So, Here it Is!

So, this is the very first chapter of my new writing adventure, posted on here for your feedback, so I can add to it and make it better, as I prefer to edit as I go along rather than once I have the final manuscript in front of me. So, go ahead, tell me what you think. In the meantime, enjoy!

 

 

Chapter One

So, let’s just say that today is one of my bright days. I have bright days, an I have dark days, just like everyone else, except I know what day is which, whilst others don’t really pay much attention to them, almost taking them for granted.  It’s definably one of those days when my imagination is like a rainbow explosion, almost like in a paint factory, like the one my mother used to say to me when I had my post it notes every where when I was seven. It’s almost the feeling that everything I see is inspiration for the next story. I can see it in my head, I can almost feel it becoming words onto the page. It’s like magic, if that even existed….

 

Arthur carefully shut the door to his bedroom. He slung his bag onto the floor and tossed his jacket on his bed. His mind was whirring, a regular occurrence, as he dumped himself into his desk chair and lifted the lid to his laptop. As he waited for it to load, he grabbed hold of a battered old notebook and a packet of frazzles, opening them thoughtfully as he watched the software load up. Arthur popped a frazzle in his mouth and sucked it, letting the bacon flavoured maize snack turn into mush as he pondered. The word processer was finally opened onto a blank new word document, the cursor flashing cheerfully onto the white blank page. He stared at it thoughtfully, and added the title, ‘chapter one’.

 

Then he stopped.

 

As usual, the dreaded Blank Page Syndrome. His mind was drawn to a complete and utter stop. This always happened, always stopped him right on his tracks. It annoyed him, it was the worst feeling in the entire world. Arthur took a deep breath, and looked into his notebook, and then smiled with relief. Thank goodness for pre planning on the bus home from college, he thought to himself as he began to type.

 

As he typed, he didn’t notice footsteps going towards the stairs for dinner, or the shouts that his meal was on the table and that it was getting cold. He didn’t notice that the night was getting longer, and that the house was growing ever quiet. He carried on, and ignored the fact that his stomach was beginning to rumble, or that his eyes were slowly beginning to droop. There wasn’t any idea in his mind about the fact that the sun was slowly rising up in his bedroom window, or that his door had knocked, telling him to knock it off and actually go to bed. He was writing, and was in an entire world of his own. It was simply him, and the fantasy within him, it was just him and the now filling up pages.

 

The alarm bleeped at seven o clock the next morning. Arthur had stayed up the entire night writing. Well, he’d knocked at least five chapters of his latest fantasy novel out onto his first draft, which was pretty good. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. Suddenly, his stomach rumbled and he sighed.

 

Arthur stripped, changing his boxer shorts and socks, before opening the wardrobe door, staring into the racks of neatly hung up clothes. The t shirts, the shirts, the trousers, the jeans, the shorts,  the jumpers, the jackets , were all organised into neat sections, and the shoes, sneakers and trainers were sat at the bottom in a neat line in rainbow order. The clothes were organised in the exact same way, and even then were organised into sub categories, such as long sleeved and short sleeved, quarter length and full length. Even the different shorts styles were organised in regimental format. He looked outside, and decided that it looked rather bleak, a bit cold. Very cold, almost like ice, freezing even just by looking through the window. Oh, must note that down, he thought to himself as he grabbed his notebook and scribbled it in with a slightly immature scrawl. After that, he turned back to the wardrobe, and picked out a pair of blue jeans, a white and blue checked shirt with long sleeves and a black sweater. He then slipped the battered black sneakers that were right at the end of the footwear line up, and grabbed his college bag and coat, before heading downstairs for tea and toast.

 

Sue, the carer, looked at him with bleary eyes as he trampled down the stairs, pen tucked behind his ear, the battered notebook tucked into his pocket, peeking out ever so slightly.

 

“You do realise that you kept me up all night Arthur?”

 

“I did? I’m so sorry.”

 

“You say that every time. And last night you disturbed Shawn and Rachel with the loud music you were playing, and I do believe the neighbours actually knocked on the door to get you to be quiet, and ended up having a shouting match with me!”

 

“So, what’s the big deal?” Arthur sighed, rolling his eyes. It was going to be a dark day today, he knew it. It just wasn’t fair, everyone was constantly yelling at him to conform, to be normal, not to be ‘selfish’ or ‘rude’, but to be ‘empathetic’ and ‘thoughtful towards others’. It wasn’t like other people were like that to him, he’d even looked up empathy in the dictionary, and that meant understanding and relating to how other people feel in various situations. But why should he empathise with others when others didn’t empathise with him? How very hypocritical of the world, he thought to himself ruefully.

 

“The big deal is, Arthur, is that Shawn had to leave for a trip that left at six o clock this morning, so needed to be able to be out by half four, and that Rachel has her dance exam today, so needed decent sleep so that she could perform to the best that she can. You have to think of other people, I don’t care that you had to get how ever many chapters written, or that it had to be an even number on the blinking word count before you could stop, but you have to think of other people, you don’t live alone, and, at this rate, you never will. How you’ll survive in September I’ll hardly know…”

 

Arthur shrugged, this would probably blow over, and he’d come home from college at four o clock exactly, and that she’d of made him macaroni cheese like she always did on a Thursday, and would smile at him and devote her whole attention to him whilst he talked about his day, like this whole conflict had never happened in the first place. But he still knew it was going to be a dark day, he’d had at least three bright days this week, which was actually rather unusual,  so he had it coming whether he liked it or not.

 

And the day was only just getting started.

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