Have you ever tried writing stories?

[Nguyễn Diệu Hương (dieuhautotbung)]

since we already have the topic "Our English poems," I think there should another topic for prose. Feel free to make up stories as long as they consist of something you really want to tell other people about yourself. (My second purpose of opening this topic is to find resources for EHAO, :biggrin: )

So, here is mine. ;

Sunny Sunday afternoon.
Hey, why do I always relate Sunday and sunny? Or maybe it’s not I. People often use a sunny Sunday as the setting for their story. So what? Let my story begin like this . . .
On a sunny, bright Sunday afternoon, there was a girl . . .

Wait, why do I use the past tense here? She is still a girl and let’s make the story more attractive by using the present tense. By the way, will it sound better if I use the first person? Ok. Here we go.

Today is such a sunny, bright Sunday. I am sitting on the grass reading books.

No way, I can’t be that passive. I should walk instead of sitting. Oh, and I should walk on the dry golden leaves in the fall. That would be way too romantic. So I should be a romantic girl in the story. Hopefully that works.

Today is such a sunny, bright Sunday. Walking alone on the golden leaves, I cannot stop thinking about . . .

Wait, what should I think about? Boys? No, that would make my story too simple. My family? Not yet, the romantic setting is not suitable. Myself, good idea. Everyone in such a mood will think about her or himself. So I think about myself. Tons of questions need answers. Who am I? Why am I here? What am I doing?

Keep walking, I see a restaurant, a very fancy one. That is the most luxurious restaurant in the town. I haven’t had dinner yet although I have just finished a bagel and two cups of milk. That is not dinner, isn’t it? Tell me it is not because I really want to go inside that marvelous restaurant. It will be expensive, I think. My dinner may cost more than my mom’s weekly income. Should I go inside or not? Oh, come on. I look stupid standing in front of a restaurant thinking. Let’s go inside. I have never spent much money since I came here. Why can I just enjoy a nice dinner once in my entire life? (I am sure there is gonna be a second time though). Anyway, I am inside it now. Hold on. Everyone stares at me. They are sitting in couples. Their clothes suggest they are wealthy people. Well, I am in shorts, T-shirt, flip-flops, from which if I were home, people would think I just got back from the market. Does it matter at all? Absolutely not. I am the only person who sits by myself. Sure, because if there is another one, I am gonna come there and sit down at that table. Why should I waste a chance getting to know a person? So, I am sitting by myself ordering the most expensive dish. Why not? ( Although I have no idea what type of food is that) Oh, the music here is nice. It is sort of outdated music though. But I like it. It has been a long time I haven’t listened to classical love songs. “Everything I do, I do it for you . . . ” Is that true? Is there such a person? Oh yes, definitely. That is my mom. Everything she does, she thinks about me first. There will never be a second person in the world who loves me that much. I suddenly miss my mom so much that I am about to cry. Today is Mother’s day. If only she were here, I would give a big hug and kiss her hair, which is dry and hard. How can her hair be soft and smooth when she often has to sit down, washing clothes by hand in the sun? Mothers’ day, another reason to have a nice dinner because I am sure she will be so happy to know that I am enjoying life here. The food has come. It is Thai mango sauce covering tofu and chicken. I have it with spring rolls and a cup of tea. This is so tasteful and a little bit spicy. I love spicy food. That’s why Red hot chilly pepper is my favorite band. My totem also suggests that I love red and yellow. Hold on, is that Vietnamese flag? I am such a patriotic person, aren’t I?

Well, I know you are getting bored with my story. Fine, now is the climax. What should be the climax then? Let me think for one second. Should it be an accident, a car accident maybe? That would be too long until the resolution. Besides, I don’t want to put myself in such a bad situation. Flash! I have an idea.
Walking out the restaurant, there is a bike coming right toward me. It almost hits me. I am about to yell at the rider. Oops, hold on, not the right time to curse. That’s a boy. I look at him in a way that asks “What do you want, little boy?” He politely apologies and then asks how I am doing. Wait, have I seen you before? Maybe, I reply. Oh, little poor boy, I know what you want. I can read the phrase “Gonna get you, baby,” in your eyes. He asks if I want to take a photo of his riding on one wheel. I forget to tell you that I always bring my camera with me. I love taking pictures, black and white ones. I am taking photography class so his suggestion makes sense to me. “If you don’t mind,” I say. He seems to be excited, which seems funny to me. I take several pictures. If they come out nicely, I will give him some. I say goodbye to him and walk away. He keeps going after me for a while.

Such a silly climax. I am sorry for not being able to think of a more thrilling one. Will you be more interested if I meet a gang of robbers or bump into a hot looking guy? Doesn’t matter at all, right? That’s it, the whole story of a girl walking alone on a cloudless Sunday afternoon. What else can you expect to happen?

 

[Doãn Hoàng Lan (Hoàng Lan)]

Re: Our own stories

This story is not about me at all. Just an attempt to contribute to Hao (though it might be paltry), and to share some crazy ideas that happens to visit my mind in this rainy summer night...

This is an account about a boy who is devoid of shield and offered love that he should be granted to. He was not an orphan but led an orphan life. Most of his time was spent meandering Paris grand and luxurious streets, adoring suave gentlemen and pert madams passing by, with them keeping shunning him “the shaggy little boy”. They have called him by that name too frequent that it had ceased to mind him. Everyday he ran across streets, his long chaotic hair flowing, his worn out crimson shirt swishing in the light breeze of the early morn when almost all dignified Paris residents were deep in fast sleep. Night is the only time that Paris became his own castle, a deserted country that he, a poor, undignified stripling, happened to reign. He knew every alley, every corner, every shortcut as the back of his hands. He intimately bonded with Paris cos this was his home. He had his own shelter where he could huddle through the gale, counting the rain pounding on the surrounding frigid ground and then fall into fast sleep among the jumble of street voices. He just lay there, reveries drifting across his innocent, feeble mind until one of his friends prodded him awake.
Then they began their daily parade along Paris streets, filching and sharing, then filching again. They never earned much, and what they earned never satisfied their ravenous stomach, but, with miracle optimism, they were never bewildered or grieved. Groups occasionally bumped into groups cos Paris, after all, was too cramped a region for thousands of filchers to exercise there. There was sometimes cooperation. Sometimes conflicts and disputes, but as a salient oral rule here, there had never been disparity. Fairness had been strictly conformed here even in the starkest situation.
His job was not a dignified, well-earned one, but it fed him, and it didn’t made much financial loss to his victims at all, they were all ostensibly luxurious ppl. Thus, he had never endured the nasty feeling of guilty. All he did was lurking around, pondered out a prosperous victim, discreetly advanced him, snatched up his wallet and then scrambled out of their reach as fast as his legs could carry him. This process was duplicated time to time, in different regions so that ppl could never relized and tipped off him. He popped up, darting here and there till he saw fit to exercise his cheat and, after a flit glint, ebbed away, leaving his victim stood transfixed with the utmost dumbstruck. After a day of successive missions, he got back to his shelter, sweat flickering on his back. Behind his thin shirt, his energy depleted, but with his pocket bulging with rustling bronze coins. Secretly but milling gleefully, he deposited all of his contemporary small possession to a small pocket, grinning broadly while viewing in his mind the beaming face of his siblings back home, in a poor rural regions on the outskirts of the superb Paris.
Time would have just passed by like this if the abominable mischance hadn’t befallen all Paris citizens, embracing him and his fellows. The horrible news circulated everywhere, making even the bravest gentlemen shuddered and feeble ladies flinched. It was like a rampant pestilence that plagues the whole luxurious, carefree Paris society, jolting it with great panic than ever. The formidable German troops was making its way to intruding the superb, the renowned Paris, and its fate was almost foreordained.
The little boy, unlike others, didn’t scuttle under the jumble of bombs, didn’t awkwardly cowered against walls waiting to be rescued. No. He, as if unaware of perils and the besieging chaos, volunteered to join the resisting troops. At first, he wasn’t accepted, but the force was acutely devoid of ppl, so he eventually participated the gaggle of “the stubborn ”. He was then inducted to a field he had never exposed to, he was taught the weirdest lessons in his life, and how fluent, mastering he was would determine whether he was to die or live. But that burden didn’t seem to weigh on him much. Whether he was brave or simply too vapid to bother about such things, no one could sort out. The only thing we were sure that he had become an invaluable asset to the force. He was remarkably nimble and ingenious. His missions were never aborted, and his bonds with his adult fellows just got more and more intimate...

Ideas just flee away as fast as they come. Five mins ago my head was buzzing with a multitude of them, and now I realize that I can’t even whip out from my empty skulk the slightest prickle of something to continue this piece. So, just let it unfinished.

 

[Doãn Hoàng Lan (Hoàng Lan)]

Re: Our own stories

Just have reread my post. Too many grammar mistakes! ( That always happens when I let my emotions flow. I should check my post carefully next time. Sorry

 

[Phạm Minh Ngọc (girl_isgirl)]

Re: Our own stories

It's okay ; Lan

First let your emotions flow, so that u can have some inspiration to do that. Then proofread later...

Im gonna post my story later and gonna read urs heheh

 

[Nguyễn Diệu Hương (dieuhautotbung)]

Re: Our own stories

thanks for sharing ur stories. Don't worry about grammar mistakes, dear. Some stories will be used for EHAO and there will be someone taking care of grammar..hehe.. not me..

 

[Nguyễn Diệu Hương (dieuhautotbung)]

Re: Our own stories

Another story... Really appreciate comments

A cup of tea is all I want​

“Just after the young birds get old enough, they start practicing flying. They don’t know how to fly yet; they watch their parents and then clap their wings. They don’t even know where to find food. They just wait for their parents to come back to the nests to feed them. And they don’t know fear. When an animal comes closer, while other birds escape, they just stay there. Young birds need teaching fear or danger,” David went on and on about those young birds. He had a satisfied smile on his face while watching birds. “We all know these habits of young birds, David,” Linda interrupted him. She was right. Even a kid could give a lecture like that about birds. David was even more excited, “Oh, yeah, so let’s go into details. That red small bird is cardinal, which is quite common in America. The other one with only red head is a male house-finch.” Linda started losing her patience, “Don’t you have anything else to talk to your date?” David was confused. How could he know what to say if she didn’t tell him? “Since you don’t say anything, I assume that you are interested in my story,” David said awkwardly. “That is not your story, David. That’s the birds’ story. Tell me about yours,” Linda smiled. “Well, I major in environmental studies at college. I like watching birds and identifying them by listening to their voices. It took me years to improve my ability to distinguish birds’ voice. There is one bird that I am after which has a very special voice. It is clear and high. That bird only comes here once a year in May” he went on and on again.
That was his first date 5 years ago at college. After graduating, he became a shopkeeper for a bookstore. It was a relaxing job and he liked it. It allowed him to read all kinds of books from fiction to reference books or even travel books. The store was pretty quiet since hardly anyone noticed such a tiny store at the corner of a crowded food market. David loved being surrounded by old books, whose smell had become the familiar smell of his clothes.
“It’s hot in here. How can you read without a fan here?” someone disturbed his reading during a summer day. Standing in front of him was a slender girl with short hair, brown skin, dark brown eyes and a colorful dress. Her dress was so similar to a bird’s feather actually. It was a strapless dress with orange and red flowers and dots. He liked her dress a lot. Giving her a friendly smile, he asked what books she was looking for. As he guessed, she would want a fashion book. “Have you got “A portrait of an artist” by James Joyce?” she surprised him. That was an old book and perhaps that was why she went to this bookstore. “Sure, I have plenty copies of that book. By the way, do you like James Joyce? I think he is such a genius short-story writer. He just made Dublin so special, completely different from all other big cities in Europe. Which of his stories do you like best?” he was curious. He did not understand why that girl stared at him in a funny way. He paused for a moment, questioning himself what was wrong with him. He had been trying to figure out the answer for years after realizing that people often gave him funny look. That girl burst out laughing. “You are cute, do you know that?” she said. His face turned red. This was the first time he heard something so sweet. His mom never said that to him. She was annoyed at every word he said. She was angry with him all the time. It was his fault anyway. He was clumsy and useless. His mom thought that and David was convinced his mom was right. He found himself useless all the time. And this girl, a totally stranger told him he was cute. He was too happy with her compliment that he gave her the book without asking her name or at least saying thank you to her. He stood still for a few minutes after she left. She was special, wasn’t she? He was especially impressed by her dress. “What are you doing, David?” the owner of the store woke him up from dreaming.
- Nothing, really, I am doing nothing… I just, oh no, nothing.
- Ok, it is lunch time, David. Do you want anything to eat?
- No, thanks. I am fine.
He kept thinking about that girl. He remembered the last time he thought about a girl was before his graduation at college. It took him three nights to wonder whether he should tell that girl how much he adored her. After three days, he made a big decision. He came in front of her, trying his best to say a line he learnt from a movie, “My greatest wish right now is to kiss your sexy lips.” Just like what happened in the movie, he kissed the girl. His first kiss in life was returned with big smack at his face. Since then he probably hadn’t thought about any girl seriously.
The next two days were extremely sultry and hot. He was melting in the bookstore. He was no longer interested in reading. Before, reading kept him from feeling the heat. Now he was immersed in a continuous train of thoughts about life. “What is the meaning of life then?” he kept asking himself. “What is happiness? Am I happy right now?” He felt envious with the birds which lived freely for their whole lives while he was stuck in this bookstore. He suddenly wanted to travel all around the world. He wanted to see all the beautiful views of the Great Wall in China, the Sydney Theatre and romantic Venice. “Excuse me,” a voice from behind reminded him of the existence of the bookstore. He couldn’t believe in his eyes. There stood the girl from a few days ago. She wore a red tank top with a green pair of pants. He thought that was lovely. Green and red were his favorite colors anyway. She gave him the book she bought two days earlier with a complaint that many pages had been torn apart. She wanted to exchange it for another book. He was so embarrassed.
- I am so sorry about this. You know, these are all old used books so probably there is some damage. I promise this time I will choose an almost brand new book for you. Plus I will give you some bookmarks for free as an apology for this inconvenience.
- Oh, no problem. That is very nice of you but you don’t have to do that.
- I would love to make you happy. Do you know you are cute, too?
Even David was surprised at what he just said. He had never dared say that to a girl. Moreover, this girl’s name was still mysterious. He was scared. He was afraid that she would become angry or annoyed. Instead, she asked if he was free that evening for a cup of tea. When she said goodbye, he almost turned around to hug his boss. He was crazy for the whole afternoon looking for the right suit in his dusty closet. He just read a book last week about a romantic love beginning with a cup of tea. That was it! This time he would definitely catch his chance. That girl was exactly whom he had been waiting for. Full of hope, he headed to the Chinese tea shop down the street.​