tractor to me.
do you see the guy at the end of the table
the one with carrot hair
Its not called carrot hair matt, my sister told me it was jinga hair.
thats not a word
Yes it is!
no its not
Go away matty
After a while, Erin grew bored agin. Without looking at Matt, she reached back over and picked up the note. She scribbled:
What about the guy with carrot hair?
hes scaring me
I think hes in love with mrs Parkingson.
ewww thats so icky
Yea are we the only ones who are bored?
i think so. i think the carrot man was just picking his nose like Jamie is over there
She looked over at the man with orange hair and Jamie, a little boy sitting opposite him. She watched as the ginger haired man brought his hand up to his nose and pretended to cough while doing the dirty deed. Meanwhile, Jamie was playing with his T-shirt and was making no effort to hide his picking.
Erin tried as hard as she could to stiffle her giggle but to no avail. She cackled as hard and as loud as Mrs Parkingson had earlier. Soon her laugh turned into her signature snort which caused Matt to crack up and laugh his own loud cackle. Mrs Parkingson, growing angry with the two best friends, stormed over to both and shoved them outside, yelling at the pair before returning back to the room. As she strolled back to her seat, Matt and Erin saw clearly from outside the smile and wink she gave to the carrot haired man.
Erin whispered to Matt,"I was right."
VoilĂ ! The second installment of the "Matt and Erin" series! I've become a little bit obsessed with two sided stories so I decided to include a little two-sided entry within this piece. As I've said before, in each part of the series, we'll follow Erin and Matt as they grow up. My first entry of this series, The Meeting, was when Matt and Erin were roughly 3-4 years old. In this piece, I aimed to portray them as 8-9 year olds. In addition, I also wanted to show how they've both changed; Erin is a little bit more mature and we can see from her note that she has better grammar than Matty; while Matty is pretty much the same dorky kid who just likes to make Erin laugh.
Enjoy, my readers!

♥ Jess ♥



Monday, 17 June 2013

British Weather

“See you later, mate,” he yells to his friend, Connor, in his deep Liverpool accent. He bundles his papers under his arms and half stumbles-half runs out the door. Of course due to his punctuality that morning, the only parking spot left was the furthest from the door. After arriving at his four-by-four, he feels the familiar dribbling of water on his cheeks. He pats himself down, frantically searching for his keys after predicting a disastrous ending. Just my luck, he thinks as the pitter-patter grows and seems as if a basin were being drained above his head. He’s never been good at opening his eyes while swimming and has to resort to feeling around blindly, in the hopes that maybe one of his other senses will grow stronger. With a flourish, he produces a bundle of silver from his jacket pocket and does a little victory dance. Like an Olympic athlete, he yanks open the door and dives into the car, escaping the river that was attempting to drown his shoes. He breathes heavily once he’s inside and shakes his hair, much like the way a corgi would. He uses his jacket sleeve to wipe off the water although it just feels like patting himself with a tea-soaked biscuit. He leans back in his seat but suddenly glowers at the new sight before him. 

The sun was shining.

No rain. No showers. Nothing. Nothing but a shimmering, golden light. Basking in the warmth, he smiles and doesn’t even mind the forty-five minutes he endures stuck in traffic. Midway through belting out Adele’s “Make You Feel My Love,” he stops when he hears a tat-tat-tat on the roof of his car. It increases and heightens to such an extent, it just sounds like white noise. He stops the car, having arrived at his house, and watches the rain droplets turn to hailstones. They continue to hammer against his windshield so hard that for a moment, he wonders if it will actually break.

The front door is less than five metres away. I can make it. Clenching his keys, he leaps out of the vehicle and sprints to the door so fast; he thinks he could easily beat Mo Farah. But alas, he survives the hurricane and pads into the kitchen after slamming the door shut, listening to the squelching of his socks with every step.

He makes some tea and just as he is carrying it to the table, he looks outside, only to find bright, glorious sunshine.


This piece was inspired by the phenomenon I experienced this weekend, A.K.A. British Weather. I'm not sure if I've mentioned it already, but incase I haven't already, I am British and I currently live in England. England is an amazing country and the city of London is one of the most beautiful places on this Earth. However, the weather here is constantly a hot topic among locals as we can experience a multitude of weather conditions in the space of 24 hours. Nevertheless, that's what makes this country truly British.

At my school, we were given an assignment to write a poem or a short story based on Britan. This was originally my first idea but the idea that I currently am submitting only came to me at the end of this piece. ( I shall post my entry after it has been judged.) Believe it or not, I actually experienced this on the weekend. (Maybe not the hailstones, but the rain certainly felt like little bullets attacking me.)
Have an amazing day, my lovely readers!


♥ Jess ♥

Friday, 7 June 2013

The Specks In Your Life

She looks into the mirror.
Something's different.
Perhaps it's the smile that's missing
or maybe even her eyes.
They don't sparkle today.
They stare back at her.
"Are they even mine?" she wonders,
because they resemble.........
She can't figure it out.
But she knows they're not hers.
She bites her quivering lip and the stranger in the mirror follows.
Eyes maneuvering around her body,
she stops to watch her abdomen
rise and fall with every breath.
In, Out. In, Out. In, Out.
She stops.
She glares at her reflection.
This was the cause of her hatred.
This was the cause of all her pain.
I hate my cankles.
No one else has fat legs.
Why is it only me?
Look at all my stretch marks.
I'm hideous. I'm distgusting.
I wish I could rip off my stomach so it would be flat.
Why kind of monster has back-fat?
Fat wrists, flabby arms.
Who could love someone like that?
She tortures herself, until she can hardly breathe
and she's gasping for air.
Without realising, she has sunk to the floor.
Her hands tremble as her eyes burn from the tears.
She sweeps them off her face
but she isn't fast enough to catch them all.
They drip off her chin and onto her knees, making patterns.
She peers at her reflection.
It's changed again.
The creature in the mirror is broken, injured and shattered.
But somehow, it's her.
It's more life-like.
She recognises herself again.
She moves her arm to make sure the reflection follows. It does.
She laughs at her action.
And her image laughs back.
She sees herself again.
She's laughing, smiling and glowing despite the red, tear-stained cheeks.
The sound of her laughter is beautiful.
She knows who she is and no one can define her.
Slowly but surely, she stands and turns away from the mirror.

Hello again, my dear readers :) Now I know this piece is a little more serious than some of my other ones, but I felt as if this was an important message to get across. Although I'm hardly old enough to say the phrase "back in the good old days," I must to say that I have experienced this moment numerous times. I feel as if going through these painful moments in your life, make you stronger and help you appreciate the cheerful aspects in your life. This moment that I am talking about, is one where you can't see anything worthy in yourself and you've lost that zest and spark in your eye. I'm here, trying to tell any of you who are feeling upset, that you are extraordinary. Like I said before, I have first-hand experience and I know that sometimes you just need someone to help you feel better again and who knows what you are going through.
So, I wrote this piece to reach out to anyone who is feeling a bit "down in the dumps". These moments are just the specks in your life. Miniscule and nothing compared to the joyous moments that are yet to come.

My message to anyone out there reading this is:

There will be at least one person out there who thinks you are beautiful. And one of those people, is you. I promise you that much. You might not think it right now, but you are. Enjoy life and seize every single opportunity you come across. Remember that the most beautiful girls, are the happiest ones.

You are beautiful and you are you. Embrace it.

 ♥ Jess ♥