Being Grandad
by 
andinadia
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Posted: 17 July 2015 Word Count: 193 Summary: Ch1 of the expanded version. I aim to finish it within a week. It's not a fair challenge for any comers, as I'm converting a story that was already mapped out. But maybe someone might join me the following week, when I might write a second story based on the same characters, or something new. Wordcount: 6000-9000. This first chapter is 191 words, so that means 30+ chapters - far too many, so I'll need to put more into each chapter! (Or do you think this length works as an opener?) |
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Chapter 1
When Lizzie woke up, her mouth felt dry. She licked her lips. Then she coughed, loudly.
Through the wall she heard cough, cough, cough, cough. One high, one low, one high, one low, like a machine. She thumped the wall. There was no point saying anything to them. The thump was so strong it made her poster of Lionel Messi fall down. It also made the coughing on the other side of the wall stop.
“You OK in there, Lizzie?” her mum called.
“Ye….” The word got stuck in her throat. She coughed again. There was a glass of water from last night. It was probably covered in dust by now. Never mind. A bit of dust couldn’t hurt.
“Yes, mum,” she called back. Then she got out of bed. It was easy to get out of bed on Saturdays.
“Breakfast will be ready in a minute,” Mum called. Saturdays meant different. Different meant sausages, or eggs, or even waffles. “Can’t be the same every day,” Mum liked to say.
But what Lizzie really wanted was some hot milky coffee. That was strange. She did not like coffee. Nor hot milk.
When Lizzie woke up, her mouth felt dry. She licked her lips. Then she coughed, loudly.
Through the wall she heard cough, cough, cough, cough. One high, one low, one high, one low, like a machine. She thumped the wall. There was no point saying anything to them. The thump was so strong it made her poster of Lionel Messi fall down. It also made the coughing on the other side of the wall stop.
“You OK in there, Lizzie?” her mum called.
“Ye….” The word got stuck in her throat. She coughed again. There was a glass of water from last night. It was probably covered in dust by now. Never mind. A bit of dust couldn’t hurt.
“Yes, mum,” she called back. Then she got out of bed. It was easy to get out of bed on Saturdays.
“Breakfast will be ready in a minute,” Mum called. Saturdays meant different. Different meant sausages, or eggs, or even waffles. “Can’t be the same every day,” Mum liked to say.
But what Lizzie really wanted was some hot milky coffee. That was strange. She did not like coffee. Nor hot milk.
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