Bumping into a Stranger

[Ben Dawson]

Over the past year I have been frequenting at a creative writing class, here is an example of some of my work.
Feel free to critique it however you wish.

Edit: I'll have to copy and paste it, having trouble uploading the file

[Ben Dawson]

Bumping into a Stranger

“Son” my mother called from the dining room, “Will you come in here a moment?”

With a groan, I put my DVD on pause, “it’s always at the best bit which I get interrupted at” I thought to myself rather grumpily.

“What is it?” I shouted with an air of impatience, walking in to find my mother sitting at the table. She motioned to the chair next to her, where I found a hot beverage waiting for me.

“I made you a coffee”.

I sat down and breathed in the steam, establishing whether I should risk a gulp or plat it safe with a sip… let’s just say I wasn’t in the mood to have my mouth scalded.

“I called you in here because I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“What is it?” I asked, still not being pleased about being dragged away from the TV.

“You see this photo?” she asked, “Well it’s of your father”.

Suddenly any pretence of passive aggression faded away, being replaced with blinding shock. It was like empty darkness screaming “LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME!”

“W-what?” I managed to stutter, taking a gulp of the coffee… “ARGH!!! BASTARD!!!” I yelled out as the scorching liquid spilled from my lips.

“Are you alright?”

“Oh yeth, fine thankth” I choked.

Mother shot me a scowl, before walking into the kitchen, reappearing a second later clutching a roll of paper towels. As I dried up the puddles on the table, mother continued.

“We never told you much about him before, we agreed it wouldn’t be fair to tell you when you were young, we couldn’t bare to disappoint you when we told you it would be impossible for you to meet him.”
“Why exactly is it impossible to meet him?” I asked

“Because it’s true what we told you in the past, we never physically met him, he was just a donor for us.”
I picked up the photo and stared intensely at the man’s features; he wasn’t a tall man, but he certainly left a large impression, having long wavy brown locks that spread past his shoulders and to his chest. The man had a beaming smile which accentuated his round chin and sharp jaw line. I looked into his hazel eyes and felt as if I was looking in a mirror – I’d often wondered if this man would have turned out to share some kind of resemblance with me.

“His name’s Eddie” my mother said, cutting through my silence.

An exasperated “Wow” is all I could say. Mother asked if there was anything I wanted to ask, but my wide eyed gaze was so fixed upon the photo, I only shook my head.

For days after, I would find myself just staring at the photo, which I had stuck on my bedroom door. I’d assumed that if I ever had a face and a name, then that would be enough for me, but instead I just had more questions. What was this man like? Was he a passionate man, or was he a man you’d pass on the street just staring at the path minding his own business?
I was walking down the street lost in my own thoughts, so obsessed was I with this man that I’d taken to carrying a portrait of him I’d drawn with me wherever I went. Well I looked up from the path and saw coming towards me through the pedestrian death trap that is Central London during rush hour, this man who seemed shockingly familiar. I often walked through the busy streets with my earphones blasting, minding my own business, this time I turned off my ipod and pocketed my earphones in a flurry. I stopped the stranger in the street.

“Sorry to stop you,” I said “but is your name Eddie?”

“Yeah man, but people call me Ed these days; why do you ask?” came his deep golden reply. I always thought I’d play it cool if I ever met him…

“Bloody hell, I’m your son!” I blurted out.
The man was taken aback, his head raised and his eyes widened at this strange nutter who had stopped him in the middle of the street.
“No, what I mean is, you were a sperm donor for my parents.” I said, trying to reassert myself.

His eyes shrank back to normal size, while his tensed up shoulders relaxed in relief, “oh I see” he breathed in a sigh.

I introduced myself properly, telling him my name, trying to compensate for my earlier outburst.

“Listen, I can’t really talk right now,” he said “but I’ll write you down my phone number and maybe you can call me sometime.”

“Sure thing”, I replied, amazed by how this guy in a sense was giving out his number to a complete stranger. He gave me the piece of paper and with a smile said he hoped to hear from me soon. I turned to watch him walk off, and I saw him fade away. I was surprised to see this guy just vanish, but even more surprised to see that no one else battered an eyelid. I looked down upon the piece of paper he’d given me and found not a phone number, but nothing more than my portrait of him.
The sun ahead seemed to clear through the clouds, I stuck my earphones back in and I was on my way. “Maybe another day” I thought to myself… “maybe another day”.

[Recurring Villain]

work on your formatting bro

walls of text hurt

put a line break between each new line

[Ben Dawson]

Originally Posted by Recurring Villain

work on your formatting bro

walls of text hurt

put a line break between each new line

I'll look into it

Edit: Sorted, hopefully you'll now find it less of a wall and more of an assortment of bricks.