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EnglishShortStory NewDraft
EnglishShortStory NewDraft
I was lying on the ground. The sky was a vibrant blue, the sun a warm and inviting
yellow. It was mid-day; bees buzzed, flowers blossomed, birds chirped, and the symphony of
nature was in full force around me, but my eyes were elsewhere. At the other side of the flat
field was a girl of gorgeous stature; even from a distance I could tell it was my Katie Marshall.
The Katie Marshall who aced math tests, wrote long English papers and was still popular, not to
mention her striking figure and overwhelming beauty. She pranced around in the high grass. Her
sundress came spinning up as she twirled in circles, engulfed in her own world of happiness. I
stood up. She noticed me; her smile grew even wider than it was before. I broke into a dash,
desperately trying to reach my Katie Marshall. Music played in the background, we frolicked
toward one another like the lovers that we were. The music reached a climax; I was an arms
length away
THUMP-THUMP-THUMP
Sweetie! Wake up!
MOM REALLY? SHE WAS AN ARMS LENGTH AWAY!
Hon, its Thursday!
Mmmhmm.
You know what that means.
I can continue my afternoon-nap with no further interruption from my darling mother?
Its your turn to make dinner!
How does frozen Mac N Cheese sound?
Nope.
Ugh.
I bought stuff.
What stuff?
Come down here and check out the stuff for yourself.
Im working.
Sure.
I am.
Mmmhmmm.
Just tell me about the stuff.
Youre going to make spaghetti with meatballs, and Im not going to help.
Ugh.
You need to start soon if were going to eat today.
Im working.
I heard you snoring when I knocked.
I dont snore.
You snore as loud as your damn father, believe me I know how that sounds.
Im working now.
Working on dinner.
Working on work.
You talk in your sleep too.
I wasnt asleep.
Whos Katie Marshall?
MOM!
Thoroughly tired, dejected and embarrassed, I sat up.
Crack-Crack-Crack-Pop-Crack-Pop-Pop-Pop-Pop-Crack-Snap-Crack-Pop-Snap-Crack,
my joints sound like Rice-Krispies. The habit of cracking knuckles and popping my neck comes
from my dad; snoring and creaky joints, thats about all I got from my dad. Otherwise Im my
mother's spitting image; most kids cant recognize that.
Anyways, I got out of bed. Apparently a little too fast because my head started to spin
like it does when you first get up in the morning. I waited a moment, gathering myself. I glanced
left and came face to face with the small pile of papers sitting on my bedside desk. Its my
homework and its a small pile, but man, paper is thin and that little stack looked pretty
intimidating to me. I groaned. I really had to make dinner? Really?
Thump-Thump-Thump-Thump-Thump
Mom?
Its 6:15 and Im hungry, sweetie Cmon!
Im working on it.
It had been a month since mom had implemented the rule that everyone must cook once
a week. My day was Thursday. The first Thursday I made frozen Mac N Cheese. It was so easy,
but then my Mom told me it was time to make some real food. Please, Mac N Cheese is real
food but my mother held strong. She gave this big spiel about growing up and life skills and
being a good husband and crap. It was too much, like jeez Im fifteen, frozen Mac N Cheese will
do just fine. Anyways, I got a little cocky after the first week, thinking, eh this isnt THAT hard.
That confidence was short lived. Last week I nearly set the block ablaze trying to make fiery
Asian chicken; I got the fiery part right at least. Needless to say I wasnt exactly elated to be
back in the kitchen again.
I reluctantly came down the stairs. My mother and I had found some middle ground in
terms of difficulty of cooking. It wasnt frozen Mac N Cheese and it wasnt fiery Asian chicken. It
seemed like a decent compromise, my challenge for the day was spaghetti! It seemed easy
enough but boy was I nave.
I continued to complain to my mother as I put the water to boil, Please can you make it,
I have chemistry homework to do.
We have a deal. Manage your time better.
How come you never complain about cooking? This sucks.
Well, it gets easier with practice.
You sure? Its not the glass or two of wine you have whenever you cook?
I wasnt bleeding but my head was pounding. My mom helped me up and to the couch
and I sunk into it. On my way down I had hit my head on the floor, so I now had two oppositely
protruding bumps bubbling up from the sides of my head, a real life pin ball.
Are you okay?
Yeah, Ill be fine.
Here, Ill get an ice pack.
She came back with an ice pack and a glass of wine.
Do I get wine now?
You obviously cant cook with clear head, why would I give you wine?
Cause my head hurts.
Suck it up, honeybunch.
Ugh.
I wonder what Katie Marshall would think of this?
MOM!
I took an understandable break. The bumps receded a bit. I headed back into the
kitchen. The water was boiling and as I walked back towards the onion, I shielded my eyes this
time.
I smelled something burning. The bread! I opened the oven door, prepared for the worst.
And the worst is what I got; the charred black brick had caved in on itself and started to flake
away. Like when Lord Voldemort dies in the last Harry Potter and his skin starts peeling off and
floating away. Thats what my oven looked like. I told my mom.
You messed up the bread! C'mon babe, all you had to do was put the dough on the tray
and not forget about it.
My bad.
Im ordering a pizza. Im too hungry for this. You want some?
I may look battered and beaten but I will produce some serious spaghetti.
Sure.
I handed over my dish and dove into the pizza. She took a bite.
This is pretty good, hon!
Wasnt even that hard.
Good! That was the easy part.
Huh?
Have fun with the dishes, sweetheart.