Esther Chilton

It’s in the title!

Whilst purusing the shelves in a book shop recently, I found myself taking an interest in the titles and it wasn’t long before my mind started thinking up stories just from those titles.

Here are some which might set you thinking:

• Time to Party
• Watching You
• The Legacy
• The Key
• Secrets

Here’s my story from the first title:

Time to Party

    Peter couldn’t believe it. The day had finally arrived and the party – his party – was in full swing. He loved a party. Everyone was there – even Greg.

Peter frowned. He hated Greg. Greg always ruined everything. Peter stared at Greg’s carefully styled head of blond hair, the deep tan enhancing the beautiful blue eyes and the designer clothes.

Peter didn’t have much, but Greg had it all: the nice house, fast cars and latest gadgets.

Music thumped from the stereo and Greg burst onto the dance floor. Peter smiled as Greg flung his arms about wildly. At least money couldn’t buy style, Peter laughed.

Peter’s heart started thumping, thudding in his ears like an elephant bouncing up and down on a trampoline. It was Molly. She had come.

He loved Molly. She had long, dark hair and a dazzling smile. Her eyes were like melting chocolate on a humid summer’s day. Molly hadn’t seen him. Instead, she was making her way onto the dance floor.

Peter couldn’t breathe. She was almost at Greg’s side. He couldn’t have her. Molly was his. Greg stopped dancing, mesmerized as Molly stood in front of him.

A foghorn blared in Peter’s mind. Someone was announcing the food. He didn’t care. He had to get to Molly. He wished his legs weren’t so short as they pumped up and down, pistons propelling him onward.

He was almost there. He leapt forward – as Greg broke his trance and moved towards the food table. Molly turned, her eyes wide as Peter tackled her to the floor.

Peter felt his cheeks burn Ferrari red. He glared at Greg as the latter reached the food and stuffed sandwiches into his mouth, crumbs spiraling onto the floor. Money didn’t buy manners either.

Greg’s eyes glinted. Peter knew he had spied something else. Molly had been bad enough, but not this.

Someone was screaming. Momentarily, Peter lost sight of Greg, the shrieks in his ear almost piercing the drum. Hands grabbed him, hauling him to his feet. A bedraggled Molly lay beneath him, her pretty pink gown creased. Peter muttered his apologies and sidled away. He wondered if Molly would ever forgive him.

It was all Greg’s fault. Thinking of Greg spurred Peter on. He had to get to the table before Greg. But Greg was there already. His slender hands were reaching out, ready to rip the cake from its stand.

‘No,’ Peter shouted, throwing himself at Greg.

All Peter could see as the two cousins barged into the delicious mountain of sponge was the number seven toppling to the ground. Somehow, he didn’t think he’d be getting a party for his eighth birthday.

***