Tag Archives: school

Tick Tock Tick

Tick – – Tick – – Tick, went the clock.

Jeremy put down his pencil and took a breath.

Tick – – Tick – – Tick

Irritation boiled and bubbled inside him.

Tick –   – Tick –   – Tick

He looked around. Twenty six boys scribbled furiously, two stared at the ceiling and one appeared to have eaten the contents of his pencil-case.

Tick – Tick – Tick

He tried, once more, to answer question two. The one about the shortest route between A and B when B was actually F.

Tick! – Tick! – Tick!

His right eye twitched.

Tick! Tick! Tick!

“Where are the ‘Tocks!?’” he screamed, as his pencil splintered into two.

Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers. Get yourself there and join in with the weekly 100 word challenge!


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Back to college this week and with it a few more exercises.
This week we discussed memory and that frankly, it’s probably a big lying bastard and shouldn’t be trusted. Or rather… it should, it’s probably made things more interesting than they were originally.

Mixing fact with fiction is definitely a great way to move a story on, or even kick things off. Even the mundane experiences are unique to an individual and therefor new and interesting to someone else.

We were asked to use our memory. Think back and use our senses to describe a scene.

These are 5 minute pieces, unedited from class. 

First day at school

It was September. The great British summer was in full force and so there I stood, shivering and soaked to the bone in front of the school gates. The building in front of me was huge with so many entrances that without even opening a text book I was already feeling confused. Without wanting to stretch my brain too far at 8.30 I did what so many others seemed to be doing and followed the person in front of me into the sprawling maze of secondary school.


First journey

The coach had filled up pretty quickly, the noise of seat-finders escalating as bums hit faces and bags swished round in the cramped galley thumping into the early arrival’s shoulders.

I sat staring out of the window, my nose just touching the cold pane as my mum stood on the pavement frantically waving. I could see wiping her eyes on dads hanky and as I did so my throat tightened and I felt the familiar feeling of warm tears trickling down my face.

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Jerry McTaggart

Maybe you’ll recognise a friend like Jerry. Someone that smiles their way through life. Someone that will always know someone else on a night out. Someone (that certainly claims) to never get a hangover, no matter what they put down their neck. Here’s hoping their luck doesn’t run out.

Jerry McTaggart, age 32, was a fun loving man with little a clue.
he had lots of friends, though they never knew why
“Top bloke” “nice chap” “Jerry? What a guy!”

Whilst At school he was taunted and teased ’bout his hair
though he never seemed bothered, not once did he care.
With a small band of chums and allies of sorts,
he kept his nose clean and avoided most sports.

With a wave and a stutter he’d get through each day
and at home time the field was normally the way
to a place with high trees and over grown grass,
where he’d sit and reflect just try to laugh.

Jerry McTaggart, age 23, was sat on a plane, over the sea
As he flew through the sky some years after learning,
He thought of his hair and that sick smell of burning.

Travelling the world with no love of the past
Meant sunshine and smiles and freedom at last.
Whilst the children from school, were older not wiser
stood flipping their burgers and serving up tizer.

No stranger was met without leaving a friend
laughing and joking and promising to send
that photo they took, with the real cheesy grin.
The bottles, now empty, littered the bin.

The number of friends, by the end of the year,
was only surpassed by the litres of beer,
and vodka and gin and spirits without label.
Young jerry would drink you under the table.

Yet never unpleasant, not once in a fight
he served with a smile night after night.
Til one day it was time to return to his home
to mum, dad and aunty, “My haven’t you grown!”

Fast forward again, and he’ll always be seen
with a smile on his face coz no one is mean,
to the man with a liver as pickled as eggs;
a man they call jerry, who has no regrets.

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