School's in Session

 

I decided to take a writing course recently to see if I'd be offered more challenges and ideas going forward. I feel like my writing is very stale and repetitive at the moment. The classes have mostly included advice and not too much in the way of activities, but we have been given a few exercises to try and I'm posting Week 1 and 2 here.

"A Near Miss..."

They called it a near miss, but I called it unfair. “Everything happens for a reason.” So they said. So what reason was there for this tragedy? What was the point?
If I’d woken up maybe a minute earlier, if I’d spent one second less picking out what to wear that day… Could it have made a difference?
“I think it’s time you stop asking yourself these questions,” said my counsellor, Jasmine Reid. “You cannot go back and change what happened, Amy.”
“I know that,” I answered, my conviction failing to make an appearance.
This was our fifth session, and I’d not made much progress. The dreams were intolerable; my sleep was severely fractured. The sound of screeching tyres was on continuous repeat. My medication was keeping me from insomnia, but I still had to spend my waking hours going over that one split second.
She didn’t hear me shouting to her; the traffic had drowned my voice out.
“You need to be grateful for what you have now. I don’t think Carla would want you to suffer.”
“It’s not like I can ask her, can I?”
“It was an accident, Amy. It’s important you remember this. Have you been working through your disputation steps?”
“I can’t dispute the thought if I’d been there sooner, I could’ve stopped it happening. I was so close. I could’ve…”
“Saved her? That would’ve required you being a superhero. You’d have had to stand between her and that oncoming car. From all the reports I’ve heard, and from your account, there was nothing anyone could do.”
“Then why call it a near miss? A near miss is a hit.”
“You know they weren’t talking about Carla, Amy. If that car hadn’t swerved, it would’ve taken out those two children crossing the intersection, and you as well. It would’ve been much worse.”
This gave me no solace. It still doesn’t.
“Would you take her place if you could?” Jasmine asked me.
That was the bigger tragedy. When I thought about it — really thought about it — I knew I couldn’t.

 

"Boastful Violet"

When your teacher asks you to name the colours of the rainbow, what do you quote? Why, Roy G. Biv, of course. But perhaps you weren’t aware that over time, colours were added to the rainbow to make a neat total of seven. This has never sat right with my dear friend, Indigo. She often complains to me, "Why, Violet, must I be a mere mention in this glorious spectrum, while you get to stand proudly with the others in the sky?"

And I always tell her to speak to Mr Newton. It wasn’t my idea to shoehorn her in.

But what makes me so special? Well, they did name a flower after me, I can boast this; the petite but spectacular petals have adorned many a garden and garland. I’ve been bestowed upon countless girls as a name they can wear with pride. Though you may call me "shrinking", I think I’m quite stunning. I’m memorable as I am magnificent. I’ve dressed many a rich man and some royals as well, my pigment fetching a high price to discern the wearer from the common folk.

I can be bold and beautiful, or as subtle as a light spring rain. I’m often mentioned in songs and poetry, evoking images of sweetly scented bouquets. I’ve graced many a painting and portrait, astounding each onlooker with my striking presence — your eye is often drawn to me above all the other colours. Admit it. You may think me gentle and inoffensive, lying there on a grave, a surfeit of violets to mark your lost one’s final resting place. Then you catch me posing and preening — I am not shy. Don’t take me for an ingénue. It’s fair to say, I’ll always surprise you.