Short Stories: Sounds.

A couple of short pieces, done in workshops, inspired by songs/sound that brought back memories.

 

Aged Five – The Little Mermaid (Part of Your World).

I don’t really remember the first time I ever watched it. It’s just always been a part of my life; something I’ve always known and been familiar with, a comfort blanket if you will.

If I was sad, or spending the day home ill from school my mum would put it on for me and wrap me up tightly in my duvet. I would snuggle down on the family sofa with a bowl of soup or spaghetti shapes and sit enthralled by the magic of The Little Mermaid. 

I would watch it before bed time every single night, the whole sound track imprinted in my brain not to mention the effects on the rest of the house hold.

I guess it means more now than what it ever did.

It’s because I get it.

That’s the thing with Disney, it’s not just for children. From the outset it appears that the story is but deep down, the meaning really packs a punch.  My favourite song ‘Part of your World’ is quite literally about a young girl just trying to find her feet in a new place, something which I can really relate to now.

It’s about sacrifice and gain, putting yourself out there for the world to see and not being afraid when push comes to shove. Who’d have thought that one song from my childhood could have such an impact on my adult hood, not me at the age of five that’s for sure!

 

Aged Eighteen – KOS, Greece 2014 (Gecko ‘Overdrive’ Becky Hill and Oliver Heidens).

We’d turned up to the club about two hours early.

It was already 12:00pm.

At home the party would be in full swing by now. Some girl would already be insisting she’s always been a fan of a band she’s never heard of, the bar staff would have collected all of the ‘free shot’ coupons that were handed out on arrival and that one guy who tries his luck with everyone and anyone would have been thrown out by now for indecent exposure.

But here, the doors weren’t even open.

How were we to know? It was our first holiday completely parent free, I’d already surveyed the room for any signs that we were being broadcast on ‘sun, sex and suspicious parent’ but came up with nothing.

We’d touched down in Greece, myself and my friend Lauren, at about 8:00pm local time. Just enough time to throw our stuff in our rooms, get ready and get out we’d thought. Not for one second did we anticipate sitting outside the club eating free popcorn the manager had given us whilst waiting for the place to open!

After a long wait we got inside, the free popcorn made sense now. We’d arrived on popcorn party night.

The one song I can fully remember is overdrive.

Popcorn was being fired from every direction possible from ginormous cannons either side of the DJ booth. It filled up the entire dance floor.

People were throwing it, eating it, some were even rolling around making popcorn angels in it. It was in my hair, up my nose and down my top, but I couldn’t care less because everyone was the same. At home if my hair was a mess, it would be the end of the world but out here everyone is just up for a good time.

So when the lyric ‘tonight the rules do not apply’ blared out from the speakers, I was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

That was our first night, and every night after we heard the same song.

Short Story: Miss Baker.

Another piece from an assignment. May have gotten a bit harsh...but hey, I'm a creative writing student.

My first encounter with the stone faced, cold hearted, callous bitch was in year 8. It was the first day back after the long summer break and my friends and I were eagerly anticipating our new lesson timetable sheets. We sat in our form room, the smell of freshly painted walls and cleaning detergents hung in the air.

Chatter bubbled amongst everyone, and that’s when I got it. Printed on to a fresh, crisp white sheet of paper was my years’ timetable. Under mathematics was her name.

Miss Baker.

My heart stopped and my spirits sank to new depths. She was truly awful.  I’d heard the tales from other students the previous year, of how she made people cry and picked you out knowing you didn’t know the answer. I’d even witnessed a few things myself; how she wailed like a banshee at a student for forgetting his homework. Her face was crimson and bulbous, a purple vain pulsating on her forehead.

I’d always been terrible with my mathematical ability, it’s because there is a definite answer. You’re either right, or wrong. I don’t like being told I’m wrong, therefore I don’t like maths.

I glanced at my best friend, her expression mirrored mine but this made us both smile. We were in it together.

Walking to the lesson that day was like walking the green mile. We had already set ourselves up for a failure, signed our own death certificates if you will. Our lack of knowledge and desire to learn how to solve algebraic equations and use Pythagoras theorem had doomed us from the start.

We entered the room and found a seat.

In she came.

She was a larger lady, built quite stocky with little room on her shoulders for a neck. Her hair was always cropped short adding to her manly bravado and her face was constantly miserable, framed by thick, dark rimmed glasses. If looks could kill, she’d be the last person alive on earth. The 21^st century medusa she was, one look and you were frozen, petrified in the spot you were occupying.

Even her smile was terrifying, the kind your mother gives you if you’re being an annoying little shit in public or she has company over for dinner. The type of look that says “carry on but be warned, if we were alone my hands would be wrapped around your jugular right about now”.  The kind of look that sends a shiver down your spinal cord.

Her attire was not the most desirable either. She always wore black trousers that sagged around her behind and legs but cut through her stomach like bread baking around twine. And the shoes, oh the shoes! She wore that kind of awful safety footwear that nurses have to wear, the ones with big rounded toe protectors and clog type heels.

I sat talking her in, she was just like they had described. I marvelled at her awful dress sense and the lingering odour of musty coffee breath that wafted from her mouth every time she spoke to you.

If I hadn’t have been so enthralled by her appearance I probably could have prepared for what was about to happen.

“You!” she said.

Like a fool I turned around, gulped and then pointed at myself mouthing the words ‘me’ in her direction.

“Yes, you. What’s the answer?”

I squirmed uncomfortably in my blue plastic seat, which I so desperately wished would just envelop me right there. Beads of sweat began to form on my forehead.

“Well?” she pressed.

I looked straight at her, right in the eyes. I felt my skin crawl, my blood ran cold and my limbs began to stiffen. Medusa had taken me.