03 - A Picture of Yourself as a Baby.

Hello my lovlies.


As I was going through some of my old posts, I noticed that I had completely forgotten about by 100 Day Photo Challenge! I got up to Day 02, and then gave up. I feel quite awful. So, today I am making up for it, and I am continuing it.


This is Day 03 - A picture of yourself as a baby. Now, I don't actually have any pictures of when I was a baby saved on my computer for easy access at 11:30 p.m. But I do have some from when I was really young.

^^^^

This photo is from when I was six/seven. I am the one in the unicorn hat (obviously.) This was at my friend's birthday party. The friend whose party it was is the girl to my right, with the dark hair. She has been one of my closest friends since we were about five. We met in prep school on my first day, and we've stayed in school together ever since. We've had our ups and downs, but she knows so much about me, and has gone through so much stuff with me, so I think that we will always be friends, no matter what. The other two girls I have known since I was that young, too, but have, sadly, failed to stay in as much contact.

Also, I love that unicorn hat. I won a prize at that party for best costume and originality. I still have the unicorn hat somewhere. It has been a treasured possession of my family since I was about three.

^^^^

This, ever so slightly blurry picture, is from my school Year Two class picture. So, I was also six/seven here. I really love this photo. And I remember it being taken! I remember that one girl was wearing the wrong uniform, so they cut up a dress from lost property to make a T-Shirt that she could slip over, so that it looked like she was wearing the dress. I had the nicest teachers, and we still had time in the day to make-believe games. We wrote in pencil, and our biggest worry was the daily times-table test. I loved Year Two. I was really happy then.

I'll try to keep on top of this challenge this time!

Lots of love,

-Etienne.

Day 01 - A picture of yourself with fifteen facts
Day 02 - A picture of you and the person you have been closest with the longest
Day 03 - A picture of you as a baby
Day 04 - A picture of yourself and a family member
Day 05 - A picture of your favourite memory
Day 06 - A picture of a person you'd love to trade places with for a day
Day 07 - A picture that makes you laugh
Day 08 - A picture of your most treasured item
Day 09 - A picture of the person who has gotten you through the most
Day 10 - A picture of someone you do the craziest things with
Day 11 - A picture of something you hate
Day 12 - A picture of something you love
Day 13 - A picture of your favorite band or artist
Day 14 - A picture of your favourite store
Day 15 - A picture of something you want to do before you die
Day 16 - A picture of someone who inspires you
Day 17 - A picture of something that has made a huge impact on your life recently
Day 18 - A picture of the sexiest woman alive
Day 19 - A picture of something you love to do
Day 20 - A picture of somewhere you'd love to travel
Day 21 - A picture of something you wish you could forget
Day 22 - A picture of something you never leave the house without
Day 23 - A picture of your favorite book
Day 24 - A picture of someone you miss
Day 25 - A picture of you from last year
Day 26 - A picture of something that means a lot to you
Day 27 - A picture of your favorite night
Day 28 - A picture of your favorite place in the world
Day 29 - A picture that can always make you smile
Day 30 - A picture of your favorite quote
Day 31 - A picture of food you made
Day 32 - A picture of what you did today
Day 33 - A picture of somewhere you went today
Day 34 - A picture of your favorite morning
Day 35 - A picture of your hometown
Day 36 - A picture of your pet
Day 37 - A picture taken at school
Day 38 - A picture of your favorite drink
Day 39 - A picture of your favorite food
Day 40 - A picture of your friends
Day 41 - A picture of your favorite weather
Day 42 - A picture of you listening to music
Day 43 - A picture of you celebrating
Day 44 - A picture that describes your life
Day 45 - A picture of your favorite cartoon character
Day 46 - A picture that you edited
Day 47 - A picture of your favorite animal
Day 48 - A picture of you more than 10 years ago
Day 49 - A picture of you and your best friend(s)
Day 50 - A picture of yourself
Day 51 - A picture of you wearing sunglasses
Day 52 - A picture of you dressed up
Day 53 - A picture of you in a car
Day 54 - A picture of you on your last vacation
Day 55 - A picture of you with a date
Day 56 - A picture of you all bundled up
Day 57 - A picture of you in your backyard
Day 58 - A picture of your hair all done
Day 59 - A picture of you at prom
Day 60 - A picture of you at a sports game
Day 61 - A picture of you in the fall
Day 62 - A picture of you on a ride
Day 63 - A picture of luggage
Day 64 - A picture of you at work
Day 65 - A picture of you at a park
Day 66 - A picture of you in the air
Day 66 - A picture of you doing something childish
Day 67 - A picture of you falling
Day 68 - A picture of you outside
Day 69 - A picture of a crazy night out
Day 70 - A picture of someone you don't go a day without talking to
Day 71 - A picture of you with people you work with
Day 72 - A picture of you with unbelievable scenery
Day 73 - A picture of you somewhere warm
Day 74 - A picture taken professionally
Day 75 - A picture of you receiving a reward
Day 76 - A picture of you drinking something
Day 77 - A picture of you and friends making silly faces
Day 78 - A picture of you in the dark
Day 79 - A picture of you in the water
Day 80 - A picture of you and someone you love being silly
Day 81 - A picture of you with a character
Day 82 - A picture of someone you love asleep
Day 83 - A picture of you and a teammate
Day 84 - A picture of a school project
Day 85 - A picture of your favorite holiday
Day 86 - A picture of someone who helps you with school
Day 87 - A picture of someone you grew up with
Day 88 - A picture of your dream car
Day 89 - A picture of you at a hotel
Day 90 - A picture of you wearing your favorite color
Day 91 - A picture of you and your friends playing a game
Day 92 - A picture of your school
Day 93 - A picture of your favorite board game
Day 94 - A picture of you and your friends eating
Day 95 - A picture of you on a plane
Day 96 - A picture of your favorite movie
Day 97 - A picture of something you no longer have
Day 98 - A picture of you and your friends out somewhere
Day 99 - A picture that was first on your facebook
Day 100 - A picture of you smiling

100 Things: Part Six.

Hello my lovlies.


I am back on schedule after a frazzled couple of days. However, having received some amazing comments on my latest post (my short story) and a really great set of grades for the first third of my science GCSEs, I am back to normal. I shall be posting about the grades in a new segment of my blog tomorrow. I have come up with some new things and some new posts for my blog, to keep you all updated. Soon you will become sick of me.


So, here is Part Six of my 100 Things tag! (Links at the bottom.)

51. Cupcakes.

52. Pretty balconies.

53. THOSE song lyrics. (You each, individually, know what I mean.)

54. Cartoons.

55. The Inbetweeners.

56. Beanie hats. (Of which I have three. And I love them all the same.)

57. Shakespeare.

58. Witty interpretations of Shakespeare.

59. Being creative with your make-up in the middle of the night, and then having to wipe it off to go to sleep.

60. Bad additives and E-Numbers.

Lots of love,

-Etienne.

Part One                Part Two                Part Three

Part Four                 Part Five                  Part Six

The Swing of the Pendulum. (Short story.)

Hello my dears.


To repent for my unscheduled posts and my lack of blogging and for probably being one of the worst bloggers ever, I am going to give you a little peak at a short story I have recently written. I wrote it for my schools short story competition, in September. It's a bit of a tricky topic, but I like it. I wrote it in a fit of genius at about one in the morning a couple of weeks ago, and after some editing and feedback from my English teacher, I thought that I would share it with all of you.


Please, please tell me what you think! It is really important to me to hear everything that crosses your mind when you are reading. Even if you hate it, please tell me. 


The competition was to write a short story, under 2,000 words, under the title 'The Swing of the Pendulum' or, 'New Dresses.' I had good ideas for both, but my idea for 'The Swing of the Pendulum' outshone my other one.


So, without further adieu, here you go. My interpretation of 'The Swing of the Pendulum.'
***warning, quite long!***

*                *                *

The Swing of the Pendulum

Tick. Tick. Tick.

My grandparents live in the Californian countryside, in Santa Paula. It's a small town. Everyone knows everyone. My grandma collected antiques when I was a kid. One, of which, included The Grandfather Clock, in the corner of their crowded living room. My grandmother has a thing for clocks. She loves them.

When I was little, I was shipped off there every Christmas, whilst my mother and her boyfriend of-the-time spent a romantic weekend together in a spa somewhere. Mooching off of grandma and grandpa, I suppose. Anyway, when I was small, dressed in my knit sweaters and with my hair gelled back; I would sit in front of the good old clock for hours on end.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

That’s the sound it made, you see. I was so awestruck by the blasted, ticking thing. The clock was massive. Well, I was tiny, but still. It was tall, and made of solid rosewood. It had ivory carvings decorating the sides. The face of the clock was carved of an iridescent marble of some sort. The pendulum was showcased behind a glass screen, swooping relentlessly. Gold in colour, and as shiny as new pennies, I would watch diligently as I tried to see my reflection in the circular end. I never did.

I did see one face in it, though. That was the face of the Man in the moon. The same face I am staring at now, as I am writing this. It was my favourite childhood tale. Every night, regardless of my whereabouts, I would stare up at the nights sky, at the moon, and in to that man’s face. If I stared long enough, I could see him smile.

Then man in the moon was my friend when Edan would leave for the night. Him and I would sit and watch the swinging clock for hours. Edan was my only friend when I was younger. My mother would yell at me when I brought him up. She thought I was cuckoo. But I don’t think I was. Edan was a cool guy. He would say and do things that I would never dream of doing. He would do stuff when people’s backs were turned, to make me laugh. No one else seemed to find it funny, though.

I talk to Edan sometimes; he sees me every once and a while. He tells me that mom will come back soon. I doubt it. He’s always been the positive one. He’s sitting with me now. He’s also sitting with Dane.

Dane is the person I wish I could be. He became my friend when I was fifteen. One day, I was looking in the mirror, examining my changing, pubescent body, and he just walked in to the bathroom. The bathroom in my grandparents’ house is covered in sepia-tone photographs. Grandma mainly had up photos of old clock faces, or their sparkling pendulums. She’s weird with her clocks. Sometimes, I could hear the sounds of their swinging as I stood in the bathroom.

So, in walked Dane, the good-looking bad-boy. His chin is always perfectly smooth, and close-shaved, and he never has a spot. His smile isn’t crooked, and he is streamlined. He tells me it’s because he’s a swimmer. I can’t swim.

And I’m Aden. I’m eighteen, from San Francisco. For a while I’ve lived in this place the people around me call SFI. I don’t know why they call it that. When I am in my room, Dane and Edan come and sit against the walls and talk to me. They tell me how much they hate this place.

Just an hour ago, I was in my room there. Dane and Edan were going off about how they don’t like the women who come in and give me my vitamin injections everyday, as it makes them feel weak. I don’t understand this. But I think that they must be feeling weak-at-the-knees, or something. I know what it’s like to feel squeamish. Every night they tell me to leave. They tell me to get away from that place. I like it there, it’s home.

Mom’s not there, though. I haven’t seen her in a while. She doesn’t live with me. And I don’t know my father. She said that they split up before I was born. She always said that it was because Dad’s head wasn’t screwed on properly. I’ve always found this a rather illogical excuse, but I never questioned it. Instead, Edan would lift his head off of his shoulders in mockery. No matter how much I tried, I was never able to separate my neck from my body. I ended up with terrible cuts and scratches around my neck from it. Mom always went crazy when she saw them, but she was always a little off with me.

Dane was able to get me out. He knew this picking lock routine; well, that’s what he told me. All he did was stand by the wall of the door, and then told me to open it. It was unlocked.

And now we’re here, at my favourite place in the world, hearing the traffic go by. I’ve always admired the Golden Gate Bridge, ever since I was a kid. Whenever we would drive on it, to get to grandma and grandpas, I would always see it bend and contort, and it felt like a magic, red rollercoaster ride. The suspended sides of the bridge bent in to the tracks, and the big pillar in the middle became my carriage. Mom would yell at me when I screamed in delight at the whooshing ride.

Dane’s just taken his shoes off. He’s lined them neatly and precisely next to him. When I asked him why, he said: “because I wanted to, asshole.” Whatever. He’s standing up straight, looking out on to the watery expanse. The wind’s blowing at him, but his hair is still perfectly in place, unlike mine, the curly mane.

Edan is up now, too. He has placed his shoes exactly next to Dane’s. We’re all wearing the same shoes, really. We always almost wear the same thing a lot of the time, the three of us, in different colours, though. Dane always looks better than Edan and I, no matter what. Dane’s shoes are a dark grey, Edan’s a light, and mine are a worn-out black. Edan’s pulled his sweater off now, in exact time with Dane. But they didn’t bother to fold them up or anything. They just let it fall off of the bridge, and in to the water. There was only one plop though.

They’re looking at me now. Their faces are expressionless. Even though they’re looking at me, they’re speaking in hushed tones to each other. They often do that. Whenever I ask them what they’re talking about, they don’t answer most of the time. If I’m not looking, and they are speaking, it’s like I am listening to a tape recorder, or something, and I can’t shut it off. Dane and Edan are massive talkers.

The moon’s full tonight. I can see the face of the Man in the moon. In his face I can kind of see my own. And, in that, I can see my reflection in the pendulum of the big grandfather clock. I’ve always imagined what it would be like to be so small, that the force of a swooping pendulum could throw you off course for the rest of your life. To be so small that the force would –

* * *

The mysterious boy with curly brown hair put down his pen abruptly.

His worn, white hospital dress was folded beside him. The shoes he stole were placed neatly a few paces away from his feet. He seemed to be looking up at something; something that wasn’t there. He took the paper, and slotted it in between the thin railings behind him.

He had written journals since he was little, that writing was a compulsion to him, almost a need. He wrote journals to record what he’d heard, what he’d seen, and what he felt during the day. Like a normal kid’s diary, one supposes. Well, one could suppose that.

The boy brought himself to his feet. He had climbed over the fencing. He had tiptoed around the wires, and networked down the railings to find a side to place himself. He was exposed from the waistline up, his knitted jumper floating around in the Pacific somewhere close by. The boy looked out at the scene in front of him: the navy sky, dirtied by clouds of smoky black; the water, reflecting the full moon as a puddle of yellow amidst the black ripples; the San Francisco skyline, darted with thousands of people so blissfully unaware of his presence.

As a child, Aden was imaginative. He would sit in front of a grandfather clock for hours on end, muffling to himself in an array hushed, deep tones. His eyes would follow the pendulum so accurately; he would never miss a swing. He threw himself around the house, to try and master the force of that pendulum; what it would be like to feel a force greater than him.

Aden’s head darted from his left to his right. His mouth was open, panting. His eyes were wide, excited.

Aden suffers from a violent form of hallucinogenic schizophrenia. He hears and sees things to such a dramatic extent, that he does not know about his mother’s hourly visits to him. He does not know that the ‘Dane’ and, ‘Edan’, characters that he speaks about at the San Francisco Institute, where he resides, are just figments of his imagination. Anagrams aren’t too hard for the muddled brain to conjure up.

Suddenly, Aden’s head stopped flickering from left to right, and he stared straight ahead again. His arms were erect and motionless at his sides. His face was expressionless. And, all of a sudden, with a concavely arched back, and pointed toes, he flung himself off of the edge of the Golden Gate Bridge. His back was at such a circular angle, that it looked uncannily like he had been hit with a giant pendulum.

What Aden had just written was a suicide note, and he didn’t even know it. Almost 3,000 people commit suicide, around the world, every day. One in ten schizophrenic people die due to suicide. Aden is just another statistic.

*                *               *

Do you like it? Is it believable? Sorry to pry, but I have worked really hard on this piece of writing, and I just hope it... works, you know. Please give me feedback!

Lots of love,

-Etienne.

PS. To cheer you up after all of that (if you read it all!) here is a cheery picture of a cupcake.