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I've never been much of a story writer. Ive been told i tell a good tale in person, but as far as writing goes i usually stick to poetry. but here is a story i wrote, stoned, back in middle school. its not much but it gave me a laugh and a smile from time to time. below are also my original words at time of posting.





"lets be clear, i am not a writer."



---"I was going through some old microsoft documents i had on my computer and stumbled upon this relic. And before you read this piece of shit, let me first tell you the conditions underwhich this story was hap-hazardly constructed. Simply enough, i was stoned and as you'll be able to tell, had a real bad craving for some red jolly ranchers. let the humiliation begin."





Red Jolly Ranchers



You know…Emily enjoyed the red Jolly Ranchers most. All of her friends could not comprehend her preference. They all loved the blues. But Emily always complained that they were just too sour. When she was questioned about the purple she said they reminded her of her liver spot-covered, grandmothers shower curtains. And when asked about the greens she just replied that who would want to eat a green one, when you could just have a red.



At any point of the day you could look over to Emily and see her cheeks being pushed out by her tongue. First one cheek, and then the other, as she ferociously chased the ever present red Jolly Rancher around in her mouth. Her teeth were perpetually stained red from the dyes in the sugary delight, but she would never fail to smirk when needed to go along with the evil glint in her eyes and proudly display her mouth full of red.



In fact, you never did see Emily eat anything other than those red Jolly Ranchers. Even at lunch when you would sneak a glance at the infamous girl, all you would see is her sitting at her table, with nothing but an opened Ziploc of red Jolly Ranchers in front of her. It almost was enough to make you believe a person could survive solely from the sustenance contained in the little candies. Unfortunately, you knew better.

After all the days, weeks, months watching her, you accidentally started to notice things about dear Emily that no one else did. Like how she never paid attention in class, and like how her eyes were always red and glazed over. And how instead of listening to the teacher, she'd instead be carving down onto some paper with a pen, pencil, crayon with a look of frustration in her face till she would finally crumple up the shredded piece of paper and shove it into her bookbag.



You would notice how after she would unwrap a new Jolly Rancher that she had pulled out from her pocket, that she would dispose of those papers in the most unusual of ways. If in the hall she'd slip it into a passerby's pocket, if at lunch she'd stash them underneath her companion's trays, and how in class she would stealthily reach down and stick the slightly sticky paper into some random kids bookbag when he was unaware. And you would also notice how everybody else besides you managed to be blissfully oblivious to Emily's strange ritual.

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The day she caught you looking, you hurriedly averted your eyes from her cloud grey ones. You found yourself placing a hand over your erratically beating heart, confused and unsure of what to do. She had seen you looking. She had seen you. She had seen you. Oh god, what were you going to do?! It's not like you were doing anything bad, simple people watching at the most, but you feel like you've just been caught with a bloody knife in your hand.



She was surely to tell her friends about the freak watching her in class, surely tell the teacher that some kid was making her uncomfortable, harassing her, surely the teacher would then send you to the principals office and call your father, telling him what a sick child he had. And surely if your father found out what a sick child he had he would not hesitate to leave more bruises upon your skin, to teach you how to be a better, normal, right child once again. Surely these course of events would occur. Just because you had been caught watching Emily, the girl who eats the red Jolly Ranchers, and only the red Jolly Ranchers.



A shake of your shoulder suddenly snaps you out of your panicky behavior and abruptly pulls you out of your delusions of horrid events to come. You look up to see your teacher, bag slung over his shoulder, papers in hand, telling you the bell has already rung, asking you why aren't you leaving, and questioning if everything is alright. With a curt nod of your head and a forced smile you say oh you mustn't have heard it, yes, im leaving right now, yes, of course everything's alright, I must've just spaced out for a moment. And with that short exchange of words you see your teachers retreating form, hear their shoes shuffle across the tiles and out of the room, and the click of the door closing behind them.



With a deep sigh you start gathering your things. And on your way out of the classroom you reach your hand into you pocket to make sure you have your home key…and you stop in your tracks. You slowly reach your fingers around a foreign object in your pocket, and pull your fist out, and up towards your face. Hands shaky, you slowly uncurl your fingers from around the object and gasp. There in your palm, slightly wet with perspiration from your hand, is a single Jolly Rancher. But not just any Jolly Rancher,



A red one.