Write a short story! Challenge

[Anonymous No.9284645]

Challenge!
Try and write a short story within one hour. Post results for anons to critique and vote on as best.

[Anonymous No.9284650]

>>9284645
don't you mean "pick something you wrote three years ago and post it in 20 mins to avert suspicion"

[Anonymous No.9284656]

>>9284650
lol true

[Anonymous No.9284946]

>>9284645
Post this tomorrow and I'll participate

[Anonymous No.9285826]

>>9284645
I'll accept this challenge.
See you in an hour, lazy bums.

[RATE THE BEGINNING OF MY EROTI(...) No.9285878]

Okay, here!

She was standing in the door frame, her thigh-high socks had a glossy sheen under the summer sun, her chiffon dress wafting as she poked her toes out to feel the breeze; the roses and lilies printed on her dress danced. I was sat on the staircase behind her, admiring her healthy thighs that showed between her dress and socks. Though she was my older sister, I still wanted to protect her, so when my friends had made comments about her body I told them to stop and moved the conversation along. But sat on the staircase, seeing her curves outlined by the sun, my penis had become hard and engorged.

[Anonymous No.9285914]

>>9285878

>sat

[Anonymous No.9285923]

>>9285914

I think it's very good. Some of the best writing on this board: economical, evocative, and enchanting.

[Anonymous No.9285971]

1/2

His mother examined him with a sunken brow.
Half her face was covered by her right hand as if she was walking through the grimy aftermath of
a collapsing skyscraper.

“Well?”, he asked.

“Yeah, well...”, she replied.
Still shifting in her seat she turned her head a few degrees to the left, as if the different angle
would somehow make this beanstalk of a boy look a shred more dashing.

“It's definitely coming..”

Jake rolled his eyes and leaned backwards, wanting to crack his back.
Relieved he noticed that his mother had not picked up the gesture,
since he had lied about a hernia to skip school the past day.

“When it comes to backs, nobody really knows.”
The doctor said.
He knew he heard that exact phrase before somewhere, so in his mind it seemed like the perfect excuse.

“You're just bullshitting me, mom. There's no way I can show up like this.”

His mother seemed to take pity on this foul-smelling clothes-hanger.
He had always complained about his face looking like Passchendaele in 1918
and since she couldn't argue with his points, tried to soothe the hurt the way only a mother's love could.

“Sure you can, honey! You just need a different color-pallet. You know, something to bring out your eyes.”

If Jake would have had ears, he wouldn't have been able to believe them.
He had been suffering from glaucoma from the ripe age of 12 due to his mother
smoking crack in the basement and blowing the fumes up the vent.

Little did she now, it was at the end of this pipe where Jake would keep his face for hours on end in order to tear up his eyes, snap a picture of them and post it to his Facebook-wall to guilt his crush into a conversation.

A few years of that caused poor old Jake to go legally blind, his mother to lose her teeth, and his love-interest to file a restraining-order.

“The only thing that could bring out my peepers is a bad case of Grave's Eye or a pair of googly sunglasses.”

“You're being to hard on yourself, Jake. Insecurity is lady-repellent, you know?”

[Anonymous No.9285981]

2/2

“Mom seems to make a good point.”, he thought to himself.
Even though he had a shrew idea of what made women run from him like hordes of wildebeest spotting a crocodile in a murky pond, he did relish the idea that confidence meant everything.

He knew that Thad was just a giant abortion with bits of undeveloped afterbirth still stuck to his
navel, but he seemed to get many of the girls worth mentioning, as well as all of those unworthy of even the slightest thought.

“Maybe you're right.”, he replied, plotting his next move.

He knew it was futile to try to fit in.
It bore no fruit to wander the pearlescent halls of the mall, slouching and bent like a coalminer ripe for pension.
He would do what no boy had done before him; wear the clothes he chose to and go to prom guns blazing, looking like pure dynamite.

He took off the race-yellow bomber-jacket and draped it over the footstool in the dressing room.
“I think I have a better idea, mom.”,
he said while staring at his t-shirt of the Mozambique flag in the mirror.

“If I do it my way, I'm having a blast for sure.”