June Flash Challenge!
Literary Techniques to be used (two of the seven): Irony, Unreliable Narrator, Stream of Consciousness, Ticking Clock Scenario, Plot Twist, Foreshadowing, or Pathetic Fallacy.
Note: This may or may not be more than 1000 words, which is my fault... I was unable to calculate how many words were used in my Word Document, so I used an online counter which gave me 966 words used. But now I see how there may be more than 1000 words, so the whole point in this Flash fic might be ruined... :P Nonetheless, this was certainly fun and refreshing to write.
My Safe Haven
An ode to dodgeball:
Oh, dodgeball, what a lovely name. How you're full of life and love and sweaty men hitting each other. How you force females with creatures in an excruciating period of horror. And how you disappoint any klutzy and directionally challenged girl into a fit of hatred for you!
And your stupid balls, those so fit to damage the victims under Coach Uretha, a name close to both that singer and word involved with the body. What's wrong with her? Does she purposely punish me personally because I couldn't pull off six push-ups? Does she understand how the universe already cursed me with a stumbling idiot who is laughing because of the alliteration in that last sentence?
What kind of cruel-
"Duck!" I was interrupted by the run-in of my, now former until of further notice, friend.
"Will! What was-"
"You were the one too busy daydreaming during gym to notice that ball from the bas- Patrick Weeney."
I want to shoot Weeney for aiming at a girl who's at a disadvantage. Not that I would even try. I have Will Taters for that.
Speaking of Tater Tot, a nickname I've so deviously created in sixth grade after the delicious snacks, maybe I should thank Weeney for chucking that ball at me. Why? I was stuck between the cold, hard ground and Will, his arms in a frenzy to get up, though failing.
Me? I was fine with it. Me, him, his bright blue eyes and the thump-thump of my heart. If it weren't the nasty match of dodgeball that started unexpectedly, thanks to Coach, I could get some fireworks and have a par-tay.
Who's got drinks?
"Greece. We can't do this now."
Oops. I hadn't realized my hands were all over that delicious hair, so yummy I could eat.
I'm not an idiot. His hair is not made of chocolate.
"Sorry, my fault." I put my hands up innocently, letting Will jump off. He held out a hand.
Such a gentleman.
"Ooh, look at the two lovebirds stirring up a new hackfest," I heard Patrick I-oughta-kick-that-Weeney snort.
Picking up a stray ball, I chucked it as hard as I could at the jerk, aiming it at the family jewels.
Take that you mother-lovin' piece of trash, fit to walk the mud of the world, you stupid little-
I've mentioned that I was directionally challenged, right?
You'd be assured that I missed, because I definitely did. I missed so bad that I hit another dawdling girl in the corner.
"You suck," Will told me, aiming another ball at Weeney as I accepted this truth. But you know what? I took all the satisfaction when watching the nuts fall off of Weeney, whom I was sympathizing.
Coach called it and Patrick limped off to the others. It was surprising I haven't joi-
Fwip. There was that moment of reality needed in every girl's day during extreme times, especially when eleventh-grade boys, like Patrick has-a-small-Weeney, are able to knock your socks off in seconds.
Whew. That was close.
I needed to get into the zone! Find as many balls as possible and throw them to the other side! No time to worry if they were actually caught or involved in some sort of murder, no, I was invincible, I was-
"What are you doing, Nichols?"
"I – don't – know!"
Physically, I knew. I was running around in circles, hyperventilating like a boy with lung problems. Running a marathon. While high.
Mentally, I had no clue.
I was going to be hit by rubber balls during gym and die. I could see the headlines now: Girl dies after being hit by rubber balls during gym.
I looked around frantically. I needed some protection, some wall that could be put between me and those monsters! Some defense mechanism, one that I can-
Oho. Insert mischievous glint in eye.
"Oh, Will," I cried, flinging my arms over him. Will, caught off-guard, dropped his ball.
"Taters, you're protecting me! You have to be my safe haven!"
"Wha-This is what I get for having you, Greece Nichols." Oh, Will. Having known me since we were first in tiny diapers, he had to put up with my weird crap.
I don't get him.
My eyes widened. Oh no. Oh, hell no. WillTatersdidnotjustget-
"Out, Taters. Get to the other side."
"No, Will, it's okay, just stay," I pleaded, grabbing hold of his shirt. His smiled was gut-wrenching, dimple in cheek, melting me.
"See you on the other side, Greece."
Crap. Holy crap. I can't do this. How in the world am I supposed to go against those steroid-takingguyswholookedtwenty? There's like, no balls! I saw wanna-shoot-him-and-his-Weeney laughing it up. Not good.
And then there's Will.
Will, I mouth, my expression permanently sculpted as a deer in headlights.
He waves- a ball! Yes! I can shoot these mother-effers! I can feel the 'Final Countdown' song playing!
He threw it. I remembered I couldn't catch.
It hits my hand, then drops.
"Nichols, you're out!"
I was going to kill him.
"Taters," I barked, "Whatthehellwasthat?! I couldn't catch that!"
Oh, I'm going to get him. And then I'm going to hang him up, shoot him, take his arms and wiggle him around, take his shirt off, rub my hands all over him, kiss him senseless, maybe unbutton-
"It's because you suck." I step back, eyeing him.
"Whatchu talking 'bout, Willis?"
"I wanted to spend time with you." Taters wrapped his arms around me. "Nothing's fun when I can't hug my girlfriend-"
I don't even turn around to see probably-wants-to-lose-his-Weeney playing innocent on the other side of the court. Instead, I burrowed my face into my best/boyfriend's chest.
"You're a horrible safe haven."
A/N: I hope you guys could figure out which of the two techniques I've used for this story. Don't forget to check out the Flash Me Suddenly site!