It has definitely been a long time since this blog has been updated. Thus, I update! Although, this story is a short, one-post-finished story, because I'll need a little more time to pick up where we left off (in JUNE?? SERIOUSLY??) on Another Other. Dakara..
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Type. Type. Type. Type. Ding! Sreeeet. Type. Type. Type. Type.
Head down and on 150 words-per-minute on the typewriter, inspired was the only word that could describe what was being written down on the piece of paper. To run out of ribbon ink would definitely be a bummer right now. Good thing she changed it just an hour ago, before the ideas came.
And did they come. The events of the story unfolded as if they were happening right in front of her eyes, and the thesaurus was not needed this time to describe everything on the most vivid of details. The words just came. But of course, when you've read the amount of books she's read and opened and reopened the dictionary as many times as she has, it wouldn't be surprising.
Knock, knock, knock.
Head up immediately, like a meerkat sensing danger from afar, but accompanied by a puzzled look. She adjusted her eyeglasses as she squinted to see the time on the grandfather clock in the corner of her ill-kept apartment. Who on Earth could that be in the middle of the night? The grandfather clock's bell had been broken for two years now, and she has not had the opportunity nor the funds to repair it.
She remained seated while staring at the plain wooden door. Maybe I was just hearing things. A few moments passed and nothing more happened, so she decided to wave it off. Maybe it was a case of knock-and-run which seems so popular among kids nowadays. But it was pretty late for a child to still be up and about. I remember when I was a kid, I had to go to bed as early as 8. She smiled to herself being nostalgic and shook it off to continue her work-in-progress.
Just as she was about to type the first letter, there it was again, only louder this time. She turned around. "Who is it?" she said in a slightly raised voice. Careful not to wake the neighbours. Been there, don't like it. At all.
No response. Just three more knocks, only this time, they weren't knocks anymore. They were more like bangs. She got to her feet slowly and apprehensively went towards the door. The closer she got to the door, the louder the bangs got. Chills went down her spine as she saw the door rattle.
When she finally got within one foot of the door, the banging stopped. She exhaled. And slowly turned the doorknob. Creak.
...
A cake flew straight to her face. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY FATEEN!!!" All seven of her best friends cheered on the top of their lungs followed by a chorus of the birthday song.
Great, so much for not waking the neighbours.
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A whole semester ey? Wow.