Snippet Stories: Phred Does Them Too.

So considering I aspire to be a writer, I have no idea how Phrank ended Up being the story teller here.

How ever, I have quite a few stories to share.

And I'm going to share them along with a little commentary.

She Was Gone

She sat down. Her ears were ringing.

 People buzzed around her saying "Are you ok? Whats wrong? Do you needs some water?" 

But she couldn't hear them. 

All she heard was the buzzing. 

All she felt was a sting in the back of her throat. 

Tears started flowing out of her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. 

People were milling around her now, wondering what was wrong.

 Nothing was wrong. 

Everything was wrong. 

She felt every emotion you could feel at once but the strongest one she felt was sadness.

 They were shaking her, telling the others to leave her alone, asking what to do. 

She felt nothing, she saw nothing, she heard nothing.

 She was nothing.

 She cried and cried and cried, and nothing could bring her out of her self induced trance. 

The darkness, the buzzing, the empty feeling of nothing. 

She was sad and alone. 

She was gone.

This was a weird story I wrote a while back.

It's premise is basically the chick is super sad and lonely and in the end I implied she died by saying she was "gone"

Maybe not, it was a long time ago and a feeling I like to forget

He, She And The Boy

She picked up her bag. 

She would leave without talking to him, again.

 The bags strap on her shoulder felt heavier then usual. 

She started walking out the door when She heard a boy yell "Wait, wait!" She turned around hopefully, but it wasn't him. 

It was never him. 

She continued walking out the door when She felt breath on her neck and a mans voice say "Hi."

 And She turned around so fast her face collided with his shoulder. 

He was very tall. 

Wait, this was the wrong he. 

Trying to push the Boy aside she said "Get out of the way. I have to go." 

The Boy's hand shot up to block her. 

She turned around to open the door, but the Boy grabbed her, and yanked her around to face him. "Its been a long time." The Boy said with a wink. 

"Get away!" She exclaimed. 

She reached up to scratch the Boys face, but the Boy grabbed her hands and held them behind her back.

 The Boy's face came down to hers and just before Their lips touched, a fist collided with the Boy's face. 

"Damn." The Boy grunted, putting a hand up to his cheek. 

And He was standing there. 

He had come to rescue her, and He was now pushing the Boy back to the wall. 

"She told you to get out of the way, didn't She?" 

Advancing on Him, the Boy said angrily  "Is it any of your business?" 

And He said  "Yes."

So I know exactly what this one is.

I was writing about a crush of mine and my desire for him to actually care about me.

I'd liked this dude for two years and he hardly even talked to me.

Which was my fault, I never talked to him either, but still.

He would be said boy, I think we've called him Michael before.

She would be myself, as I always carried a big messenger bag.

And the Boy was...

No one, actually.

There was no one who liked me, nor I had a history with at that point, The Boy was a figment of my imagination.

Hm.

Well.

He, She And The Way-Too-Late Phone Call

She rolled over in her bed.

Beep! Beep! Her phone kept saying. 

She glanced at her clock from underneath her comforter. 

2:46. She gave up, and picked up her phone. 

And He was on the other line. 

"What?!" She growled. 

"Look out your window." His voice replied. 

A calm, smooth tone to her agitated babble.  

As always, He was everything to complete her. 

But at 2:47 in the morning, She didn't really feel like completing herself.

 "Why?" She hissed.

 "Its cool." He promised.

 She didn't say anything. 

In fact, She got up and went and got a glass of water to dump over his head if he tried to sing to her at 2:48 in the morning. 

She stepped up to her window, attempting to flatten the mass of tangles she called hair. 

She unlatched the window and opened it. 

She dropped the glass of water, but on the wrong side of the window. 

Her mouth fell open as She saw the scene in front of her.

 How could He have done this without her knowing? 

Red and white petals sat on the ground in the shape of a heart, A red blanket in the middle of it, A lovely picnic spread out on the blanket surrounded by candles.

 And the best of it all, was He was sitting on the blanket, pouring her a drink.

So this one was completely my imagination, although it is really sweet.

I wouldn't mind if my boyfriend did that.

But, ya know, I don't want my parents to know, so screw that.

Phred Was Really Depressed

She was beyond lonely. 

She was the sole existing thing on the planet in her mind and that hurt more then anything else ever could. 

She had to sit and know that when she got up, and went outside there would be nothing.

 No children playing, no friends hanging out, not even dysfunctional family's screaming at eachother.

 Just silence. 

Silence so loud it mad your ears throb and your stomach churn.

 It was like the rock concerts she attended before she was stripped of everything and everyone that mattered.

 And that didn't, for that matter.
 She would gladly take it all back, all the pain and the anger and the fury at everything if it meant she didn't have to feel this burning sadness.

 This sadness so strong she would rather fall over and die. 

Pick up a gun and just end this stabbing misery that followed her around like a mask over her head right before she was executed. 

She saw nothing anymore , she heard nothing, felt nothing, nothing could break through this self induced trance she had gone into since it all happened.

 Maybe those children were playing. 

It didn't matter, she couldn't see them. 

Maybe those friends were hanging out. 

It didn't matter, she couldn't talk to them.

 Maybe that family was throwing things and screaming bloody murder, but she could no longer hear anything but her own ringing misery. 

She would hate it, but she couldn't.

 All she could do was be sad that it hadn't found someone else to haunt, because no matter how hard she tried all she could feel was sadness.

 Nothing else came to her but the tired sadness. 

She would welcome back the anger if she could. 

But all she could feel was sadness. 

Misery. 

All other emotions had drained away. 

Soon, the sadness would drained away as well, taking her with it.

Yeah, lets pretend this one never happened....
(This was not about me, I was never that far gone)

Phred Wrote This For Her Boyfriend/Phred Is No Longer Naming Her Stories

She Slowed her pace when she reached the woods.

She rested a moment before pulling the box she had hidden 3 weeks ago out of the hollow tree.

Three weeks since she last saw him.

Nearly a month they'd been together and she'd seen him only once.

She wanted to feel him next to her.

To see him smile & laugh & hear his stupid voice tell her to shut up.

She wanted to see the dumb red & black shirt he always wore.

She wanted to have him tease her about not having a life.

She wanted him to be here.

With her.

But it'd be a long time before she could see him again.

She'd wait, though.

Because having him for a few hours would be just enough until she could see him again.

Feel his hand intertwined with hers.

Hear his stupid jokes, stupid voice.

See him slouch and be ticked he doesn't stand straight.

She'd pretend she hates it.

But she doesn't.

She loves all those things about him.

Because they are what made him, him.

She opened the little box.

The only thing inside was a small slip of paper that read:

"I love you"

And she knew he was worth the wait.

So this one is completely true except for the box and the note.

They are more of an actual item that in reality are my thoughts.

Remembering every time he said he loved me, and that I was pretty.

But other than that (Right down to the red and black shirt that he seriously wears all the time) It's all true.

Everything I say I hate but actually love.

This one I wrote today.

All of the others were at least 6 months ago.

So things do get better.

And not necessarily because of a boy, you feminists.

But sometimes boys help. 

I'll probably be writing another post in the next few days, until then I've decided to return to signing off with pictures that relate to said post:

- Phred McSparrow

(P.S. Phrank, if you're reading this on the day I post it- the 14th- please tell Nate I say goodnight and I love him, but not to text me. Thank ya, dear.)