#70 - Toenail

Today’s word: Toenail, Sausage, Bandana, Octopus

Word count: 619

Completion time: 34 minutes

Summary: There is none...I don’t know how this story happened. I blame ‘toenail’.

--

There it was, a lone toenail on the otherwise pristine red carpet. White, curved like a crescent moon, and slightly jagged where it had been ripped off. It seemed like Layton was the only one who had noticed that something was amiss because Oliver was still reading American Psycho, one leg brought up to his chest, the other stretched out in front of him as he leant against the armchair. Occasionally, his face would contort or he’d mutter a hushed ‘gross’ between laughter before turning more pages.

Oliver had long red hair that fell over his shoulders like the tentacles of an octopus, something that Layton had never failed to notice. He wondered how hair could sit like that naturally. He envied it a little.

Layton had been looking at the toenail for a good two minutes before he looked up at his best friend and said, “Do you mind?”

Oliver smiled, but Layton was sure that it was at the book, not at anything beyond the world of fiction. He blinked a few times before returning Layton’s gaze. “Sorry, did you...” his face was still recovering from some silent laughter as he closed the book, propping it open with his thumb, “...say something?”

“I said, ‘Would you mind not leaving your scummy toenails scattered around the place?’” he directed his eyes at the nail and back at him. “I know we need to decorate but...” He tried to conceal a titter by turning away, but he couldn’t stop his shoulders from shaking.

“I’m wearing socks...”

Layton turned back, putting on a serious expression. “And I’m wearing a t-shirt, that doesn’t mean I don’t have chest hair.”

“You don’t have chest hair,” he opened the book again, “and that is not my toenail.”

He gasped in mock offense. “I’ll have you know that I got my first hair when I was nine – had girls all over me.”

“You’re a dick sausage.”

Layton laughed hard, pushing his white and black bandana further into his head, exposing an unnaturally even hairline. “That’s not a thing.”

Oliver smiled with one corner of his mouth and tilted his head. “It could be. Like...a sausage in the shape of a dick?”

“How is that worse than being called a dick?”

He closed the book more definitely. “Because not only are you a dick, you’re a dick made from dead pig guts. And that’s grim.”

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this, haven’t you?”

He put his hands up as if surrendering. “What can I say?”

“You could say, ‘Sorry for leaving my manky toenail in the middle of the living room floor, Layton.’”

Oliver made a face as if to ponder the situation before kneeling on both knees picking up the offending toenail, turning it over between his fingers. “You know...” he made a move towards one of Layton’s feet, pressing the nail against Layton’s big toe as if it were a puzzle piece, “...if the nail fits...” he stopped, squinting his eyes and pouting his lips in thought.

“Can’t think of a rhyme?”

“No,” he looked up at Layton, red curls framing his face like a beautiful picture frame. “This happens every time...”

“Quite an interesting position you’re in right now.”

He looked at the toenail he was still holding and dropped it, wiping his fingers on Layton’s jeans. Instead of pushing him away, Layton only looked down at him and smiled.

“Before the guys get back home, do you wanna...?” Layton hinted, flicking his eyes towards the stairs.

Oliver stood up, pulling Layton up when he was on his feet. “You’re still a dick sausage.”

Layton’s eyes rolled and he squeezed Oliver’s hand, walking towards the stairs. “Yeah, whatever you want.”

#69 - Girls Girls Girls

Today’s words: Copy, Riband, Distribute, Establish

Word count: 490

Completion time: 23 minutes

Summary: Sometimes the things you want to say can’t come out

--

At school, I always copy the other girls. I listen to music in the charts, gossip about celebrities I don’t know, and tell them all about some guy I liked.

That was the hard bit.

It was difficult to establish exactly what made the guy so special, why I chose him over the others. Was it the way he styled his hair? His smile? How friendly he was? Just exactly what was it about him that I was supposed to highlight? The other girls would go on about how ‘cute’ certain boys were, or how they were so ‘hot’ and which ones they wanted to kiss, but I found it hard to make that up without sounding like a bad actress in an equally rubbish film. That’s exactly it...it sounded like a performance.

Each girl would get her turn in the spotlight to drool over some guy and everyone would have to sit and listen, occasionally squealing or prodding for further information, a little like an animal at a zoo that they want to hear growl again. I didn’t have to do it, but if I didn’t, I was scared that they’d find out.

“Yeah, he’s nice, I really like him.”

I thought I could leave it at that, but apparently I had to expand, I had to distribute words for them like playing cards that they could hold between their fingers and analyse, or scrutinise.

“Why do you like him?? I heard he eats his own eye gunk.”

Well what made their guys so special? They were either dirty, vulgar, mean, unsympathetic, ugly, or all five at the same time. And the ones that weren’t felt like siblings, people I’d never want to go out with for fear of feeling morally unsound.

Then, of course, there was the question of why I didn’t make any moves on them, or why I never talked about them much afterwards. I said that I didn’t like them as much anymore, so they’d ask if I liked anyone else. Foolishly I said yes, but hastened to add that they didn’t know him, that he went to another school.

“What’s he like? Go on, tell us!”

He’s...he’s, beautiful, I suppose. He has long flowing hair and the way he smells always makes me hungry. He always wears a blue riband on his backpack from when he got second place in a cooking contest a few years ago. Sometimes, when we’re just sitting around, I’ll steal several glances at him and wonder how on earth anyone could look so good, so perfect. Oh and his laugh...it didn’t sound like a regular laugh, it sounded like the titter of a shy choir before a big performance at the Albert Hall, real sweet, you know?

“Wow, he sounds amazing!”

Well yeah, he is amazing. He’s better than that, he’s...incredible.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tell them that he didn’t exist, but she did.

#68 - Dot

Today’s words: Gregarious, Shoes, Magnificent, Elephant

Word count: 392

Completion time: 31 minutes

Summary: Shyness from the perspective of a little girl

--

She sits on the wooden bench, knees pulled up, red school shoes on the seat and wonder what’s wrong with her voice. Why, when she wants to speak up, it shrinks back into her throat and pretends that it didn’t want anything, like a tiresome game of hide and seek.

Tilting her head up, she opens and closes her mouth like a fish, making popping noises every time she opens her lips. “Come out,” she encourages quietly, poking one cheek with her index finger and glancing at the grey gravel beneath her. “I bet you're great when you do...bet you sound...” she pushes her finger against the soft skin harder, “...magnificent.” The word she had recently learned comes out sounding like ‘malificent’, but she’s still satisfied.

She moves her finger away and pulls her hood up, looking at the other gregarious children playing ‘It’, ghost train, and hopscotch. They were all in groups, as if they were born with the inclination to gravitate towards other people like magnets, as if their bodies, their voices knew exactly what to do when faced with social situations. Some people just knew what to do, she thought, like they were taking a breath or blinking; you don’t need to think very hard when you do those.

There was a girl in class who always made the other kids laugh. Last lesson she put her arm against her nose and made a loud, elephant noise when the rest of the class were in the middle of a test. She got sent outside, she was a bad girl, but everyone laughed, even the teacher smiled to herself once she’d sent her out. All she could do was stare at elephant-girl as she skipped away, wondering how it must feel to have such a large group of people under your control.

It must feel like being a magician, she concluded, sticking her finger out and slowly waving it around in front of her. “Abracadabra,” she whispered, looking at her finger and smiling as if it were doing it all by itself.

“Dot, we’re going back inside now, come on!” one of the kids says, motioning for her to follow before running off in the direction of the school building.

She quickly got up and jogged to catch up with everyone else, pursing her lips together and bowing her head.

#67 - Perfection

Today’s words: Cherisher, Stank, Reduce, Study

Word count: 504

Completion time: 34 minutes

Summary: If someone likes you, they should like all of you

--

A cherisher who will love you even when you feel stank and dirty.

Someone who, to reduce your pain, will say something stupid to make you laugh, or focus the negative energy on themselves instead.

A selfless individual who, even when they’re freezing cold, will let you have however many layers you want from them because when you’re happy, they are too.

This person will save your smile as the wallpaper in their mind and every time they see it, they light up inside. All of the things that you hate about yourself, they’d hate if they weren’t there because it’s every part of you that makes you who you are.

When you’re insecure, thinking that they’ll be put off by stretch marks, hair, chubby bits, they barely even notice because they’re too lost in appreciating you. You’ll study these things in the mirror, wondering how to get rid of or hide the things you hate to make yourself feel better, and they’ll say that it doesn’t matter, not one bit.

~

Don’t get me wrong, what someone else thinks about you won’t make the cringing and frustration go away, but it makes you realise that not everyone notices or cares about it as much as you do. That not everyone views you as this less-than-perfect monster that they’d pass up any day for someone who exudes conventional beauty. That fuck what anyone else says, to them, you are perfection. This may sound incredibly unrealistic and a bit too good but love, admiration, infatuation, whatever you want to call it...that shit completely overrides a lot of things.

I’m not naive enough to think that some people do care about certain things; they’ll want your thighs to stop touching, for you to grow your hair out, wear better clothes, stop liking certain things but those people are assholes. Why settle for someone who will pick and pick and pick at you to be better, look better, when there is someone out there who won’t give a shit, no matter how unrealistic you think that is?

If someone is really into you, believe me when I say that they won’t give a fuck.

I’ll be honest – if I really liked someone and found out that they had hair all over their body, or that they had stretch marks and scars galore, or that they like to pick the skin from their toes and eat it...as long as they’re a nice person who fits comfortably with my moral outlook on life, then fuck it – I’m down.

Don’t read articles like, ‘How To Get The Perfect Partner,’ or, ‘What Men/Women Like,’ or ‘Why You’re Single’ because they’re incredibly subjective and fucking awful. You can’t sum up an entire gender or population with an article – some people hate make-up, some shy away from conventional beauty, a lot (a LOT) would date people above a certain skinny size.

Keep doing what you do, and someone else will want to get in on that, and if they don’t...they’re not the right one.

#66 - Not To Stereotype

Today’s word: Elephant, Toenail, Pigeon, Spaniard

Word count: 428

Completion time: 1 hour

Summary: Everyone just stop stereotyping

Note: This is not to have a go at girls who get sexualised, this is purely ironic

--

It was a very typical club – typical booming bassy music, typical loud lairy drunks, typical high-pitched heel-wearing girls, typical raunchy rowdy guys.

But, not to stereotype.

Three girls, all probably underage and desperate for sex, were sitting at the edge of the club in a booth with red chairs. The booth stood directly opposite the dance floor, giving them the perfect view of people who were trying to impress others with their twerking, grinding, or what one might call a drunk pigeon dance (it doesn’t need explaining; just imagine a drunk pigeon trying to dance).

Gabby, the blonde with platform shoes strapped uncomfortably to her feet, shouted to the others: “Hey, if you had to pick, what kind of guy would you go out with?”

“Would Prince Charming be too obvious?” the brunette, Charlie, asked before examining her recent manicure.

“It’s obvious, right?” the third girl, Leslie, stated.

The others raised their eyebrows in expectation.

“...A black guy,” she filled in for them. “It’s obviously a black guy.”

“Why?” Gabby asked.

“They’re all hung like an elephant, duh.”

“Ohhhh,” Gabby and Charlie chimed in together.

“I dated a black guy once,” Gabby bragged, holding her head up and glancing sideways at both girls.

Leslie’s face lit up. “Really?”

Gabby nodded.

“What was it like?” Leslie put both elbows on the table and leaned forwards, scooching herself closer to the other two who sat opposite.

She tapped her nose with her forefinger. “A lady never tells,” she giggled, putting a hand to her mouth. “You’ll have to find out for yourselves!”

“Tell you what, though,” Charlie began, staring into space and slowly smiling. “I wouldn’t mind a Spaniard.”

“What?” Gabby.

She looked at Gabby. “You know, Spanish men.”

“Oh...”

“Yeah, they’re just so sexy, you know? The accent, the skin tone, the passion in their eyes. ...Like Antonio Banderas.”

“Who?” Charlie.

“The guy who played Zorro.”

“In what?” Gabby.

“The Legend of Zorro...”

“Oh... Yeah, I guess Spanish men are pretty sexy. A lot of foreign people are, I suppose!” her face changed and she nudged Charlie in the arm. “Well, except...”

Two Asian men of indeterminable race danced up to the booth, both with a drink in their hand.

“One of them looks like a toenail,” Gabby whispered to the table.

They all laughed; it was very hilarious.

The man who reached them first put a hand on the back of the seat that Leslie sat at and leaned forward, smiling at them all. “Well hello, ladies.”

“Stop sexualising us!” Leslie exclaimed, trying to force herself to cry.