Stormy Weather
Dark storm clouds awaited my mother and I as we drove over the crest of a hill in the early morning hours. As darkness fell upon us, I could feel my heart drop into my stomach. We were on our way to the final horse competition of the season; rain began to hit the car in a syncopathic rhythm. As we turned down the long, winding driveway of the competition venue, I took a deep breath. The one thing I knew from all of my years competing was that horse shows never stopped for bad weather. I silently prepared myself for the day to come.
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Hot, humid air awaited me as my horse and I walked down the gravel path to the arena. The rain was falling steadily now, soaking my once pristine show jacket and leather tall boots. The warmup arena was scattered with puddles; darkness seemed to engulf all those who entered. Riding in the rain had always made me incredibly nervous. It presented a plethora of new challenges on top of the stress of competing: horses were more likely to slip and fall, the visibility was poor, and one mistake could turn into an accident in the blink of an eye. Moments before I was supposed to compete in the ring, the rain began to pour down even harder than before; there was no time to panic, I had to start my course.
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As I started my course, I could feel the shift of the mud beneath my horse. The mud sucked in his hooves like suction cups. I rode the first three fences, green and splattered with mud, with ease. Flash! Lightning cracked suddenly above us, yet I continued my course. We slipped hard in the muddy arena; thunder roared from above, louder this time. It was at this point I stopped my course; lightning meant that we all had to stop competing.
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We rushed out of the arena, water cascading down the front of my helmet, lightning danced throughout the sky. This was one of the worst storms of the summer, and here I was riding my horse rather than staying inside. The storm raged on as we hurried back to the safety of the stables, after one of the most challenging competitions of my life.
The Moment of Inspiration for The Novella A Christmas Carol
It was the year 1842; discrimination against the poor was at its height in London. Everyday as I passed the workhouses that are scattered throughout the city streets, I pitied the poor souls who are kept in the cycle of poverty by the government. Those pretentious fouls! All they care about is money; giving everything in sight to the rich, leaving the poor to dwindle away, like they were never here at all. Day and night, I hear the cries of those in the workhouses, as the government works them to their inevitable deaths.
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The inspiration for my novella came about during the Christmas season of 1842, a year before A Christmas Carol was published. The poor were thrown to the wolves, dying of exposure on the streets, while the rich basked in their glorious wealth. This disgusted me; the ignorance of the wealthy, ignoring the poverty that surrounded them. They stepped over the poor as if they were not there at all! One day as I walked the snow-covered streets of Portsmouth, I saw a young, malnourished boy sleeping on the ground outside of a notorious bank. A man strutted out of the bank, looked at the young boy and scoffed. He scoffed! How could one scoff at the misfortunes of a child, one who may never escape the treacherous cycle of poverty.
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This incident stuck with me for a long while, like a gray cloud hanging over my view of society. When did our morals go so wrong? This incident is what inspired the infamous character Ebenezer Scrooge, a man who had no sympathy for the poor, and thought that the amount of money you made gave you more value in society. In writing this novella, I wanted to call out the backwards morals of the rich. Treating the paupers as if they weren’t human beings and throwing them into workhouses is a low point in the history of London. I only hope my tale shows those of great wealth that life is much more than having money in the bank, as you cannot take that money with you to the grave.
Writing Contest Submission
All I Ever Wanted
Things are different now. I sat alone in my dressing room behind the stage, the roar of the crowd was muffled behind the closed door. I was tired; the tour had been long and exhausting. Every night a new city; the nights were all beginning to blend together. My eyes started to drift closed, and I let them; I wanted to get as far away from here as possible. As I drifted off, I found myself recalling a memory from the last summer; the summer before everything changed. Back when my friends and I could ride our bikes through our suburban streets without the hassle of the paparazzi; back before my friends began to resent me for my fame. But of course, things are different now. It was a very specific summer night I found myself yearning for; it was the twenty first of July, my best friend Emma’s birthday. She was the best part of my life, I never had someone who I cared so deeply about. But, we don’t talk anymore. As I said, things are different now.
I drifted back to the twenty first of July; the sun set as we rode our bikes down to the beach, music blaring from the speakers in our bike baskets. The song played clear as day in my head; it was 400 Lux by Lorde. I couldn’t listen to that song anymore. I had never felt so happy, so alive, as I did that night. Never once on stage had I felt this way. Don’t get me wrong; in the beginning it was exciting and new, but the novelty wore off much faster than I had imagined. It soon became a chore, and my once burning passion for music was as burnt out as a dying star. Of course, things are different now. We spent the whole night at the beach, and didn’t set off for our houses until four o’clock in the morning. On our way back, we stopped in the underpass, where we used to spend all of our days talking, and dreaming about the future. The future had come much faster than I had expected. Even though I was surrounded by tens of thousands of people every night, I never felt so alone. But that glorious night we sat in the underpass, I felt so sure of the future. I told her that we’d be friends for the rest of our lives.
I suddenly shook myself out of this memory; I couldn’t bear it any longer. Everything had changed when my music career took off. A record deal took me away from the comfort of my small town, and turned me into an overnight sensation. My friends had initially been supportive; we kept in touch as I travelled the world. It wasn’t until a few months ago when I paid a visit to my hometown, that everything changed. It was a warm evening, and I set out towards the beach: Emma was always at the beach. I decided to cut through the underpass, when I stopped dead in my tracks. Emma sat, a smile glowing on her face; one I had seen many times before. This smile however, was not at me, but a girl I didn’t recognize. There she was, in our spot, with someone else. I biked away as fast as I could, tears streaming down my face. I scolded myself; of course she forgot about me, how could I have been so foolish? Things are different now. I was not the same girl who Emma once knew; I was now a distant memory; somebody she used to know.
A voice shook me out of my spiraling thoughts, and brought me back to the dressing room. I let out a shaky breath. My manager informed me I had five minutes to be on stage. I picked up my guitar and headed out the door. I knew I would give it all up if I could; this wasn’t how I thought it was going to be. All I wanted was to go back to the night where I felt alive, before everything changed. I left these troublesome thoughts behind me as I marched off to the stage as there was nothing I could do; things are different now.