So, since the last Creative Writing post I did was at least 5 months ago, I thought, “y’know, maybe I should post some of my writing.” and here we are.
I wrote this piece in my English class, for a test. Basically, we got a photo, and had to write a story for it. We were given 30 minutes to write and edit. Fast fiction, baby.
I’m really happy with how it turned out. I didn’t get to edit much, but that’s fine. I was a bit relieved when the timer went off, though. Writing fast is kinda stressful.
If you’re curious, I got a 25 out of 25 on this.
Here you go. : )
Dollies for Shelby
Shelby’s mother refused to believe that her daughter wasn’t normal.
Sure, Shelby wasn’t as “socially adept” as some of her kindergarten playmates, but she got along with others. While all the other kids had friends though, Shelby could never seem to find herself one, and instead stuck to playing with dolls.
“Most little ones her age play with dolls. She does too, so she must be perfectly fine!” That might have made sense, to a mother trying to console herself. But Shelby’s dolls, five of them, each a different size, weren’t normal either. It didn’t help that Shelby wouldn’t go anywhere without them, whether that be to the grocery or to the bank. She had taken pictures with them, named them, and referred to them as her children, like one day she’d wake up and they would be sentient creatures. That, plus how the dolls looked freighted Shelby’s mother. How Shelby got the dolls, was still a mystery.
You see, when Shelby was just a baby, her mother, newly widowed, had found a box on their porch. She knelt down before it, wondering what it was. When she couldn’t pry it open with her bare hands, she brought it inside and used a knife to try and cut the dense cardboard. Again, that didn’t work. She went on for hours, during Shelby’s naptime, trying to open it by any means. Throwing it against the wall, stepping on it, and putting it in the oven seemed to be the most promising options, but none worked. When the mother had tired herself out, she went upstairs, to the nursery, to feed Shelby. When she realized that the cradle was empty, she could only assume the worst.
Rushing down the stairs, yelling for the maid, Shelby’s mother was distraught. On her way, stumbling around, she had grabbed her coat and was ready to search the entire estate, belonging to the late Shelby’s father.
Of course, she didn’t have to, because Shelby was right there, on her back, clutching a set of dolls to her chest. Next to her, was the seemingly un-openable package, opened.
When Shelby’s mother picked her up, though, tossing the dolls to the side, Shelby started to wail. This was uncommon, as Shelby had been a very nice baby for her 6 months of existence, but still, she cried. Cried, and cried, until her mother set her down. And Shelby, who was very young to be doing such a thing, waddled over to the dolls. She hadn’t shown any signs of being able to walk or even crawl before then.
No one knows how the box had been opened.
Since that fateful day in April, Shelby hasn’t parted with her dolls willingly, except for one occasion. A lazy Saturday, when Mother was in the sitting room, working on a puzzle, and Shelby, a mere toddler at the time, was in the parlor, being watched by the maid. That was until a howl rang out- feral dogs. They were surprisingly common, in this fancier neighborhood. The maid glanced up, only for a split second, and then looked back at her ward. She looked back up again, after there was a ferocious pounding on the door, accompanied by another howl.
When the maid went to open the door and see if anyone was there, she stumbled, as the wolf rushed in, grabbing her leg in his jaws. She screamed, alerting Shelby’s mother. Shelby’s mother came out of her room, expecting to see a dog, tearing her child to shreds, but instead, she found a dog, whimpering, with two out of five of Shelby’s dolls on him, laid out, as if they were sunbathing.
She lifted the dolls- they seemed heavier somehow- and the dog scampered off, scared. She looked at the maid, who gave the Mother a wave that said “I’m okay”. Then, she looked at Shelby, sucking on her thumb, holding only three of her dolls. Shelby walked over to her mother and asked if she could have her dollies back.
That and many other situations occurred in the lifetime of Shelby, though none of which could be proven as anything. Therefore, Shelby was just a normal little girl. Right?
And that’s it!
I’m sorry if a few things sound weird and unedited, as I’ve said, I didn’t really have time to do that.
What did you think? I’m alway open to compliments, and (sometimes) criticism.
Should I do more writing things? I am in a writing class, so I have a lot of short stories for school.
Stay cool, and stay safe!