Tag Archives: short

Dream Sequence

Here was another assignment I had to do for my Visual Storytelling class!

A for Effort

A for Effort

Another short script I wrote for my class.

Anyone Lived in a Pretty How Town

(Here’s a short story I wrote for my Creative Writing final to prove that I’m back on track! The assignment was to write a short story based on a well known poem.)

No one blushed as she read the letter. The things Anyone said in it made her heart race. He talked about the little things that made her beautiful and the memories he had from the first time they met to their first kiss. She almost gasped when she read the last line.

“I love you with my whole heart,” it said. No one wondered if it was possible to die of happiness. This was the first time Anyone had told her he loved her. Though he wasn’t present to hear, No one whispered into the empty room that surrounded her, “I love you too.” She couldn’t wait to see Anyone so she could tell him in person. She would tell Someone tomorrow morning, but for now she just wanted to sleep and dream. It was the best Valentine’s Day ever.

“Aw, that’s so sweet!” Someone said when No one told her all about the letter the next day. “I wish Everyone did things like that for me! But I’m lucky if he remembers my name in bed.”

No one laughed. She knew Someone was just joking, but she also knew that she was being serious at the same time. Things this perfect don’t last forever, “but for me they will,” No one said.

Someone looked confused. “What?” she asked.

“Anyone and I will always be in love. We’ll be the one pair in this town that will last.”

Someone put her hand on No one’s arm. “You know what, honey?” she said. “For anyone else, that would be just talk, but for you two, I believe it. Have you told him that?”

No one blushed. “No,” she said. “I haven’t talked to him since last night.”

“Oh girl,” someone said. “You need to get on that! He’s probably so nervous and just dying to know what you’re thinking right now.”

“I know,” No one said. “But I don’t know what to say!”

“Just tell him what you told me. It’ll be fine.”

No one thanked her and turned to leave. Someone was right; she needed to see Anyone right away.

“Oh and No one,” Someone said.

No one turned around.

“Thanks for reminding me what… what it’s like.”

No one smiled. “Of course,” she said. “What are you going to do now?”

“I’m going to call Everyone,” Someone said. “We’ll plan a super romantic night. It’ll be just like old times! Just like,” she paused. “Just like you guys.”

“Thanks for being honest with me,” No one said. “Tell me how it goes, okay?”

“Of course!” Someone told her. “Now go talk to your man! He needs you.”

No one smiled again, then turned to leave. She was so glad she had Someone to talk to.

The Seven Chairs

The fifth one ended up in France. Chairs one through four were never found or even heard about again. Number seven was located several years later in an old abandoned castle in the hills of Scotland, but it is chair number six that our story is about.

Before we can examine its fate, however, we must begin in a carpenter’s workshop in a small village in Germany, where a man named Sven has just completed his latest commission: a large dining table with eight chairs to go along with it. The man who had ordered this particular dining set was named Otto von Heemstra, and he was the richest man in the country. He lived on a large hill in a tall and elegant house, and he promised his wife that he would obtain for her the most exquisite and fashionable new furniture for her birthday. Otto was planning a dinner party to show off the newly decorated dining room to his family and the couple’s richest friends from near and far, so he paid Sven–the best carpenter in town–an incredibly large sum of money to ensure that the work he did on these chairs was the very best he had ever done.

Sven worked hard on the table and chairs for many long weeks, but the night before he was to deliver them to the Heemstra family, he heard a knock at the door. As the hour was late, he did not know who could possibly have such an urgent desire to see him. Curious, he opened it.

On his doorstep was an extremely thin woman with a strikingly beautiful face and large, doe-like eyes. Her clear white sin gleamed in the moonlight, and her voice was an urgent whisper.

“You are Sven the carpenter, yes?” she asked.

He nodded.

“May I come in?”

He assented and the woman wasted no time in ducking her head down and hurrying inside. Once Sven had her sitting at his table and a warm pot of coffee brewing, she introduced herself as Edda von Heemstra, Otto’s wife, and explained that although Otto lavished her with fine gifts and parties, he was also the cruelest and most abusive of husbands when no one else was around to witness. She begged Sven to help her. He listened and tried to comfort her, but he didn’t know what he could do. Still, he promised Edda that he would try and find a way to help.

“Thank you,” she said.  “I didn’t know who else to turn to.” She left, crying softly, and Sven felt his heart break when he thought about the home that she was returning to.

That night he stayed up and did not sleep a wink. He thought and thought and thought and finally came up with a way to help the poor woman escape.

He finished his modifications at the same moment the sun’s first rays fell through his window.

Later that morning, Sven brought the chairs and the table to the von Heemstra manor. He unloaded them from the truck, set them up in the dining room, and hurried on his way. He had to be as far away from the town as possible by the time the dinner party started.

Edda von Heemstra dried her tears and descended the stairs to greet her guests. She had all but given up hope on Sven saving her and could not believe she had been so indiscreet as to pour her heart out to him and ask for his help. Suddenly she felt embarrassed. Otto must never find out.

“Sister Harmony!” she said brightly, trying her best to hide her sadness and her fear. “Marian! Mr. von Eddelburg! Mrs. von Eddelburg! How are the children? Delightful! Just delightful… Claudia, welcome! I am so glad you could make it. Your son–my husband–will be joining us shortly.”

“I’m getting too old for these social functions,” the elder Mr. von Heemstra said. “Where’s Otto?”

“Right here!” Otto said from the top of the stairs. “Let’s eat!” He was the picture of charm, but Edda shuddered when she thought about the events of last night that caused her to seek Sven’s help.

The guests took their seats at the eight chairs, all marveling at the excellent craftsmanship with which they were made.

The start of the meal was uneventful; Edda chatted away with everyone as usual.

Then, halfway through the second course, an awkward silence fell. Otto had made an offhand remark and everyone wished they were somewhere else.

It will never be known exactly what was said, but it was probably something very rude toward his wife, and the fact remains that everyone suddenly did not want to be at the party at all.

And for once, their wishes astonishingly came true. Sven’s chairs began to hover above the ground and–as Otto watched in horror–the seven other chairs lifted off and flew slowly away. Everyone was paralyzed with disbelief, some with fear, but Edda felt nothing but delight. Sven had come through for her!

She was finally leaving.

As Otto watched, struggling to grab the fleeing chairs, the pieces of furniture lifted off, each heading toward the subconscious desired destination of its rider.

No one knew where Marian, Mr. von Eddelb, Mrs. von Eddelburg, or Claudia went, but it was presumed they vanished to tropical islands or cities in America to start new, exciting lives. Mr. von Heemstra began his new life in a castle in Scotland. Edda’s chair brought her to a small road far from the village where she saw Sven’s face light up at the sight of her, safe and unharmed. Edda stepped gracefully off the chair and on to the road. He loaded the piece of furniture into the back then opened the passenger door and helped her in. Together they sped off and never looked back or thought about Otto again, and of course, Sister Harmony ended up in France; her chair descended slowly into the main cathedral of Notre Dame Church.

After Death (a screenplay)

After Death

Here’s a screenplay I wrote for my Creative Writing class. It’s the type of writing I’m least experienced and most interested in. Screenwriting also happens to be the major I’ll be in when I start film school in the fall. Please read and enjoy! I promise it’s exciting 🙂

A Big Night In

Sometimes you just need a break. I needed one tonight. It was a Friday night and my parents weren’t home, but this girl wanted the night off. I was sick of partying and sneaking out with boys and pretending that I was perfect and my life was one big joyride. Tonight I closed my blinds, pulled my usually immaculately groomed hair into a messy bun on my head, locked the door, jumped on my bed, and rocked out.

My computer uttered a series of loud and high pitched beeps. “Call from Justin Smith,” the window said. I stopped and froze for a second. Justine was fine! I started to my computer, then stopped.

“Not tonight,” I said to myself out loud. “I’ll talk to you later, Justin,” I said even though he couldn’t hear me. Wow, I had underestimated my need to be away from other people for a while.

I turned up the Metallica CD that was playing–yes I listen to Metallica, but not when anyone else is around and no, I don’t have it on my iPod; people judge that kind of stuff.

When I got bored of dancing by myself, I started doing push ups. I exercised a lot usually, but tonight I was a body builder. I was concentrating on nothing but my mountain climber set when the doorbell rang.

I straightened up and pushed the hair that had escaped from my ponytail out of my face. I hesitated to go to the door after taking a whiff of myself. Perfume mixed with sweat is not a good scent on anyone, but my curiosity got the better of me, and I went down the hall.

~~~

Mick waited nervously on Josie’s doorstep. He couldn’t believe his friends were making him do this. He held a bouquet of birds of paradise in one hand, and as he waited for an answer, admired the blue, yellow, and orange colors of the flowers. He had just decided that no one was home and turned to leave when the door opened.

“Hi, uh, Josie?” he started nervously. He was unnerved by two facts: one, Josie, the same Josie who kept up a pink and white french manicure and never had brown roots or repeated the same outfit twice, was standing in front of him in spandex, a tank top, and actually messy hair. She was sweaty and out of breath and not put together at all.

And two, her legs looked hot in those spandex. “Mick,” he said, sticking out his hand awkwardly. “Uh, these are for you.” He shoved the bouquet at her.

“I know who you are,” she said. “Come on in.”

~~~

I didn’t know what had gotten into me. First I ignored a Skype request from Justin Smith, then I invited Mitch Whatshisface from across the street into my house for dinner. Most people just eat ice cream and watch TV when they spend nights in.

“I’m starving,” I told him. “You want something to eat?”

“Uh,” he stuttered. “Sure I guess. I mean, I don’t care.”

“I think I’ll make some pasta,” I said, pulling a box of shells with white sauce out of the cabinet.

I poured the water and noodles into a pot and sat down at the table. I figured the reason I let this kid into my house was because he somehow had figured out my favorite kind of flower.

“Hey, so…” Mitch looked around not a little nervously. “Can we go hang out in your room?” I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Um, sorry!” I said. “Who do you think you are?”

Mitch turned bright red. “Oh no, wait I didn’t mean it like that!”

I stared at him skeptically.

“No, really, I just wanted to take a picture of it for my friends,” he said. “Honest!”

~~~

I couldn’t believe I was sitting at Josie Hale’s kitchen table telling her about the entire bet and how I couldn’t get any girls to even talk to me and how they said they’d tell everyone about my secret love of Reba Macintire’s music.

“Sorry, who?” she asked.

“She’s a country singer,” I said shyly. Wow, I don’t think I could have come off as a bigger dork. Josie, on the other hand, looked excited.

“I’m glad I stayed in tonight,” she told me. “I like you. I don’t have to be perfect around you.” She turned red. “I never really thought I’d tell anyone that as long as I lived.”

“The pasta’s ready,” I said, not taking my eyes off her. “So, uh, can I have that picture?”

“I have a better idea,” she said. “So you said your friends are waiting for you across the street?”

~~~

“So is that the room do you think?” Simon asked.

Reed grabbed the binoculars from him. “I think so, but I don’t see Mitch in there.”

“Do you think he’ll get the picture?” Simon asked.

“Holy crap,” said Reed. “Holy crap holy crap holy crap.”

“What?” asked Simon.

“It’s Mitch,” said Reed.

Simon grabbed the binoculars from him and gasped when he saw Mitch and Josie stumble into her room, lips locked. “No way,” he said. Both boys swore as the pair made their way to the window and closed the blinds.

~~~

Mitch and I fell into peals of laughter as we collapsed under the now closed window.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” he said.

“Hopefully we put your friends in their place,” I said, smiling. Remember, if they ask anything, it’s more believable if you just smile and say you can’t tell what happened.”

“Nice,” he said. We high-fived. This had been the best night of my year. I really needed this break.

“So, do you like Metallica?” I asked.

An Appointment With Love

He couldn’t just leave the woman who had faithfully written to him when he needed her words so much. So with a long glance back at the girl in the pale green suit, he stepped forward.

“Helen Taylor,” he said. “I’m Lieutenant Bradford. Nice to finally meet you.”

“I know, I know,” she said before he could continue. “I’m much older than I said I was, but it’s only because I didn’t think we’d ever actually meet.”

“It’s fine, no matter,” said Bradford. “That only explains why you have such wisdom and true insight into the human heart.”

Helen Taylor laughed. “Thank you,” she said. “For being so kind, but go on, chase after that blonde girl who is much prettier and closer to your own age than I am.”

Bradford turned red. “Thanks,” he said. “I should have known you’d be able to read me so well. I’m sorry I’m younger than I said I was.” He turned to leave, but stopped. “Can we meet up later this evening? To get a drink maybe? and talk?”

Helen’s eyes twinkled. Sometimes a love between friends is more meaningful than the fleeting kind that comes with a romantic affair. At her age she understood that and knew he did too.

Lieutenant Bradford dashed away, but by no means was it for forever.