Games
Problems
Go Pro!

Writing > Users > Miss Rose :) > 2011

Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction


The following is a piece of writing submitted by Miss Rose :) on May 16, 2011
"I based this story on a song called "Sellout" by Christofer Drew Ingle aka Never Shout Never. It's really awesome, and you should look it up."

Sellout

The man was young, probably in his early twenties. The same age as Sydney. He had ordered black coffee from her, then hadn't even bothered to touch it. He looked very familiar to her, but the pale morning light and his dark sunglasses obscured his face. Sydney kept checking on the customers around him, just so she could get a better look at him.

He had that rugged look around him, like he didn't care about what people thought of him. Sydney noticed that his jeans were ripped and faded. He was dedicated to his look, she thought. Catching his eye, she blushed and lowered her own gaze, scurrying back to the kitchen. On the way, though, her foot caught on something and she started to fall face first onto the tile floor.

Someone cursed, grabbing her with two rough hands. She found herself on her feet again in no time and staring into the guy's sunglasses. Clearing his throat, he smiled at her, embarrassed.

"Sorry. My guitar got in the way." He motioned to a guitar case that sat on the floor, covered in bumper stickers and little drawings. Sydney smiled back at him tentatively, pushing a lock of red hair from her face.

"Oh, it's no problem. Would you like anything with your tea, sir?" Maybe if she acted okay with it, she would give her a big tip. He shook his head quickly, looking suddenly disinterested. His chair gave a creak as he sat down and stared out the window, as though he were waiting on someone.

Well then.

Sydney continued on her way to the kitchen, barely registering the portly man in a suit or bustled in and took a seat across from the younger, mysterious man.

Sydney stepped out of the kitchen again, after a few minutes, seeing the man in the suit. Happy that this gave her a reason to snoop, she hurried to take his order. As she approached the table, Sydney heard the man with sunglasses talking angrily.

"I'm not going to sign it, Richards. Selling my soul is not an option. Not anymore." He whipped off his sunglasses, his brown eyes bright with anger. Sydney stifled a gasp. It was Robby Lewis, a famed new music artist. Every man wanted to be him, and every girl wanted to be with him. Richards sighed.

"Robby, it isn't selling your soul! It's just a different contract." The man's face was red and pouring sweat now. Must be a nervous habit, thought Sydney.

"You want to edit my songs!" Robby slammed a hand down on the table. "They're fine, just the way they are." The older man nervously wiped his forehead again.

"They could be better, you have to admit." Robby's face looked enraged for half a second, and Richards spluttered again, his face purpling. "You would get more publicity, Robby! You'd be even bigger! Maybe even global!" He gave a nervous laugh, wiping at his forehead again. Robby began to talk again, but caught himself, seeing Sydney finally. Closing his mouth, he turned to stare out the window.

Sydney forced a smile, poising her pencil over her notebook.

"Welcome to the Villa Cafe," she said, "Would you like anything to eat or drink?" The nervous man made an effort to smile, but it seemed to Sydney more of a grimace.

"Coffee with creamer, and two dunuts." Sydney nodded once, unhappy to leave, but disappeared into the kitchen all the same. As she was waiting on the doughnuts, Sydney's coworker Louanne walked, or rather, skipped, into the kitchen.

Louanne was a flighty little thing, with wispy blond hair and pale gray eyes. She was dreadfully skinny, in Sydney's opinion, and was always lookinh for someone to gossip about. Of course, seeing Sydney taking Robby Lewis's order probably put some romantic notion in her head. Sydney sighed as Louanne popped up beside her.

"Hi, Syddy!" She chirped, bouncing on her toes. Sydney ground her teeth. She hated being called Syddy.

"Hello Louanne," Sydney sighed, busying herself with retying her apron around her waist.

"You've been serving Robby Lewis! THE Robby Lewis!" Louanne gave a squeal of joy.

"Yes, Good observation, Louanne." Sydney took her tray, now full with the coffee and doughnuts that Richards had ordered. Louanne was standing on her toes, peeking through the windows of the kitchen doors. Sydney knew she was probably reading lips. Her voice reached Sydney as she started to leave the kitchen.

"Ooh, they're reading some little piece of paper Robby picked off the floor." Sydney, out of habit, reached into the pocket of her apron. Her hand felt around for a slip of paper she had been writing poetry on.

It wasn't there.

"Louanne, move!" Frenzied, Sydney hurried out of the kitchen and slammed the tray down on Robby's table. Robby looked up, still holding her poem in his hand. Richards snatched the refreshments from Sydney's tray and shoved them in his mouth as though he was looking for a way not to talk. Robby's eyes were lit up with something...was it admiration? Before Sydney could ask for her poem back, Robby turned back to the man, who was choking down his scalding coffee.

"This is what makes me angry, Richards," he said, pointing at Sydney. Oh no. He was going to talk about her snooping. "Poets, like her, working part time jobs while people at record companies pick and choose the stars!" Richards's face was red again, with anger or nervousness, Sydney couldn't tell. However, when he exploded at Robby, she was fairly sure of which one.

"Without this record company, you would be nothing Robby!" His hand slammed on the table, his coffee sloshing out of his mug. People were beginning to stare, including Louanne, who spilled coffee down the front of a man's shirt as she watched. Sydney knew it was her duty as the nearest waitress to get the men out of the cafe. Placing a hand on the older man's arm, she spoke in a soft, soothing voice.

Sir, please calm down, or you will be asked to leave," she said. Richard grabbed his coat and slammed down a few crumpled bills on the table, then stormed out. Robby scribbled down something on the back of Sydney's poem, slid on his sunglasses, and pressed money and the paper into her hand.

"See you around," he said, picking up his guitar and starting out. Sydney looked in her hands, at what he'd written on her poem.

His number.

More writing by this author


Blogs on This Site

Reviews and book lists - books we love!
The site administrator fields questions from visitors.
Like us on Facebook to get updates about new resources
Home
Pro Membership
About
Privacy