My little creation

When lockdown started, supermarket shelves ran empty. Flour became virtually nonexistent, finding sugar was comparable to a miracle, and I had to come to terms with the fact that I might have to use kitchen rolls in place of toilet paper for a while (thankfully, I didn’t). All non-essential jobs went remote, restaurants and shops closed, and my university cancelled class. The world descended into chaos, but I still had coursework to hand in.

One of the first things I had to submit were my creative writing assessments. I was so unhappy with one of the pieces, I rewrote all 4,000 words of the story on the day it was due and sent it in with one minute to spare. After that, I couldn’t touch a page for the next four months. I’d find myself looking back at those days that stretched into infinity and think ‘what a waste’. How could I have not written anything during lockdown?

But that’s where I was wrong. That short story might have been an assignment, but it still counted. It’s something I was able to create in its entirety, yet I’d left it to rot in my “UNI - YEAR 2” folder like autumn leaves turning into mulch.

Truthfully, I’ve been scared to look at it ever since I handed it in, but I guess it’s time to bite the bullet. Here’s a little excerpt from the story. You’ll have to forgive me for trying to sound British in the writing—it felt like a good idea at the time because that’s where the characters are from. 

Let’s read this together, shall we?

The story follows Ollie, a first year university student, throwing a dinner party to impress a girl he might or might not be dating. 

“

Ollie’s head spun. The party hadn’t truly even started, yet there he was, ready to call it a night and not leave his room for the next three days. 

‘No, I like beans!’ came a different voice.

Lenny yelled, contributing to the chaos of the room. He waved a new can of beer in his hands, saying he’d forgotten to make the rice.

Oh, god. How was he expected to handle all this? Ollie gazed into the bubbling pot of chili that now reminded him more of hot mud. There was no way anyone could stomach that.

His pride was at stake. The hours of labour he’d sweated into it were dismantled in a matter of minutes. He desperately wanted to fix it but didn’t know how. Someone started talking about ordering pizza, and Ollie reached the point that any new inconvenience - big or small - would wreak havoc on his body and mind completely. 

Ollie fanned himself with his shirt. Did it get ten degrees hotter or was it him? The stress made him sweat, and his first instinct was to get himself another drink. Knowing a beer wouldn’t do, he found a half-full plastic cup next to him and topped it off with more vodka. It was smooth when it slid down his throat. It seemed that his body was ahead in the race for inebriety, but his mind would soon catch up. He must have been a lot drunker than he’d thought. 

He looked around for Luna. She’d been gone for a while, and Ollie really wanted her back. He was stressing so much about everything else, at least her presence would comfort him. He felt tempted to go knock on the bathroom door, but things had been going so well between them, and the last thing he wanted to do was scare her off by acting too clingy. 

Sod it, he thought. Clinginess be damned. What better time to declare your feelings than when you were drunk and distressed? 

Ollie took a deep breath. He passed by Lenny carrying a new bowl and spoon in his hands. The other guests went ignored until their questions about food disappeared with the sound of the kitchen door closing behind him. He breathed in the musty scent of their unvacuumed corridor and paused in front of the bathroom. His fist was raised, ready to knock, and he told himself this was his last chance to back out. After this moment, Luna and his relationship would be changed forever. 

Ollie rapped his knuckles against the door. He heard a flush, then a second flush after a couple seconds. The tap turned on then off, and finally, the door unlocked. 

He came face-to-face with a stranger.

‘Uh. Who are you?’ Ollie asked. The stranger smiled and patted Ollie’s back with his still-wet hand. “Sorry, mate. Needed the bog.” He then left through the door, and Ollie wondered how he’d gotten in when – of course! Jake had left the traffic cone there to act like a doorstop. People were free to enter as they pleased. 

Not wanting to deal with any more unwelcome presences, Ollie picked up the cone and let the door slam shut. It was pure luck that made him look at the staircase through the face-view window and see Luna pacing by the elevator. He almost called her name, then the doors dinged open and out stepped a girl with bleached-and-dyed baby pink hair in half-up pigtails. 

The two girls stared at each other for the longest time before collapsing into one another. They hugged, then cried, and Ollie noticed the trails of mascara that ran down Luna’s cheeks. Their moment seemed so intimate, he felt like an intruder. He was about to turn away to give them privacy, almost missing the moment when Luna pulled the girl’s face to hers and they – kissed? 

Ollie gasped. One hand shot up to his mouth, the other running through his hair. He stayed like that, paralyzed and watching until the girls broke off. They laughed together, touching their foreheads and caressing each other’s faces the way Ollie always pictured he’d one day do to Luna. 

That hope shattered before his very eyes. 

Luna finally looked away from the other girl. Through the window, her eyes met Ollie’s and her skin lost all its colour like she’d seen a ghost. 

Not able to look at her for a second longer, Ollie tore his gaze away and ran back into the kitchen. His phone immediately buzzed, and he didn’t need to check it to know the caller was Luna. He felt dizzy, and it was getting harder for him to breathe. Before he gave himself the opportunity to lose his mind asking questions, he strode to his private cupboard and pulled out his cheap whiskey. Not bothering with a glass, he brought the bottle to his lips and managed one gulp before having to stop and heave. 

Goosebumps formed across his skin, but there was no arguing against the looseness in his limbs. It was as if the cut-rate whiskey had smoothed out his rigid edges despite burning like acetone on the way down. His phone buzzed again, so he took it out of his pocket to hang up, slamming it on the counter a lot harder than necessary. He chanced another sip of the drink before wiping his mouth with his sleeve. 

The room smelled of burning food and smoke. Ollie looked at the table and found people twisting to blow their puffs outside the windows, a drink in one hand and a fag in the other. He had half a mind of telling them to quit, because the smoke alarms in their kitchen were sensitive and unreliable, but he no longer had the spirit to speak.

”

So, there it is. After wiping off the dust eight months of neglect have left on my piece, I can safely say it didn’t make me cringe, or wish I’d never have to pick up a pen again in my lifetime. Actually, it reminded me that I’m kind of good at what I do.

Here’s your gentle reminder to be proud of your little creation, no matter how big or small you might think it is. I hope you enjoyed mine.