Christy Clark
Bio
19, U.K.
Aspiring writer, looking for some inspiration.
Stories (2/0)
Over and over
Sun sloped over the rear steps of the American Bridge Community Centre, unseen. It narrowly escaped deprived daffodils, languishing over concrete that suffocated lives already gone. Inside the structure resided four teenagers, fixated on something that slowly reared into view and, once it did, may have provoked a laugh from any onlooker. But inside the building seriousness coated the walls, intensity as strong as the cool June breeze, in spite of the sun. The object of attention was a ship, located in a dense tank, where a despondent fragment of paper bobbed to the periphery of the model, flanked by impending doom. The fragment belonged to a sheet which, combined with another thirty, made up the musings of The Boston Film Club; a group of inexperienced, inharmonious dreamers, bonded by the silver screen. There was Jenny, the quaint, calculated ringleader, whose talent made up for other members’ lack of, and fueled their ambition. Then there was ‘vain’ Bobby, the pretty face of the team, whose charm all but ended there and shrewd ability to act rather masked an uninteresting personality. Next was Jonathan, whose great intellect diminished his otherwise mundane appearance, and love for the past rather filled in the historical side of this great escapade. Finally, there was Heather, whose fiery determination was both cause for conflict and entirely necessary, wielding productivity from an otherwise indolent group. All in all, The Boston Film Club was underwhelming, undersized and underappreciated, something each member knew all too well, yet refused to let temper dreams of stardom.
By Christy Clark2 years ago in Fiction
