ceitie

Haven't posted in a long time, so I decided to make an attempt at creativity. Here are six 100-word drabbles about... me! Hey, it's my blog, I can be as egotistical as I want. As this is a creative writing exercise, only one of these drabbles is an account of an actual event, the rest I made up.
Anyone who guesses the real one gets a cookie!

Five Things That Never Happened to

ceitie, and One That Did

“Let’s get tattoos,” E had said, and at the time she hadn’t been able to think of any reason not to. It was a sunny afternoon, the day after Canada Day, they weren’t drunk, and she felt like being a little wild. She wanted to ask E to hold her hand while the needle was scraping its way across her back; instead, she hummed Beatles’ songs and dug her nails into her palms.
When people ask, she says that she’s never gotten a tattoo. It’s like any secret, any wish: the power might fade if she doesn’t hold it close.
*
By the end of the night there wasn’t much left to drink, but they continued to play with the few remaining beers and liquor dregs. “I have never… kissed a boy,” was followed by a series of gulps and some blushing faces. “I have never kissed a girl,” was next: the logical progression. It, however, was followed by giggles and an outburst of, “Oh, come on!” Amidst the hubbub, she lifted her glass and took a drink. She refused to be dishonest, or ashamed, because she knew she had nothing to be ashamed of. She still hoped no one noticed.
*
Falling out of trees was much less fun than climbing them, she decided when she was eleven and lying on the grass in her babysitter’s backyard. She stared up into the branches where only a few seconds ago she had felt safely ensconced. Now she was on her back, clutching her wrist, a broken branch hard beneath her hip. J was laughing at her from the lounge chair, the little asshole. Her wrist throbbed and her throat was tight and sore. She wasn’t really the sort of girl who cried though, so she threw a rock at J’s head instead.
*
They ran into the waves full on, and gasped at the shock of cold. By some unspoken agreement they stayed in the shallows, diving and splashing. She’d never been swimming naked before, and she felt vulnerable, like something would attack at any moment. But this was the ocean of her childhood, familiar from countless summers, and the fear faded to make room for wonder. Her cousins seemed different like this, wet hair dark and sleek, flashes of pale faces and skin. Their embarrassment had vanished as soon as they hit the water, and what was left was pagan and strange.
*
It was a game. Even to her child brain it sounded sketchy, though morbidly fascinating. On the playground, hidden from teachers in the shelter of a brick alcove, the group of girls gathered. Lean over and take deep breaths, then hold the last one and someone will press down on your chest. It makes you go away for a little while. It wasn’t fainting, not really. But it was obviously a dangerous game, and would be forbidden as soon as the teachers got wind of it. She’s not sure if she played in spite of that or because of it.
*
The best part of their trip to Greece wasn’t the restaurants, the monuments or the scenery. The best part was sitting on a hill behind the hotel, passing around three bottle of wine between eight people, four of whom she had only met yesterday. She was still wearing her tank top despite the cool night air, so different from the day’s oppressive heat. The wind felt nice on her skin. Dry grass under her hands, smooth black expanse above. M laughed at something one of the boys said and bumped her arm. She smiled and tilted her head towards the stars.