A writing exercise

At the writing course I’m doing we were tasked with writing 500 words inspired by what we first heard on the radio. This is my effort:

I am ashamed to admit, water cascading over me in the shower, alone and staring at the blanket of white paint above my head in bed, sitting over the porcelain bowl and in the dancing golden grass fields by home – I just wanna keep calling your name. I am the solemn ghd-hair brunette at the front corner desk of our class with my nose in my laptop.

You are a God.

With your baseball biceps, sandy-blonde tousled hair and Roman nose. Girls vie for your attention at the back of the class, but not I – surely, if I approached, you would see and hear nothing, even if I wore my best purple sweater. You’d be worse than my Dad who never sees me half the time, like I were some apparition. People whisper I resemble my mother – luscious chocolate hair, coal eyes, hourglass legs and deep dimples. Personally, I don’t see any resemblance because my mum was drop dead gorgeous … something I most certainly am not.

A shadow shaded me, “Emma, there’s a party tonight. Wanna come?”

Pinch me. Is Chris really talking to me? The God? “W-with you?”

His smile blinded me. “Of course with me, silly.”


“Cool. Pick you up at eight.” He turned and half way to his desk the girls around it dissolved into fits of giggles. Curious.


The base thumped “doof doof” and raised voices hummed in a shoulder-to-shoulder crowd as Emma entered, wearing her hugging white dress, beside Chris. He ducked away to fetch drinks while she stood in the doorway like a lonely Nigel.

Without warning, someone spilled a drink over her, then someone else and another – red wine, rum and red “cordial”- an artist would be proud of the canvas her dress became. She fought a waterfall of tears as she glimpsed Chris’s ashen face emerge holding their drinks. Flicking the drinks from her arms, she stormed out the front door.

Emma stumbled towards the road, searching for a cab and ignored the pointing, hundred eyeballs and open laughter directed her way.

“Emma,” yelled Chris behind her.

She turned and accused, “You set me up.”

“Cut to the chase, eh?” he said and paused a moment. He shrugged. “Thought I could prevent it.”

“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” she said and turned her back on him. She scalded herself for not listening to her instincts and any illusion of a perfect Chris exploded to smithereens.

He rushed to her side. “I’ll drive you home.”

“Why?” her voice cracked.

“So you’re home safe?”

“I don’t mean that. Why set me up only to try stop it?”

“Um…” he contemplated and swallowed. “You’re nice and a freaking genuine girl. You feel me?”

“Why should I believe you?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

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