Writing 101, Day Eleven: Size Matters

Writing 101, Day Eleven: Size Matters

Tell us about the home where you lived when you were twelve. Which town, city, or country? Was it a house or an apartment? A boarding school or foster home? An airstream or an RV? Who lived there with you?

Mixing up the lengths of your sentences creates variety for the reader and makes for much more interesting reading.

images (1)

The Fight

Creeeeeeeeeek goes the door to the Convent School lodge where the slightly older and perhaps naughtier boarders were put to stay, but that was only conjecture considering I was there.

“BBBBbbbbrrr this place is bloody cold” I say in a nearly teenage voice as hands rub up and down goosebumps that almost painful.

Splosh, splash goes the water next door.  I stop on the ground floor, my sensible shoes resting on the large cold tiled floor, the white old walls with over glossed and peeling woodwork surrounding doors as the crickle windows with thin panes of glass doing little to keep out the cold.

A nosy pair of eyes look through the keyhole towards the noise “urgh, matron is having a bath again” is an initial reaction as the larger than life woman with ruddy face, greasy hair and usually none too pleasant smell, though she bathes a lot slithers around like a beached whale.

‘Yipeee more time to play’ my mind shouts as ‘thump, thump, thump’ go one pair of feet enthusiastically up the stairs sounding rather like a herd of cattle ready at mealtime.  The floorboards and creaky stairs like a snitch always telling tales on who would tread their path.

‘Where’s Frankie, I hope she is in our room’ my mind continues to chatter as cold breath escapes fast from my drying lips.  Skidding around the corner, fingers gripping the rather smooth wooden bannister I glance towards our door.

Pausing for breath my chest rises, green eyes peering at the discoloured appeture, then towards the small cubicle door, glancing briefly behind me as if working out an escape route, should needs must.

Flexing fingers as if ready for a fight I mutter “I will get her back, it’s time for revenge, ah sweet revenge, one, two, three.”

Palm slams against the door, Franky barely flinches, used to noises and disruptions in such a place, I howl like a warrior amidst the throws of war “TIME FOR REVEEEEENNNNNGE FRANKIE, YOUR GONNA GET IT, YESSSS.”

A bellow of laughter escapes my throat as Frankies body stiffens a moment, bracing as equally green eyes flit around the bedroom looking for weapons.

I have seconds on her with a pre-emptive strike, hand already on the pillow, the other on the hair mouse, I aim it like a gun “wooooh splurgh” some of it hits her, the rest falling like lazy worms upon her bed.

“WHACK” goes the pillow right across her shoulder.  I laugh like a possessed woman, or girl should I say.  The small bedroom now like a tunnel pales in to insignificance, so does the cold as she gathers her worn pillow, lifting to strike back.

“WHACK WHACK WHACK” back and forth, hysterical laughing with grunting and shouting “GOT YOU, GOT YOU, OW, BITCH.”

images (7)Feathers start to fly around the room, pillows get emptier, we are lost in the moment.  Downy fluff sticking to mouse making the bed now look like a nest as I hear a yell that makes us instantly jump, stop and spin.

“FRANKIE, JUUUUUSTINE STOP THAT RIGHT NOW, DISGUUUUSTING BEHAVIOUR”

There she is, dressing gown barely covering her as the water drips from quite obviously an unfinished bathing session, thin hair stuck to her face through which veins throb purple with anger.

We both stand to attention, faces like tomatoes ready for plucking, sweat dripping down noses covered in exploded feathers “sorry Matron”.

~Silence ensues for a minute but feels like ten ~

She looks around the room.

“I think I will have to split you two up if this behaviour continues”

We swallow mortified.

~The End~

feather

© Justine @ Eclecticoddsnsods.com

Did you ever have a pillow fight?

Where you naughty at school, what did you do? grins

  13 comments for “Writing 101, Day Eleven: Size Matters

  1. June 16, 2014 at 6:52 PM

    What happy memories to recall and share with others. The famous or infamous pillow fights of childhood.

    It was certainly an enjoyable read that brought smiles to my face, as I remembered the ones I had in childhood.

    Like

    • June 17, 2014 at 11:32 AM

      yes me and Franky always got in trouble perhaps that is why we were last to be made prefects but hey it makes as you say for some good fun memories….the poor matron though lol

      Like

  2. June 16, 2014 at 11:05 PM

    When I read something like this I realise how my English is not good as I seem to think… 😦
    I wish I can express myself in English like I can do in Croatian, with phrases and adjectives, with subtilness…

    Like

    • June 17, 2014 at 11:39 AM

      oh your English is amazing ivyon, honestly, i can’t speak any other language, you should be proud of yourself 🙂

      Like

  3. June 17, 2014 at 3:53 AM

    Takes a long time to dislodge memories we don’t want. When we are stuck where we don’t want to be. Sometimes being in a house just isn’t the same as being home.
    Eventually though we have to make our own homes. Thanks for another great prompt – Flash Non-fiction? :

    https://julesinflashyfiction.wordpress.com/2014/06/17/writing-101-day-eleven-just-enough-now/

    Like

    • June 17, 2014 at 11:40 AM

      definitely not fiction, was a real event and not an unhappy one, but your right about being in a house is not the same as being at home xx

      Like

      • June 17, 2014 at 3:31 PM

        Yes, yours being not fiction too, as was mine. Most of what I write perhaps isn’t fiction (the poetry, though a good bit of the flash fiction is. We draw on all of our experiences blending and bending them. 🙂

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        • June 17, 2014 at 4:50 PM

          exactly, mix, not mix, i think eclectic is good hence my blog name hehe x

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          • June 17, 2014 at 4:59 PM

            I just feel like I’ve moved around too dang much.
            But it is just fodder for the pen 🙂

            Like

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