| Add Memory | Add To Friends | |
| selidor (profile) wrote, on 5-11-2005 at 7:39pm | |
| Current mood: ill Music: Franz Ferdinand - Tell Her Tonight Subject: Two More Days |
|
| I have a streaming cold. Yay... I did the last part of my art exam today, though, and I managed to get it all finished on time. Now I just have to finish off all the preparation work for Tuesday. The prom's tomorrow (not that I'm actually going) so while the morning will be pretty hectic, the afternoon should be nice and peaceful with half of year eleven having 'dentist appointments' and the like. Just in case anybody actually reads these entries (doubtful ^_^) I'm going to post the first few paragraphs of a story I'm working on. Any comments/constructive criticisms are welcome. You might need to adjust the text encoding on your browsers to read this (I had to put mine on Unicode (UTF-8) before I could see the speech marks and brackets.) “Great… what did I do this time?” I muttered to myself as I strode up the corridor towards the head teacher’s office. It was unremarkable, as far as corridors went, I noted to myself as I walked, despite the ominous door waiting at the end. The cheap, bottle green carpet crunched softly under my shoes with each step I took, and the walls were mocking me with their deceptively calm, dull shade of magnolia white. I had trodden this corridor many times before, and knew it was bad news, but I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why the head teacher would summon me on that particular day. I knew when I had done something wrong – hell, it happened often enough. It wasn’t that I was a badly behaved kid (no, seriously,) but I had that uncanny ability to attract trouble like a magnet. There was something about me, and I didn’t know what it was. It didn’t help, of course, that I wasn’t exactly weak, and although it was an advantage at times, it usually meant I got the blame in a fight, even if I didn’t start it. But I learnt to put up with the constant trouble from teachers. I wasn’t about to let myself get beaten up just so I could get a bit of sympathy. Reaching the end of the corridor, I found myself faced with a dark wooden door, upon which a brass plaque proclaimed: ‘R. T. Johnson, Headmaster.’ Gingerly, I knocked on the hard surface of the wood, the sound echoing down the empty corridor. I had barely let my hand drop, when the door swung open smoothly and soundlessly, and my eyes met a cold, unfamiliar face. |
|
| Post A Comment |
|
| Anonymous | 05-11-05 6:03pm its amazing! please post some more! |
selidor | Re:, 05-13-05 4:04pm Hopefully I will when I figure out what to do with it. It's quite an ambitious idea, and will probably end up at least two books long. |
wiredshut | 05-16-05 6:31am i really like the story, the description is incredable- can't wait for the next part! |