(no subject)
All righty. So, I haven't been able to write at all lately, really, except for one page of a bizarre, unfinished Xander/Anya sort of deal that was more or less centered around waffles. So . . . y'know. Have very much been all writer's blocked.
I've also been kind of desperate to write something original for - oh, I dunno - ever, but can't do that either, obviously, but I thought maybe I'd post an original I started this summer while I was really bored on here and see what feedback I could get. Because you're all merciful sorts who wouldn't crush my soul too much. I think.
And just a forewarning: this isn't all that good at all. It was just me trying to save myself from death by boredom while trapped in Seattle this summer. And it lacks a title. And features a duckling. Hence the . . . "title." And I may or may not be nervously babbling.
Er. Anyway.
There's nine completed chapters, I believe. And . . . here we go.
Chapter One
On the last day of high school, Larry gave me a duckling.
I can honestly say that it was one of the most awkward moments in my entire life, and when one is blessed with my social prowess - which, by the way, isn't vast - that's saying something. It wasn't like we were the sort of really good friends who would know each other's middle names and buy each other farm animals. I had no clue whatsoever about the guy, and would have, I'm quite sure, never been overcome with the compulsion to give him a pig.
He was my lab partner for a trimester, and we did our English project on Macbeth together in sophomore year, but that didn't exactly equal have-a-duckling in my mind. Of course, Larry was a little bit strange. Not to the point where he never bathed or randomly quoted Star Trek lines at anyone who dared approach him, or anything, but he was slightly out there. Not that I'm saying I wasn't. I figure everyone's got their little quirks.
Like Larry -- he'd kind of mumble to himself sometimes. It wasn't particularly alarming, once you got used to having him around, but there was certainly a bit of a weirdness to it. And when we had to read passages of Shakespeare out loud in class, he'd actually put feeling into it, and pronounce 'i'' as though it were actually short of 'in' rather than 'eye.' I suppose he was an English geek.
Which still didn't quite explain the duckling, but I didn't know how to come right out and say that. It seemed a little mean.
Plus, it was kind of cute.
The duckling, I mean. All tiny and fuzzy and . . . yes, all right, sooner or later prepared to grow up into a duck, which wasn't quite as endearing.
"This is for you," he said, kind of shoving it at me and looking at his left shoe. The lace was untied, I discovered upon following his gaze.
"Er," I replied, quite intelligently, "thanks."
"I thought you might . . . you know, like it," he continued, still staring fixedly at his foot. I briefly contemplated asking him if he needed help tying his shoe before deciding against it. That seemed a little mean too.
"Umm . . . yeah. It's . . . cute." I wasn't lying, or anything. It was cute, staring up at me, one wing kind of twitching. But that didn't change the fact that it was a highly random duckling.
"It reminded me of you," he said.
This implied, I realized, that he thought about me when I wasn't around, which was a little strange, because, admittedly, I didn't do a lot of thinking about him. It happened occasionally, of course. Once, I was standing next to this guy in the Classics section at Blockbuster, and he was mumbling to himself, very intensely. He was wearing a black trenchcoat and seemed slightly freaky, and I thought of Larry, who wore t-shirts with band names on them and occasionally striped socks, and didn't seem as creepy at all when he talked to himself. Those were the sorts of times when I thought about Larry.
And it struck me that this was an awkward situation. Well, yes, I'd known it before, but it suddenly seemed to increase tenfold and become alarmingly obvious.
"Your shoe is untied," I informed him, but in a nice sort of way, so it sounded like I was saying it so he wouldn't take a step and fall flat onto his face or anything like that.
"Huh?" he said, looking up at me. His eyes were greenish gray, which I hadn't ever really noticed before. He wore glasses with awful thick black frames, and I guessed I'd never taken the time to pay attention to his eyes. You didn't, usually, with most people.
I supposed being given a duckling could change things slightly.
"Your shoe," I told him, and that's when Bethany came rushing over, looking all flushed and giggly, which probably meant that she and Mark had found a utility closet on the way to the yearbook signing. The two of them were good at that sort of thing.
I figured I was about as skilled at it as miniature golfing in heels.
Which I had never done, by the way.
So I really had no clue, but assumed the worst. It was my way.
"You have a duck," Bethany informed me, decidedly bewildered, while she rubbed at her mouth, attempting to de-smear her lipstick.
"Yep," I replied. "From Larry."
Bethany looked over to Larry then, her eyes alight with interest - she liked to read in to that sort of thing, like giving someone a duck was this big romantic gesture - and said, "Oh, really?"
"I--I gotta go," Larry said, shoving his hands into his pockets and wandering off - he always seemed like he was wandering - much more quickly than usual. After approximately eight and a half steps, he tripped over his shoelace.
"A duck?" Bethany asked, staring quizically at me.
"Guess so," I replied, shrugging. We both looked down at the duckling.
It actually seemed kind of bored by the whole situation.
I've also been kind of desperate to write something original for - oh, I dunno - ever, but can't do that either, obviously, but I thought maybe I'd post an original I started this summer while I was really bored on here and see what feedback I could get. Because you're all merciful sorts who wouldn't crush my soul too much. I think.
And just a forewarning: this isn't all that good at all. It was just me trying to save myself from death by boredom while trapped in Seattle this summer. And it lacks a title. And features a duckling. Hence the . . . "title." And I may or may not be nervously babbling.
Er. Anyway.
There's nine completed chapters, I believe. And . . . here we go.
Chapter One
On the last day of high school, Larry gave me a duckling.
I can honestly say that it was one of the most awkward moments in my entire life, and when one is blessed with my social prowess - which, by the way, isn't vast - that's saying something. It wasn't like we were the sort of really good friends who would know each other's middle names and buy each other farm animals. I had no clue whatsoever about the guy, and would have, I'm quite sure, never been overcome with the compulsion to give him a pig.
He was my lab partner for a trimester, and we did our English project on Macbeth together in sophomore year, but that didn't exactly equal have-a-duckling in my mind. Of course, Larry was a little bit strange. Not to the point where he never bathed or randomly quoted Star Trek lines at anyone who dared approach him, or anything, but he was slightly out there. Not that I'm saying I wasn't. I figure everyone's got their little quirks.
Like Larry -- he'd kind of mumble to himself sometimes. It wasn't particularly alarming, once you got used to having him around, but there was certainly a bit of a weirdness to it. And when we had to read passages of Shakespeare out loud in class, he'd actually put feeling into it, and pronounce 'i'' as though it were actually short of 'in' rather than 'eye.' I suppose he was an English geek.
Which still didn't quite explain the duckling, but I didn't know how to come right out and say that. It seemed a little mean.
Plus, it was kind of cute.
The duckling, I mean. All tiny and fuzzy and . . . yes, all right, sooner or later prepared to grow up into a duck, which wasn't quite as endearing.
"This is for you," he said, kind of shoving it at me and looking at his left shoe. The lace was untied, I discovered upon following his gaze.
"Er," I replied, quite intelligently, "thanks."
"I thought you might . . . you know, like it," he continued, still staring fixedly at his foot. I briefly contemplated asking him if he needed help tying his shoe before deciding against it. That seemed a little mean too.
"Umm . . . yeah. It's . . . cute." I wasn't lying, or anything. It was cute, staring up at me, one wing kind of twitching. But that didn't change the fact that it was a highly random duckling.
"It reminded me of you," he said.
This implied, I realized, that he thought about me when I wasn't around, which was a little strange, because, admittedly, I didn't do a lot of thinking about him. It happened occasionally, of course. Once, I was standing next to this guy in the Classics section at Blockbuster, and he was mumbling to himself, very intensely. He was wearing a black trenchcoat and seemed slightly freaky, and I thought of Larry, who wore t-shirts with band names on them and occasionally striped socks, and didn't seem as creepy at all when he talked to himself. Those were the sorts of times when I thought about Larry.
And it struck me that this was an awkward situation. Well, yes, I'd known it before, but it suddenly seemed to increase tenfold and become alarmingly obvious.
"Your shoe is untied," I informed him, but in a nice sort of way, so it sounded like I was saying it so he wouldn't take a step and fall flat onto his face or anything like that.
"Huh?" he said, looking up at me. His eyes were greenish gray, which I hadn't ever really noticed before. He wore glasses with awful thick black frames, and I guessed I'd never taken the time to pay attention to his eyes. You didn't, usually, with most people.
I supposed being given a duckling could change things slightly.
"Your shoe," I told him, and that's when Bethany came rushing over, looking all flushed and giggly, which probably meant that she and Mark had found a utility closet on the way to the yearbook signing. The two of them were good at that sort of thing.
I figured I was about as skilled at it as miniature golfing in heels.
Which I had never done, by the way.
So I really had no clue, but assumed the worst. It was my way.
"You have a duck," Bethany informed me, decidedly bewildered, while she rubbed at her mouth, attempting to de-smear her lipstick.
"Yep," I replied. "From Larry."
Bethany looked over to Larry then, her eyes alight with interest - she liked to read in to that sort of thing, like giving someone a duck was this big romantic gesture - and said, "Oh, really?"
"I--I gotta go," Larry said, shoving his hands into his pockets and wandering off - he always seemed like he was wandering - much more quickly than usual. After approximately eight and a half steps, he tripped over his shoelace.
"A duck?" Bethany asked, staring quizically at me.
"Guess so," I replied, shrugging. We both looked down at the duckling.
It actually seemed kind of bored by the whole situation.