The Graveyard Post

It's extremely difficult to come up with an interesting post when bugger all seems to have happened in two worlds; my own and this big one.

When there seems to be little point in discussing my newfound Merlin addiction or the crisis in Syria, what else is one to do, but stare at the computer screen with a zombie face?

(Hypothetically, I could make some headway on Season 5, but I've suffered enough television)

Random topic generator? 

Too stale. 

BBC News feed?

Nothing of captivating interest.

Really, it sometimes does seem as if writers block is more intolerable than HIV. And when you're surrounded by too much familiarity, inspiration is then hard to find. 

So in essence, you're trapped in a mental graveyard, where everything's quiet and lifeless. 

Or maybe it's a mental library, where any desire to provoke thoughts is met with an instant "SHUSH!"

Wherever you're mentally trapped, it's always boring. Even if you're in the mental library, there's nothing good to read except for the phonebooks or the Twilight saga. And that's only incentive to blow up the library. 

So with nothing else to provide, and not much else to say; I will end today's post (with its high levels of dullness) with something I decided to work on a while ago. It's the first part to a short story I felt like writing, and even though I haven't touched it for weeks, it'd be great to know what you all think of it. Plus it was written in the days when writer's block wasn't so crippling, so who knows? Read it and let me know what you think. 

(Just in case you were wondering; this is intended to be a murder mystery)

The lager made Lucy’s throat clench. Alcohol had never been something she enjoyed; she couldn’t even accept Communion wine without her mouth puckering in advanced disgust. Yet she continued to swallow this vile stuff down until it was confiscated.

“Careful Luce; this stuff’ll do your head in” cautioned the boy.

“Sorry.”

She did not know his name. He was just some boy that had been at the same party she was attending. While the makeshift “dance floor” had been a mutual meeting ground for many new couples tonight, Lucy knew nothing of this boy. And yet he knew her name, and names were always a weapon when placed in the wrong hands.

“So what’s your name?”

The boy choked on his sip. “Ed.”

Lucy nodded in recognition and leant back against the front wall of the house. Ed proffered the last few mouthfuls of lager but her hand declined for the sake of better judgement. With the unspoken being said, he downed the remainder of the can. 

“So.....” he said.

“Hm?” 

“Do you... want to do anything?”

“Like what?” He snorted.

“You’re a bit innocent to all this; ain’t ya? You must be one of them private school girls...”

“Oh...” Ed turned to face her; a manic look in his eyes.

“Luce, you look really gorgeous for someone I only just met. And you know that we’ve gotta live while we’re young. So I suppose it’s only fair that I ask if you wanna snog.”

Perhaps it was the alcohol, but regardless; Ed pulled Lucy towards himself and kissed her. The alcohol on his breath was repulsive, but this new euphoric feeling was strangely wonderful to Lucy. Strange new feelings tingled through her nerves, and for a moment it was great.

His hands fell from her shoulders and stopped to where they shouldn’t. A slap echoed through the street. 

“What the hell Lucy?” roared Ed.

“I could ask the same of you. You disgust me.” She stormed away, ignoring the slurred curses. Perhaps it was now a good time to go home. What she’d say to her dad was yet to be coined, but something would come to mind. 

The effects of the lager began to kick in and her legs turned to jelly. The world tilted for a second, and then everything was normal. Lucy kept walking; she had £2 in her pocket and it jingled when she walked. The jingling must have alerted the whole estate, because soon the familiar bright lights of a bus appeared in front of her.