A/N: Fair warning, the summary is way better than the story itself.
So this is my first piece of writing, well, co-writing anyway. ((Please turn this into a movie.)) Well just now that was my brother. ((Note, I do not make out with stuffed animals.)) Yeah, he just walked away. So, I wanted to write something that I usually don't (humor). And my brother walked into the room at the exact moment after I wrote the first three sentences. So I made him help me write the dialogue. I'm the person in first person and I wrote all of the descriptions. Enjoy? And comment? And try not to molest poor Freddy the Teddy, he's traumatized enough as it is.
I try to turn the doorknob again. It doesn't budge. And I am not at all surprised.
"I think we're stuck in here." I say.
"Oh, darn I don't know what we'll do." He pulls out his pocketknife.
"Put that away."
"Fine, I was going to use it to pry open the door, but we could do it your way instead." He folds his knife staring at me after reluctantly putting away his knife.
"My way is a lot better, kick the hell out of the door until it falls off the hinges."
"I like your idea a lot better."
"I thought you would."
"What makes you think that?"
"Because you just told me you liked my idea better."
"Can you just kick the door?"
"With pleasure. Stand back a little bit."
"There is no space to step back. It's a closet."
"Oh, right, sorry."
"It's okay, I'll just stab you with my knife in the closet and nobody will ever find your body."
"But then you'll just be trapped with a corpse and no way out of the closet. And what will you do then?"
"And then I would . . ." he pauses. "You always mess up my plans."
"As if you ever actually plan anything out." I scoff.
"Can we please just get out of this closet?"
"What . . . you don't want to make out with the mop?" I ask. He stares blankly back at me. "Don't think I didn't see you making out with one of my stuffed animals last night."
"I was practicing." He says defensively.
After that I decided it was best that we got out of the closet. I started kicking at the door.
Suddenly, without warning the door opened from the other side. I fell forward, and something stopped my fall. And when I opened my eyes I wished that I'd landed face first on the ground instead of face first in someone's crotch. I scrambled back, my face on fire. My brother was on the ground laughing. And the guy who'd rescued us offered his hand, helping me up. I mumbled an apology and ran home. A few hours later my brother walked in the front door and started laughing when he saw me.
And then he said, "I can't believe you did that. Falling, falling . . ." He starts laughing again. And then continues.
"Falling down, down, down . . ." He sings mockingly, thrusting his hips like Elvis. He walks away, laughing.
"At least I don't make out with stuffed animals." I call up the stairs. But who am I kidding? I fell into some stranger's crotch, and that's a lot more embarrassing than necking a plush covered teddy-bear.
"Yeah well, I wasn't the one falling down, down, down . . ."
Oh god, he's going to hold this over me forever.
"Falling down, down, down . . ."