This is a little story I began writing not too long ago. And to further improve it, I would like your opinions. Keep in mind that this story is for mature audiences, and contains vulgar language, as well as some adult situations.
The title of this humorous, journal-style story is A Slightly Sarcastic Saturday. It it based on a seventeen year old girl named Abyie Saturday, who after her twin brother, Avery, was killed, is sent to therapy. The idea for a journal comes from Abyie's therapist, Dr. Elliot, whom Abyie despises in every since of the word. The story, narrated by Abyie follows her, with her witty and sarcastic remarks as she goes through everyday life, reeking havoc on all who she comes in contact with.
This is the first "entry" of A Slightly Sarcastic Saturday. Give it a read and let me know what you think.
Thursday, September 29th, 2011
Composing a journal filled with the tales of my existence was a never on my bucket list. In fact, the very idea of writing about one's self seems a bit conceited to me. However, my therapist sees fit to make me become a living contradiction, and therefore a hypocrite. How sad and cruel it is to be forced into self-contradiction and hypocrisy. Furthermore, speaking to a inanimate object such as a journal might lead one to believe that they have lost their head. What a terrible psychologist my therapist is.
At this very point and time, you might be asking why my therapist has ordered or "suggested", she says, that I should scribble detailed thoughts and happenings onto bound paper. You might be even more curious to question why it is I have a therapist to begin with. Well, to make a rather sad and tragic story less of a bummer, I'll simply say that the death of my twin brother, Avery, followed by my bout with extreme depression, left my parents(as they put it) with no choice but to commit me to therapy.
Though I love my mother dearly, I don't believe her choices are those of her own. Instead, I believe that my father, whom I manage to tolerate when he's around, influences my mother to agree to quite ridiculous ideas that leave me rather pissed off. What's the deal with my father you ask. My answer to that is "Quit asking so many damn questions!" No, but seriously, my father is required to travel frequently because of his work. I don't want to drag you into details simply because I find his choice of profession obnoxiously boring. So boring, in fact, that thinking of it might result in drool pouring from my mouth, which could be detrimental to all of the writing I have done thus far.
Any-who, back on topic. Like I mentioned, my therapist, whose name is Dr. Elliot, has politely suggested(say that with sarcasm) that I keep a journal so that I can openly and honestly express my thoughts and feelings about my life at any given moment. Quite frankly, I could give a shit less what a notebook thought of my life. So the point of a diary, or a journal as I like to call it, is a bit unnecessary in my opinion. Maybe if I were an introverted shellfish with no balls(I don't have balls anyway because I am a female), a journal would prove quite useful to me. However, I like to think of myself as quite vocal and annoyingly honest about how I feel at any given time.
I'm Abyie Saturday and I approve this message.