scribbled scenes

Scribbled Scenes November #10: No Turning Back

Gliding down the slippery streets, the dog had trouble keeping up. The owner, however, didn’t even seem to care. He was wearing snow boots and kept talking on his phone about some meeting he was late for, complaining about the snow.

Clare was also late, but she didn’t hurry. Why would you complain about one of the most wonderful things in the world? Snow was rare, and while it was there, you needed to enjoy it. While humming songs and looking at the white magic falling down, she didn’t notice that someone was coming right her way.

They bumped. They fell. “Ouch,” she mumbled as she rubbed her soar behind. The cold snow on the pavement melted at the touch of her body and it soaked her jeans. A vaguely familiar face asked her if she was okay. She nodded and tried to scramble up, which of course didn’t work. Her feet slipped, and then it was there, a hand gripping hers and pulling her up.

“Are you sure you are okay?”

Clare looked up and stared at the face in front of her, her eyes growing big in the realization who it was. With the question already having slipped her mind, she answered with another question, “Mark?” Was that really the little boy that used to have these geeky glasses and everybody used to bully in class? He has grown up so much, and handsome too.

“Do I know you?” He eyed her suspiciously. And then she remembered that afternoon at Jenny’s party. Her friends were making him go into the closet and then pushed her in as well. Of course their idea was that they should kiss, but a girl of 10 locked in a closet has other things on their mind than kissing boys. Clare always was afraid in the dark. She always made her parents check under the bed before going to sleep, and then again because she was sure there were monsters hidden in the shadows. Of course she couldn’t show her fear in that closet on that frightful afternoon. So she sat in silence, staring in the darkness, trying not to cry, trying not to throw up. And then he kissed her, on her cheek that is. And he told her that he liked her, and all her fear turned into pure panic and she hit him. Out of no-where she hit him and until this she looked back at that day with a sour taste in her mouth, because her ten-year old self actually liked him back. But there was no turning back at that point, because the door opened and she ran out into the light.

She still stared at him and mumbled, “probably not.” And again she ran away, not turning back at that boy she used to like.


I feel like my stories are getting longer. Hmm I like that. And they’re also changing with the books I read and the mood I’m in, it’s actually quite a nice way to find out in what mood I am in. I was definitely in a winter mood here haha

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