ToadOfSteel's Romance Story (as promised)

Post Reply New Topic

All characters and events are fictional and originate from my somewhat warped brain. Enjoy everybody.

First thing on a Sunday morning. Sometimes I wondered why I did it.
I groaned and squinted as the watery world beyond my narrow eyelids slowly came into focus. The dull droning buzz of my alarm clock was irritating beyond belief as it sounded in a series of bursts with just enough space in between for me to doze off, then be jerked abruptly awake again from a state of semi-consciousness.
I reached out a hand heavily and fumbled for the off switch, knocking it off my bedside table in the process.
Well, I was well and truly awake now.
I threw off the covers and groaned as I hoisted myself out of bed. What to wear, what to wear. Dress shirt and pants should do the trick. I polished my black shoes before heading downstairs for breakfast—church could be fussy about those things.
Croissants, coffee, and a short drive down a pot-hole filled wet road later, I pulled up in the church car park, and hurried into practice. Most of the choir was there already, looking almost as damp as I felt.
Mrs Peerson was in a bad mood.
It was mid-winter and most people had a cold, herself included, but while other choristers tended to put up with these seasonal hindrances stoically, she tended to take them as more of a personal affront, and took out her anger on anyone she felt was using sickness as an excuse to be singing less than they ought.
Mrs Peerson had the attitude that ‘if I can do it, then so can you’, and that extended to just about anyone and everyone, no matter what condition of ill health they were in. We were half way through warm-up, singing rounds in solfa, when Mrs Peerson, whose face had been growing redder by the minute (to be fair, it was partly due to sickness), cut the choir short.
“Some of us,” she said abruptly, “are not pulling our weight. I’m looking at you, Alto.”
Alto was a greatly reduced section today, consisting of three extremely sick looking girls (one who appeared to be holding back vomit with her scarf), and Jessica; who was a quarter of a voice on the best of days.
“We’re all sick here, we’re all putting in the effort, but I’m hearing nothing from you. If you don’t want to be here, go home.”
There was an uncomfortable silence while everyone looked anywhere except at the altos, who took the criticism silently.
“Let’s start again.”
As the sound of slightly strained voices filled the chapel, I glanced over at alto whose mouths appeared to be moving, but either they had abdicated to the melody, or more likely just didn’t have the numbers because little to no sound was coming out. The girl with the scarf abruptly made a reaching sound, and ran out of the chapel, leaving a slight sickly smell wafting in the air behind her. I tried not to breathe through my mouth.
“Stop.” Mrs Peerson was clearly getting annoyed. “It’s the same every week. Alto are just not pulling their weight. I want to hear each one of you sing the part by yourself and prove to me you know the music.”
“You’re not being fair,” a clear bell-like voice piped up from the second row, and I looked around in surprise seeing a slight dark-haired girl I hadn’t noticed before.
“We have half the numbers of soprano, and half of us don’t have a voice at all.”
“When I want your opinion Amy, I’ll ask for it. Like I said before, if you don’t want to be here, then go home.”
“Well, I think I will,” Amy snapped, the unhealthy red flush of sickness rising in her cheeks. As the choir watched, she picked up a small denim satchel and strode quickly out the double doors.
Without thinking, without even realizing quite what I was doing, I found myself following her outside.
She was perched on the crumbling rock wall surrounding the church yard in the drizzle, quietly sobbing and roughly rubbing her eyes with her fists as though angry at herself. I went and sat next to her, and she looked up sharply—giving me such a hostile glance I instantly regretted coming after her, and again wondered what the hell I was doing.
“Are you ok?” I asked awkwardly.
“I’m fine,” she said shortly.
I noticed her fists were clenched so tight her knuckles were slowly turning white. The water had soaked tendrils of her hair so they lay against the soft white skin of her neck, making me swallow and quickly glance away. My gaze fell upon her bag, which was partially open, and I saw a small plush red and gold rabbit sliding out of it. I reached out and caught the soft toy before it fell into the muddy puddle at our feet.
“It’s beautiful” I marvelled, feeling with aspie sensitivity the soft, detailed texture of the fur run like water through my hands.
I looked up, and saw her watching me closely. I shifted under the intensity of her gaze.
“You remind me of my Mum,” she said, “she’s the only other person I’ve ever seen appreciate small things like… well, like that I guess.”
Amy smiled and I felt heat spread through my body, and to my intense embarrassment I realized I was blushing.
Get a grip, I told myself firmly, and I handed the rabbit back to her. Our hands brushed making the world stop for a second—then kick-start again as she shifted slightly away to put the rabbit in her bag. The added space between us felt like a howling glacier, and all I wanted was to be closer to her.
“The rabbit’s for my Mum. She’s in hospital.”
“Oh.” I fumbled for the right thing to say, then finished lamely with “I’m sorry.”
I was kicking myself inside for saying the wrong thing, and then I realized that she had stopped speaking. Her shoulders were shaking slightly as though she was holding in sobs, and her face was set in tight, white lines.
Without thinking, only wanting to somehow stop the pain she was experiencing, I reached out and my hand covered hers. Almost instantly, her hand had turned over and she was grasping mind, hard. I had no idea someone so small and fragile looking could have such a strong grasp, it almost felt like an iron claw and I would have laughed—had the situation not been so serious.
After an indefinite time, her hand loosened and she turned to me. Her eyes captured mine, compelling, serious, and I could not have looked away if I wanted to.
“Thankyou.”
In that moment I lost something I never knew I had, and I found something that changed my life forever. She slung her back over her shoulder, and walked away, a small figure quickly lost in the grey haze of rain drifting steadily to soak into the muddy ground. But I knew I’d see her again—soon.
And that’s how it began.

I'm not really sure what's the motivation behind the writing of this story, but I can say you write extremely well sunshower.

As a story it's pretty good... you got the whole "I want to do something good for that person, yet then i became too embarrased" thing down perfectly... the only thing you're missing to capture the essence of my character is a crapload of ellipses... (that's just the way I think... one thought blundering into the next...)

As for the other people in the story, the choir director isn't that tyrannical, but for the sake of the narrative it makes sense...

Now if only this "Amy" actually existed...

PS: this is going into my signature... I really did like it and wish that it actually was a true story...

What the F- .....?

You two should go get a room...

It's great sunshower. Do u want me to write a story too? i will

it wouldn't work out, sadly enough... she's got a fitness requirement that I don't meet, and I have a geographical requirement she doesn't meet...

Beautiful writing.. i've not read anything so romantic since shakespeare back in school!! (other than ppl saying things to me directly) & this is much easier for me to identify with. no s**t!! this, in Fudo's opinion, is brilliant!

erm kinda embarrassing... i started reading from about halfway. er sorry, not that it's not very good.
just the beginning was not, upon closer inspection, so romantic.. very interesting & uniquely detailed etc. i just mean i kinda jumped in with the compliments without having read all of it.. sorry
Wow i look silly

This whole thread started in the "beauty pageant" thread... http://www.wrongplanet.net/posts99444-start60.html


Thus, my real life (plus one girl that doesn't actually exist) provided the backstory for her creative writing...

No you don't, not at all, I do the same thing all the time. It is interesting you say that, because I felt the second half of the story flowed more easily than the first - I'm pretty rusty, and it took a while to get back into the swing of things. I intend to take on lots of creative writing projects in the upcoming weeks to get back into practice.

Wow thanks everyone If anyone's confused (which I can see some of you are), pretty much a comment sparked off this idea where I said I bet ToS's love interest has been in his choir all along, and he just hasn't noticed her yet. So then, I got into this creative aspergery mode I get sometimes, and thought I'd write a short story about it.

LPP: Amy is not me, she is a fictional (although maybe not, who knows?) love interest for ToS. She's not really like me at all, in fact.

ToS: Thanks, I'm really glad you liked it, I wasn't sure if you would or not, cause I know it's a pretty random thing to do; I generally get creative without thinking much about it. Hahaha yeah, as I don't know you that well, I know that I probably got both your character and perspective completely wrong, but oh well. Mrs Peerson was more of a fun invention by me to liven the story up a little.

jemir1234 go ahead if you like! Story writing is sooo much fun (although I'm probably hijacking Love and Dating when I should be posting in the Creative Writing section, or on fictionpress - what can I say, I can't seem to help myself )

Well, you actually did better on my character and perspective than you think... I've got that "helper" streak (where I feel like I have to help others wherever I can), which would prompt me to run out after this person...

And you also pretty much got right the idealistic view of how I would want to fall in love... a woman who is dealing with emotional pain is, strangely enough, a lot easier for me to relate to at first (probably because she's not trying to set up all that deceptive BS that women normally use, so I don't have to pick through it to learn who she really is on the inside), and in the spirit of "helping other people", one of the few social interactions I've gotten decent at is consoling people in such an emotional state, regardless of gender...

I like that story.