the Weekend Writer is BACK, my dears!  and i….  it seems i am not.  my story brain has atrophied, so i’m afraid you get what you get, this week.

attempt the first:

“You did WHAT?!”  I shrieked.  I wanted to push Martin’s goofy grin through the back of his stupid skull.

“SSSHHH!!!”  hissed the librarian.

I lowered my voice.  “Martin, please, please tell me that you didn’t?”


He was so proud!  How could he be so proud?

“How can you be so proud, Martin?  You have just ruined me.”

The stupid grin slipped a little at that – the wattage dimming to something less blinding, but still as irritating as hell and, I was a little worried to discover, increasingly hateful.

“But…  you like her, don’t you?”

“No, Martin.  I don’t like her.  She’s an arrogant, manipulative bitch.  I want to shag her.  There is a difference.  And just because I get a twinge every time she walks past does not mean that I want to join the ranks of sycophants that like to massage her already over-inflated ego.  Which you’ve just gone and done on my behalf anyway.  Thanks, mate.  Thanks for that.”

I stuck my nose back into the research papers I was trawling through and did my best to ignore my best mate’s wounded puppy eyes.

“But you….”

“Just go away, Martin.” I ground out through teeth gritted so hard I was surprised they didn’t shatter.

Still refusing to look at him, I heard his chair scrape as he slunk away.

Not long after, my head crashed to the desk with a thump.

I love martin to bits.  I really do.  But he’s such a dummy sometimes.    A simple soul that wants nothing but to help the entire world get along better and be happy.  But he still hasn’t learned not to sick his nose into stuff that really doesn’t concern him.  Case in point today.

Maxine Trent is the one everyone lusts after.  Thick black hair, olive skin, black eyes, lush hips that roll juuuust right when she walks…  all the guys want her.  As do I.  But there’s no point in telling her that.  She’s gorgeous but, by god, does she know it!  She just chews guys up and spits them out.  And that’s another thing.

I haven’t been out long.  When I came to uni, it was a breath of fresh air.  Even in the sixth form of my school, there was that potential for name-calling and sniggering that some had yet to grow out of.  So I continued to keep myself to myself until…  here I am.  Finally surrounded by adults.  Or so I thought.  I sighed.

Poor Martin.  I know he was only trying to help, but she’s clearly hetero, for Christ sake!  What possible good would it do to tell any hetero girl – let alone this particular one – that I wanted to get into her knickers?   A fresh wave of mortification hit me, and I groaned quietly.

attempt the second:

the question hangs in the air.  the hubbub of the meet-and-greet fades to almost nothing.   i feel like an ant in the midday glare of a child’s magnifying glass.  my breath short and ragged, i try to read the signs.  playing games, or deadly serious?  the smile gives nothing away.

my resolve snaps.

attempt the third:

*blows raspberry* i got nuthin’!  why don’t you follow the linky link and see if you can do better? (not hard, lets’ face it! XD )