This is a story challenge and here's how it worked: We each picked a character first, not a setting or a plot, just one main character. Then we assigned each other a genre of story to write. MAYBE it would work for the character we picked, maybe not.. you be the judge.
Her Take:
r/cringeyfamilystorytime
Posted by u/SammieWitch
Ugh. Guys, for reeeeaaaaaal. I can’t. Cannot. Can’tCan’tCan’t.
This just happened and I’m so done with my mom and dad and all their stupid sneaky crap.
It’s my birthday. My ACTUAL 16TH BIRTHDAY and it’s like they went OUT OF THEIR WAY to make it the worst. WORST.
Ok, but for REAL I get it, ok? Like, blahblahblah coronavirus, blahblahblah, stay home, bahblah, don’t ever have friends ever again or see anybody or do anything because the world is ending or some crap. And it’s WHATEVER.
Yes, I’ve been spending a LOT OF TIME in my room alone because we have been LOCKED UP together for FOUR FREAKING MONTHS and I’m reading and journaling and just trying to find my zen and not be a total B---- (like my sister) and suddenly, a couple of weeks ago, they get suspicious.
“Whatcha doin’ in there, Princess?” from Dad.
“Hey, why don’t you come on out and we can play a game of Boggle tonight? You loooooove Boggle…” from Mom.
First of all, I DON’T love Boggle (I’m just good at it.) and SECOND OF ALL why don’t YOU just leave me ALONE?
RIGHT?
So, I’m trying to ignore them, and writing in my journal every day, and, sure, when you are in the SAME ROOM ALL THE TIME and don’t EVER GO ANYWHERE EVER things start to get a little messy. It’s just clothes and stuff. Listen, it’s MY stuff and it doesn’t bother ME so when my mom got all ‘You NEED to clean this room or I’m going to clean it for you.’ Ugh.. Right?
I started locking the door.
Then, just now, I came in from the back yard and my journal - which was definitely on the table RIGHT NEXT TO MY BED - is GONE!!!
I am SERIOUSLY freaking out right now because the door was LOCKED (I’m sure) and there should have been NO WAY anyone could get in.
More later.
Update 1pm: - I just went through my WHOLE ROOM and my journal is FOR SURE gone. I moved the table and picked up all the junk behind it, I picked up all my dirty clothes - the hamper was empty before I threw them in there, I checked - NOTHING. Gone.
2nd Update 2:24pm :When I was taking my dirty dishes to the kitchen I saw my Dad and he was acting SUPER suspicious. Like, I walked in and his eyes got all big and he ducked out the other door. He’s hiding something.
3rd Update 3:32pm: Ok, I’ve officially gone through EVERYTHING in my room. Under the bed, in the closet, cleaned out the junk in my backpack. Nothing. No sign of my journal, no idea where it could be.
Mom and dad just shouted that they were going out. Perfect. Leave me alone on my 16th Birthday when I’m UPSET and SCARED because something that is VERY PRECIOUS TO ME was STOLEN out of a LOCKED ROOM.
Jerks.
As soon as I hear the car drive away I’m checking the rest of the house including THEIR ROOM. Somehow somebody in this family got into my LOCKED ROOM and STOLE my journal and I’m going to find out WHO.
4th Update 4:07pm: If you’ve been following this I’m gonna give you one more update and then later I’m going to try to delete the whole thing.
As soon as my parents left I went right to their room to search and all I found was that my Dad’s sock drawer is a mess, my mom is FOR SURE not reading all those books next to her bed because the dust is an inch thick on those, and that I felt bad about snooping in their room.
On my way to the kitchen I walked through the laundry room and there was my journal, sitting on top of the dryer, next to the pen that I borrowed from my friend Courtney before school closed. At first I was like ‘AARRRGH!! SHE BROKE IN, STOLE MY JOURNAL, AND MY PEN and was going to HIDE in here and read it.’
Then I saw my favorite hoodie hanging up to dry. The one I wore yesterday.
You know how sometimes you go to take a hoodie off and your head gets stuck a little and you haven, like, a split second of panic so when you DO take it off you toss it to get it away from you because it almost killed you?
Just me?
I tossed that hoodie toward my bedside table. I know I did.
Hoodie flies, knocks journal and pen onto the pile of clothes next to my bed, Mom and Dad who OWN THIS HOUSE have a key to my room. One of them grabs my laundry while I’m outside - which I don’t notice because my room is an actual tragedy - and they wash it.
I’m so embarrassed, you guys.
But, you know, they WERE acting weird… asking me so many questions and trying to start conversations out of NOWHERE.
‘Hey Punkin’, just out of curiosity, what’s your favorite color?’
‘Do you like your mom’s car or mine better?’
‘What’s your favorite radio station? Do you even LISTEN to the radio?’
‘Any fun plans today? Pretty much just hanging out at home?’
Weird stuff like that.
Ok, whatever, I don’t know what it means. I’ve gotta go, my parents are standing in the driveway yelling for me to come outside.
His Take:
As the wind blew through the main street of the tiny village, tumbleweed rolled through the main street ignoring the few people, animals and things that had wondered onto it. A poor dog wandered up and down the street looking for anyone who’d show it any affection. A small child did the same. High up in a tower made completely out of wood, because this was the old west and what else would it be made of, two men were straightening their ties, slicking down their hair and testing out there loudspeaker cones. “Crooked” Tom Barker had wanted to be a sports announcer every since he was in diapers. Unfortunately, the only sport for him to call was gun slinging. This was his first really big gun fight that he was going to be calling, and he couldn’t think of anyone to help break him into the business than Joe “raving mad” Bush, who was something of a veteran of calling the fights, he had managed to call 3 of them without getting shot or injured. 4 if you don’t count the step on a ladder breaking and him falling 20 feet to the ground.
Barker was a bundle of nerves. This afternoon's fight was between the man known only as “Kid” going up against “The Mailman” Bart Bartholomew. It was 5 minutes until high noon, which was the time of the fight. Citizens were starting to line-up in the street and kids were sneaking looks when and where they could, and most of the store owners were boarding up their windows to save as much of their stuff as they could before the bullets started to fly. The sweat poured off Barkers forehead as he sat up in the broadcasting tower. “Any last minute suggestions?” he asked Joe. “Relax, take a shot of whiskey and just say what you’d like to hear and it’ll come naturally. Barker got as comfortable as he could on his barstool in the booth, he swallowed hard as the whisky burned it’s way down his throat, lifted up his megaphone and started to speak.
“Awelcooooooooome ladieeeeees and agentlemeeeeeeeeeeen. This is a ten paces turn and fire contest for the rights to rob the county bank. Walking down the street first and hailing from the cave just outside of town, is the KIIIIIIID!!!!!!! And, his opponent, making his summer residence in the blue whorehouse in the next town: “the MAILMAN Bart Bartholomeeeeeeew” As the two opponents walked up to each other, they sneered. The stood back to back. Barker announced into the megaphone “Gentlemen, take 10 steps forward, then turn and fire on your opponent” Barker put down his megaphone, cleared his throat and started “Now, the paces. Gentlemen, on my count. One. Two.” There was a loud BANG and Barker said “your winner, ladies & gentlemen, THE KIIIIIIIIDD!!!! The Kid. Thank you and please don’t forget to donate to your local Elks club”. Barker nervously wiped his brow, took a long drink of water and turned to his cohost “I’m still getting’ paid for the whole thing, right?”
Comments
Post a Comment