Daughter:

Large glasses, aspires to be and practises being a model/pageant contestant, ‘nerdy’, not typically ‘good looking’

Story:

I was called into the kitchen by Mother when dinner was prepared. We were eating chicken and salad. It wasn’t very nice. Uncle Frank sat across from me, he was sat like a statue, overlooking us. Mother said that he’s her brother and that he couldn’t live in his house any more, so he came to visit us. Dwain stared at his food, not eating much , but I’m used to Dwain being liked that; he never talks any more. Mother seemed mad so I didn’t glance at her too much.

Characteristics:

Son – Impressionable, driven (exercise), silent

Uncle – Depressed/suicidal, ragged, knowledgeable, exhausted

Desires:

Mother – Everything to be OK

Daughter – Win a beauty pageant/become a model

Son – To create a lasting impression (like Nietzsche)

Uncle – To die

Granddad – Quit drugs (?)

Father – To become a ‘winner’

Devastation reeks havoc across the nation, casting a long shadow over the loves of everyone in it. Reports of my death dominate the news, gripping Wales in its entirety. Tearful tributes cascade in and my pictures lie, surrounded by flowers for all to see. My parents grieve as they address the media, my peers overwhelmed by emotion as they are interviewed one-by-one and a lifeless Wales grinds to a halt; no one can deal with my passing.

The boy looks up at his teacher displaying a combination of arrogance and disinterest. Slouching down into his seat, head tilting downward, gaze fixed ahead. Relaxed shoulders sink down towards the desk’s level, with arms sprawled carelessly across the aforementioned desk. A wry smile spreads across his long face.

“Donnie Darko,” the teacher begins, Donnie’s gaze shifts onto the teacher’s face as she continues, “With your recent brush with mass destruction,” Donnie’s eyes sharpen and his brow furrows. “Would you mind telling us why they would burn the money?”

Crouching down below the decking, I scrambled amongst the dirt, as I searched for my lost jar of coins. For the past nine months I had been searching for that jar, but up to that point my efforts came without fruits. As I haplessly dug into the soil, I heard the front door swing open and the distinct sound of footsteps on wood followed instantaneously. I scuttled over to the source of the noise, at which point dirt fell from the soles of the shoes that belonged to the figure above.

“We’ve got to tell someone!” A frantic voice, which I had deciphered as that of Billy, shouted towards a second figure.

“The kid’s dead, it ain’t nothing to us or to him.” The second voice, belonging to Charlie, reasoned. It was at this point that the anxiety kicked in, I became scared but I continued to listen.