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I’m still trying to work out what style of writing is going to keep me going for NaNoWriMo next month. So I was hoping that maybe some feedback might help me choose. If you have the time to read through these snippets and let me know if you enjoy any or dislike any, or think something sticks out as interesting, then please let me know.

1.The Creepy One

It was a night like any other.

Stars twinkled cautiously amidst the blue velvet sky, as Justin and Serena walked hand in hand along the canal, stopping intermittently to admire the sights and steal a kiss. An elderly couple walked past them with a corgi which Serena stopped to pet with her free hand, while Justin stood and nodded a mumbled hello to the couple. The lady holding the dog smiled upon noticing the interlocked fingers of the young couple, and as they ambled away, Selena overheard her exclaim.

‘It’s so nice to see those two young lovebirds taking walks together, it reminds me of how we once were, Arthur: inseparable.’

Selena paused for a moment, and then looking at Justin with a smile, she continued the slow walk home, leading her boyfriend gently forward, and hoping that he would make the last few yards without vomiting: she needed the Rohypnol to stay in his system this time.

 

2. The Comedy One

It was all downhill from here, that’s what she kept telling herself as she scaled the last quarter of the hill, red faced and sweat leaking from every pore.

Are you sure you are OK?

She wasn’t OK: she had said yes to a full week of hiking to impress her new crush Martin, and now she was paying the price of vanity.

Uhm, yes sure, I’m just a bit out of practice.

And by out of practice she meant that she hadn’t actually took a hike or a proper long walk in about ten years, nor had she taken any exercise in that time. Unless you call a slight jog to catch the ice-cream man because he looked as though he was going to drive away; most people didn’t.

‘I think it just looks worse that it feels.’

She stopped and caught her breath as she feigned a joking fanning motion, but Martin couldn’t help being concerned while looking at her beetroot shaded face. He began to worry about how he would carry her back down the hill if she were to collapse. He wasn’t exactly a jock and wondered how angry she would be if he had to roll her back down.

3. The Dystopian One

I remember running.

I remember the pulling of my heart as it sighed in despair.

I remember the haunting pain as my chest heaved in desperation, feeling like a steel pendulum had been tied to my chest bone, dragging my ribcage and scrapping along my stomach. I remember the sounds, the jeers of angry Uptowners and the clashing of batons as the Stormband worked their way towards us. Their batons clacking vinyl coated shields, an army of dedicated catchers, ready and eager for us to fight so they could tear us apart without consequence. I remember the smell, the burning food of the wastepiles, the blackened soot of deliciousness that clung to my face, teasing my taste buds as I tried to stand. I remember the taste, and the feel of my chest gulping in the toasted scented air as though it were free. I remember seeing those angry faces moving towards me and my failure to move: my body wouldn’t go any further. I remember the first swing of the bat which took the skin from your head, as you resisted the capture, your blood falling onto my cheek as they beat your beautiful face into submission. I remember the taste of your blood as I tried to wipe it from my lip.
I remember this.

Yet I remember nothing.

4. The Magical One

I’ve got it; it’s all here in this book.

What? I asked you to find me a solution, and you come to me with a book. The world has one day left to exist I say, and yet you wait until the last hour, and then you bring me a book? Incredible.

No, you don’t understand.

No YOU don’t understand, this wasn’t another time for everyone to see how cutesy you are, by just bundling your way through life and somehow things just work out. This is a matter of life and death, and you bring me this? I can’t believe how stu-

As Jira threw the book towards Tilly’s head she was forced to stop in her tracks as it began to float in the air. She watched in amazement as the book stopped in mid throw and opened itself up as it floated in the air emanating a strange purple glow.

What the-

I told you it’s not just a book.

The pages flipped over and then smoke appeared; a low humming was ringing in Jira’s ears. The humming got louder and louder until she was forced to cover them with her hands, and watch in puzzlement as the book began to spin in the air. She wondered what could possibly be causing it to happen, and what indeed was going to happen. Jira had seen magic before and this was similar only she couldn’t work out where the source was coming from. Obviously magic would need to have an operator and she was fairly sure that Tilly wouldn’t have learnt such a trick in only one day so there must be someone else.

Who is doing this? What are they doing? Tilly? Tilly?

She looked around frantically and realised with worry that Tilly was no longer there, it was like she had vanished into thin air. She had to work out what was going on and find Tilly, yet as she moved towards the book, she felt her joints freeze and became unable to move. Jira was forced to watch helplessly as the book’s spinning seemed to get nearer and nearer, she willed her body to struggle yet she couldn’t move except for being pulled towards the spinning book by some unnatural force.

5. The Tragic One

It’s a sad sight as the leaves begin to fall, I watch in trepidation as the old oak tree loses its coat: I try and resist the urge to shed a tear. That was our happy time, the autumn. Two young things kicking around the leaves in a frenzy, forcing the husks of amber and gold into a whirlwind.

You were young too then.

Sitting alone on the bench in your thin red mac, buttoned right up to the neck protecting your fragile skin from the harsh winds. I remember that you would watch us for hours, even though you shivered under the air. Even in the drizzle you would allow us to run free through the trees, hollering as though we were wild animals. You watched us quietly as we expended our energies, two small children embracing all that life had to offer: well the free things anyway.

I remember the long adventures we would have, just the three of us walking along the banks of the river, or carefully snaking our way through the bluebells so as not to crush any. On sunny days we might spot a daring peacock butterfly or a common cabbage white. I remember the first time Bobby saw one he reached out with his chubby fingers grasping at its wings and you almost leapt on him, making him cry as the butterfly flew off. He wasn’t to know, he was too young to know of such delicacy. Yet after this you taught him to play a game, of holding hands still near the flutterbyes: I know he still freezes one flies near him.

On lucky days we might have discovered a kingfisher, we learned to hold our breath and wait in the bushes, until we saw the majestic swoop of its wings skimming the water. We were blessed back then, the sun shone warmer, and the rain tasted sweeter, even the snow was softer. Yes, nature sure had a way of sharing her delights with us and I loved you for pointing them out to us. I still sit and watch the squirrels in their morning scramble through the trees.

Yet these days I don’t feel so blessed: who knew that nature with all her joys could also possess such a cruelty, to steal you away.

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