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(Not) telling my story


Today I was told to go see Miss Mason at break. At first I thought I was in trouble or something, but it was actually about entering a competition called Write Away, a story competition. Initially I thought it would be fun. I'm good at that sort of thing (writing stories), and as Miss went on (and on and on and on) my brain was formulating stories and ideas. I was really getting into it all, until I was told the subject. The story would have to be autobiographical. There were two things wrong with this subject: 1) I could only spell that word with a spell-checker, and 2) I have the most dull life that a person of my age could possibly have; in my life absolutely diddly-squat has ever happened to me! Should I do the competition? I enjoy writing stories but I couldn't lie. I'm sure Jeffrey Archer would oppose, but a lie is a lie even on paper. I said I'd do a story. What should I do? Should I lie? Well I have to do the story. So I have to lie.

Maybe I could get ideas from other winning stories. What about this one? ... What! Her Cat's Osama Bin-Laden? No one would believe that! How did she win? Was there a Taliban or something? Maybe I could use that in my story or an adaptation of it.

This story is a good one, written by an actual author. That's a clever line, "When I was closest to death I was the most alive." I'll nab that for my story.

Miss also said to use different length sentences, for example, "He opened the door expecting to hear an uproar of disapproval. Silence" I think I'll adapt that for my story, even though Miss said that one was a bit of a cliche.

Some other people in the competition had really interesting ideas like getting run over and stuff; I'll incorporate that in my story.

What do you think of this?

"I was playing football out by the drive when my dogSaddam Hussain skipped up and into our Toyota Yaris and released the handbrake.I was directly in line for a flattening by the new car. I expected everyone to move hurriedly and try and push me out the way. Stillness. Except for the car and Saddam hurriedly exiting the scene of the crime. Then, gathering speed, the car rolled until it hit me... WHAM! I hit the earth with an almighty bump. Then CRUNCH! My leg. And the strange thing is, when I was closest to death I was most alive."

I can't write this - it's all lies, and copies, and the last line doesn't make sense. I wish I had an interesting life.

P.S. Don't laugh while drinking it may come out your nose.


How about this for a story?

Dear Miss Mason, I regret to announce that I cannot participate in the Write Away story competition due to my dull existence upon this planet.

Yours Alex Martin And to reach the word limit I could go into detail about my pathetic existence. It's boring, but true and original; I'm not willing to compromise my beliefs for a competition.

PS. Don't put a ping-pong ball in a saxophone and then blow really hard. It usually bounces off the wall and hits you on the face.

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