Exercise: “You’re standing on one side of a closed door”

This turned out like one of those just dialogue things that professors have assigned me before. Not sure how well it came out. I cheated and added some extra-dialogue descriptions of sounds (and a few shrugs and pauses).

“Come out. Please?” Silence. “Please?”


A chuckle. “You have to come out to eat. And to pee.”

“I’ll pee out the window.”

“Mom will kill you. Remember when you started peeing out the window at night because you were afraid of monsters under your bed, and her roses started dying?”

“You said it was because of all the junk I ate.”

“I stand by my statement.” There was the sound of a bed frame creaking like he had rolled over. “Look, how many times do I have to say I’m sorry?”

“At least a billion.” Then, lower, “and it still won’t be enough.”

“I didn’t mean for it to get this out of hand.”

“You never do. And it always does. So why do you keep doing it?”

A shrug. “I dunno.”

“’Cause your stupid friends tell you to?”


Muttered: “Kelly said it was your idea this time.”

“And you believe her?”

“Is she right?”


“Thought so.”

“Okay so it was, but I didn’t think they’d take it this far! And I had no idea you’d get so bent out of shape about it.”

“Right, why would I get bent out of shape? You only humiliated me in front of the whole school, the whole high school, and Julie.” Muffled: “Even Julie laughed.”

“Julie’s a bitch.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“I deserve that.”

“You deserve worse.”

“Yes, I deserve worse. Now will you come out?”

“No.” Muffled thud as something soft, maybe a pillow, hit the door. “Go away.”

“Fine. But you have to come out for dinner.”

“No I don’t.”

“Unless Mom makes pizza or pancakes or something else flat you will.”

“Go away!”

Sighed: “Fine. I’ll slide you some pizza or a sandwich or something under the door.”

Muffled sobs. “Why do you h-hate me so much?”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I don’t hate you, Ian.”

“Then why do you pick on me?”

Shrug. “’Cause that’s what big sisters do?”


“I just… can’t help myself. I see an opening and have an idea and I have to take it.”

“Why? Why on me?”

“You’re such an easy target.”

“Screw you! Screw you and go away!”

“I’m sorry! You are!”

“Oh so it’s my fault, then? If I wasn’t such a tempting target you’d be able to hold back? Right.”

Pause. “I’m sorry.”

“You keep saying that. You always say that. But I don’t think you are.”

“I am.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Fine. Don’t believe me.” Louder: “I tried, Mom! He’s not coming out.”

“I’m never coming out! I’ll waste away and die in here and you’ll have to take the door off the hinges to get my corpse out.”

“I can pick your stupid lock with a paperclip.”

Sounds of moving furniture, smack of something heavy shoved against the door.

“This is stupid. What if there’s a fire?”

“Why, is that your next trick? Stick a match under my door? Because it’s cool and fun and all your friends will think you’re great?”

“No! Why would I do that? That’s crazy?”

Muttered: “Maybe I’ll stick a match under your door.”

“Mom! Ian’s going to set fire to the house!”

“NO I’M NOT! GET OUT OF HERE! I HATE YOU!” Loud sobbing.



~ by Amber on June 6, 2012.

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