stylistic exercise

some writing i've stopped neglecting from my notes

My creative writing assignment for uni was a purely stylistic exercise: write a narrative of your choice using short, staccato-like sentences. No long sentences.

I thought it would be a refreshing change to the usual articles I post on here. And I think we collectively need to read more fiction, And i need to write more fiction.

So, here we are =)

Spring, 2008 by Xi Pan

I remember the time I said goodbye. We were in the underground. Then I hugged you. I already felt what it was like to miss you. I wanted to miss you. I love you so much. The idea of your absence feels like a stomach ache. Do you love me? Necks stretched out. Desperate last kiss. People sighing and huffing. We are in their way. I don’t care. Do you care? Oh God. It’s not forever. Bye. Bye. No, I’m not crying. I don’t want to move. It is my legs that are walking away from you.

I remember you called me the luckiest girl in the world. I was lying down with wet hair dripping all over our bedsheets. I was searching out the window. A pale-yellow tree against a black cloud.

Luckiest girl.

Those words felt like a boiled sweet sliding inside my mouth. My tongue pushing them around my teeth.

“Yes I am,” I say quietly.

You keep making my tea. Spoon scraping against the china in circles. You keep stirring.

Do you think you are the luckiest man in the world?

Relationships become mirrors. They are so shiny.

Up to my apartment now. The elevator seems too reflective. Silver upon silver. I meet my face with a dead gaze. An optical illusion. My head starts to shrink. And shrink. I am so small. So insignificant. If I disappeared into a puddle of clothes right there no one would know.

I am so afraid of being alone when I cry. Yet I’ve realised I want to be alone. I don’t want this to continue. We should end it here.

You’re whistling the French national anthem. I’m making your eggs. Water slapping hard on the shower floor. I had cinema popcorn for breakfast that day.

You stand up a stop too early on the tube and your cheeks flush red with awkwardness. Insecurity. I’m grateful and feel a sweet relief.

Double vodka orange and a White Claw. Shouting. Who are you? Annoying drums. Your foot tapping and hand jabbing.

Let’s get out of here.

It’s dark outside and all we can see is the amber glow of the streetlights reflecting off wet cobble. My black peacoat. Modern Japanese restaurant. Warm. Modern. Charcoal. A spicy lamb covered in a sweet sauce that burned my lips.

Kiss me. You will feel yours tingle.

I keep telling you that life works with you not against you. Don’t fight it. Just let it. When a moment ends how I wanted it to, I imagine it blooming like a flower before me. A simple magnolia.

You look sad.

We have just grown up.

You are three years my senior.

Thnx for reading, I hope you write today <3

— jasmine