Any secret. Today in my English class, we did the greatest creative writing warm-up ever. Everyone was given one note card and we had to write one secret on it. Any secret, new or old. Still a secret or not a secret anymore. Then the note cards were redistributed so everyone had a note card from a different student. We wrote about what ever was on the note card in some way. On my note card I wrote, "I told him something that I shouldn't have." The secret I received was, "I'm afraid of losing my best friend." So I wrote a short bit about someone who was losing their best friend. The girl next to me had, "I'm not happy." And so on. Give one, unspecific secret. One with no specific names that anyone could sit and write about. I found these to be amazing prompts.
Oops. I meant it to be a If-you-don't-have-any-idea-what-to-write-about,-find-something-in-here-and-start-with-that kind of thread. For all of the people who keep asking for inspiration, maybe we could build some up.
I think it'd be cool if someone started off by saying a secret that the next person in the thread has to write about. So the next person writes about the secret the person above them posted and then posts another secret for the next person in the thread to write about and so on (if that makes sense). I could start. Okay someone write about a person whose secret is: "I hate my best friend"
Kim and I had a great friendship. In fact, the greatest, until she started getting depressed, and you know what? That was fine. Sure, we hung out less, but we still talked about deep things. But her consistent negativity started to drag me down. Several times I had asked to her get help. Eventually we started hanging out less and less. She mostly moped around her house all day. I could forgive all that. I could handle it. So, we didn’t hang out as much. Big deal, it would pass. That’s what I told myself. One day I knocked on her door—no answer. I opened the unlocked door and entered. The silent ringing of the house caused my stomach to knot up. Sunlight poured out the bedroom door into the dusty, darker hallway. A shadow turned and flickered on the wall. Dread clinched my heart when I saw her dangling limp body hanging from the ceiling. She used a rope and one of my ties. I hate my best friend, Kim. How could she do this to me? Next secret – One time I stole something big.
It was an accident, really. I mean, before I knew it, I was out of the shop. It's funny that no-one noticed I had put one of their most expensive items in my pocket. That ring cost a fortune. A stone, the size of my fingernail, was it's crown jewel. Several smaller others decorated the rest of it. Not until the police came knocking on my door did I realize that I had put it in the pocket of my favourite jeans. I must've been absolutely absent that day, daydreaming as I do. They put me away in jail for I don't know how long. I forgot what the sentence was. Mind you, those cops are the criminals, not me. First they come to take my wife and child from me, and then my furniture. I just slipped a ring in my pocket without noticing it. It was an accident. I swear. Next secret: I fart really loud when no one is there to hear it. (PS. Awesome game! I like it!)
Nancy really had to, but where would she . . . They wouldn’t miss her if she disappeared for a moment. Once alone in the public bathroom, she let one rip. Much better. “Whoa, girl, you must have had the tacos, too.” She went stiff. Oh, God, someone was in the stall. Why didn’t she check? Her face tingled; her shoulders tingled. She had to get out of there before the lady opened her stall. She heard the toilet paper roll spinning. Still stiff, all she could do was stand there feeling her stupid hot cheeks growing hotter. “You still there?” The lady in the stall asked. If she left now, the lady would never know who she was. Her muscles finally released, and she tucked her purse to her side, put her face down, and left. (I couldn't resist that one.) Next secret: I once killed a bird.
Can't... stop... laughing! I'm having fun, mind if I do another? "Yes. I will. Thank you." Mom hung up the phone. When she turned around I could already see what had happened, so my lip began to tremble. She walked towards me, hands outstreched so she could cuddle me. My heart was broken in thousand pieces. "Now, now, sweetheart. You couldn't help it. The doctor said she didn't feel a thing." Of course I knew she was lying. I had carried the bird to the vet all by myself, young as I was. The poor thing had made such hurtful sounds and had flapped her broken wing weakly, trying to get away from the human that carried her. The tears now rolled over my face, whitehot. I was only six years old, and could not help but feel so very, very guilty. I could've slowed down on my bike, or used the break more quickly. I could've swirled around the little thing, not harming her. Instead I had driven right across her wing. And now she was dead. "You poor thing." my mom said. I cried even louder and thought to myself: "I'm not a poor thing, I'm a murderer". It has been fourteen years since the accident happened. Still, whenever there is a bird on the road, I break and drive by as slowly as possible. I'm not so convinced any more that the pigeonfamily will once rise up and attack me in revenge for their lost sister, but I'm still not entirely sure. This is actually a true story. I'm still not very comfortable with birds Next secret: I still 'steal' cookies from the cookiejar, even though I'm grown up.
"Can I have a cookie, Grandma?" I asked, never taking my eyes off the ceramic cookie jar. It was one of those novelty jars. You know, the ones that look like cartoon puppies or teddy bears with the head for a lid. This particular one was a gray kitten wearing a pink dress. "Your mother would never forgive me if I let you spoil your dinner." Grandma answered, winking at me. She turned her back very deliberately and began humming. I smiled a sly little smile and removed the lid. It clinked as I set it down on the counter. Grandma hummed a little louder. I quickly selected a cookie:chocolate chip, my favorite. I dropped the cookie into my pocket, now also humming Grandma's song, and replaced the cat's head lid on the jar. Twenty years later, the gray kitten cookie jar has a place of honor on my kitchen counter. Grandma has been gone for two years now, but I still think of her whenever I look at that jar. I never let my husband or my daughter see me take a cookie from the jar. And, I always hum Grandma's little tune. *I cried myself to sleep almost every night growing up because I was afraid to go to school the next day and face the bullies.
(No I didn't architectus...look again. I cried myself to sleep almost every night as a child because I was afraid to go to school and face the bullies)
I cried myself to sleep almost every night as a child because I was afraid of the bullies. And who could blame me. They were bigger, taller, and scarier. I was just this small, little odd kid, with his nose in a book every time. My father told me never to worry about them, but I couldn't. My dad told me to make friends and the bullies would leave me alone. But my friends were bullies to me as well. I really had no one to return to. I guess one night my father heard me crying. So he signed me up for martial arts. And in no time short I began to have confidence in myself. In a few months, I was the bullies, bully. I never cried myself to sleep just laughed myself to sleep. Cause I was having so much fun. Next Secret: "I'm in love with someone who gets a bad reputation because he hangs out with the wrong kind of people"
The last time we went on a trip together, he wore a shaggy brown wig and sunglasses the whole time. It was odd, not seeing his beautiful blond locks and bright blue eyes, but I understand. If anyone recognizes him, it could mean danger or more rejection from "do gooders". We've been kicked out of a few certain clubs and restaurants, due to this misunderstanding before. It's easier if he just wears his disguise. You see, the truth is, that I'm in love with someone who gets a bad reputation because he hangs out with the wrong kind of people. But he's really a double agent and I know he's fighting for the good. It's part of why I love him. So for now, I must bear the weight of his bad reputation and support him. I'm in the witness protection program because I witnessed a murder and know who the killer was. No one must know my true identity.
I'm under the witness protection program because I know the identity of the killer of the Prime Minister. It's get a bit lonely here in the house and there are times when I want to go out. So, I want to go out at the moment. I stared at my wardrobe typical male shirts and pants. What could I use as my disguise? Then an idea pops into my head. To everyone my new identity is my Mr. Harlen. But to me it's Mrs. Stone. I fixed my wig, put on my lipstick, fixed my fake breast, and made my dress look perfect. My female features helped me out these days. I'm under witness protection program, but hey I'm two people. Next secret: I'm tired and exhausted and may have a fever I have been hiding it from people for a week now
I sit in the corner with my hoodie pulled up around my face. I can't stop the chills. The fever is coming back. Every time I think I have it beat...well..no point thinking about that now. I have to focus an staying awake, on hiding the fact that I have IT. If they find out, they will stone me. Can't afford to waste bullets. Not now in the After, after the plague, after the destruction of society. Besides, it may just be a cold. We still get those. There's no way of knowing if it's IT. The doctor's dead. The group would just panic. No, better to hide my condition, stay with the safety of the group, and pray I don't have the plague. I'm not sure anyone listens to prayers anymore... *I am putting together survival kits. "In case of..." vampires, zombies, and werewolves. It will be a fun art project. Anyone has a shotgun they don't use...pas it my way
As a child, I enjoyed pressing faeries, they didn't sell very well. Most people just preferred pressed flowers... As a teen, I had my own ghost busting unit--only one in the town. Not much business, oddly enough... But this idea is guaranteed to be a winner. These new survival kits are sure to sell! So far, I've got one for Vampires $19.99--garlic, holy water and crosses; one for Zombies $75.50--blow torches and diatomaceous earth; and one for Werewolves $39.99--12 silver forks and a sling shot! They're going to come in reeeeal handy any day now... Any day now. Yep. By the way, if you know of anyone with a good used shotgun for sale, pass it my way. *I was abducted by aliens last week and I think they stole my appendix.
(If Mcarpenter is telling real secrets, her life is WAY to interesting. But, I suspect she is being creative and not telling real secrets) It was a week ago that I awoke to a pain in my lower abdomen. I was lying in a field surrounded by goats and had no idea how I had gotten there. The last thing I remembered was taking a walk down county road 91b. It was sunset, so the light was fading. Then, there was this bright light, brighter than the noon sun. That's all I remembered, and all I still remember. Disoriented, I felt at the painful spot on my abdomen. There was a bandage just lower and to the side of my belly button. It felt odd. It wasn't like any gauze or bandage I had ever seen. Upon further investigation, I discovered that it was woven of some fabric I had never seen and a mesh of fine metal. It resembled silver, but was cold to the touch. It never warmed to the heat of my body. A goat wandered over and began nibbling at my hair. I pushed it aside and got to my feet. I knew this place. It was the Jones' farm. I was only a half mile from home, not far from where I had been...abducted. That had to be it. Suddenly, I knew what had happened. The flash of light. The strange bandage. Aliens took my appendix! *One time, I stepped on a piece of broken glass and bled like a stuck pig. It dripped onto the floor and made such a cool looking pool of blood that I actually photographed it before I got a paper towel to stop the bleeding.
Oh. Are we allowed to make things up? Phew... Just in time. The only secret I had left was about the time I aided the secret service in underminding an evil plot against the president. Hahaha...If you guys aren't making yours up, PM me so we can talk. I have a few concerns we need to discuss. lol. Love your last story, btw. I got a good chuckle over the goats! The STORY: One time, I stepped on a piece of broken glass and bled like a stuck pig. It dripped onto the floor and made such a cool looking pool of blood that I actually photographed it before I got a paper towel to stop the bleeding. It was so inspiring. The perfect shape of wings. So I super imposed it over a photo of Carmina and entered it into an art contest as "The Angel of Death". Low and behold it won! And I got first prize: A life time supply of Tofu... *Secret: I enjoy using photoshop to make myself look thinner in photos.
I had finally gotten up the courage to give internet dating a try. I filed out my profile trying to make myself as interesting as possible. It was all complete, except for the picture. Which one should I use? I was about fifteen pounds heavier than I wanted to be. All the pictures made me look even fatter than that. Honesty is the best policy, but I would never make any progress in the dating world looking like this. Once I started talking to someone, they would realize how totally awesome I was, and maybe not care if I was little heavier than I said. Photoshop is the answer. I had recently taken a class at the local Junior College in digital photography. This would come in handy. I could shave off a few pounds, clean up a few zits. I'd look as fabulous as I knew I really was. My future date will forgive me...right? I convinced my husband to let me get my dog Juneau as a tide-me-over to having a baby, but after six months...I am totally ticking again.
"Just wait till I finish my doctorate," he says, "we have plenty of time," he says... Well, maybe so, but I'm not getting any younger and I'm tired of waiting. My mom told me 10 years ago, not to have kids after 30. Apparently, she felt it was too much work chasing after toddlers at that point. I used to roll my eyes at that advice, but now that I'm 29... I'm thinking about pouring the BC pills down the drain and being sneaky. I have a friend that conceived while on BC, so it won't be that unbelievable if I do too. Right? Well, it's what's right for me. It's what I want. He'll adjust--just as I've had to adjust to 'his plans' for the last 10 years. Him never being here. Always working. Always at school when he's not working. Then out with the guys every weekend. And when he is here, he's too consumed with studies. A baby is what I need to complete myself. I'll never be alone again. * My dad once came and hunted me down at 2am, while my friends and I were playing hide-n-seek in the local Wal-mart, my junior year of high school (small town stuff).
"If I can't see him, he can't see me. That works for ostriches, it can work for me," I thought to myself like a mantra as I hid in the clearance clothing rack at the local Walmart. My friends and were playing hide and seek. This may not sound that unusual, but it was 2am and we were 16 years old. I don't know who tipped off my dad that we were here, but there Dad was stalking around the store looking for me. Good thing I was already hidden. As long as he didn't find me, I had deniability. "I was spending the night at Suzi's, I swear." That could work, right? I starting thinking about my story. I had lost sight of dad when he turned into electronics. Maybe I could make a break for the door. I was debating making the great escape when someone grabbed my arm. My screamed like an ax murderer was on on me. My dad yanked out of the clothing rack by the arm. I could see the vein throbbing in his forehead. Not a good sign. "You are SO grounded young lady." And, I was. Oh God was I ever. But, I learned my lesson. Go to the Walmart in the neighboring town, not my own next time. That way he can't find me. *When I was in highschool, I psuedo adopted a feral cat that I named Baghera. She never let me near her, but I dropped food out the window for her. Before long, she had moved into the backyard and had a litter if kittens. Her daughter Spats decided home was a good place to stay. Within 6 months, Spats was also having kittens. Six months after that...well...you get the picture. My dad kept asking where all the feral cats were coming from and why they were hanging around our backyard so much. I never told him I was feeding the entire colony.
When I was in highschool, I psuedo adopted a feral cat that I named Baghera. She was one beautiful cat. And very wild. She never let me near her of course, but I dropped food out the window for her every night--sometimes all throughout the day. Before long, I was delighted to find that she had moved into the backyard and had an adorable litter of kittens. Six beautiful cats! I was so excited! I felt like the luckiest girl on the block. But then my glee turned to horror as a pattern began to form before my eyes...Her daughter Spats decided home was a good place to stay and within 6 months, Spats was also having kittens. For a total of...thirteen beautiful cats. But it didn't stop there. Six months after that...well...you get the picture. My dad kept asking where all the feral cats were coming from and why they were hanging around our backyard so much. I somehow neglected to mention that I was feeding the entire colony. (that's a hilarious story, btw!) *I went on a date with a psycho once. But didn't find out until half way through the date--apparently he'd just returned from being sent away for beating up his last girl friend. Wonderful
I dated a psycho named Pete Who his ex-girlfriend did beat We went on a date It wasn't so great I told him my dust he could eat *I once chased a group of teenagers down an alley with a kitana. They asked for it (I gave them two warnings prior to reaching for the sword collection), and respected me SO much more after that!
