Below you will find the results of my having challenged myself for a number of days to write a short story with a beginning and middle and an end inside of 30 minutes. Here is what I came up with. I hope you like it.
She started dating Roy when she was sixteen. Roy was twenty-one. Both of them still lived at home.
Roy would bring his acoustic guitar to parties. Parties full of sixteen year olds. He never brought beer. He never brought any booze. He drank other people’s beer. Sixteen year olds’ beer.
He’d play Cat Stevens in the middle of the living room, lights darkened, him sitting on the floor. He’d sing too loudly. No way of having a conversation when he was around. It was him and his Cat Stevens songs and selections from “Harvest” and his endless versions of “Box Of Rain.”
Roy would bitch out kids who listened to rap or punk or metal or, for that matter, anything that he didn’t listen to. He told them they were all sellouts and conformists. They could all get jobs, whereas he, Roy, would undoubtedly be chased out of the nearest bank for even suggesting potential employment, what with his longish hair and mustache.
He briefly moved in with her and her family. Lasted less than a summer. One day, they told him to leave. They all did. Her and her parents. Told Roy to leave. Roy asked if he could finish the week out, just to pack his stuff. They said OK. Roy stayed for another two weeks. They called the police.
Every few years, Roy runs for public office. Tries to get the Republican nomination for town council. Bitches about taxes and kids in cars.