John wasn’t looking forward to the day

He needed to ride the 10:15 jawn into town to buy a new jawn

His other jawn had been destroyed in the flooding after Hurricane Don

John had loved that jawn

Mom always said “There’s no use crying over spilt jawn” so John left his jawn to go down to the jawn stop

John found jawn rides tiring. He yawned just thinking about it

About a mile from town, the jawn stopped.

The jawn driver announced that one of the jawns had blown but HQ was sending a new jawn

Anyone who stayed for the new jawn would get a jawn for free jawn rides for the rest of the jawn as compensation

John knew it would be easy to walk but Mom always said “A free jawn is nothing to yawn at” so he waited.

When he finally got to town he went to the jawn and bought a new jawn

The new jawn was more modern and had more features than the old jawn, but John still missed the old jawn. He made a lot of memories with that jawn.

It was a nice day, so John decided to visit the jawn before going home

There was a jawn vendor in front of the jawn, so John bought two hot jawns then found a jawn in the jawn where he could sit in the shade of some jawns while enjoying the beauty of the jawn shining in the jawn.

He rested awhile on the jawn after he’d eaten his jawns, then got up to catch the jawn home.

All in all he thought, not a bad day after all

[Opening paragraphs from a short story I'm working on]

A loud bang woke Quinn from his drowsy state. He thought he should try to wake up completely but slipped back into his drowse. In the darkness, not quite completely out, he felt at peace. Voices reached him in the darkness, sounding as if they were coming through a layer of thick cotton.

The silence was shattered by sirens. The darkness banished by flashing red, yellow and white lights. And voices, too, but loud, the cotton was gone. Quinn again tried to wake up but couldn’t quite get there. A man’s voice said “It’s OK, pal. We’ve got you.”

Quinn hadn’t even been aware he was cold until someone put a warm blanket on him. The warmth helped him to go back to his dark drowse. He slept a sleep with no dreams.

“I control the drugs; the drugs don’t control me!”.

Later in life, Ben wondered whether he and his friends should have confronted Brad about all the abuse. He wondered whether they should have tried to convince him to take it easy.

But those questions didn’t occur to him at the time. He was wrapped up in his own little world. He had a hard-enough time getting through most days without taking on anyone else’s burdens.

“Who wants to smoke some weed?” Ben asked.

“Let’s go up to my room” Brad said. “I’ve got some good shit you’ll want to try”. He laughed. His laugh tended more towards a cackle when he was this high.

Brad, Gus, Parker and Ben went inside, heading to Brad’s room. There was loud music, a few people dancing, a lot of people drinking heavily; celebrating graduation day by getting so drunk they wouldn’t remember it.

Ben stepped away from the others to say hello to an old friend from grade school. Before he got there, one of the girls screamed!

Ben turned to look.

Brad was foaming at the mouth and shaking violently. Then he collapsed. There was a moment of stillness; the only sound was the music. Then, like a spell had broken, everyone bolted!

Ben wasn’t a man of action; he didn’t take charge in a crisis. He preferred to stand back; let someone competent handle things. For a moment, he waited for someone competent person to step up. When no one stepped up, Ben realized that, for the first time in his life, he was going to have to be the competent one.

Ben had once seen an adult take care of someone having an epileptic seizure. Ben tried to do what he had seen. He got down on his knees beside Brad and pushed his wallet between Brad’s teeth.

“Gus”, he said, “get me a couple of pillows to put under his head. And Parker, turn off that fucking music!”

Kaitlyn had come running in and stopped dead when she saw Brad on the floor.

“What’s wrong? Is he going to be alright? What should I do?”

Ben could see she was panicked, her eyes wide; fear, confusion, panic all at the same time. He wanted to say or do something for her, but Brad needed his attention first.

“Kaitlyn, Brad needs an ambulance. Can you call for one? Then come back and let me know. OK? Can you do that?”

Kaitlyn nodded and ran to the phone. Ben looked around the room. It was a complete mess; plastic cups and paper plates all over the room.

“Gus, Parker. Can you start cleaning up a little? No sense in letting anyone know there were a bunch of drunk teenagers here tonight. When Kaitlyn gets back, I’ll help you.”

“The ambulance is coming”, Kaitlyn said. “What else can I do?”

She looked calmer than a few minutes ago, but still shaken. Ben told her to sit with Brad and just keep talking to him.

“Tell him it’s going to be OK. Tell him it will be over soon. I think your voice will be more soothing than mine.”

“Call me if anything changes, OK?” She nodded.

I’m working on a story about the summer after high school graduation. The story starts, more or less, when a minor tragedy occurs. After which the story progresses to love found, a major tragedy then repurcussions followed by another tragedy. This is what I[’m considering for an opening. Blue and gold were my high school colors, also used for the gowns on graduation day. Criticism (constructie of course!) would be greatly appreciated

The football field was Van Gogh’s starry night come to life, swirls of blue (the boys) and swirls of gold (the girls).

There was mass at the center of each swirl determined by the importance of the students gathered there. The most massive center was held by the jocks and cheerleaders. There was a smaller but significant mass for the band geeks. Smaller swirls orbited the larger ones; smaller masses had even smaller ones swirling.

Ben Graham suspected it was his own melancholia that prompted the Van Gogh imagery. It was graduation day. 12 years of hard work, partying and existential angst coming to an end. But mostly existential angst. The last six years had been hard mentally. He excelled in school and extracurricular activities. But whenever he was alone, like now, sadness overtook him.

I asked for Hemlock.

Didn’t happen. Wouldn’t want me to be kill myself tonight if they’re going to kill me tomorrow, right? I keep obsessively checking the bread for mold. I’m feasting on a little pot of cheese. If I can’t be one Greek philosopher, I’ll be another, damn it. Who said that thing about “death and taxes”? I read a book in elementary school about kids at the Boston Tea Party. A couple of the sailors went into a bar to get a “tot of grog”. A buddy and I really latched on to that phrase. I never really knew what “pot of cheese” meant. Death comes for us all. I’m sitting in a cell, dipping bread in a fondue pot. I’ll be executed tomorrow. Wasn’t Saint Vitus Dance caused by moldy bread? Didn’t it make the nuns at Loudun monastery believe they were having great sex? The first time I smoked pot, I didn’t get high. Someone will die in a car accident tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll both be dead. Great care has been taken to make sure I can’t burn myself with the hot cheese. Wouldn’t want me to be injured tonight if they’re going to kill me tomorrow, right? Since the obscenely rich took over the tax code, taxes are no longer certain. How about a tot of grog with my pot of cheese? Won’t happen. Wouldn’t want me to be happy tonight if they’re going to kill me tomorrow, right? When news reached him of his son’s death, Anaxagoras is reported to have said “I knew my son was mortal”, or maybe, “Did I ever say my son was not mortal?”. I’ve read both. I wish I’d had social skills in high school. I’ve been preparing myself for death for a long time; my own and others. Ataraxia: free of perturbation. From the moment you’re born, you are moving towards death. It’s a foregone conclusion. The second time I smoked pot, I got high. It was the most marvelous thing that had happened to me up to that point in my life. You can’t usually predict the day, but you know death is coming. I know the day and time. My father’s been dead a long time. I don’t know how he would have responded to news of my death. The Warden probably had the bread checked carefully. Wouldn’t want me to get sick tonight if they’re going to kill me tomorrow, right? The last time I smoked pot, I got paranoid and catatonic. I wish I hadn’t been so depressed in high school

It’s unfortunate that I’ll be dead tomorrow.

It’s even more unfortunate that this pot of cheese is dead now