Here's the first chapter for HI! I'll be updating every friday from today on. I hope you guys enjoy it!
Song: More than a Woman by Bee Gees (I would hold on playing the song until the time is appropriate so that it's funnier, you'll know when).
There is a fifty percent chance I will go to jail because of this.
Is this a good idea? No it's not; it's a stupid idea.
Am I aware it's a stupid idea? Why yes I am. Which just shows what a big idiot I am, but don't blame me, blame the also stupid system of societies and their inaugurations. At least the one in Westray's Community College, where you don't need sororities or fraternities to initiate the idiotic behaviors amongst their students.
The door handle clicks and lets me turn it, telling me that the key they gave me was, in fact, the key for the house. This raises two slightly worrisome questions: Why does Anna have a key to a random neighborhood house? And the most important one: Why do the people at the History Club want a fucking fork?
Granted, they might want an old fork, and, I mean, you'd expect an old house to have old, valuable forks, but they weren't that specific. They just told me to get a fork from their kitchen, take a selfie while I was getting it, and then get out of the house — with the fork, of course. All of that to get into the club. It's not even a nationally recognized club, but if it fills space in my resume, I'm willing to take the chance.
The Winston's house is not the fanciest, just the oldest, in our town. It's a two story house, made out of sturdy wood and with a sloped roof reminiscent of early twentieth century architecture. Mrs. Winston has a pretty big garden planted in front of her house, I was not aware that it extended to the back of it as well. She's well into her eighties, so her energy and vitality for gardening has always surprised me. I don't know much of them aside from their love for plants and outdoor decoration, my father and I lived in their neighborhood for a while — that was before dad got fired and we had to move from a house to one of the few apartment neighborhoods from the town.
I shake my head, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. If I wasn't being lied to by Anna, the club president, the Winston's go to sleep pretty early, and if the pitch darkness of their corridor does not mean they are asleep, I hope it also doesn't mean they're lying dead somewhere on the floor.
My phone buzzes inside my jeans and I nearly screech in the darkness.
Anna: You've been standing on the same spot for like an hour. Are you doing this or not?
Well, fuck man, do you want to share half of the time that I get in county jail if i get caught? I think, glaring at my phone and simply turning it off. She can think whatever she wants, I'm taking my sweet time doing this if it means I won't leave the property handcuffed.
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Historically Inaccurate ✓Humor
In an attempt to improve her resume, history major Soledad Gutierrez, or Sol to her friends (because that's less depressing), decides to join the History Club at her Community college. However, the club at her school is quite peculiar: they have an...