Character Stories, making short stories for everyday people – Ben

 

Ben

I glanced up at the clock, hanging on the wall on the opposite side of the room, and turned my attention back to the door. A few more minutes.

There was something so utterly awful about my job, and that was the fact that I had to talk to people. I was the kind of person you would never find at a gym, I had a whole self-conscious thing going on, and besides, why work out when you could be spending your time rewatching a series for the fiftieth time? Or baking. Or sleeping.

In the strange way my life had turned out, though, I actually spent more time at the gym than most people on the planet. Not that I used the gym, I spent my time twiddling my thumbs behind the counter, watching people walk in, watching people walk out looking much more tired and sweaty, and trying to hide. Occasionally someone would come in needing to renew a membership, or a family would arrive, kids screaming and running around while a parent paid for them all to go into the swimming pool, and I would have to pretend to care, but that was my job, I suppose.

There was one part of my day I particularly enjoyed, though. And it would happen in approximately twenty-seven seconds…

“Morning, Ben,” she greeted me as she walked through the door, pulling a hairband off her wrist as she approached the counter. 

“Good morning,” I smiled awkwardly, as was our Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday morning routine. She raked her fingers through her hair and tied it up, a practiced movement that took mere seconds.

“My least favourite day,” she looked towards the door that led to the gym. “There is nothing fun about leg day.”

“So I hear.” I followed her gaze towards the door as someone walked out, looking decidedly fed up. “In my opinion, there’s nothing fun about any of it.”

“Aren’t employees supposed to make people want to keep coming back to the establishment, not try and drive them away?” She asked, raising an eyebrow and grinning.

“Not me. If people don’t come here, it’ll go out of business, and then I won’t have to come here.” I shrugged, leaning back in my chair and fiddling with a pencil. She let her gym bag slide from her shoulder and it landed with a thud on the floor by her feet as she leant against the counter.

“You could just get a different job?” She suggested, and I screwed up my face at the thought. 

“What other job would let me sit around all day, not really doing anything, and talking to a minimal amount of people?” I asked. There was a little voice in the back of my head that was asking why she was still here. Usually our morning conversations consisted of us both saying good morning and then her walking away to go and exercise. 

She pursed her lips, her gaze drifting across the room as she thought.

“You could test armchairs.”

I couldn’t help laughing, and she started trying to defend her idea.

“Just hear me out! The company puts an armchair in a room that’s set up to look like a living room. You go in, sit down, and watch something on the tv for an hour or so, then go away and write a report to send them. You would literally be paid to sit around, and you wouldn’t have to talk to anyone.”

“Okay, you’ve convinced me. Where do I sign up?” I grinned, and she shrugged.

“I think you might have to come up with the armchair company first, so you can create the job I just invented.” She dropped her gaze to the bag at her feet, and glanced towards the door again. “So how come I never see you when I come out on Fridays?”

“I only work part time on Fridays. Six ‘till nine.” Subconsciously, I cringed at the very thought of waking up early enough to get to work, even though I had already carried out the task for today. I looked across the room at the clock. “Twelve more minutes.”

“Okay, I’ve made a decision.” She slammed both hands down on the counter, the noise echoing around the empty room. She winced, and looked around, making sure no one was looking in her direction, but there was no one around to look.

“You seem to be very passionate about this decision.” I observed.

“You get off in twelve minutes.” She stated, and I glanced at the clock.

“Eleven, actually.”

“Okay, whatever. You get off in a few minutes, and I’ve stalled going to that door for long enough that I’ve lost all motivation to actually do so. I want a coffee, and I’m fed up of just seeing you for thirty seconds three days a week.”

“What are you even saying?” I asked, having lost the train of thought I think she was trying to follow. That train had left the station, gone off the rails, and was plummeting down a hill very quickly.

“I’m saying,” she bent over, picked up her gym bag, and promptly walked behind the counter to join me. “I’m going to sit here for the next eleven–”

“Ten.”

“–ten minutes, and then we’re going to go and get some coffee together.”

Okay, back it up. She wants to go and get coffee with me? No. I’m hallucinating. Or dreaming. Or hallucinating in a dream. Whatever it is, my brain has it round the wrong way. I’ve been wanting to go out with her for months. Not her with me. Right?

“Ben?”

I closed my mouth, wondering how long I’ve been gaping at her. She was fiddling with the strap of her bag, and I realised how it must look to her. She just asked me out (like seriously!) and in response I stared at her for however long without saying anything at all.

“Okay.” My mouth spoke before I could come up with something better than ‘okay’ to say. “I mean, I would love to. I mean, not love, but like. I barely know you, it’s weird to say love. I mean…” I drew my lips into my mouth and bit them, stopping myself from saying anything else to further redden my neck and cheeks. 

“Good. I thought you were thinking I was weird.”

“You thought I thought you were weird? I’ve been nothing but weird in this entire interaction.” 

Her reply was cut off when we both realised there was someone standing on the other side of the counter.

“I lost my membership card, is there any chance I can get another one?” The lady said.

“What’s your name?” I asked, wiggling the mouse to wake the computer up, and pretending I wasn’t insanely uncomfortable and embarrassed about everything. Susan Thorne, when I put her name into the computer, was not registered at this gym, and I had to explain to her I wasn’t going to let her through just for today and keep it ‘our little secret’, because I could get fired over it. It was quickly becoming a very heating conversation.

“But, it’s just a gym. It’s not like I’m going to be costing you guys anything!”

“Except for my job?” I said, dumbfounded that she still didn’t seem to get it. I glanced at the clock. Four more minutes, and I could leave.

“Who would know? It’s not like–”

“We have cameras here, lady.” I turned to look at the woman standing next to me. “If you don’t leave in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to call the police.” I suppose, with her standing behind the counter, it did look like she worked here too. I silently thanked her for stepping in to help.

“You can’t! I’m not doing anything illegal!”

“Except trying to scam people. You’ve never had a membership here, our computers say so. If you want to pay to enter, we can set that up for you. If not, please leave the building.”

“I’d like to speak to your manager.” Susan jabbed a finger in her direction. 

“Susan, you’re speaking to the owner. I don’t have a manger, because this is my business. And you’re trespassing on private property.”

She didn’t own the gym. I knew because when she scanned her card to unlock the door to the gym, my computer flashed up with the name ‘Charlotte Peters’ and the owner of this place was a guy in his fifties called Hank, or something. As soon as she said that, though, Susan blanched, huffed, and stormed out without saying anything else.

“That was amazing.” I said, astounded, although my dislike for people had been maxed out for the month by that single encounter.

“I know.” Charlotte pretended to flick her hair over her shoulder and grinned. I looked to the clock, feeling an immense about of relief. 

“It’s nine. For saving me from that horrible encounter, I’m buying the coffee.”

“Did you study chivalry or something?” She asked when I held the door open for her as we walked out.

“Nope, sports science.” She looked at me in disbelief and I shrugged. “I never finished the course. I dropped out when I realised I actually hated sports.”

“Fair enough. I dropped out of hairdressing when I realised I was terrible at it and that I hated every second of it.”

“Fair enough. Now, where do you want to go?”

And done!

I was too tired to actually come up with a character myself, so I used a character personality generator thing... in case you're curious, Ben apparently likes extreme ironing and is gluten intolerant. I know, what a wacky guy.

That's all for now...

Bye!

Character Stories, making short stories for everyday people – Danny

 

Danny

The frosty grass crunched under my boots as I walked, trying not to trip over the muddy ridges left by people’s footsteps when the ground was soft, the cold air having since frozen the mud, leaving the perfect trap to try and trip me. Every so often, I reached a patch of ground where I assumed it would also be frozen, but instead my boots slipped on the mud and it squelched up the sides of my feet.

I listened for the sound of running water as I opened the gate with one hand, the other firmly on my camera, even though the strap was around my neck and there was no way it could fall. The river was close now, I knew because I had been this way many times before, several days in a row at this point. The setting sun sent rays of orange across the trees, the leaves dancing in the light. If there was a limit to the amount of pictures one could take of the setting sun, it’s rays pushing through trees and plants, the dimming light briefly illuminating the world in oranges for one last time before the morning, I had probably already passed it. 

I stopped on the little metal bridge for a moment, looking down at the river. It was too low in the ground for me to get a good picture of it, the curve by the bridge and it being low in a trench making it difficult to even get close enough to try and get the angles I wanted. It was easier further along, where the field turned to path, and the river ran alongside it, but I didn’t want to go further along just yet. If I went now, I could get a good picture or two of the sun setting on the path, something I had yet to do. Along the path, I just had images of the moon rising in the pale blue sky. I had yet to get to the path in time to get the sunset.

But, there was a reason I didn’t continue. A reason why I looped around the edge of the field, to the furthest point I could reach before I was cut off by the river, a line of trees giving me something to lean against as I waited, and potentially duck behind. The sun was in front of me, spreading its last light over the ground. It had been a little cloudy the last few days, and I hadn’t had quite as clear a view of the sun, but today, there wasn't a cloud in the sky. It was also much colder, and my fingers had started to go numb, but I tried to ignore that fact because other than that, it was perfect.

Or it was when my whole reason for coming here nearly every day recently arrived.

She stepped off the path, the path that ran alongside the river, and into the field, her eyes on the ground as she tried not to slip on the patches of mud that fooled you into thinking they were solid ground. Her hair fell, covering her face, and she held her arms out to each side a little, as if to keep her balance, but by the quick little steps she was taking, travelling slightly side to side, not at all the careful and thought out steps that warranted holding your arms out for balance, it looked more like she was playing at being an airplane. I felt a grin tugging at my lips, and lifted my camera, lining it up with the sun behind her. 

With the brightness of the sun behind her, her body turned into an almost silhouette against the oranges shining through the trees. She stopped walking, like she did every day, her back to me, as she looked through the trees at the setting sun. This what the moment I liked photographing the most. Her silhouette perfectly lining up with the sun, the light wrapping around her form like she was an angel. I lifted my camera, hoping to get the image before she moved.

The more I thought about why I came here each day, to get the perfect rendition of this image, the more I felt weirded out about myself. I hid in the shadows of the trees, and took pictures of this woman, again and again to get the perfect image. But, the more images I took and looked at, noting what didn’t quite work that time, or what I could do better next time, the more I saw her. The faint smile when the wind blows her hair back in time for me to capture it, the pink tinge on her cheeks and nose when it's bitterly cold, and she hugs her arms around her body. The little airplane walk she does every so often, the images making it look like she’s dancing. 

I stepped forward, trying to get the shot lined up properly, but my foot slid in what I thought was solid ground, but instead was disguised mud. My front foot slid forwards and, not expecting to slip, and not prepared to catch myself, I felt myself falling. I twisted my body, the first thought on my mind the camera in my hands, and not landing on it. My shoulder was one of the first things to hit the ground, somehow landing on a patch of ground that was solid, instead of the mud that might’ve cushioned my fall even a little. I groaned, trying to keep my head off the floor in case that certain patch of ground also lied to me and my hair would sink into the mud. 

I pushed myself to sit up, reaching my hand across my body to hold the shoulder I had landed on. It had started hurting immediately, the pain shooting up my neck from the awkward angle I had fallen at, trying to protect my camera. 

“Are you alright?” 

I looked up, half wincing at the extra pain it brought, and half squinting with the last rays of the sun directly in my eyes. The woman stood in front of me, reaching up to brush some hair out of her face. 

“I think so.” I tried to roll my shoulder back, to prove that I was fine, but I only got halfway before I bailed and stopped, clenching my jaw to stop from making any noise. Whether it was simply badly bruised or broken, it felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it.

She held out a hand to me, and I reached up with my good arm and took it, pushing my feet under me as she helped me to my feet. I mumbled a thanks, quickly checking over my camera to make sure my sacrifice hadn’t been for nothing, and that it wasn’t damaged.

“Is it alright?” She asked, and I looked up at her, wondering if she was talking about my shoulder or my camera. She nodded towards the camera when she saw my questioning look. 

“Looks like it. My shoulder seemed to decide to take the impact so I could save the money getting a new one.” I was only half joking, but she smiled, revealing a dimple I had never captured in my pictures.

“I’m glad. I wouldn’t want you to lose the images before I even got a chance to look at them.” She said, still grinning, and I felt my stomach drop. She continued when I didn’t say anything. “You must have tons at this point, I’m starting to feel like you’re my personal sunset photographer.”

“I…” I trailed off, not knowing what to say. She knew? For how long? Now I feel even weirder about coming here just to take pictures of her.

“Don’t worry,” she reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re not the only one who’s been coming here to see someone. There are much quicker routes I could take to get home, but this one seems to have become my favourite.” My mind went blank of things to say, and she smiled again. “Can I walk you home, to make sure you’re not badly hurt from that fall, and to maybe see the pictures? I’m absolutely desperate to see them.”

No words came to my mind, so I just nodded.

And done!

The inspiration of this was simply a walk my brother and I took yesterday. He has a camera, I just used my phone camera, but we were taking pictures of the sunset in a setting exactly the same as the one in this story.

We weren't taking pictures of people we didn't know, and we haven't been half stalking people like in this story, but still.

That's all for now...

Bye!

Character Stories, making short stories for everyday people – Emma

Emma

I struggled with the key I had been given for the padlock on the gate. The lock itself was rusted, and it wasn’t certain when it had last been opened. Most likely four years ago, when my great Gran had died. I had never been close to her, had never really known her. But I had been close to my Gran, and when she passed away five months ago, ahead of her time, it had been me this house had been passed down to. My Mum had never liked it anyway. 

I pulled away the chain wrapped around the iron gates, and pushed them open, something that required more force that I originally thought necessary. They gave way, creaking and complaining, the hinges creaking like joints that have gone stiff. Zig, my pretty, but crazy, spaniel barked from my car, desperate for me to return, or let him out to join me. Certain the gates weren’t about to swing closed on me again, I climbed back into my little blue car, petting Zig to let him know I never would have left him in the car, and pulled it forwards. The car had been alright in the city, but it wasn’t ideal for moving. I had a few boxes on my backset, and two in the boot, but I couldn’t fit anything else in. Hiring a moving van seemed the only way to go, and my stuff should be arriving a little later than me.

I pulled the car to a stop and got out again, running to close the gates, and quickly returning to let Zig out. His first stop was to lift his leg to an old and cracked plant pot, which I hoped had never been a prized possession of my great Gran. Zig proceeded lower his nose to the ground, and start walking back and forth, following the scents he could find. I looked around at the path leading to the front door, lined with messy, unkempt rose bushes. The house itself looked to be in decent shape, but you couldn’t tell much from the outside. The yard, what I could see of it, was a mess. The shed was all of three standing walls and a pile of collapsed stone, and the piece of grassed land was overgrown.

“Zig,” I called him and he raised his head to look at me, his tongue hanging out as he bounded over to me, jumping up and resting his front paws on my front, trying to reach my face to lick. Luckily, I was tall enough that he could only just reach my elbows. “Come on, get off. Let’s go and look at our new home, yeah?” He barked at me in response, although he didn’t get off until I pushed his paws off me. 

The front door unlocked much easier than the gate, but when I pushed it open, it hit something on the inside and stopped. Zig, of course, squeezed through the gap and ran inside. I could hear the click of his claws against wooden flooring, and then a crash that sounded remarkably like boxes falling over. I groaned. Please don’t let there be more boxes. I had already had enough of them just from packing up my flat. This house was big enough to house at least five people, unless they shared rooms, and then more. If I got the door open enough to find boxes to fill the house, I might just sit down and cry.

“Zig?” I called into the house, faintly hearing the patter of his footsteps, but they didn’t seem to be coming in my direction. Of course. Why would he be helpful? I knelt down by the door, and reached my arm through the open gap. My hand hit a box, and I pushed it out of the way as best I could. It seemed to have wedged itself in the corner behind the door. I pushed myself back to my feet, wondering why I decided to wear a dress, and not jeans, and opened the door. 

This time, it opened enough to let me in, and I stepped through into a building I had never even seen before, but that now belonged to me. It’s strange how these things can happen. Especially considering what the house looked like. If it looked alright from the outside, the inside was a nightmare. Boxes were piled up everywhere, effectively creating a barrier into the house. I called Zig again, and he came running this time, leaping the box wall and circling my feet before sitting, looking up at me, and waiting for me to tell him what we were doing.

“We’d better get this moved. Are you going to help?” I looked down at him and raised my eyebrows. His tail thumped against the floor, and he barked, before running and jumping the boxes again, disappearing around the corner into a room. “Thanks, Zig! I appreciate it!” I yelled sarcastically after him. I reached for the first box, and moved it to the side, slowly moving the wall to both sides, to lean against the walls, and making myself a path through. Was there a backdoor that whoever was last here had left through? And the boxes were a thief deterrent? It was an effective one. If you couldn’t get into the house, you surely couldn’t steal anything from it.

I followed the sounds of Zip’s footsteps, finding him with his nose in a box. He looked up at me, backed away from the box, and barked, his tail wagging so hard it looked about to fall off. Frowning, I crouched by the box and pulled it open. A pile of coats, packed neatly away, and a dog lead on top. Did the smell of the dog still cling to the lead? Is that what he was after? 

“Not right now, Zig. We need to get some windows open. Come on.” He ran out of the room ahead of me, and I shook my head at him. The house was stuffy, which was unsurprising considering how long it had been since anyone had been here, but it was also dusty, and I could feel the particles in the back of my throat, trying to find their way to my lungs. 

I found the kitchen first, a large room, with an old wooden table pushed to the corner, six chairs, either tucked under it, or stood on top. It looked like it was moved there to keep it out of the way. I reached across the sink for the latch to the window, which complained like the gate when I tried to open it, but it gave way, and a rush of cool air pushed inside. Curiously, I tried the tap, and was overjoyed to find that, not only did water come out, it looked clean. Hopefully, this house was simply full of boxes and dust, and didn’t need any major work. I had already taken enough of a risk, packing up my flat and moving out here, away from everything I knew – the city, my job, my best friend. But a broken heart will do that to you. 

Zig’s barking drew my attention, and I followed the sound, calling to him. He was at the front door, barking at the door, and I ran to another room to look out a window, opening it while I was there. The moving lorry was at the gate, and I watched as one of the men jumped out the lorry and opened it.

“Can you close that when you come through?” I yelled through the window, startling the man, until he noticed me and nodded, waiting by the gate for the lorry to drive through. Only when I had seen him secure the gate closed did I open the door, Zip running out ahead of me and making a beeline for the man who had opened and closed the gate, the same man who had given Zip plenty of attention earlier, when we had been putting the boxes in the lorry. Zip jumped up at him, and the man rubbed his ears, before pushing him off and walking over to the lorry, Zip running in circles around him before catching a scent and running off to the rose bushes.

More boxes, more furniture. I let out a big sigh. Time to get started, I suppose.

And done!

I’ve been wanting to write a story about a girl moving into a big, run down house for a while, and I figured if I wrote it as a short story, I wouldn’t technically be working on more than one writing project at once, and I might finally get one finished. I would love to come back to this story, though, and make it a full novel.

That’s all for now…

Bye!

Character Stories, making short stories for everyday people – Charlie

Charlie

My fingers flew furiously over the controller, running, jumping, shooting. All I could hear was the sound of gunfire, and of my character's footsteps on the grass, loud in the headphones that covered my ears, blocking out the sound of the outside world.

I shifted in my seat, leaning back slightly when I realised the fighting section was over, and I was now moving forward to some sort of puzzle. It wouldn't take me long if I concentrated, and didn't think of my phone buzzing on my desk, turned face down so I wouldn't have to see the onslaught of notifications.

I managed to find the way to go easily, without using the hint that was waiting at the bottom of the screen for me to select it, to cheat. I had always preferred figuring these things out by myself, it almost ruined it when I was given hints, or was told where to go, because then I didn’t get to experience the feeling of being smart when I solved it. 

“Hey!” I jumped when one side of my headphones were pulled off my ear, and I spun around to confront my attacker, stopping when I realised it wasn’t someone coming with the intent to kill me, but my little sister instead. Then again, she could still have that intention. “Why did you do that? If I was in combat I would’ve died and had to restart it.”

“But you weren’t in combat.” She looked around my room, scrutinising my bed before gingerly sitting down on the edge. “How long have you been playing games rather than getting things done?”

“I am getting things done.” I argued. “I’m collecting all the valuables on this play through. Last time–“

“You missed one, and it annoyed you for days, I know.” She interrupted, and I glowered at her. “It doesn’t take away from the fact that you have an essay due in three days, and, by the look of things,” she picked up an empty packet of crisps from my floor, to prove her point, before letting it slide off her finger and fall back to the carpet, “you haven’t started.”

“Look, Marie, just because you are some super genius, and spend all your time studying, it doesn’t mean I have to be one too. You might find essay writing fun, but I find virtually killing things fun, so you just run along and study, and leave me to my game.” I turned away from her, and pulled the headphone back over my ear, pressing play on the game and wincing slightly as the loud game sounds blasted into my ears, not quite being used to the loud volume yet.

“What are you doing?” I tore my headphones off, turning to Marie again, standing by my bedroom window, grinning by the curtains she had just opened.

“Letting you photosynthesise. Maybe if you get some vitamin D in you, you’ll be less grumpy,” she opened the window as well, for good measure, perhaps.

“Humans don’t photosynthesise, I thought you were ultra smart?” I mumbled, staring at the pause screen of the game.

“Ah, so you do listen to me on occasion!” She exclaimed and I rolled my eyes. “Now, I’m going to go and make some food, I want you to get changed, quit moping about the fact Leslie cheated on you, because everyone saw it coming, and come eat a meal with me.” 

“If everyone saw it coming, couldn’t anyone tell me, or did you all find it funny to just sit back and watch her make a fool out of me?” I snapped, standing up, but getting caught by the headphones hanging around my neck, the wire holding me near to my console.

“We tried to warn you, Charlie, but you didn’t listen. Now block her number, because that buzzing is starting to annoy me, and have a shower.” She turned and walked out of the room, leaving the door open as she walked away. Sometimes, I greatly questioned my decision to share accommodation with her at university. It was like living with a whirlwind who thought they were always right, and tried to get you to study all the time.

Then again, I do, unfortunately, recall her telling me she had seen Leslie hanging around another guy, and me telling her that she was stupid to think Leslie would ever do anything like she was suggesting. I sighed, running my hands across my face, and turning, squinting slightly into the light coming through my window. When was the last time I had opened my curtains, let alone known what time of day it was? I was hungry, and I couldn’t deny that, for as annoying as she was, I had taken no cooking talent from our mother, so Marie had both of our share of that particular skill.

Blocking Leslie’s number was a weight off my shoulders. To think that, the next time she sends a message, begging for my forgiveness, telling me that she made a mistake, letting me know that I was the better of the two men, or swearing at me, a cycle she seemed to have been repeating for the last few days, she would get an automated response telling her she couldn’t text me anymore, was something I relished. 

I hated to have to walk into the kitchen and my mere presence to prove to Marie that she was right about something, yet again, but after a scalding shower, I was both starving, and feeling greatly refreshed. My hair still practically dripping, I walked into the kitchen.

“If you dare say anything along the lines of ‘I told you so’, I will take the ink out of your highlighters.” I warned before she could say anything, and although my threat obviously worried her, nerd that she was, I was sure she loved her different coloured highlighters more than she loved me, her only brother, she was grinning. 

“Bacon, eggs, toast, and,” she shuddered, “baked beans.” She gestured to the stove, where things were sizzling and bubbling in various pans.

“Don’t diss the baked beans.”

“They’re gross.”

“You’re gross.

“Thanks. Now grab some plates, and help me serve up. The sooner we eat, the sooner we can get started on your essay.” She said happily, and I groaned. I had almost forgotten. Goodbye video games, hello studying with my sister all afternoon, and having her tell me that my points were sub-par, and that I needed to revise more.

Then again, she did cook baked beans for me, despite her aversion to them, so that counted for something.

And done!

I wrote this an hour ago. I'm so well prepared!

And baked beans are great, no arguments.

That's all for now...

Bye!

Character Stories, making short stories for everyday people – Oliver

I know we had a Character Story post last Saturday, but I have an hour and a half before this post is supposed to be out, and I wanted to write this. So put up with it!

Oliver

The wood twirled between my fingers and tapped against my leg. I stopped myself when I realised I was chewing on the end of it, and set the paintbrush down, sighing and running my hands through my hair. The easel was still blank, a literal blank canvas that I had yet to fill, but my mind was empty. There were no colours flashing behind my eyes, begging me to paint them, there was just darkness.

A knock sounded at the door of my bedroom, and I called out to let Jess know she could come in.

"Any luck?" She asked, pushing open my door, and I sat up straighter, staring up at the mocking emptiness staring back at me.

"No. I can't see any of my colours."

"Here," Jess held out a cup of tea for me and I took it, mumbling a thanks and sipping the tea, hot enough to burn my tongue and lips, but I didn't care. Maybe it would spark some reds, oranges maybe.

But no, nothing came to me, no colours presenting themselves, and no emotion ready to burst forth, other than the sudden need to stick my tongue out to cool it down.

Jess sat down on the side of my bed, next to me. The mattress dipped with both of our weight, and forced her to lean in my direction. Her arm brushed against mine, and she rested her head against my shoulder as we both stared up at the canvas.

"You know, she wasn't the reason you paint." Jess said quietly, and I sighed, tearing my eyes away from my easel and down towards the cup in my hands. "It might have seemed so, but you didn't paint for her, you painted because of what she made you feel."

"I know," my voice was barely a whisper. I was afraid that if I raised it any higher, my voice would break and I would find the lump that was forming in my throat would force tears to my eyes. "But without her I don't feel anything."

"Oliver." Jess sat up and looked at me, her voice so commanding that I raised my head to meet her eye. "It's been weeks. She didn't just leave you, she cheated on you. Doesn't that make you angry?" She stood up and started pacing around the room. "Your best friend lied to you to help her cover it up." She picked up my paint stained palette and a tube of red paint, unscrewing the lid and squeezing some out. "That's betrayal." She picked up black paint, and added it to the palette, squeezing out far too much. The paint was expensive, and I wanted to stop her, so it wouldn't go to waste, but I remained where I was, silently watching her. "Yellow, for the spark the started your relationship, and blue, for the water that doused the flames out. White, the stars shining through the darkness that you feel, and orange, the sunrise finally coming up to greet you."

She took my hand, precariously balancing the paint filled palette in her other hand, and I leant down and placed my tea on the floor, reaching out and taking the palette from her before she dropped it and both stained the carpet, and wasted my paint. I couldn't afford to buy more, and I didn't want to lose the deposit we had put down when we first rented this place.

"Here," she handed me a brush. Not the one I would choose, but I took it, and stepped up towards the easel, staring down at the mismatched colours I had been presented with.

"You know, sometimes you seem like a normal person, and sometimes it really shows that you're a poet," I said over my shoulder and Jess snorted with laughter.

"Just paint, already," she said, and I stared at her for a moment, as she picked up my cup of tea from the floor and sipped it, screwing up her face at the lack of sugar.

"Fine." I turned back towards the easel, closing my eyes, and breathing out slowly. A flash of orange danced across the backs of my eyelids, and I opened my eyes again, dabbing my brush in the paint, and spreading it across the canvas.

Slowly, as the canvas was stained different colours, the emotions and feelings started to overlap in my brain and expressed themselves through the brush in my hand, my heart starting to thaw. A tear ran down my cheek as the black overtook the pink, the despair stamping out the love, and slowly, the reds of anger fought back.

And, slowly, the green made it's way onto the page. The green of Jess's eyes, spreading over the brown of my ex's eyes. And, slowly, a dash of pink made it's way back onto the canvas.

I stepped back, reaching up and rubbing the dried tears from my cheeks, and stared at the painting. I was certain that there was paint on my cheek, spread there from my hand, and another t-shirt was ruined, but my mind was reeling, colour after colour flowing freely through the riverbeds where they had before been dry.

I turned to face Jess, who was lying on my bed, a book open beside her, the pages creased against my duvet where her hand was pressing down on it, her eyes closed and her hair across her face as she slept.

And, slowly, my thawing heart started to flash pink again.

Done!

A poet and an artist, what better combination?!

To be fair, Jess wasn't even supposed to be in this story, she just appeared and refused to leave. I wasn't even the one who let her stay – Oliver took over and wouldn't let me get rid of her.

Do you ever think that sometimes, writers sound a little crazy when they talk about how their characters took control of the story?

...

Okay, I'll go.

Bye!

Character Stories, making short stories for everyday people – Niamh

I was in a bit of a conundrum after finishing my Places To Read series, as I wanted to replace it with another series, but I didn't have any ideas ready to go.

Then, I remembered that I have a list of names waiting to be used, after asking Twitter to name a character for me.

So I decided to make a series about these names, to give them all a character, and a story. And thus, Character Stories was born.

Niamh

Panting, Niamh ran her hand across her forehead, and wiped the sweat on her leggings. She leant down to pick up her water bottle, and drank deeply from it, the cool liquid wetting her parched tongue.

Looking down at her smartwatch, telling her that she had achieved her workout goal, and that she was running late to get to work, Niamh quickly ended the workout tracker on her watch, and headed for the lockers.

Grabbing her keys and phone from a locker, she half ran out to her car, climbing in and turning it on, her car radio automatically turning on and blaring music at her, the heavy rock fuelling her blood as if she hadn't just spent an hour working out. She threw the car into first gear, and pulled away.

She showered quickly at home, rubbing shampoo that smelled of artificial strawberries into her hair, and coating her body in 'calming lavender' body wash. There was no amount of body wash capable of calming her down when she knew she had only twenty minutes left to get to work.

She didn't have time to dry her hair properly, so she knotted it up at the back of her head still damp. It was likely to fall in uneven and unflattering waves when she let it down in the evening, but she didn't care much. She would be washing it again the following morning anyway, after the gym.

Niamh climbed back into her car, her leggings exchanged for a pencil skirt, her old t-shirt for a white blouse, and climbed back into her car. The drive to work wasn't long, but her eyes kept flicking towards the clock on her car's dashboard, an hour behind, as she wasn't sure how to adjust the clock for daylight savings. Still, it wasn't difficult to read the clock, telling her she had three minutes to get to work, park, and make it into the building.

Her old boss wouldn't have cared much, he would've mentioned something about traffic and ask if she got caught in it. He would have asked how she got on at the gym that morning, or asked about evening plans. He would have already placed a cup of tea on her desk, and it would somehow be hot, no matter if she was five minutes early or ten minutes late.

Her new boss, well. Turning up to work late is harder to get away with when you aren't dating the boss.

She pulled up in the car park and practically sprinted into the building. She glanced down at her watch, and then up at her boss, as the clock on the wall ticked to 9 o'clock. Niamh smiled at her boss, and walked to her desk.

"Hi, Charlie," Niamh said, approaching his desk and he span around in his chair, grinning up at her.

"Morning, sweetie," he replied as Niamh leant down to kiss him. "You get up earlier and earlier every day." Niamh stepped away from him and sat down at her desk. Charlie might have been a convenient boss, but the role never suited him. He was almost relieved when he was informed that he was being demoted, and replaced. The one good thing about having the same job as him again? The spare desk next to Niamh's suddenly had a person in it, and it was a person she wanted to be near.

"Thank you for the tea," Niamh said as she sat down, smiling as she picked up the cup and blew gently on the boiling water before taking a sip.

"How was your workout?"

"Tiring." Niamh leant forward and turned on her computer, watching the screen slowly come to life, buffering slightly as it woke up. "It was leg day, I might not be able to move by the end of the day." She grinned, looking at Charlie. "You might have to carry me home."

"Can't, I biked," he replied, keeping his eyes on the screen in front of him. "Unless you're willing to sit on the handlebars." He glanced towards her, smiling.

"I think I'd rather drive." Niamh's computer made it's welcoming sound, telling her that it had finally managed to start properly, and she sighed as her work day started properly.

"Do you fancy pizza for dinner?" Charlie asked and Niamh looked over at him, pouting.

"Don't say that now. Say it at four when I start complaining. Now I'm going to spend all day craving pizza."

Charlie grinned at her.

"So is that a yes?"

"That's a definitely."

And done!

Apparently, Niamh is a girl who works in an office with her boyfriend, likes to stay fit, is a morning person, and has a deep love for pizza.

Who knew!?

Anyway, that's all I have for now...

Bye!