Unrest Hour- Revised

Hello friends!  Okay so this is just a short little thing from the point of view of one of my stronger side characters from my mystery story way back when.  She might be a little bit insane.  I don't know.  You tell me.

Max,

Hey, BRO!!!!  How's Florida?  There's a buttload of leaves, right?  I went there once and I was just like, "Oh, my God, leaves.  Max would so completely hate this place."  So like, do you so completely hate this place, or...?

So my mom forced me to go to summer camp because she doesn't appreciate my attempts at having fun while you and Michael aren't here.  She was all, "Harrassing the elderly is not an acceptable pastime, Phyllis," and I was all, "Um, hello, that guy was totally a murderer," and she was all, "GO TO CAMP."  And then she actually made me go to camp, because she is a walking entity of evil. 

And every day they have this thing called rest hour where you have to have to go back to your cabin and rest.  For an hour.  And since allowing electronics here would be humane, the only thing we can really do besides sleep (because everyone is just exhausted at 1:30 P.M.) is write letters to people.  I wrote my mom this really passive aggressive one about how excellent it is here, what with the bacteria-infested lake they make us swim in, and the moldy bread they make the sandwiches with, and how some girl almost accidentally got shot with an arrow and all, but that only took like, ten minutes, so now I have to write to you and Michael even though you are in fun places like Florida and Hawaii and I am at stupid camp.

There're a bunch of leaves here, let me tell you.  Am I scaring you?  Let me know if I am- I'll stop.  So anyway, there are leaves here, in abundance, and it would freak you out like whoa.  Being at an all-girls camp would probably freak you out too though, so yeah, just like, don't come.  Not that you even would, because you're in Florida and your parents are not walking entities of evil.  How is that, by the way, it sounds nice.

So I think the counselor in Cabin 3 might be a convicted felon.  She's only like, eighteen, but I am still convinced of this.  She's a complete pyromaniac- like I was actually kind of scared when we did the campfire on Monday because she got this like, crazed look in her eyes as soon as we lit the thing.  And then my counselor was like, "Okay, we should probably put it out now," and she was like, "NO," and it was really unnerving and I wish you and Michael were here because nobody else here believes me and they don't think crime-fighting is an acceptable pastime.  So it's not even any better here than at home, really- it's actually probably worse on account of the whole rest hour thing.

Also, the chef is totally trying to poison us.  We had this Kool-Aid last night, and it definitely tasted like cyanide.  I have no idea what cyanide actually tastes like, but I am still fairly certain there was some in the Kool-Aid.  Actually, I don't even know why I'm blaming the chef for this, when it could be anyone ever who as access to the fridge. So basically, we could all be poisoned and have our remains burned and nobody would even know what happened because nobody believes me about this stuff.

And then there was the whole business with the campout on Tuesday.  I won’t go into detail about the particulars of said campout, but basically some idiot decided we needed to have mashed potatoes.  Instant mashed potatoes.  Cooked over an open fire.  With no one actually watching the stupid pan so we all actually forgot about the thing until the milk boiled over and it smelled like crap for the rest of the night because that arsonist counselor wouldn’t let us put the fire out until the last possible moment.  Plus, this girl almost got charged by a moose.

Write me back soon so we can figure out a plan to get to the bottom of this.  How soon do you think you can get here?

Sincerely,

Your bestest friend in the universe ever,

Phyllis

P.S. I also saw like, two and a half bears.

P.P.S. And I haven't seen the counselor from Cabin 5 in over twenty minutes.

P.P.P.S. She's probably dead.

P.P.P.P.S. Aww, man.

P.P.P.P.P.S. I wish I had a pomegranate.

P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Pomegranates are good.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. SEND ME A POMEGRANATE.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Wait, do they even have pomegranates in Florida?

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Whatever, just get one and bring it to me when you come up here.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Bring gloves.

Phyllis,

Stop.

-Max

Okay, feedback questions- is this too short and obnoxious?  Is it too confusing?  Should I add or delete anything?  Thank!

Flash Fiction Attempt #5

I have to stop lying, Sylvia is always telling me.  Today she made this heartfelt speech about how lying is a thing I have to stop doing, on account of I am hurting others and myself alike, and I told her I would stop, but that was a lie, so like... I don't know.

It's not like I do it intentionally.  Well, I mean, I do do it intentionally, but I don't like, wake up in the morning and go, "Yesssss, I am going to lie today," all villainously and whatnot.  It's just that these circumstances present themselves, and next thing I know, I can't make it to Eric's house tomorrow night because my cousin in Lichtenstein is having open heart surgery and I have to fly over there to be with her.  And then when I show up at school the next day because I don't actually have a cousin in Lichtenstein, much less one who is having open heart surgery, I have to come up with some different lie about how my brother in college's girlfriend died in a freak accident right before I was supposed to board my plane, and I had to go be there for him instead.  (I do not have a brother in college either.)  And I have to keep coming up with more and more increasingly ridiculous lies to explain the fact why my parents have no idea I have a brother in college until I finally get caught when someone's like, "Hey wait, pterodactyls are extinct."

Don't ask me how it got all the way to pterodactyls. 

And don't ask me why Eric's inviting me over to his house anyway, since he is Sylvia's boyfriend and not mine, and if I actually were to go over there, I would just be that awkward third wheel who's all, "Sooooooo... more popcorn?"

Also, I don't even freaking like Eric.

I think the best chain of lies I've ever told is the one where I really did not want to go feed the ducks at the park with Thaddeus Tobinski on account of many reasons, but mostly because he threw a bologna sandwich at me in fifth grade and he didn't even get in trouble for this because he only did it because he liked me.  Right.  Okay, so anyway, I guess he still likes me or whatever, because he was all, "Lesley, come to the park and feed the ducks with me," (so I guess he is still delusionally living in the fifth grade) and I was like, "Um, wow, okay, I would, but like, go get a haircut.  In Antarctica.  Because my hairdresser got transferred there.  You know how it is," and he totally believed this, assumingly because he is, you know, still delusionally living in the fifth grade.  And then when my hair stayed the same length, I was all, "Oh, I glued it back on.  Whatever," and he asked why, and I was like, "They made me," and then he asked who made me, and I told him I'd encountered this group of anarchist penguins who threatened to drown me, (they communicated through gestures) unless I returned my hair to its previous length, which I did by use of industrial-strength glue. 

And then of course he had to go and start interrogating me about this penguin organization, so I had to come up with this entire backstory for them, and then insist that it was impossible to Google them because they were a top-secret organization and the only reason I knew they existed because was of the whole drowning debacle, and if he told anyone about them, they would hunt him down and kill him, so of course he went and warned everyone, and for the next two or so days, the entire school was freaking out about those stupid penguins.

It was quite hilarious, actually, but I mean... they were freaking out about penguins.

And then when someone finally came to their sentences, everybody started freaking out about me instead.  Most of them wanted my head on account of I'd made them terrified of flightless Antarctic birds for forty-eight hours.  That was fun.

I mean, why would I stop?

Flash Fiction Attempt #4

Dear Michael Jacob Aiden Max,

Hey, BRO!!!!  How's Florida?  There's a buttload of leaves, right?  I went there once and I was just like, "Oh, my God, leaves.  Max would so completely hate this place."  So like, do you so completely hate this place, or...?

So my mom forced me to go to summer camp because she doesn't appreciate my attempts at having fun while you and Michael aren't here.  She was all, "Harrassing the elderly is not an acceptable pastime, Phyllis," and I was all, "Um, hello, that guy was totally a murderer," and she was all, "GO TO CAMP."  And then she actually made me go to camp, because she is a walking entity of evil. 

And every day they have this thing called rest hour where you have to have to go back to your cabin and rest.  For an hour.  And since allowing electronics here would be humane, the only thing we can really do besides sleep (because everyone is just exhausted at 1:30 P.M.) is write letters to people.  I wrote my mom this really passive aggressive one about how excellent it is here, what with the bacteria-infested lake they make us swim in, and the moldy bread they make the sandwiches with, and how some girl almost accidentally got shot with an arrow and all, but that only took like, ten minutes, so now I have to write to you and Michael even though you are in a fun place like Florida, and Michael is home, which is still somehow more fun than camp.

There're a bunch of leaves here, let me tell you.  Am I scaring you?  Let me know if I am- I'll stop.  So anyway, there are leaves here, in abundance, and it would freak you out like whoa.  Being at an all-girls camp would probably freak you out too though, so yeah, just like, don't come.  Not that you even would, because you're in Florida and your parents are not walking entities of evil.  How is that, by the way, it sounds nice.

So I think the counselor in Cabin 3 might be a convicted felon.  She's only like, eighteen, but I am still convinced of this.  She's a complete pyromaniac- like I was actually kind of scared when we did the campfire on Monday because she got this like, crazed look in her eyes as soon as we lit the thing.  And then my counselor was like, "Okay, we should probably put it out now," and she was like, "NO," and it was really unnerving and I wish you and Michael were here because nobody else here believes me and they don't think crime-fighting is an acceptable pastime.  So it's not even any better here than at home, really- it's actually probably worse on account of the whole rest hour thing.

Also, the chef is totally trying to poison us.  We had this Kool-Aid last night, and it definitely tasted like cyanide.  I have no idea what cyanide actually tastes like, but I am still fairly certain there was some in the Kool-Aid.  Actually, I don't even know why I'm blaming the chef for this, when it could be anyone ever who as access to the fridge. So basically, we could all be poisoned and have our remains burned and nobody would even know what happened because nobody believes me about this stuff.

Write me back soon so we can figure out a plan to get to the bottom of this.  How soon do you think you can get here?

Sincerely,
Your bestest friend in the universe ever,
Phyllis

P.S. I also saw like, two and a half bears.
P.P.S. And I haven't seen the counselor from Cabin 5 in over twenty minutes.
P.P.P.S. She's probably dead.
P.P.P.P.S. Aww, man.
P.P.P.P.P.S. I wish I had a pomegranate.
P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Pomegranates are good.
P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. SEND ME A POMEGRANATE.
P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Wait, do they even have pomegranates in Florida?
P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Whatever, just get one and bring it to me when you come up here.
P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Bring gloves.


Phyllis,

Stop. 

-Max

Flash Fiction Attempt #3

"Uh..."

"What?"

"Why are you... uh...?"

"..."

"You seem to be... um..."

"..."

"I see you are violently whacking a tree with a stick."

"Yeah?"

"Okay, I just... like... isn't that basically the equivalent of chopping a guy's arm off and then beating him with it?"

"Why are you hitting yourself?  Why are you hitting yourself?  Why are you hitting yourself?"

"Yeah, like that."

"..."

"And why are you doing this?"

"Do you have a problem with me doing this?"

"No, I just... don't..."

"..."

"Understand."

"Why do you need to un-der-stand?"

"I don't know, I just...  I guess I don't, really, but like..."

"..."

"I want to help you."

"You think I need help."

"Well, you're like, ruthlessly beating a tree with its own limb, so..."

"The tree has wronged me.  Don't worry, I can take it on my own."

"How exactly did it... wrong you?"

"It blocked my sunlight."

"Really?"

"It gave me a brain tumor."

"Ah."

"Yeah."

"Is there anything you... um..."

"I want to whack this tree with a stick, thank you."

"Okay, I'll just uh, let you do that then."

"Thank you kindly."

"I, uh...  Good luck with the uh, with the tree."

"As if I'll need it."

"Oh, that's right."

"..."

"You can take it on your own."

Welcome Entry 2.0

I was advised to write a welcome entry that is significantly less dumb, and I feel as though this is a good idea.

My name is Ashton.  I am addicted to writing.  I should probably get some help for that, come to think of it, but for the time being, here are the fruits of my addiction.  (I promise I will never write a sentence like that again.) 

I mostly write rants disguised as fiction and narratives, on account of my poetry makes eyes bleed.  And sometimes I write actual rants, because I just kind of hate everything.  Keep your expectations low.

I also enjoy drawing, biking, ice skating, reading, crying, watching movies, sleeping, and crying.  And sleeping.

But you won't see most of that stuff here.

Unless I fall asleep on the keyboard. 

Flash Fiction Attempt #2

I fell down the stairs today.

That is what I did with my day.  The only thing about May 17th of this year that I will remember for the rest of eternity is that I fell down the stairs.  There are people who were born today, people who died today, people who got married today, people who lost their jobs today, and I fell down the stairs.

How significant.

There are far more interesting days I've had and will have that I could tell you about, days I could elaborate on way more than this one, days I actually care about, but today I fell down the stairs.

It was the end of the day, and every student in the school was trying to get down the same staircase.  I don't even know why- there are like eleven and a half staircases in this place, and yet everyone feels the need to use the one in the social studies wing.  Why do we do this do ourselves?  I for one will definitely be taking a different route  next time, on account of after I stepped off the landing onto the bottom half of the stairs, I somehow slid all the rest of the way down.

In front of, if I may remind you, every student in the school.

It wasn't until I tried to pick myself up off the floor that this became a story I actually tell to people.

It wasn't until a pair of sparkling blue eyes told me, "Here, let me help you," that I decided this might be worth remembering.

It wasn't until I looked into them and said yes that I started telling this to complete strangers.

Some people were born today.  Some people died today.  Some people got married today.  Some people lost their jobs today.

I fell down the stairs.

How significant.

Flash Fiction Ideas

1.  My friend and her Scotch Lassie

2.  Epilogue to mystery story about what happens to main characters

3.  Everyone has a water buffalo.  Except one.

4.  Person goes to boarding school in Alaska.  Hijinks ensue.

5.  Girl's dad leaves family.  She swears revenge.

6.  I just wanted to go Ferris Buellering.......

7.  Person gets struck by lightning and ends up in parallel universe

8.  Ashton is actually capable of coming up with a good idea for a story

Flash Fiction For Lack of a Better Word Attempt

One time I went rock climbing and I fell off the wall.

One time I had cupcakes and I put them upside-down and all the frosting came off.

One time my friend made me duct tape her to the wall.

One time I got lost on "it's a small world" at Disneyland.

One time my best friend threw an orange cone at me for no reason.

(He still does not know why he did it.)

One time I stole a raspberry.

Another time I stole a rubber band.

(Though this was an accident.)

One time I asked my dentist if he was a Doctor Who fan.

(He wasn't.)

One time I didn't see an armadillo.

(I am still angry about this.)

One time I burned my tongue on a pineapple.

One time I spent five hours watching that Nicolas Cage video.

(I laughed every time.)

One time the power went out so I taught my mom the Caramelldansen dance.

One time I spent the entire night lying awake thinking about the fact that the guy who wrote The Catcher in the Rye was named Jerome.

(Jerome.)

One time a five-year-old was better at foursquare than me.

One time my friend got into a fight with a thread on her bag.

(The thread won.)

One time I cried because of a paper duck.

One time I ran out of time.

I only have seven minutes to write this so it has to be short oh God I don't know how to short

Hello classmates!  (I'm assuming you're all my classmates- I mean if you're a random stranger that's cool I guess, but YOU COULD BE DOING SO MUCH BETTER THINGS WITH YOUR TIME LIKE SERIOUSLY MAN GO OUTSIDE GET SOME FRESH AIR DO SOMETHING PRODUCTIVE TURN BACK RUN SAVE YOURSELF.)

So as you may have gathered from my obligatory welcome entry, this is going to be really dumb, probably.  I don't know.  It could also be unexpectedly awesome, but that is not generally a thing with me, so I don't have particularly high hopes.  I mean, it's a writing blog, and whenever I try to write, I usually end up sobbing on the floor with a container of vanilla frosting so...

I don't know, I just... hello.  I've a blog.  Welcome to it.