I wrote a small part of a short story from a prompt online. The prompt was to write a story with the words: grandfather, toothpaste, tree, and box. It’s unfinished, but I will finish it and hopefully do a part two next time I post. Anyway, here’s the story-

Splinters took over his knees as he crawled around the old wooden floor of the treehouse. His grandfather was a short kid, and so the ceiling hung barely an inch above his head. The heavy wind brought in leaves into the treehouse, and shook the floor till he thought he was going to fall out. He supposed he should be inside the real  house at that moment, but lord knows there’s a whole tornado going on inside there, his mother and great grandmother being the fuel. All day they were at it, screaming at each other, and it only really made him wonder why his mother insisted they bodybuilding steroids online came to visit in the first place. She just didn’t get enough screaming in at the funeral, he thought. His hands wandered over books, cassettes, and other ancient things. Just one look at the place, and you could tell how much of a nerd his grandfather really was as a kid. He found few things in there that he could actually use or want to have. It sounded terrible to say it, but he didn’t miss his grandfather at all. It’s not like he never  knew him, or knew him very well either. He visited his grandfather every summer for a week, and the only dialogue that passed between the two were greetings and stranger-conversation. His hands soon got tired of pointless searching, but he wasn’t going inside the house till he had to, so he kept his hands moving. Maybe he would find something of value.Soon his hands drove over a thin notebook, and on the cover it said nothing, unlike the other books. Curious, he opened it up to find scrawled writing that obviously belonged to his grandfather. The handwriting was worse than his own, and the only message he got through it was that there was a box in the tree house. He put the book down and as soon as he did, his eyes found the box. It was smooth and made of the same wood as the treehouse, so it blended in quite nicely. After letting out a creak as it opened, the box was the most useless thing he had ever seen, and any sense of adventure that came before was gone. Inside was one stupid toothpaste bottle. Annoyed, the grabbed the bottle, but as soon as he did, he heard the sound of paper rustling. He opened the bottle, and stashed inside was a wad of cash, along with a note. The cash was a large amount, and he smiled at it as he stashed it in his pocket. The note was brief, but described the process of getting the money.His grandfather had read a book, where the father of the story sold broken cars to people so that they kept coming back to him to fix it, since there was no one else in the town to fix them.

Apparently this sparked something in his young grandfather to do the same, and so he decided to fix and shine shoes. People would come to his grandfather with their shoes, he would shine them, and then he would cut off the heel by just a bit, and glued it back. As soon as the people walked on their shoes, the heels would break, and they all assumed that they had broke it themselves. And so his grandfather got payed twice to fix everyone’s shoe once. Resulting in the large wad of cash that was currently in my hands. He wondered if he could ever think to do something as smart as that. He probably couldn’t. But even so, he still felt so inspired by the clever act, and instantly sat to try and find a way that he could do the same. Maybe he could fix and shine shoes too- except for the fact that nearly no one would actually go to fix their shoes in 2009. The 2000’s had the mindset of “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” except for the addition of “And if it is broke, don’t fix it, just buy another one.” “ADRIAN!!”His mother called him from the bottom of the tree. He looked down, and promptly sat back in the tree house, pretending not to hear. She would give up and go back inside at some point. And in the meanwhile he decided to keep thinking of a clever act to pull off like his grandpa did.

Anddd- that’s the story. Well, part of it. I mostly left it unfinished because I really wasn’t sure where I was going to go with it, but now I think I have a more of an idea. I feel like when I write, I try to add little ‘fun bits’- like the whole “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” part. I think those bits are the best parts of writing because when you read them, it makes you smile. Or cringe. Either way is okay. Because good writing is supposed to make you feel, even if it’s cringey. Anyway, I’ll be back next time with part 2, so, see ya then.

💛 Dia

I needed to post something so that I can get back into posting again so here’s this random vampire writing that oral tren I rewrote. Spring break is pretty cool so far, I just finished building a robot for Robotix Institute and I’m still working at my novel. Anyway here’s the story

Vampire Guilt

He liked to think that his food was nothing more than food. It had no life, no family, no friends, no sentience, no feelings. They were separate, him and them, different species. Perhaps once upon a time he lived amongst them, but that was years behind him. And perhaps at some point  he felt what they felt and had what they had, but that soon became irrelevant. It was easier to pretend that they were nothing more than prey to be hunted. And it seemed to work, for hundreds of years at that, but as his newest victim’s heart stopped, with veins run dry, the once foolproof system produced a flaw.

As soon as he felt her body go limp, he dropped her to the ground, like an emptied candy wrapper. Her body hit the ground with a noise fairly louder than a plastic wrapper, and wiping red off his lips, he searched her for valuables. It wasn’t as if money would help a corpse more than it would him- there was no point in wasting. Checking her jacket’s left pocket he found a thin leather wallet. He smiled and opened it up, but scowled to find only a credit card. New technology was the bane of his existence. He sighed, throwing the wallet aside and checked her other pocket. Inside was a 20 dollar bill (which he naturally pocketed), and a phone. He turned it around in his hand, blood smearing the cover. It wasn’t the newest model, but it certainly was worth something. The bright screen lit up his face, almost blinding him in the dark night. Under the time, there was a new message. Someone named Lauren, telling of his victim’s successful interview, asking how she was doing. He frowned at the message, and cleared it, revealing a screen saver with a baby boy. Assumably his victim’s baby. It was a beautiful picture, such a pretty baby, and it made him smile. On the baby’s shirt it said his name- Grayson. A disgusting name for a lovely child. His eyes moved around the picture, and rested on red fingerprints across the screen. He looked back at his victim, still laying cold on the floor, and a small hole planted itself in his gut. It was an uneasy feeling, he hadn’t had it in hundreds of years. Another message popped up on the screen- Lauren again- his victim got the job. Too bad they would have to hire someone else, he thought as he swiped the message, clearing it again, leaving a red trail across the baby. Suddenly, a pang of guilt struck into the hole in his gut. It hit him very abruptly, and he didn’t like the feeling. He hated it. It hit him hard, the knowledge that the Lauren girl would wait for no reply, and the knowledge that the baby boy would have to grow up without his mother- with barely any memory of her at all. 

Sliding down the brick wall, and landing down with the same thud as his victim did, behind his eyes he felt tears, actual tears. They fell down slowly against his face, leaving a red trail behind them. The hole in his gut grew deeper and deeper, and raged, with a shout, he threw the phone across the alleyway. What had he done?  What had the vampires of the world done? The hard sidewalk scraped his knees, and all he could see was red- red on his hands, on the ground, on her. Everywhere there was red, because he survived on it.  He felt the urge to run to the police station and then turn himself in, woman in his arms. The baby deserved a mother, and Lauren deserved a reply. The woman didn’t deserve to die, and he didn’t deserve to live, but what could he do but sit there with that knowledge and cry for the end of immortality. Thus, the life of the vampire loses its charm, and all that remains are dead bodies and red tears.

Okay that’s the whole thing. It wasn’t too bad honestly, but I think my writing’s just a little bit on the dramatic side haha. I really like writing about vampires though, it’s basically all I write about. Anyway I’m gonna try to post more cause it’s fun plus I write like a lot. Okay that’s all for now, see ya

💛 Dia

Hi, I’m Dia, and this is my writing website! I’ll mostly be posting random scene ideas in here, and occasionally some full stories. Right now, I’m working on a vampire novel, so I’ll definitely be posting a few scenes from it. I don’t know how often I’ll post (since I’m just starting LMAO), but I’ll figure that out later. Also- I’m sorry if my website is a little confusing, and some of the tabs don’t do anything- I’m still trying to edit it and see what works. It isn’t very well-organized right now- but I promise it will be very soon haha!

Now, for my first post, I guess I should do something special, or write something totally life-changing, but unfortunately life-changing writing takes a lot more time than I thought. So, for my first post, I’m just going to put the beginning of an unfinished story that I wrote, so you can get a feel for my writing, and my style. Ok? Ok. Enjoy!

P.S. I’m sorry for any possible misuses of semicolons, because I know those will be there. Or any grammar issues at all for that matter. Don’t worry, I’ll learn eventually.

The Stonebrook High Writing Club

We were all essentially the same person, if that makes any sense. It wasn’t unusual, the lack of individuality, because that was how Stonebrook High’s writing club ran. Our individuality didn’t show up so much on the outside; it instead showed in our writing. Outside we all had the same introverted, circle-rim glasses, stereotypical persona of a writer. But when it comes to writing, we were all so incredibly different.

We always met on Thursdays, right at 3, after school, in Ms. Nelson’s 9th grade biology classroom. We weren’t a very big group, mostly made up of just 7 people. Occasionally, another one of those college-obsessed, A-list blondes would come around to find yet another extra curricular to add onto their acceptance letters. Mike Wellsworth was the only one of them who actually stayed in our group. We all worshipped Mike- looked up to him. And how could we not? He was perfect in every way. Tall, good-looking, smart, funny, kind, popular- the list goes on. Of course we all know the trope: everyone faces their own battles and crap, but we still couldn’t help but long to be him. Of course, as you should expect, not everyone loved him in our group. Some hated him, saying his bubbly, chattery personality was all fake, and disrupted the silence we came for. Either way, whether someone loved him or hated him, we were almost all obsessed with him to some degree. You see, it said ‘almost all’, because Mia is an interesting little brat.

She acted like he didn’t even exist. We didn’t know if this is some clever way to get his attention, or maybe she really was just plain dumb. But aside from that, she was confusing, and weirdly different. Not the type of weird you see in main characters in coming of age movies. The actual weird. Like- putting stamps on her face kinda weird. Yeah, really. We were definitely not a fan of this. No matter how unique and amazing and tragic we made our stories’ characters, the Stonebrook High Writing Club did not appreciate the story esque strangeness leaking into the real world- our world. Our world was to be strictly normal, and any adventures to be made were trapped into our stories. And if we were being completely honest- sometimes our stories lacked adventure too. Anyway whatever Mia’s intentions were, it really was getting Wellsworth’s attention. And obviously, we weren’t a fan of this either.

Sorry that was pretty short, but hopefully that gave you a good idea of my style. In this, I was trying to experiment with a ‘we’ point of view. Anyway have a great day or night, and I will probably be posting again pretty soon. Ooh, the next post might be a scene from my vampire story :0 ? Ok anyway, I’ll post later, byebye!

🧡 Dia