NARRATIVE EDIT
❦ Writing
Third person writing sample:
“This is amazing,” Chel sighed as her eyes glazed over the campus.
Students and teachers had all skirted through, rushing to their respective classes. She inhaled the new air, the different languages, and delighted in the startling difference of this place to her home. Catching sight of an odd-looking professor, she instinctively slipped between two buildings, her fingers tracing the bricks. With no one else to share in the victory of her swift escape, she smiled to herself and pressed onward.
Her fingers tightened their grip around her bag. Even though she had a perfectly adequate dorm, she refused to leave anything there. No matter how prestigious the institution, there would always be thieves. She would know. To anyone else, the weight of the stolen gold and jewels would have been too overwhelming to carry, but she relished in its bulk and splendor like a warrior treasuring his conquests. Guilt never stayed with her for very long.
“Excuse me, miss!”
Chel whirled around to face her inquisitor, searching his face for a position she would recognize. He might have been a teacher, an administrator, or a custodian-but they were all the same to her. She dreaded authority figures like smallpox.
She swallowed heavily, but maintained an air of composure as best she could manage.
“Yes?”
“Shouldn’t you be in class?” he questioned.
In truth, she knew she had a class this period, but couldn’t be sure which one was at this time. Her mind staged a reversal of that morning, remembering where she had left her schedule; wadded up on the floor (just where it belonged). Was it history this morning? she asked herself.
“I actually have a free period right now,” she assured him, a smile smeared across her face.
He appeared to be unconvinced, folding his arms over his chest and letting out a snort.
“What’s your name?”
“Chel,” she replied. “I just arrived yesterday.” She paused, pursing her lips thoughtfully. Her brown eyes widened to paint the face of a lost innocent that, due to fervent repetition, had grown harder to fashion in El Dorado. She missed the days where her gimmicks and funny faces were not anticipated by her family, and savored the opportunity to try them here where no one knew who she was. “The Academy’s administration gave me the wrong itinerary when I came due to confusion, so my classes are quite few and far between, especially the interesting ones.” She stopped again, leaning in a little closer. “Are you a professor here?”
He seemed to stand straighter at the recognition, lengthening his neck.
“I am. I teach Logic and Reason [sorry, it was the most boring class I ever took at my high school, so I thought I’d apply it here].”
She forced a crooked grin, nodding. “Oh, wow, that sounds fascinating!” she choked out, trying her best to filter the sarcasm from her voice. She made a solid effort to giggle as she ran her fingers through her hair. “I’ll be sure to add that class to my schedule, especially if it’s being taught by you.”
He blushed rather obviously at her before glancing at his watch. Apparently late, he dipped his head to say goodbye and proceeded through the campus. She watched him go with a new flicker of enthusiasm in her eyes, realizing this school as a perfect opportunity to practice her “people skills,” among other things. If every professor was as gullible, she figured, she would never have to attend a single class, reaping all of the benefits of freedom without the educational baggage.
“I’m going to be just fine.”
First person writing sample:
I can’t believe this. Three days into school here and I’m staring at a pile of work on my desk. Apparently someone gave me away as a truant, or at least that’s what it seems like since this seems to be a professor’s revenge.
I’ve been keeping my dorm room open to have access to the characters running around, and admittedly, poking my nose into other people’s business. How they get all of this work finished on time and still have the means to socialize, I’ll never know. I’ve never been a particularly good procrastinator, mostly because I’ve never needed to be, but that doesn’t mean I’m slow. Or at least, I hope it doesn’t.
“Oh my gosh, really? He said that?” I hear one girl scream.
I slam my head against the table until I think of a solution for all of this. I could, hypothetically of course, transfer into different classes, couldn’t I? I could complain about the time constraints or about the difficulty and take…oh I don’t know… dance or something. Dance can’t be too hard.
My mind is made up. I glance at the box of matches conveniently placed on my shelf and lightly consider burning the textbooks.
Nah, I may be frustrated but I’m not a pyro. I’m just going to leave them here in my dorm, collecting dust; a particularly cruel punishment for books. I brush my hair from my face, prepping myself before I dash out of the room, eager for fresh human contact that I’ve long been denied.