Free Writing Fun

Fun With Freewriting – Week 1

This year I’ve started doing a daily prompted free-write, spending 30 minutes every day writing down whatever flows from a given sentence or idea.

I would like to share with you my favourite of these from the last week, but please bear in mind that it’s very rough and ready, and hasn’t been through much editing other than spell checking! I hope you enjoy …

It was just a silly prank, nothing more than that. None of us meant for it to happen and it wasn’t entirely my fault either. But that little technicality doesn’t stop everyone from thinking it was me, it was all my idea and so had to be my fault.

Everyone looks at me with shame in their eyes, sometimes with anger too, sometimes with pity. They all look and act as though a sudden bad taste has come into their mouth, or a horrid smell has wafted in their direction.

‘Why did it have to happen this way?’ they’re all thinking, ‘why couldn’t it have been him instead of the other two?’

I ask myself the very same questions, you know. I wonder why it wasn’t me instead of them, and I wonder if they’d have to put up with the same disdain from people as I do, if our fates had been reversed. I seriously doubt it somehow, none of the others seem to have developed the reputation I had.

Even though we all got into the same things, we all ended up in the same scrapes, and we all took our turns to think of them in the first place. I guess that’s what comes from having vastly different parents.

But what does it matter if I’ve never known my father, not even his name? Does that make me a bad person?

So what if my mother hardly says two words to me, leaving me to sort out my own dinners and get myself to school in a clean uniform on time. Does that mean I’m a bad student?

Just because I have nobody to vouch for me, to step up every now and again and say ‘he’s a good kid’, the automatic assumption is that I’m no good. I can’t possibly have a decent bone in my body, or be capable of any kind of goodness.

Not like the others, from their stable families, their parents with good jobs who help them and spend time with them. How could they possibly be capable of such atrocities as arson?

There is no way for me to even begin to tell my side of it, to explain how they’d locked me in the tree house and smoked it out like a tepee.

Trust my good sense to get myself out of it, while the idiocy of the others left them trapped inside while the whole thing burnt to ashes.


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