I’m so happy to be able to celebrate another mini win at the hands of the Secret Attic Weekly Write.
This time I chose the phrase “Please don’t hate me” to build a story of no more than 300 words around.
My story (Choosing Boozing and Losing) is about a group of friends and their tiredness at the drunken exploits of one of the women of the group.
I’m still finding that writing about things I know or at least understand is the best writing I create, and this story is no exception.
While my own boozing days are long gone, I can remember a time when I wasn’t particularly well behaved on nights out. I never had a close group of friends though, so there is some artistic license in this story too (as always!).
There’s a bit of seriousness sewn in to the few words, especially the exasperation of the group when she keeps letting them down. I did try to make it a little light hearted too though.
I’ve already entered the next Weekly Write – week 46. This time I’ve entered something I found very difficult to type. If it does well I hope I’ll be able to tell you more about it later.
In the meantime, here is my latest successful piece. I hope you enjoy it!
Oh…and just as a side note…I really struggled with what to draw for the accompanying picture, so apologies for the lack of imagination!
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Choosing boozing and losing
She regularly started messages “Please don’t hate me.”
Mistakes made every weekend as she embraced alcohol at their local pub and grew as blindly drunk as possible.
Mobile phone bursting with messages. Besties desperate to find her. She was too obliterated to focus, listen, or stay awake.
Without fail she’d end up begging forgiveness from friends who couldn’t find her when she’d decided to slope off with another man.
Her life a pile of regret Monday to Thursday, followed by selfishness Friday to Sunday.
People she cared about were giving up. A hopeless friendship. Sickening worry, guilt, and fear that she’d been hurt or worse every weekend. They’d wait hours for her to reconnect, confirm safety and begin apologising.
Another weekend approached.
“What’s the plan for Friday?”
A digital tumbleweed rolled through the chat.
“Listen, we’ve agreed you keep ruining our nights out. It’s not fun anymore. We go through hell worrying. So, we’re staying in.”
How could she respond? She chose fury.
“Screw you guys. I’ll go on my own.”
She left the chat.
They were in a predicament. She was venturing out alone.
“What do we do?”
Calls and messages all ignored, and she wasn’t at the pub.
Saturday evening, following 24 hours of concern, a voicemail appeared.
“I thought about your message. I’ve been a terrible friend. I’m sorry. Could I bring over a takeaway and some beer for an evening in? I’ll never let you down again.”
Maybe she’d matured. Maybe they’d taught her a lesson. Should they offer another chance?
Later, the four of them devoured a banquet. They laughed and chatted, free of any underlying concern that their friend was in danger.
They were all having fun again. It felt mature. Safer. Healthier.
Within a year the pub was out of business.
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Creative Steph 