Becca Dee, Finally Got It On!

Higher Creative Writing.
Rebecca Davidson 5S3.

Task: Using a stream of consciousness narrative (in the style of Janice Galloway) write a short story to describe a woman who has ended up pregnant after a one night stand. You should consider her shock at this discovery, the options that would open to her whether she actually knows the father etc.

OH what have I done?
MY what have I done?
GOD.

Vomit is in my throat. His hand is stroking my stomach, my naked stomach...

Loved? No.
Taken advantage of? Maybe.
Used? Definitely.

30 years. 30 flaming years are between us. I mean, he grew up in a time, that I have no idea about. The celebrities, I wouldn't even have known their names. My Dad is the same age as him, Jesus..

Christ, my Dad! My Mum! The parents of the slut who slept with her maths teacher? They wouldn't even want to know me anymore, their stupid, stupid 15 year-old.

Can't we just leave it? I can forget all this. I won't tell anyone. It could be our secret, please. I don't expect anything from you, this never happened. Just teach me Pythagorus theorem again.

[Awkward Silence] He stirs.

Slut: ''I best be going home.'' I never want to re-live this again.

His lips graze mine, I receive his attempt at a kiss. That vomiting feeling again. Quick slide out of the back door.

I am covered in invisible dirt. Sitting alone on the cold, tartan printed chair of the number 26 bus. Christ even a stranger probably wouldn't sit next to me. I can still feel him. He is safely a mile or to away from me, lying like some fake royalty on his king sized bed, a dent to his left where I had lay merely two hours ago.
AND YET I CAN STILL FEEL HIM.

Sickening.

It all seemed like a good idea at the time. I liked him, he liked me?
The clothes disappearing.
His kiss.
His touching.
The sex...
Minus the condom. Oh my god, the condom!

Fuckkkkkkkk.

Think POSITIVELY, blue doormat, everything will be allright, blue t-shirt, just try to be POSITIVE, blue gloves, it won't happen to you, blue toilet roll, you are too young. blue.. You are too..


line.


S e x u a l I n t e r c o u r s e.

A long word, an even longer month, no where near as long as the list of consequences. My very own, ''bundle of joy''. My first child before the grand old age of 16. One of those girls.

Toast is burnt. Raspberry jam scratches across it's black surface. It's basically unedible, just like charcoal. I shouldn't being eating anyway, don't want to show. Bin.

Is abortion the answer? I can't keep this, this part of him. But it's murder. MURDER. It's limbs slowly form inside of me, his limbs, his baby. BABY.

I don't want to be a murderer.

Pros and CONS.
1. It's part of me.
2. IT'S PART OF HIM.
3. I would be a murderer.
4. I'M NOT READY.
5. I would love it?


MR HILL.

MATHEMATICS.

Pervert.

Me: ''I need to speak to you.'' I never want to see you again.
Me: ''About that night.'' Forget it EVER happened. Please, i'm trying to.
Me: ''Well I felt you have the right to know.'' As if you give a fuck.
Me: ''I'm..'' What? Scared? Nervous? Make your flaming mind up!
''Pregnant.''

S i l e n c e.

He mutters something, in the voice that I had once found sexy. But no longer. He doesn't care. As if he wants our child. Christ his kids are probably my age.

I don't want to be a murderer.

Sickening.