My First Kiss: Memories That Have Made Me

So much has happened in my life already, and a lot of those experiences have stayed with me.  They are not all monumentous, nor are they all life changing.  But every single one of them (and the countless more that are buried deep within me) have made me who I am.  

I hope others will join in with me and post their own memories on their blogs (or in the comments).  I will be posting mine every Friday, but it doesn’t matter when you write yours or if you wish to do them fortnightly or monthly – your writing should fit with your schedule.  If you do join I ask that you link to my blog with this link: http://emptythoughtsrewritten.blogspot.co.uk/search/label/Memories%20That%20Have%20Made%20Me (until I’ve worked out how to create a button for you to display) and that you will link your POST (not just your blog link please) in the comments each week (until I’ve worked out how to make a linky thing for you to add your links to – I’m really not very tech-savvy!).

When we are young we dream that our first real kiss will be just as magical as it is in books and films and television.  When I look back on my first kiss, I admit that part of it was awful, but I am also amazed that I somehow managed to have an amazing first kiss experience; one I will probably remember forever and which will be one of my favourite stories to tell.

I was 15 and at army cadet camp.  This is the part I’m proud of – I can honestly state that my first kiss happened right outside a real barracks on a beautiful summer evening – I had an unique setting and I love that.  His name was Paul and I had just spent the past hour or so begging him to go out with me (he eventually gave in and we went out for 6 months or so, though it ended badly) at the ‘disco’ (aka the evening activity we were expected to attend).

He walked me back to my barracks and I was more than happy to just go to bed.  But he stopped me.  I guess he figured that he deserved a kiss after my incessant begging.  So we kissed.

It was terrible.

Our teeth clashed painfully, our mouths were dry and it was generally not good.  What made the experience so memorable though was, as I turned to go to bed, he pulled me back into a kiss that I remember as amazing (can’t guarantee that was the case, but it was definitely better than our first attempt).  Perhaps that classifies as a second kiss story, but it was the fact that he pulled me back that made it so romantic to my disneyified teenage mind.

Do you remember your first kiss?  Was it good?  Bad?  Let me know in the comments or leave a link to your own post sharing your story.

The Man Who Smiled: Memories That Have Made Me

I am so super excited today as I am starting a new series on this blog called 'Memories That Have Made Me'.  

So much has happened in my life already, and a lot of those experiences have stayed with me.  They are not all monumentous, nor are they all life changing.  But every single one of them (and the countless more that are buried deep within me) have made me who I am.  

I hope others will join in with me and post their own memories on their blogs (or write about them in their diaries).  I will be posting mine every Friday, but it doesn’t matter when you write yours or if you wish to do them fortnightly or monthly – your writing should fit with your schedule.  If you do join I ask that you link to my blog with this link: http://emptythoughtsrewritten.blogspot.co.uk/search/label/Memories%20That%20Have%20Made%20Me (until I’ve worked out how to create a button for you to display) and that you will link your POST (not just your blog link please) in the comments each week (until I’ve worked out how to make a linky thing for you to add your links to – I’m really not very tech-savvy!).

I'm kicking off this series with the memory that actually kicked off the idea in the first place.  I really hope you'll enjoy it and I look forward to hearing your feedback and reading your 'Memories That Have Made Me' posts:

For the seven years I went to High School (this includes 2 years of Sixth Form), I walked there and back almost every day.  It wasn’t a particularly difficult walk (for me back then, now I can’t walk down the drive most of the time!) and I found I really enjoyed the time it gave me to just be in my imagination.

But when I think back to those walks, I very rarely think of what it was like, I just remember a certain man.  I never knew his name, and to be honest, I can’t actually remember what he looked like.  But I remember him as the man who smiled.  I would see him almost every morning; as I turned out of my close, he would be going in the other direction on his way home from his morning walk.  And every morning he would stop and smile at me and say ‘good morning’, and I would do the same.

One year we came across his house while trick-or-treating, they called me Buffy – they had a china doll with this name and they thought I looked like her, I remember the name simply because I was horrified that they’d named me after the character Buffy the Vampire Slayer (this was before I liked the show and actually hated it).  After that I would pop a Christmas card through their door every year.

I was shocked that he recognized me and had told his wife about me.  Even more so when he thanked me for cheering his mornings.  Now I wish I could say the same to him.  Back then I was too shy to say hello to most strangers, but he taught me that a smile from a stranger can totally change a day from awful to wonderful.  Since leaving High School, I have made an effort to smile at every single person I pass on the street, no matter how bad my day is.

So thank you stranger who smiled at me as I walked to school, you literally changed my life and I hope I am creating a ripple effect by following your lead.  I will always remember the effect you’ve had on me, and I hope that you are still smiling wherever you are.

Not Drowning

I stood on the cliff edge, knowing that no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t go back.  The only way was forward, off the cliff.  I hesitated, scared of what lay ahead and wishing I could return to the comfort and safety of the past.  Eventually I decided to leap figuring that I couldn’t fly if I didn’t.  I opened my eyes and jumped.  I didn’t fly; I didn’t soar.  I plummeted down into the murky water.  At least I didn’t hit the rocks, though I can feel the sting from where they scratched and cut me.

I cannot see a way out of the water.  Instead of flying, I am desperately paddling, trying to keep my head above water.  I am exhausted and want to give up, but giving up means drowning.  Every now and again I feel the plants beneath me, curling themselves round my legs to pull me under.  So far I have been able to kick them off, but I fear that I can’t keep them at bay forever.

I do not know how much longer I can keep myself afloat.  Each day is a struggle simply for survival and I can feel the water deepening beneath me.  There are only three options.  I can drown.  I can keep paddling until I am saved or run out of energy.  Or I can try and find a direction to swim in, but if I don’t reach land or a boat, I will drown quicker this way.  I know I should swim – that’s what everyone tells you to do.  And I want to swim.  But I don’t know how to navigate the waters, and I don’t want to waste my energy on going deeper out to sea. 

Yes, I am scared.  I believed I could fly but with every moment that hope is being corroded.  I am not worried about flying anymore, but I want more than to just survive.  And that is what I fear I’ll never manage as everything I am is being poured into not drowning.  And so I paddle, take a few strokes and paddle some more.  I do not know how much longer I can keep this up, but I will not drown without a fight.

Spiral

You remember when I took part in Creativity Boot Camp?  Well, the organiser Maegan now hosts The Sunday Creative so I thought I'd give it a go.  This week's prompt is Spiral.  Feedback is always welcome.

A hanging glass spiral hung in the window. Karla watched as the pearls of reflected light moved about the room; over the brown seats, the brown carpet, the beige walls and the stack of out-of-date magazines beside her.  The clock ticked. 

There was one other person in the waiting room, probably feeling just as anxious and worried as Karla herself was feeling.  She picked up the top magazine – Hello.  She hated gossip weeklies, they rarely had anything useful in them, but right now it was a distraction.  Anything to stop herself thinking what was being said behind the closed door.  Every now and again the flicking light caused by the spiral would draw Karla’s eyes to that door.  Or perhaps it was Karla herself wanting it to open, for the waiting to end.

And then it opened.  There was the doctor.  And there was her mother, dressed impeccably as always.  She always worried what other people thought about her and so only had clothes she deemed ‘best’ in her wardrobe, hair and make-up always done perfectly and daring red nails which didn’t imply her age.

Karla looked up hopefully, wanting to see relief on her mother’s face, wanting to know that everything would be okay.  Instead she was met with her mother standing straight, not showing any emotion.

  

“So we’ll get you an appointment, it may be a week, perhaps a few days longer.”

    

 “Thank you.”  Was her mother’s short reply.

    

And Karla knew that her life was about to change and that the diagnoses was positive.  Her mum had cancer.

One More Woman

I actually wrote this last year as an exercise for class - a story with not punctuation.  One of my more twisted pieces, I'm really proud of it and so am sharing it here: 

Smothering her I felt the power once again nothing holding me back or stopping me from giving death taking away her right to go on in her miserable existence this is how I felt then and do now as I continue taking lives and letting my power pore from my hands to stop the breathing and the continuity that they would have had if I had not stepped in bruising her but not enough for the skin to break until finally allowing my knife to pierce letting out a trickle of blood so I do and I have and will go on as I have begun not pausing to think what would happen if I dared to stop if I would be able to keep myself alive for just one moment without having that complete knowledge and control over my world and those women who come into mine I must always keep on as I started taking and giving at my discretion suffocating and cutting into the flawless flesh laid out in front of me to do with as I choose destroying and enhancing women with a simple groove of the knife in my hand that glides through her body leaving nothing for anyone else to play with and enjoy they are mine and mine alone and I will have her and every woman for she is there for my pleasure to extinguish one after another there will always be more where this one came from so I must not waste time in grasping each life to fulfil my personal purpose their purpose now to keep my sanity my ability to stay in this world before we are all torn away.

Temptation

I know this isn't strictly about cupcakes (or, you know, not at all) but it follows with the theme of sweet delights.  So here's a little snippet of my writing that I wrote for Ficly (click here to go to my profile) last year (I really need to start writing more short pieces).  So, anyway, enjoy:

It was there, right in front of her. It’s dark eyes dotted about stared at her, daring her to take it. All she would have to do is reach out, pick it up off the plate and take a bite. The more she stared at the cookie, the more it’s power pulled her in. She was transfixed. She shouldn’t take the first bite, she should just leave it. But surely one bite wouldn’t hurt. Just a little bite.

She took that first step, felt the biscuit crumbling on her lips, the chocolate chips melting on her tongue. She was right. She shouldn’t have taken the bait. She had been right, the cookie had her now. But she could defeat it. If she ate it all…there wouldn’t be any proof that she had fallen for it…the cookie would be gone, and only she would know.

She sat there, looking at the empty plate, no crumbs were left, there was no proof. But she felt the guilt set in. The cookie had won afterall, it wasn’t there anymore, but that was what it had wanted all along. For her to eat it, and she had.

Day 7 - Fly

It has just occurred to me that I've never shared any of my fictional writing here on my blog - I always seem to give you mini essays on my thoughts.  This certainly isn't a bad thing but I've decided that perhaps it's time to share some writing.  Please feel free to constructively critisize but remember that this isn't work that I'm planning on continuing or perfecting in any way.  While I am working on some stories to submit for publication you can understand why I don't want to share any of that on such a public forum as the internet.

All this week I have been writing short scenes or beginnings of stories based on the prompt words that have been given by Maegan in the Creativity Boot Camp (click button to your right to be taken to the course).  Today's word is 'fly'.

Shelly looked out of the window and realised with a jolt that they were moving. This was it; she couldn't escape now.  She pumped her hands a few times wishing she'd brought something to fiddle with.  She picked up the sheet slipped into the back of the seat in front of her.  She glanced at the pictures first - how to put on your seatbelt.  Shelly started reading.

It was only when her ears popped that she realised the plane was now in flight.  Technically it was still going up.  Shelly peered cautiously out of the window and almost jumped back in shock.  She knew that it would be flying high but hadn''t really understood just how small everything below would seem.  She turned over the laminated safety sheet and continued reading.  Before finishing the first paragraph she hurridly popped it back in the pouch.  She didn't want to know what to do in case of emergency.  It would probably be better to die straight out anyway.  Then again she might get stuck amongst the rubble and slowly starve to death.  Shelly hurridly picked the instruction sheet up again and began to read.

So please comment with your opinions and let me know if you'd like to see more of my work here on this blog.