I don't think this is a challenge, but I don't know where else to put this. I need help finishing this, because I want to finish it, I don't know how to finish this, which is why I need help. I'm still determining character names, so please, excuse the awkward sentences that have pronouns where proper nouns should be.
I was sitting on the cliff by the ocean--well, it wasn't really a cliff so much as a big rock on the beach yards away from the shore and even more from the house, but we call it a cliff for whatever reason. Grandpa probably said something about it in one of his stories, but I probably didn't pay attention.
The back of my shoes hit the rock of the cliff, and then bounced off, and hit the rock, and bounced off, and hit the rock, and bounced off, and hit the rock, and bounced off, as I kicked my legs. I guess I was trying to do something to keep myself occupied no matter how stupid the thing was. I was bored, but I didn't want to go back inside, since there was nothing to do inside, either.
The sun was setting. I never liked sunsets. I didn't like the yellows and reds, I didn't like how it turned the ocean a hideous orange color, and I most certainly didn't like the feeling of how it was bright enough to see everything, but not bright enough to see everything clearly, so a brighter--artificial --light was needed. It's like in restaurants that dim the light and the lights themselves are hard to see, so the space around them is hard to see, and there are candles on the tables that they expect you to be able to read the menus with. It's like, you could just turn on the lights and we could actually read and see people's faces.
I stopped kicking. I thought I heard someone climbing up. I thought I knew who it was, and I was right. It couldn't have been little Penelope, since she was too young to have climbed up here, and it couldn't have been Mom or Dad, since they were too busy either sleeping or taking care of Penelope.
"Hey," I said, scooting over for him.
"Hey," he replied, sitting next to me.
It was quiet for a moment. Neither one of us was good at starting a conversation.
"So..." I started.
"So," he repeated.
"How're you?"
"Horrible."
"Oh, that's good."
We both grinned, and the awkward faded. The old joke always did that. One of us would ask, "How are you?" and then the other wouldn't say the stereotypical and grammatically incorrect answer of, "I'm good," and would instead say something like, "Terrible" or "Horrible" or "Crappy", etcetera, and then the first would continue as if the second had said, "I'm good."
We talked for a while, well past sunset (thank God it passed). We somehow managed to get onto the subject of anagrams, which proceeded to compound words and misconceptions of them, like "dandelions" could be "dandy lions" or "otherwise" could be "other wise", and then we were laughing at some drowning fish joke. It was one of those moments where anything could be ridiculously hilarious.
He said something I don't remember-- it was most likely something immature, but I was cracking up badly--and I had forgotten we we were sitting on the cliff so of course, so, me being half insane from laughing so much, I fell.
Well, almost fell. He grabbed my wrist before I could. Everything went quiet, as if we'd never been laughing and cracking ridiculous jokes we wouldn't remember ten minutes later.
I sat back down.
"Sorry," I muttered.
"Not your fault."
Yes it was! I would have loved to have screamed. But I didn't, so instead, I said, "I guess." And then it was quiet again. I only realized then (don't ask me why) that we hadn't looked at each other the entire time we'd been messing around. We'd just sat around and stared at nearly everything but each other. Unintentionally, of course. Right?
I looked up at him and he was looking at me--which, admittedly, was a bit strange. An awkward sort of smile grew on both of our faces.
~*~
http://www.goodreads.com/story/show/2...
I was sitting on the cliff by the ocean--well, it wasn't really a cliff so much as a big rock on the beach yards away from the shore and even more from the house, but we call it a cliff for whatever reason. Grandpa probably said something about it in one of his stories, but I probably didn't pay attention.
The back of my shoes hit the rock of the cliff, and then bounced off, and hit the rock, and bounced off, and hit the rock, and bounced off, and hit the rock, and bounced off, as I kicked my legs. I guess I was trying to do something to keep myself occupied no matter how stupid the thing was. I was bored, but I didn't want to go back inside, since there was nothing to do inside, either.
The sun was setting. I never liked sunsets. I didn't like the yellows and reds, I didn't like how it turned the ocean a hideous orange color, and I most certainly didn't like the feeling of how it was bright enough to see everything, but not bright enough to see everything clearly, so a brighter--artificial --light was needed. It's like in restaurants that dim the light and the lights themselves are hard to see, so the space around them is hard to see, and there are candles on the tables that they expect you to be able to read the menus with. It's like, you could just turn on the lights and we could actually read and see people's faces.
I stopped kicking. I thought I heard someone climbing up. I thought I knew who it was, and I was right. It couldn't have been little Penelope, since she was too young to have climbed up here, and it couldn't have been Mom or Dad, since they were too busy either sleeping or taking care of Penelope.
"Hey," I said, scooting over for him.
"Hey," he replied, sitting next to me.
It was quiet for a moment. Neither one of us was good at starting a conversation.
"So..." I started.
"So," he repeated.
"How're you?"
"Horrible."
"Oh, that's good."
We both grinned, and the awkward faded. The old joke always did that. One of us would ask, "How are you?" and then the other wouldn't say the stereotypical and grammatically incorrect answer of, "I'm good," and would instead say something like, "Terrible" or "Horrible" or "Crappy", etcetera, and then the first would continue as if the second had said, "I'm good."
We talked for a while, well past sunset (thank God it passed). We somehow managed to get onto the subject of anagrams, which proceeded to compound words and misconceptions of them, like "dandelions" could be "dandy lions" or "otherwise" could be "other wise", and then we were laughing at some drowning fish joke. It was one of those moments where anything could be ridiculously hilarious.
He said something I don't remember-- it was most likely something immature, but I was cracking up badly--and I had forgotten we we were sitting on the cliff so of course, so, me being half insane from laughing so much, I fell.
Well, almost fell. He grabbed my wrist before I could. Everything went quiet, as if we'd never been laughing and cracking ridiculous jokes we wouldn't remember ten minutes later.
I sat back down.
"Sorry," I muttered.
"Not your fault."
Yes it was! I would have loved to have screamed. But I didn't, so instead, I said, "I guess." And then it was quiet again. I only realized then (don't ask me why) that we hadn't looked at each other the entire time we'd been messing around. We'd just sat around and stared at nearly everything but each other. Unintentionally, of course. Right?
I looked up at him and he was looking at me--which, admittedly, was a bit strange. An awkward sort of smile grew on both of our faces.