Tayla Rankine
Bio
my English teacher and my mum say I’m good at writing, I hope they’re write.
Stories (4)
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Miss Topia
I’m tugging feverishly at the stupid tatters of white linen, ironically ugly in their symbolism of purity. The centre seam has selfishly ripped from the collar to the sleeve in my failed effort to walk upright on the way to the Judging Arena, making a firm impression on the unimpressed others. Now we wait in the sanctuary, the others milling around in outfits identical to mine; wisps of women with faces pinched into shape and stripped of makeup as not to be misleading in their appearance. My bare face flashes cherry as one lady eyeballs my peeping shoulder skin, her eyes shrieking INDECENCY as I fight the urge to let my eyes spill hotly over.
By Tayla Rankine5 years ago in Fiction
Autumn
WHOOOOSSHH! A rainbow-coloured gumboot swung into view, sending a flurry of fallen leaves flying into the air. The blustery breeze tapped her freckles gently, blowing a stray strand of hair out of place. The hard bitumen path was barely visible under hundreds of leaves, the victims of gravity, yet the still continued to drop like blazing suns raining from the sky. A pair of emerald green eyes sparkled cheekily, hidden partially behind a curtain of curly orange hair.
By Tayla Rankine5 years ago in Fiction
Freed
Another F. Foul, futile, foolish, flawed. Fail. I growl and slam the test down on the desk, kicking back in my chair and plunking my filthy shoes carelessly on top of it. Looking around at my classmates with “I passed” grins plastered all over their stupid faces, I almost feel a wave of insecurity before a sketch peeks at me from inside my untouched English book. I yank it out and admire my masterpiece, gently attacking it with a pencil and erasing any stray lines or unwanted smudges. Art, my one and only passion. Also my one and only talent, as demonstrated through my incapability of scoring above 50% in practically any other subject.
By Tayla Rankine5 years ago in Fiction
Silence
Silence. We’ve always been comfortable with silence. Not that there’s ever been a lot of it. Six years, eight months, twenty-one days. Is it normal to keep track of a friendship that obsessively? I don’t think so. I like numbers. Mia likes that about me too. I helped her with math homework every day of primary school, but not so much anymore. I think she’s getting better at it because now, she never asks for my help at all. Mia and I have always talked a lot, too much her mum says. The furrowed brow and twitchy lip her mum wears when she sees us talking has always confused me. Maybe it’s because I’m the only one Mia talks to. But there’s no reason for Mia to be lonely. She has me, one best friend. That’s all she needs.
By Tayla Rankine5 years ago in Fiction
