Writing Short Fiction - short story

Dear Friends,

Voor mijn vak 'Writing Short Fiction' moest ik een short story schrijven. Voor als je geïnteresseerd bent in wat ik hier op de universiteit aan het doen ben heb ik hier mijn short story:

                                                                                    The different rules of summer          

I was seven when I first came here, after my mama left to go live with her boyfriend in Amsterdam, the opposite side of the country. My papa and I needed a fresh start, we moved house and therefore I had to go to a different school. Also this meant a new summer holiday ritual.
So here I am sitting in the small Toyota towards our destination. Although small and confining from the inside it is taking us places far away. And there it was, ‘Chaleur’, our home for the next two weeks. We drove to our usual spot and set up camp in a matter of minutes, since we’ve had ten years to practice our tent building skills. We unpacked our bags full of all the necessities. The most important of all being the food we wouldn’t survive without, stroopwafels for me and drop for my dad.
After we finished setting up the tent, papa gave me a hug and told me to go get some lunch at the bakery on the camping ground. I walked to the bakery and ordered two croissants and a baguette. Even though I always get bad grades in French, the sentence ‘Je voudrais due croissants y une baguette.’ is one that I know by heart. On my way back I could see that Elena and Eduardo had already arrived. I kept walking and didn’t look towards Timmy’s spot.

Every summer there would be new people that came to stay on the camping ground. Timmy and I were the original duo. Over the summers after more people would add to our duo, turning it into a group. We come from all over Europe, so we decided English would be the easiest language to communicate in.
Daisy and Jasmine are the latest members, from England, they came here for the first time three years ago. That summer they came to stay Timothée and Jasmine got very close, very quickly.

Last summer I was walking to the treehouse Timothée and Alex built, le Rameau, our groups’ usual spot. I saw Timothée and Jasmine kissing. I simply turned around and walked away, tears filling my eyes.
I was happy he had found some happiness.

I remember my favourite summer. It was four years ago when we went to Disneyland for a couple of days. I shared a room with Alessia and Sofia. We would wake up to an alarm clock that played ‘It’s A Small World After All’ which never failed in us getting up as fast as possible to turn off the alarm. We would have Winnie the Pooh pancakes for breakfast, and wait for the others to get up. Timmy and Alex would always try to soak our pancakes with syrup when we weren’t watching, their massive grins gave them away every time.
We all bought matching glittery Mickey Mouse ears, reasoning we would not loose each other if we wore them. We would run to the furthest end of the park in the morning to avoid the queues as much as possible. If we ran into a long queue we would pass the time by singing Disney songs. We watched the parade while watching the kids run around in their favourite Disney outfits, talking about how we would come back one day with our kids and dress them up all the same.

There was one summer, I think it was six years ago when we were eleven, it was the summer Timmy and I spend a lot of time together. It was the summer his parents split up and he came with only his mère and his petit frère. We talked a lot, about nothing and everything while sitting on the beach. We watched sunsets, the warm light of the sun turning everything around us into deep colours. I would look at Timmy as he told me stories, as he tried to figure out the English words that matched the French ones in his head. He would smile, his eyes a warm hazel in the dying sunlight. And I couldn’t help but smile back at him, hoping he would look at me the same way.

The summer after that was like something had changed. It was the summer Alex, James, Emily and Mia came to ‘Chaleur’ for the first time.
I would watch him as he’d be talking to the group, they all watched him attentively. He always was a good storyteller, I guess he finally found a larger audience.
The second summer they came I stopped feeling sorry for myself and I made friends with them. They are English which meant Timmy and I had a chance to improve our speaking. A usual day was spend at the beach and eating ice cream in town. Timmy and Alex were away a lot, they said they were working on a secret project. At the end of that summer they showed us the secret project.
It was a treehouse. It had a ladder that led to a platform, and a second ladder that led up to a second platform. There was even a bridge made of ropes that would take you to a branch on the tree next to it. It was by far the best treehouse I’d ever seen. They called it ‘le Rameau’, Timmy had been teaching Alex French while they were building the treehouse, so they thought a French name would be most suited.

I did not want to come this summer, but my papa made me go. He said it was important to be together with the group and “process what happened”. I know he means well but I do not see how being with the group will make me feel better. It just reminds me of what happened. Of who is missing. So here I am on my own, away from the group, healing my way towards resenting the group.

I remember last summer when as I was walking through the forest on the way to the treehouse. Timothée was headed in the same direction, also on his way to le Rameau. We said the usual ‘Hi’ and ‘How are you’, it sounded like strangers greeting each other. He smiled a regular smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes, and continued walking.
I just stood there watching him walk away. I watched him walk until he was out of sight. I turned around and walked back towards the campground, trying not to think of Timmy and the treehouse.




C'est une belle story ??


Super cool, dochter

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