Random Story By SQUACH (spelt ever-so-correctly)

Hi there, I've been missing for a while lol I have been doing things like writing the begginings of storys and listenin to the Duck Song!
(I will post a video of it later)

So, random chapter 1 of a random story!!

Chapter 1
Dear Diary,
I feel so alone. But that makes no sense at all. Everyone has come here, to this tiny town in the middle of nowhere, to comfort me, to try and take the pain away.
It's not working. It still hurts when i think about it and when i get up, i wonder if my life is still worth living. If my life is still worth living.


Mai put her pen down on her dark, oak table, contemplating what she had written. She wondered if it was better to scribble all over her looped letters and wobbly words.
Mai was good at scribbling. It didn't involve thinking, or even looking at whatever she had to scribble on - usually her diary or her scribble book.
Scribbling, for Mai, was a way of... anger management, I suppuse you could say. Mai wouldn't hurt anyone by scribbling, only herself when her hand got cramped if she gripped the pen too hard. In Mai's opinion, scribbles were very expressive, each pen stroke a different emotion. One of Mai's favourite games to play was where someone would scribble randomly and the others would have to make a picture or a story from it. Mai's matees called it: Scribble a Story.
Not that she had friends anymore.

Mai felt moisture in her solemn, grey eyes and the world became a blur. There were no objects, no shapes in her line of sight, just merging colours and the occasional blackout as her eyes closed.
Crying was another one of Mai's strong points, too. She felt like every tear she shed was like cutting off a pearly drop of sadness, like throwing away a worry stone from a collection or millions.

Knock yourself out of it!
A mysterious voice in Mai's head shouted, echoing as if her mind were an endless abyss.
What would your dad say?
That had stung. Whoever's voice it was, it seemed intent on torturing Mai mentally.
Ellie would be teasing you by now. She'd call you 'Cry baby Mai' and spit on you shoes. The polish would run and your socks would cling to your feet.
Mai almost chuckled and cried out in pain at the same time.
She didn't think she would miss Ellie one bit. After all, no one was exactly going to miss the school bully, right?
But even now, in her lonesome attic bedroom, Mai missed the taunting chants of Ellie Fletcher.

Miss her? How could you miss her? She was horrible to you and I just stood on the sidelines and wached. I regret it now. I don't have much time le-
The sympathetic voice faded abruptly from Mai's head.
"No! Wait! Who are you?" Mai didn't even realise that she was talking out loud. She hung on to every noise she heard, as if it were a reply, but she was hanging on to nothing.

"Honey! Darling, what's wrong?" Mai's Auntie Lou-Lou thundered up the frst, then the second flight of narrow stairs in the house, almost causing an earthquake.
"I heard you shouting sugar, what did you want?" Auntie Lou-Lou's voice carried through Mai's firmly locked door. Fond of her privacy, Mai often locked her door to think by herself without disturbance. She obviously needed sound-proofing next.
Lou-Lou was well known for her persistence, but she was also a big softie. There was a special place reserved for everyone she would ever meet in her heart, and one special space saved for Mai.
"Honey, do you need anything?" She called. "Anything you need, I'll go grab from the shops."
'Stupid question' Mai thought. Lou-Lou knew as well as Mai did what it was that Mai really wanted. But you couldn't just pick up your old life from a shelf at the corner shop. It would take a miracle, but maybe one was already in progress.

Please comment!!!

ARGH! I have a sudden urging craving for grapes. Anyone got any?


(Good story too, though it's a bit random...)

Well, if it's grapes you're after, don't go to the corner store or a lemonade stand!!!

Check the Youtube Thread to understand!

Squach, not random at all, indeed, very impressive. Sadly, when someone writes something, and you're a hyper critical writer yourself, you can't help noticing minor editorial points, but I won't detail what I think they are, because I think what you've written, and how you've written it, is really excellent. No, it's no place for quibbling just now, only praising. I want more. (Wanting more is the greatest praise I can give).

What! Young girls thinking deep thoughtful thoughts, and writing it all down almost like it's poetry and not pure prose! Preposterous! They should be helping their Mother with the housework!

But Odo, she doesn't have a mother anymore...

An autobiography? But --- oh poor Kafria -- train accident was it?

Err... will there be more, Squach?

There is a slightly mad untamed quality to what you write about Squach that I really enjoy. Keep at it and keeping posting them- great stuff.

Untamed or just letting it flow? Squach, let it flow, even if later you tremble a bit at what you've done, and say, "Oh it's just a bit of randomness." Never fear, Squach, to write well is often to face fear. Whenever I write things (in the flow) I shake in my boots, and sometimes don't let anyone else see what I've done. It's a dangerous business, writing, but I would argue some risk taking is needed if you don't want to bore people stupid. Now, I'm probably sounding a bit of a Grand Father here, but might I suggest, if you ever take a huge risk in writing, then maybe confer with that old duck of yours. Being such an old fuddy duddy - I assume - Kafria will let you know if you've gone too far! But take risks - even secret ones - always take risks when writing, I say... [[[[[ ]]]]]

Squach-

As always, I agree with Orwell. Keep writing and keep posting!

You have a genuine voice. It reminds me of my 16-year-old. And like everyone else here, I'd like to read more.

Speaking of everyone else, this is (as I've said to the point of tediousness) a wonderful place to share your writing. I have never encountered an unhelpful word. At least, not until Guy Incognito started posting. Sock puppets aside, though, I hope you find Forumshire as encouraging as I always have. Especially for writing that is as personal as yours is.

Looking forward to more!

-Paul

You're only twelve? Really? CRAP! I wish I could have written like that at age twelve! Or at age 51, for that matter!

I wish that I could write so freely now... Mind you, Paul, Squach seems to have stopped writing, whether freely or not.

Where is Squach these days? School holidays no doubt! I miss having her stories to read and it's always good to have someone about the place who is not afraid to loudly demand chicken nuggets.

Sometimes a "demand" is more successful than a meek "pretty please".

Yes Pretty said you were 'that way inclined' to use her phrase.

Ooh Petty. I never knew you had a sense of humour ---- and such a naughty one at that. (platonic)

Well hello, I'm back (yet again) and yes, school holidays are the main culprit! Loving every second of them!
I'm especially loving the fact that mum has loooads of training days, and then the first day of actual school, the only people in are Years 7, 10, and 11!!! WooHoo!!! (I'm in Year 8 now) (I feel old)

Don't know what else there is to say, apart from the really stupid fact that the summer hols are almost over!!

(And yes, Paul, I'm only twelve )

Woo Squach is back! Hope you've had a good summer hols Squach. Nice to see so much sympathy for your poor mum!

Well, I did do some stuff yesterday to help her like finding a lot of clothes to be washed, unloading the dishwasher, tidying my bedroom floor, practicing my violin (though I really didn't want to)

So basically I didn't just slouch aroound at home watching TV!

All that in one day? And whilst on hols too? Shocking Kafria. What is this? Trying out for a part in Cinderella? (And not the title role!) Have you been going to Our Lady for parenting classes again? Ignore everything that Jane tells you- chimneys are not 'fun' for children to sweep!
I hope the pocket money is good Squach.

Got none.

So far.

You sure your mum is a teacher Squach and not say, Nike? Hard labour, no pocket money. Time for a workers uprising Squach!