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Tag Archives: creative writing

I’m sick so I’m probably not going to do any postings for the next few days. I’ve been doing some writing lately so that’s probably why.


anyway here’s something I was writing back in April or March so you can check it out and tell me how terrible it is.

I couldn’t ever think about things like this before. Well, before when I was skinny as a stick. At least that’s what they said then, but I wasn’t that skinny. I was more on the lighter side of average. While everyone else was worrying about childhood obesity, I was eating ho-ho’s and Twinkies, and those yummy pink coconutty cakes with the creme filling inside by the box full. One after the other on an after-school afternoon. And boy did I like that. I liked being thin.

Thinness affords you the ability to do so many things that regular and fat people can’t do. You can eat pizza all day, everyday without any one bothering you at all. Heck, they might even buy you an extra slice because who cares, your thin. And the things you can wear. That’s how models get away with wearing so many different things. So many different things that you can’t even believe. Wanna wear garbage, who care, you’re thin, anything will look good on you.

But then, I got fat. Slowly over the summer ’til the first day of school came and I was bigger than I had been, I didn’t notice at first. Except that my pants didn’t fit, they wouldn’t buckle and I was worried. So I ran more, and ran more. Puberty is terrible, it just comes at you with full force and changes everything that you’ve grown to love about yourself in the past 14 years.

And boy did I learn, the girl who was once, supermodel thin, with the nice hair, and flawless skin became nearly hideous over night. And everything grew, well, everything except what I wanted. My butt got huge, pimples littered my face and my once beautifully smelling shiny and bouncy hair, was weighed down, split up like a forest after Godzilla walks thru, and smelled like a vat of chicken grease.

And did I sweat, you never really see it on TV. You see all the boys out there, with broken voices, grease laden faces, pimpled galore, and awkwardly smelly in every single story about teens. But the girls, they’re always just moody and embarrassed about having to carry some tampax in their bag. But I went from being cute as a button to pizza faced, fat, and with some uncontrollable arm pit glands.

I would have preferred to have been moody, to be sitting there upset because I have to carry my bag with me to the bathroom!

And my friends weren’t too thrilled. We had chosen each other on the basis of our good genetic fortune, And now I had to WORK at being cute, and boy was I terrible it. And they didn’t care, I plummeted their Stock. I was stinky, heavy, and greasy, 3 things that do not go together with Skinny, Pretty, Teen Dreams.

And before my unfortunate luck of the draw with the Gods of Puberty, I was mean. I bullied. I had made girls cry. I was being given my just karmic retribution and boy was I upset. I was stuck in the world that I despised and ridiculed. I had become one of the freaks, and I didn’t like it.

And they didn’t like me. You’d think based on TV that geeks and losers or whatever they want to call themselves were different from the jocks and the preps, but things are the same all over. In fact it’s much easier to fake it with the jocks and the preps, with the geeks, if you can’t spell, they’ll call you on it, and you can’t pretend you aren’t stupid. I was dumb as hell, and ugly as hell and I couldn’t do anything about it. I was alone and upset.

But there was hope. I could change, I could become a better person. But I wasn’t going to become a better person. I was a fat former fancy girl, and that wasn’t going to do anything for me. I don’t give a shit. Those people could shut up, at some point I’d be pretty again, and then I’d be better. I would be more loving and caring.

But let me get to the beginning of the story. where everything started. Back when I first hit ugly and my friends stopped calling. When the first story was ending and the second part of my young life was beginning. …

Anyway tell me what you think, it’s the start of something I never finished.


Mallory pulled on the wooden rake handle using all of her strength to bring the dead, decaying leaves towards her. She huffed and brought her sweaty arm to her sweaty forehead in an attempt to relieve herself. She huffed and sighed and went right back to raking the leaves into a pile before her. She worked at it diligently clearing the area around the tree stump. Her long brown hair felt like a hand rubbing her back as it swayed across her back while she worked.

Mallory Picture #1

“Ms. Jones,” a man’s voice asked as she looked up to see the face of the overseer.

“Yes, Mr. Riley?”

“Let’s pack it up.”

Mallory gathered up the pile of leaves into a black plastic bag and gathered up the edges into her hand tying a thick knot. She flung the bag over her shoulder and walked over to the work truck. With a grunt she chucked the bag into the back of the truck and smiled, her day was done.

“How many hours do I have now Mr. Riley,” she asked as she opened the door to the truck cab.

“Um, let me see here,” he looked at some pages clipped on a clipboard. Flipping through the pages he said, “Well, today was six and a half hours but I’ll round that up to seven for yah. So, that makes about … let me see. That makes 80 hours give or take an hour.”

“80 hours?” she huffed and jumped into the truck.

“How many more do you got left?”

“Like a hundred I think.”

“Damn, well, you’ll get through it, better than jail, right?”

“I guess,” Mallory said looking out of her window as the trees whooshed past her, the truck bumbling down the road occasionally throwing her up into the air.


Mallory thought back to that night. Her hair had been much shorter then and she was looking forward to going out with her friends. She was wearing her red racing dress, with the stripes down the side, fire truck red stockings, and a pair of black converse all stars. She was wearing makeup, shiny red lip-gloss, and glittery blue eye shadow.

She remembered how she was walking around in downtown Claironville, walking up Main Street past all the locally owned shops. She was smiling waving at the different people that she had known since she was a little girl with pigtails.

As she reached the movie theater, she saw Sean standing outside smoking a cigarette.

“Hey Sean,” she said smiling at him. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” he said. “What’s up with you?”

“Just trying to get drunk or something.”

“I can help you with that or something,” he said as he pulled a leaf out of her hair.

“How much?”

“How much you want?”

“I got like 20 bucks,”

“Aiight, I got you,” he said as he put his hand on her shoulder and they walked away.


She was sitting on her bed now, holding a large brown piece of paper. Her brother had given her a book on origami when he visited her in rehab. Lyle was such a good brother and son. He never let his parents down as she had done. She was looking at the instructions to make a dinosaur.


They had been in the park, Mallory and Sean, snorting Ketamine and smoking cigarettes when Sean got sick. She looked around for a phone and couldn’t find one.


She began folding the paper to make the creases necessary to make the dinosaur. At this high level of origami preparation creasing was a necessity, it would avoid tons of unnecessary rips and repeats.


Sean looked pale and he eyes rolled back. Mallory just wanted to lie down, she felt so good, almost like she was up above the trees looking down at her and Sean.

“Okay, man up,” she said to herself as she forced her body to run. Her muscles ached, her body just wanted to slump down onto the black, smooth, road. She screamed as a big white SUV stopped just inches from her head. Mallory fell back onto the pavement, she felt so good, and the ground was so soft and comfortable.


She began to form the head of the dinosaur. She was almost finished, her fingers barely shaking as she made the intricate folds necessary.

“Sean’s sick,” she said as she smiled and began to drift off to sleep. “He’s in the park.” A voice began to speak to her asking her questions, telling her not to go to sleep.


She placed the finished dinosaur on the table. “I miss you Sean,” she said as she looked out the window past the trees and even further still.

Dinogami Picture #2