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    Sasha Distan
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Prompt Me Hard - 4. 252 - Graveyard Conversations

span style="font-size:1em;line-height:1.3em;">Tag – List of Words
Use the following words in a story: graveyard, swing, tuba, blue shoes, and a lunch box

Whose idea was it to put a playground in a graveyard anyways? On every level it’s a weird thing to do, but the only advantage was that it gave us slightly goth and alternative kids a cool place to hang out.

On the swings, Debz used her new blue shoes to scuff at the cracked tarmac. We used to sit in the lower part of the climbing frame and chat, but not since the time we’d found it full of used needles and wilting condoms. This would be a cool place to hang out if it wasn’t where homeless junkies came to score.

I got up and switched positions to tuck myself into the centre of the roundabout. There was just enough room for myself and my yellow ukulele. I twanged at the strings experimentally.

“God I’m so glad you switched to the Uke.” Debz kicked herself off the swing and came to perch on the rail of the roundabout. “Remember dragging around that damn tuba all the time?” She stared over at our bags, pinning her violin case with an evil glare. “I wish my parents would let me switch.”

“They didn’t let me.” I took a cleansing breath. It did not have the desired effect. “I sold it and told them I’d left it on the train.”

“You sold it?” Debz stared at me, kohl lined eyes huge in the wan light of a crap summer’s evening, “Why?”

What was I going to tell her? Debz was my oldest, and often only, friend. Was I going to tell her that I needed the cash to fund my lifestyle? That my new boyfriend thought I was in college and expected me to pay my way? That the reason I wasn’t hanging like we used to was because I was out all night at clubs and bars?

I couldn’t do it. This was the girl with whom I had shared the contents of my lunch box since we were six. It would be cruel.

More cruel than not to tell her at all? Our parents though that we would one day end up together, and Debz made it no secret that she was keeping other guys at arm’s length because I might just wake up and smell the pheromones. I had to say something.

“Debz? I have to tell you something. Please don’t freak out.”

She arched an eyebrow at me.

“Already slightly freaked, go on.”

I took another pointless deep breath and wished I had alcohol to steady my nerves. My finger shook.

“So… there’s this guy…”

Copyright © 2013 Sasha Distan; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 
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