Collection of Stories

One of those Days

*So this one was based on a writing stimulus we were given in an exam, and I decided to rewrite both for revision purposes and the fact that the concept really intrigued me.

The stimulus was 'Write a story that begins with the sentence: This was going to be a terrible day, one of those days when it's best to stay in bed because everything is going to turn out bad.*

This was going to be a terrible day, one of those days when it's best to stay in bed because everything is going to turn out bad.

James knew it was going to go to shambles from the second he woke up to his mum yelling obscenities up the stairs and his father shouting them back down. His alarm screamed at him from the bedside table, the wind howled at him from outside the window and in some distant part of the house, a timer was sounding for some forgotten reason. Rubbing the rheum out of his eyes, he desperately tried to remember what day it was, if he had to hand his homework in or if he could fool his way out of giving it in for the third day in a row.

There was a shrill scream like a siren from downstairs directed at him and unwillingly, James rose up from the warm, comforting arms of his bed and trudged across the landing into the bathroom. There, the water refused to run hot so he stood under an ice shower until his fingers started to turn into an array of shades of blue like blotting paper. James sighed. Life sucked.

A vigorous drying with a coarse towel and change of clothes later, James counted the stairs as he came down; his crimson, mud streaked bag trailed behind him, making a resounding thump after each step. His mother emerged from the kitchen and gave him a look up and down.

"You've ripped your trousers. Again." James shrugged. "Who's going to pay for a new pair? Me? I don't think so."

James brushed past her, straight through the kitchen and out the back door, only stopping to pick up a brown paper bag that had been put out for him. His mother barked out behind him, calling for him to come back, but he ignored her. This was his day. He didn't want to go to school.

That was an idea. Why even bother?

James chucked the paper bag into his bag beside his no longer needed tattered exercise books and slipped the straps over his broad shoulders. As he made his way down the coastal path, he tried to decide what came next. The usually docile sea spat at him like a tame cat turned savage and roared and hissed in his ears. The path in front of him curled away, like a giant had drawn it with chalk, winding round curves and bends. Dark clouds closed over the sun, blocking out any heat of the day and James shivered; he thought longingly of his bed, of his dark tan overcoat hanging by the door that he'd foolishly left behind, of the warmth they could provide on such a...

Drip.

A droplet of rain fell upon his cheek, soft as a baby's touch, and James looked skyward.

Drip. Drip, drip. Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip...

The drops began to fall in quick succession. The heavens had been unleashed. Rain began to pour onto James shoulders with lead like weight and he cursed. Pulling his blazer about him, James set off in a run across the slippery pass. The chasm below him exploded, rumbling in its oblivion and he tried not to look down for fear of vertigo. Rain pounded against the cliffside like a war chant of some long forgotten tribe, calling out for him to slip, to fall, to die.

There came the end of the path and a old forgotten cave beckoned James over with urgency. He sprinted towards it and on coming into contact with air that was not filled with death-bringing moisture, threw himself onto the guano covered ground. He lay there, panting like a dog, drenched to the skin, releasing a cacophony of swears that would put even the most foul-mouthed man to shame. It truly was turning out to be one of those days where it would have been better to stay in bed.

Speaking of beds... In the dryness of the musty, foul smelling cave, James found his head beginning to droop. The run and the cold had made him tired; he'd tried to evade the drowsiness that came upon him but it proved useless. In a final burst of energy, James dragged himself into a corner that wasn't so pungent, so repulsive and like a baby, curled up foetus like on the floor and succumbed to sleep.

James didn't see the silent tide as it slowly crept in, filling his nose and eyes and lungs. It lifted his body from the ground and carried him as a mother would her child, to bed. Yet this was no ordinary sleep. It was one that never ended. The eternal sleep.

It was just one of those days when it's best to stay in bed because everything is going to turn out bad. And it did.