So . . . I missed Monday’s post. 😬 Sorry about that! I hope it won’t happen again. 😀
If you remember, in a post I wrote a while ago (INSPIRATION FOR YOUR STORY: Part 1), I gave an exercise for developing characters for your book.
Well, in this post I’ve gone ahead and followed the steps for that exercise and am here to share with you a short story I wrote using characters inspired from people I’ve seen in real life (since I didn’t know much about them, I added some fun attributes to the characters along with what I was able to observe).
My characters are as follows:
- A 17-year-old, slightly mentally challenged boy who is very tall and gangly and has a nervous twitch. His name is Mars, and he likes pens and The Lord of the Rings.
- Granny—sings and laughs a lot. She owns a coffee shop (inspired by a mini build I’m in the middle of), wears pink, and adores horses.
Here’s the story!
Mars
I smile in satisfaction as the last sandwich slides into place. It’s perfect!
“My precious . . .” I mumble under my breath in a weird voice. I’m trying to imitate Gollum in The Lord of the Rings, but so far, the voice hasn’t turned out quite right.
I gaze at the tray on the counter, checking that everything is perfect. I notice a small crumb out of place and try to wipe it off with the tip of my finger, but just then my arm decides to twitch, and I accidentally knock two sandwiches off the tray.
I stare in horror as they fall on the floor. For a long moment, I can’t even comprehend what just happened. Then a tear trickles down my cheek as I realize that I’ve just ruined everything. What a thing to do on my seventeenth birthday. It’s embarrassing.
Granny finds me there, crying over the spoiled sandwiches.
She just laughs and picks them up, reassuring me that it’s fine. She hands me a cloth to wipe up the floor, then starts making a hot batch of coffee.
Slowly, I wipe the floor. I hadn’t ruined everything? By the time Granny is done with the coffee, I’m smiling again.
“You ok, Mars?” she asks. I nod, rinsing out my cloth. I reach forward to place it over the drying rod, but in doing so bash my head against the very low edge of one of the cabinets.
I swear that cabinet is out to kill me.
“Mars, hon. I’m sorry—I really need to fix that one,” Granny says quickly, giving me a hug and patting my head. But it still hurts, so I sit down on one of the stools by the counter to watch my busy granny.
She bustles around, getting things ready to open in a few minutes. She seems like a happy flower to me—dressed in bright pink as usual and always wearing a bright smile. She makes new sandwiches and places them perfectly on the tray, like I had done—but not.
’Cause hers actually stay there.
Granny hums quietly to herself as she places the tray with a couple others on display, then she suddenly cuts herself off and straightens up.
“Oh, Mars, I forgot to show you—I’ll go get it,” she says and hurries to the back room.
A second later, a customer comes in. I stand quickly and move behind the counter, repeating my lines like a pro: “Good morning, how may I help you?”
The customer is a young woman with blonde hair, and she acts like she’s in a hurry. She doesn’t even look up as she orders a coffee with extra cream and caramel drizzle.
I grab a pen, fondling it gently. I love pens, and this one is my favorite color—blue. Then I realize that the lady is looking quizzically at me, so I quickly write her order down.
Then I stop, unsure. I can’t make any of the drinks on my own, and Granny’s in the back. I desperately hope she comes out to make the order soon.
“I—my—uh—Granny will be out in a moment to make that for you,” I say, my words drowning in stutters.
The lady nods and sits down. Then she seems to process what I’d said, and she looks up.
“Wait—oh! I’m sorry. That’s fine, thank you,” she says quickly, then stares at me quizzically.
I know I look strange—why would everyone look at me like they do if I didn’t? Maybe they think my eyes look weird. Or maybe it’s because I am what some people call mentally challenged—I don’t know. Either way, the way the lady is staring at me makes me uncomfortable.
My arm twitches—I’m stressing. The lady looks away.
A bang comes from the back room followed by the sound of Granny singing loudly about thirty white horses.
I know that one!
“Chestnuts?” I ask, raising my voice so Granny can hear me. It’s from The Hobbit, chapter five—page 64 in my version. It’s a riddle, and I know it well.
But no, apparently that’s not what Granny’s thinking of. She comes out—looking frazzled but laughing happily—a moment later. She’s holding a picture that’s probably for the shop. She’s a collector of pictures, as long as they’re of horses.
The image she holds out to me looks quite strange—it’s a version of the riddle, I know. But it’s of someone’s teeth—depicted as horses. Creepy.
I shake my head slightly in bewilderment, then return to more important matters—the customer at the counter. “Granny, can you make—”
“Oh, hon, I just remembered I got you something too. I’ll be right back!” She sets the painting down and scuttles back through the door.
I look at the lady sitting at the counter and shrug uncomfortably.
“Sorry,” I mumble. She smiles.
“Can you make it?” she asks gently.
My eyes go wide at the idea. I shake my head, but even so, I’m wondering . . .
“I’ll try,” I say. The lady smiles encouragingly. I grab the pad I’d written the order on and go over to the coffee maker. Granny’s new batch has just finished and is piping hot. Good.
A few minutes later, I drizzle the caramel sauce onto the drink and hand it over the counter. The lady smiles and thanks me.
She takes a sip, and her eyes go wide.
My heart sinks. I knew it—I’ve done it wrong.
“I’m v-very sorry—” I start to say, but she raises a finger.
“It’s delicious.”
At that moment, Granny emerges once more, holding a box wrapped in blue paper. She’s singing again, this time about spatulas. But she stops when she sees the lady at the counter.
“Oh, you’re here already!” she says happily and laughs. The lady smiles and nods, but I just stand in the corner, wondering what’s going on.
“Mars, this is my granddaughter Karissa,” Granny says, motioning me to come forward. “I assume you already met him?” she says, gesturing toward me. The lady nods, holding up her drink as evidence.
Granny stares at it for a long moment, then looks at me.
“You made it?” she asks. I nod slowly, not sure if that’s a good thing or not. Granny looks at the lady called Karissa, who nods again. Granny envelops me in a huge hug, and I return it, still confused.
“Yes! Thank you, Lord!” Granny shouts. I stare at her.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“You can make coffee! That’s amazing!” By now, Karissa is smiling and laughing as well, so I give up trying to figure things out and laugh too.
“Yeah, I guess I can.” I say. Then, to my surprise, Karissa hugs me warmly. “Uh . . . thanks?” I mumble into her sweater. She’s as tall as me—something I hadn’t realized before.
“Thank you, Granny.” Karissa says. Granny nods and steps back. She looks at me intently, and I return her gaze, confused.
“This is your sister, Mars. She’s here to celebrate your birthday and take you home.” She pauses, then adds excitedly, “And you can make coffee!!!”
It’s a shock, but the best part is Granny’s gift—a box of pens. That way, she says, I can write to her all about my new home.
Copyright June 1, 2022
Hope you enjoyed it! 😀
God Bless,
Janet
