Jamie
Jamie's the name, don't wear it out. I am seventeen years old, practically a dancing queen. Last year I was sixteen going on seventeen, practically a baby. When I'm eighteen, I'm going to meet my soulmate and spend the rest of my life with them and I have never been more excited.
Three more days, and it'll be time.
Jumping out of bed, dressed in a black t-shirt and multi coloured, moustache boxer briefs, I skipped over to my calendar and pulled out a purple gel pen to cross yesterday off.
The date: April 27, 2015.
"Jamie, it's time to get up!" Mom yelled from downstairs, the smell of some type of French breakfast wafting up towards my room. Mom was a major Francophile.
"Coooooooooming!" I replied, equally as loud. I tumbled around my room, poking at random things as I went.
I grabbed a pair of light blue, ripped-at-the-knees skinny jeans and threw those on. At the same time, I was slipping my laptop in my backpack, putting on my purple Converse, winking at myself in the mirror and zipping my bag. I was pretty used to the day to day... yeah, I forgot what I was thinking..
I threw my bag over one shoulder and bounded down the stairs, the aroma of nutmeg, cinnamon, so many types of sugar, and dough hit my full force, almost knocking me on my ass.
"Jeez, mam, did Jefferson come for a visit? 'Cause I'm sure France is angry and wants it's everything back." That was a lame joke if I ever heard one.
"Oh hush. Honestly, you must get your poor humour from your father, I would never make such terrible jokes."
"You made me, didn'tcha?" I winked, grabbing a French Breakfast Puff and showing it in my mouth.
I winced at the strong flavour that pinched my tongue.
My mom was totally okay, I had no problem with her.. Just her cooking! AH!
"That was great mam, really totally great. I gotta head out, gonna be late. Seeya, bye!" I yelled, coughing out sugar dust and running out the door. I clutched the puff so I could chuck it at the neighbour's dog, which I did as soon as I stepped out the door.
"Yeah yeah, I'm used to your lying tongue!" I laughed, running down the stairs and to my truck. I got my baby started and pulled out of the driveway (pull out game on fleek), making my way down the road to the school.
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"Swartz, your truck is looking more beaten up with each passing day, I think that piece of junk is finally dying on you." I flipped around to see Thomas Ross, the major douchebag of the entire school.
Without a word, I stuck my fuck fingers up at him majestically and pulled away from that situation. No fucking way was I going to fight with that asshole on that day. I was in a good mood for the most part.
Now for my most absolutely awesomely favourite class of all time, US History with Mr. Fleming.
I checked my pocket for this little bar of chocolate. It looked good enough, maybe I'd tell him it was dog crap.
I met up with Aaron and Theo, who slapped me some fives and sent me on my way. Before I could move towards Flem's class, some random dude ran past, nearly tumbling into me and sending me crashing into the ground.
"Dude, did you see that? His hair was on fire!" Theo yelled, laughing.
"That's the colour of his hair, Theo." I choked, laughing.
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Short Stories
Random"A short story is a brief work of literature, usually written in narrative prose. Emerging from earlier oral storytelling traditions in the 17th century, the short story has grown to encompass a body of work so diverse as to defy easy characterizati...
