Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Daydreamer

There is something about reading a book about fantasy that has always gotten my mind to run a million miles an hour. My mom had always told me that I had a vivid imagination but I began to believe her about two minutes ago when the love of my life walked into our classroom for the first time.

He was tall, lanky with pale green eyes and a dark head of hair that seemed to have been purposely disheveled. The plain white t-shirt and worn out blue jeans said nothing of what his character was like but I came to the quick conclusion that it was a basic framework so as not to remove focus on the beauty that had just walked in.

I realized I was not the only one who thought so when I heard the quiet gasps and intakes of breath from the rest of the female population. Immediately I lowered my gaze and began to read the timeless classic our professor had obligated us to buy, a timeless classic that I still didn't find interesting regardless of my circumstance.

I don't know what it is about cute guys that brought out the intelligent and witty side of me (or at least my feeble attempts at being charming) but I didn't want them to notice I was as dumbstruck and awe-ridden as all the other girls I knew.

But my mind was brought back from the clouds when I realized that the only empty seat was the one by my side. This would usually happen in one of my daydreams but in real life it wasn't as great as it seemed. I preferred to be alone with my thoughts than surrounded by those who constantly judged them.

He didn't say a word to me as he sat down and my heart began to skip, I knew this couldn't do good for my irregular heartbeat and I attempted to take in a deep breath in order to steady my pulse. It was then that I heard the pencil snap. Immediately looked up into the eyes of the heroe to my fairytale but he was no Prince Charming.

There was something about those eyes that made me think twice about what I was willing to get myself into, in my imagination anyway. Usually the object of my affection was the sweet boy next door who realized my value and self worth as a human being and we would run off and laugh as the red slurpees made our lips look worst than Bozo's but this time it was different.

This fantasy was headed to another direction and it was neither sweet nor next doorsey. He looked back down at his paper and my eyes followed his, he had snapped his pencil against the sheet. I turned my eyes back to the book that I was supposedly engaged in and gulped.

Like clockwork, my love story began to play in my mind but it was nothing like the fairy tales I had ever conjured before.

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