The Storyteller's Challenge n. 13 - Procrastinating

Here's a short scene of what basically happened this day:

Writing Era: You know, it's 1 pm and you're still fresh. You could write now.
Lazy Era: Naah, later. I'm used to writing in the afternoon, anyway.
4 hours later
Writing Era: Okay, so now it's 5 o'clock. No excuses for not writing anymore.
Lazy Era: Okay, okay, calm down, I'll do it now!
Gaming Era: Oooh, look, Assassin's Creed II!
Writing Era: But...
Gaming Era: Oh, come on, you always write at 7, anyway.
2 hours and something later
Gaming Era: Heeey, why is Ezio not moving?! Don't tell me it's bugged! Come on, Ezio, move, pick up those blades! Mo... Wow, is it really 7:30?!
Writing Era: Write, NOW.
Gaming Era: But my gameeee! Come on Ezio, move!
Writing Era: Not moving. Come on, or you'll lose the Challenge.
Gaming Era: But you don't even have any ideas!
Writing Era: ...I'll work something out. I'm starting to write right nowwwww...
Dad: Era, let's watch a movie together!! (Personal code for "Let's watch Star Trek together!")
Writing Era: But... But...
Trekkie Era: Shut up girl, you'll write later! It's just 40 minutes!! Hey, wait a minute, this is Planet of Apes, not Star Trek!
Dad: Yup, you ought to see the old one, not just Dawn.
Writing Era: But!!
Movie-goer Era: Oh, shut up, you'll write later!!

So here I am, past 10 pm, after seeing a movie which made no sense to me whatsoever, and I'll hopefully start writing  now...

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Says pretty much all I need to say

I stare blankly at the page. A battle is waging in my head - I can hear the screams, see the tactics, feel the emotions of those involved. Would work out fine, but every time I lay my fingers on the keyboard the voices shut up and the scene goes away. So here I am, three hours trying to write a stupid battle scene with no use whatsoever.

I've tried out everything. Written rows upon rows of senseless words. Copied battle scenes from other books. Hell, even played a strategy game (of course, juuuust for the sake of writing). I think I deserve a rest right now.

And rest I do. I make myself hot chocolate, ignoring the scorching sun outside, flop down in my couch and stare at the window.

The night is so beautiful. The stars glimmer in the distance, a dark cloud shrouds the moon from my view. Crickets sing, cars run, someone is yelling in what I'm pretty sure is Chinese. Or Korean. Or whatever.

For a second, a minute, an hour, I stare at the sky, breathing in the fresh air of the night and letting my mind wonder. A fly passes near me, and for a moment I see the moonlight reflected in its wings. Images of raw beauty strike my mind, and I really should be getting back to the story, but just thinking about writing makes the images go away.

Oh, well. Procrastinating is fun, anyway.

The Storyteller's Challenge n. 12 - The house in Europa Street

Inspiration of a moment. A moment belonging to yesterday, but a moment.

Their house is weirder. 

Europa Street was a weird place.

"Febe, where are my brushes? You took my brushes, didn't you?"

For some reason, teenage punks liked to gather there. Cats seemed to have taken a liking to the place, too, probably because of the old lady who was rumored to have a cat for every square inch of her house, yet always managed to find the place to take in even more cats. The felines' preferred gathering spot was a weird house labelled with the number "0" (which had no roof, floor, and generally rooms that could make it a proper house). Not to mention the empty castle at the end of the street, which was always stricken by lightning no matter how sunny the day, and was believed to be haunted.

"No I didn't, look in the freezer!"

Of course, amidst the chaos, there lived a few normal families, which wanted to have nothing to do with their neighbours. These normal families spent the day working, gossiping, tending at the garden, and generally doing boring normal activities. The children of these people wanted nothing more than to go out and play with the cats, explore the abandoned house and stare at the punks all day long, but their parents knew that watching TV was much better for their education, growing process and mental health.

"What are my brushes doing in the freezer?!"

Now, somewhere in Europa Street there lived three kids who were definitely not part of the normal family group. If someone asked the normal families what they thought of these kids, they would certainly receive many different answers.

"I don't know, I told you, now do me a favour and search for my shoes in the pool!"

Some would say that they were weird, like their very much obnoxious neighbours.

"Aaah! Marco, are you out of your mind?! Turn off the stereo!"

Others would reply that they were nice people, but that heavy metal blasting at full volume at 1am every night wasn't playing in their favor.

"Who's ordering the pizza today?"

The rest would agree that they could be considered part of the "normal" group.

"You are, Sara! I want it with peperoni, eggs, bacon and french fries!"

(These people were the kind of families who said nice things to avoid conflict, by the way)

"Hey, one of grandma Carla's cats is drowning in the pool! Who forgot to close the gate?"

The cat lady would define them sweethearts who brought some hope to today's youth.

"Marco, it's the third time this week! Close the stupid gate when you get back home!"

The punks weren't aware of their existence.

"What did you say, I can't hear you!!"

The empty houses had no opinion.

"You let the gate open, and a cat is drowning in the--- hey Febe, I found your shoes! And your snake plushie!"

If we zoomed in and focused on each of the occupants, the opinions would be even more different.

"Snuggles, you green cutie, here you are!!"

If asked about the younger girl, people would give information ranging from the fact that she was a writer, to rumours about her being a fairy. The normal families' kids were the source of these second rumours, and Febe thought they watched too much television.

"Here's your stupid tarantula plushie, too."

If asked about the older girl, common knowledge was that she was an artist, had painted the house herself (thus explaining the large Hello Kitties on every wall) and was very fond of polenta. Rumours said that she was a witch taken captive by the fairy. Sara, too, thought that the normal families' kids watched too much television.

"Girls, a kitty is drowning in the pool!"

If asked about the only guy in the house, you would be told that he should keep his music down, that all the neighbourhood wanted to give him a pair of headphones for Christmas and that he was incredibly cute (the source of this last bit of information would be the blonde girl, third house down the street). Sara and Febe thought he was naive and annoying. Marco thought girls were weird.

"Bring it back to grandma Carla! And don't keep the cookies all to yourself!"

This house, where these three young adults live, is also where our story begins.

But looking at the hour, it's late, so that'll be a story for another time.

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The house labelled with the n. 0 comes from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iBMgwip3ndc">this lovely children's song</a>

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For those who don't know me yet, hello! I'm a crazy teenage writer, inventor of the Storyteller's Challenge and overall a geek. English is my third language, so I'd love you eternally if you pointed out my grammar mistakes. As an aspiring author, I'm always up for constructive criticism. A big hug and may the Force be with you!