Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Hesitation.

My name's Day Jarvis... Yes, Day.

My Mum always said she picked it because Dawn was too demanding, Dusk was too overbearing, and Night was just asking for trouble. I still remember how she used to tell me, the same every time, leaning forward as if the words she was about to impart were a secret only meant for us two, and in that conspiratorial whisper she'd set them loose, just for a moment, in our little kitchen, 'But Day, well, we could all use a few more of those, huh girl?' Then she'd sit back in her chair and tell me it was my Dad who'd thought of that. And, always, I'd ask her about him, and her face would go all bright and her voice all broad, like when she told me bedtime stories, and she'd spin magnificent tales of my brave prince father, who couldn't tuck me in at night because he was busy saving the world's princess population, and fighting off dragons who tried to burn down towns. And every night I prayed for him to be safe, and beat all the dragons, only to please not hurt them too bad, cause they were probably nice when you took the time to get to know them.

That was back when I was still little, when I still believed in all that stuff, when we still had time for it. Now, my Mum's too busy to tell me stories about my long-lost father, because her boss thinks that the best way to care for children is to 'give them space and enough money and things to keep them out of trouble.' That's what she says to rationalize the huge long hours she makes my poor Mum work now. Most kids my age would doubtless encourage this mentality, but secretly, I gotta tell you, I'd rather she sat in our kitchen and told me stories than that she got me the latest i-pod for my birthday.

Eh, I just keep telling myself I'm too old anyway, and by now I believe it. Mostly. I still pray for my old man to be safe though, wherever he is.

A continuation.

I'm not here just to whinge about my family issues or anything, though, don't worry. I have a story, see, and I thought maybe you might like to hear it. Of course, if that's not the sort of thing you were looking for, you might as well just toss this out now, because it's not getting any better.

So, it all pretty much started on a day so much like any other. I was falling asleep in algebra 2 again, when over the PA came that scratchy voice no one can ever quite understand unless they're over the age of 47. Everyone was muttering, trying to figure out what they'd missed, but the teacher was just staring at me. Finally, exasperated, she sighed, 'Ms. Jarvis, if you're not too busy, could you find some time in your schedule to hurry to the office and let me get on with my class?'

What? I never got called to the Office, not even when my mom picked me up (which wasn't often). Why would they want me? I grabbed my bag and headed toward the Office, running over the past week's events in my head. I hadn't gotten into any fights, I hadn't skipped class, we hadn't started working on next year's schedules yet... I was drawing a whole lot of blanks, but before I could puzzle over the weirdness more, I had arrived at the Office, home of school officials, overly good kids, and overly bad kids (plus the school cop on his lunch break). Hiking my bag up onto my shoulder, I pushed through the door to rustling chaos.

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