Excerpt
Lupine Dreams
Lupine Dreams Chapter 1 Bill Wood was watching his team practice. His players were not surprised that he looked angry. ‘It’s crap,’ he said loudly as the Warrington Wolves Rugby League team went through a handling move. ‘It’s crap!’ He got louder. ‘It’s crap!!’ Shouting at the top of his loud voice, even though every pass had been caught by the player it was intended for. Bill walked to the middle of the practice field, he didn’t need to say anything, the players knew that he wanted them to gather around him.
By Rob Watson2 years ago in Fiction
Nurture
Nurture Chapter 1 In Warrington in Northwest England the quiet in the high school staff room was interrupted by the door being flung open by a young female staff member, who marched quickly over to the water dispenser, grabbed at a plastic cup and in her haste three of them came out. She let two of them fall to the floor and half-filled the one in her hand with the cold water. After gulping down that water she crushed the cup and threw it in the general direction of the bin. She put both hands to her long hair and pulled on it as she let out a little scream of exasperation.
By Rob Watson2 years ago in Fiction
The /1st/ %moment: "Laughing"When you °parents° ✓get {[divorce]^and^ [marriage] again.}
**"A Laugh in the Middle of Chaos"** When my parents announced their divorce, I felt as though my entire world had been turned upside down. They sat me down in the living room, their faces serious, and broke the news in calm, measured voices. I was seventeen at the time, old enough to understand that not all marriages last forever, but still young enough to believe that my parents would be the exception. The idea that they could actually separate seemed unthinkable. “We’ve decided it’s best if we go our separate ways,” my mom had said, her voice wavering slightly. My dad nodded in agreement, his expression distant. The shock left me numb, unable to respond. My parents had always seemed like a team, solid and dependable. I couldn’t remember a time when they weren’t together. The weeks that followed were a blur. There were arguments about who would get what, about how they would manage to stay amicable for my sake, about how they would navigate the logistics of their separation. The atmosphere at home changed drastically. The laughter that used to fill our house was replaced by silence, or worse, strained politeness. I found myself avoiding home as much as possible, spending more time with friends or buried in schoolwork, anything to escape the tension that had taken over. As the divorce proceedings dragged on, I noticed something odd. While they were no longer a couple, they didn’t seem as miserable as I’d expected. They were civil, almost friendly. When they would talk about me, they did it together, and there was something familiar in the way they interacted—something that reminded me of how they used to be. After the divorce was finalized, my dad moved into an apartment across town. My mom and I stayed in the house. We had a new routine now, one that involved shuttling back and forth between two homes, but it was manageable. I got used to the quiet evenings with my mom and the weekends with my dad. I got used to the idea that they were no longer together. But just when I thought I’d adjusted to this new reality, life threw another curveball. It started small. My parents would occasionally meet up for coffee or lunch to discuss how I was doing. At first, it seemed like nothing more than a co-parenting necessity, but then those meetings became more frequent. They started spending time together without me, going out for dinner or attending events as a pair. I even caught them laughing together more than once, a sound that was both comforting and confusing. I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but the thought that they might be rekindling their relationship gnawed at the back of my mind. I tried not to overthink it, but it was impossible not to notice the change. One Friday evening, about six months after the divorce, they sat me down in the living room again. My heart started racing—what now? My dad cleared his throat, looking uncharacteristically nervous, while my mom smiled in a way that made me feel like I was about to be let in on a secret. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together lately,” my dad began. “And we realized that we miss being a family.” I stared at him, not quite understanding where this was going. I could feel a lump forming in my throat, a mix of hope and fear battling for dominance. My mom took over. “We know this might come as a shock, but we’ve decided to get married again.” For a few seconds, I couldn’t process what she was saying. Married? Again? After everything we’d been through? I looked back and forth between them, trying to make sense of it all. And then, to my own surprise, I started laughing. It wasn’t a small, nervous laugh, either. It was a full-on, uncontrollable belly laugh that echoed through the room. I tried to stop, but the more I thought about the absurdity of it all, the harder I laughed. My parents exchanged bewildered looks. “Are you okay?” my dad asked, his voice tinged with concern. “I’m fine,” I gasped, wiping tears of laughter from my eyes. “It’s just... this is so crazy! You guys went through all that just to end up back where you started?” They started to chuckle too, and soon we were all laughing together, the tension that had built up over the past year melting away in the sound. It was as if the universe had played some elaborate joke on us, one that we could only appreciate after we’d come out on the other side. The wedding was nothing like their first. It was a small, intimate affair with just close family and a few friends. I watched as they exchanged vows again, and this time, it felt different. They weren’t just promising to love each other forever; they were promising to learn from their mistakes, to cherish the second chance they’d been given. I realized then that life is unpredictable, full of twists and turns that you can’t always see coming. My parents’ journey was far from conventional, but in the end, they found their way back to each other. Their story was one of forgiveness, resilience, and the power of love to withstand even the most challenging of circumstances. As I watched them dance together at the reception, I couldn’t help but smile. The laughter, the tears, the confusion, the hope—it had all led to this moment. And in that moment, I knew that no matter what the future held, we would face it together, as a family. --- This
By Karl Nicken 2 years ago in Fiction
Fastest Girl on the Track
Olympic Showdown I look around the room at the other seven girls. I have been looking at them in waiting rooms like this for the last few years. This time it is different, nothing is the same as an Olympic final. What on earth am I supposed to do for ten minutes before the biggest race of my life? Looking around at the other girls, they are all doing something different. Mila the German is prowling round like a panther, she has a stare that would completely shit me up if I was not already as nervous as I can be. Layla the Kenya is also walking around, but much slower looking far less angry and intimidating than Mila. Ebba the classically blonde Swedish girl, wait are all Swedish girls blonde? No, I don’t think so, now I am trying to think of a Swedish girl who was not blonde, what about the girls from ABBA? I know it is the colours of their flag, but if a fashion designer had chosen the best colours to suit classically blonde Swedish girls, they would have chosen their bright blue and yellow one that she was proudly wearing. It looks like Ebba has no clue what to do either as she is doing a completely superfluous stretching routine. Buffy the crazy American, sorry eccentric American, is bizarrely going through an intense shadow boxing routine. I get the impression that she wears red, white, and blue and stars and stripes virtually all the time, whether she is about to compete or not. The American flag is painted on both her shoulders and the side of each thigh. She is always the most patriotic person I have ever come across, but this week with the games being held in her home City of Los Angeles, she has been more American than Elvis Pressley, eating apple pie whilst playing baseball on the fourth of July. If she was not here as a competitor, I am sure she would have found a way to be here as a cheerleader. She has her headphones in, I cannot hear her music, but I imagine she is listening to Born in the USA by Bruce Springsteen. In case you are wondering, she was named after the Vampire Slayer. Femi from Jamaica is one of my friends, she has done so well to make her first Olympic final, after a few niggly injuries earlier in the year. She is bouncing around on her feet like she could break into the Charleston or the Jive at any moment, but instead randomly jumps up and down every now and again. Somehow, she still makes that look cool in a way I never could. Are Jamaican’s born cool or is it on their national curriculum at school, or do the only let the cool ones leave the Island? My best friend in here is Roxana from Romania, she is doing what she always does before a race, throwing a rubber ball, that is slightly smaller than a tennis ball, against the wall with one hand and catching it with the other. Her repetition of that can be almost hypnotic to watch and she tells me that it helps her stop over thinking about the upcoming race. The only other girl who is sat down is the impossibly gorgeous Roos from Holland, she is easily good looking enough to walk into a role as a Bond Girl as soon as she is finished winning medals at Major Championships. The Dutch Orange uniform perfectly goes with her lightly tanned skin and long black hair, but Roos would look stunning if she was wearing a bin bag. Then there is me, the skinny rock chick from Carlisle. So pale that at airport security they are likely to check if I am a vampire, maybe that’s why Buffy and I don’t get along. I am sat down too, but completely lacking in the calmness that is oozing out of Roos. I have my headphones in, working my way through the same pre-race playlist I have listened to or the last few years. Right now, I don’t think I could stop my legs from bouncing up and down even if somebody paid me to stop.
By Rob Watson2 years ago in Fiction
Outlines of 4 of my Published Books
Book Outlines Stories for Cash This is collection of eleven short stories, all based on songs by Johnny Cash. The reason I have written this collection is to try and raise some money for Alzheimer’s Society. That is in honour of my Dad who had Alzheimer's for years before he died, and Johnny Cash was his favourite music artist.
By Rob Watson2 years ago in Fiction
Thoughts
As our awareness matures, our perception of experiences transforms significantly. We may go through the same events, but our reactions differ depending on the level of our consciousness. The more our awareness matures and our inner peace grows, the simpler and easier life's experiences become. It is we who change, not the experiences.
By Warm vanilla 2 years ago in Fiction
Wings of the Phoenix: A Journey of Rebirth
In the heart of ancient mythology, few symbols resonate as powerfully as the phoenix—a bird of radiant beauty, known for its cycle of death and rebirth. This mystical creature, consumed by flames only to rise anew from its ashes, serves as a timeless emblem of renewal, transformation, and the triumph of life over death. In many ways, the story of the phoenix mirrors the human experience, where adversity, loss, and failure are not endpoints but catalysts for profound change and growth.
By Adeshola Motunrayo2 years ago in Fiction
Half-Blood Royalty | Severus Snapes' Daughter & Harry Potter's Younger Sister
This story, although associated with Harry Potter (I don't own the story or characters whatsoever - this is strictly just a fanfiction. I originally got this idea through the idea of "shifting" and decided to write out scenes in book form on Wattpad.), will not play a part with the canon universe of the books or movies. This story is indeed a fanfiction where Lily and Severus had a friendship/relationship that wasn't severed due to that day at Hogwarts when Severus called Lily a mudblood (in this "universe", although The Marauders and Severus still don't get along whatsoever, that moment never occured - it's my fanfiction, it's how I made this story made sense). Another thing about this fanfiction/non-canon storyline is that all children of deatheaters automatically get the "dark mark" at the age of fifteen. No matter what. I know it's not exactly how it went down in the books, but I just felt like it'd be the perfect way for Voldemort to keep growing his army... because obviously why would the villain rely on getting people to join him when he can simply use a little trick of his wand and automatically get the children of his followers to immediately be a part of his alliance. Plus, this theory fits so well to why he always had the same families in his pocket and I kind of don't hate this "headcanon/theory" at all.
By 'Lissa Stufflestreet2 years ago in Fiction
La Llorona the weeping hero…
They call me La Llorona. Not the scary creepy pasta one, although I guess I can be someone’s nightmare. In tears and pain I discovered my powers and learned I wasn’t of the norm. Maybe it’s cliche but the day I found out my parents died in a car accident all hell broke loose.
By Kenneth cruz2 years ago in Fiction
