Lonely Stories by Xavier St John (best management books of all time .txt) 📕

escaped. From that point on, for the rest of the lesson, the only person who looked at me was the tall lady, still flaunting that fake smile she had forced herself to wear the moment she saw me. 

Time passed, and slowly the troupe began to notice that I was there with them. Even though I was always last to be picked when joint exercises were conducted, the fact I was picked at all gave me a small solace. As they bloomed into strong and graceful dancers, I began to sprout, the rods that once hung at my sides slowly becoming malleable enough to move and bend when I was dancing. Of course, I was nothing compared to the others, just a blade of grass whistling in the breeze as they strutted past like flamingos. 3 years after my first session, as I performed alongside the 8-year olds, the instructor slowly began to evolve. That smile, the quiet smile that was devoid of any actual emotion, had shed away to reveal a vibrant face, full of happiness and something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. With each pirouette, each jump or even step I took onto the white, I was greeted with a proper, real smile. Although it did still rain occasionally on the way to the lessons, I never seemed to get muddy – I was untouchable, a ballet dancer that the old playing fields didn’t affect any more. Besides, the oak had died long ago, it was merely a stump that I could stand on now. We weren’t allowed to do any proper shows until we were all over 10, or in my case until I was 13 (something about child protection) but that didn’t bother me. If anything, it gave me more time to hone my skills, to perfect the split jumps and the dreaded tip-toe staggers (you don’t know pain until you’ve tried them).  

However, by the time I was 13 I had entered the terrible years of secondary school. It was a playground of cannabis, alcohol and idiots, to put it bluntly.  And bullies. A lot of bullies. When word got around that I was dancing, I was mocked, food was knocked out of my hands and I was locked outside my form room in the rain as my so-called friends watched and laughed through the window. But when people found out it was ballet? Well, I’ll let your imagination wander. Put it this way, it wasn’t fun. However, although my fear stemmed from the dancing, it was also my release. I could let go of everything when I was in that studio, it was my safe haven. So, I continued. I sucked up the abuse and kept going, rehearsing over and over and over until finally, the announcement was made. The smiling lady sat us all down and told us we were booked into our first ever show – open to the public. Anybody and everybody could come and watch. As cliché as it sounds, my stomach filled with butterflies and my heart exploded, and for the rest of that day I struggled to wipe that glowing smile from my face. 

The curtain dropped to reveal us, and we darted across the stage in silence. The audience stopped. They stopped everything. Talking, smiling, blinking – they just stared, directly at me. I could feel the blood rushing to my face, my ears heating up like roaring fires, but I just smiled weakly at my instructor, who gave me one of her real smiles back, a proud smile. As jaws hung loose and eyes boggled at me, I smiled a little stronger – after all, it’s not every day a boy can captivate an audience like this. 

 

Date

 

 Date 

 

Tonight’s the night. I'd seen pictures of him online, and he looked vaguely interesting - normal, but just about different enough to recognise in a crowd. I'd been told to meet him in a pub, about a 20 minute walk away from my place. It was a bit far, but apparently it was one of his favourite haunts. My eyes panned across my wardrobe, searching for that special something - understated, but still stylish. An hour slipped by whilst I jammed myself into tighter and tighter clothes until I finally settled on a dress - black and flowing, all mysterious. Hopefully he'll like it. 

I locked up my flat, turned, and faced the stairs. My stilettos clicked along the concrete bricks below me as I walked away from my front door. The first step down the stairs is always perilous - I gingerly lowered my tiptoe onto the step, and carefully aimed the sharp heel to prevent me tumbling. I'd made it. I hoped down the rest of the steps with grace, nimbly leaping from the third step to the floor in one smooth motion, landing perfectly on tiptoe. Swanning out of the building, I smiled at the old lady in the lobby. She winked back, sending a silent 'good luck' to me for my evening endeavor. 

The night was beautiful; there's something magical about a slight cold wind on a dark evening, with all the stars smiling down on you from above. I almost wanted to just stay and walk around London for a while, but I didn't get dressed up for nothing. The bar was in sight. A small flock of butterflies erupted from the very bottom of my stomach, swarming upwards and multiplying by the second. I took a deep breath and walked up towards the front windows. The smell of alcohol instantly assaulted my nose, almost sending me reeling across the road. As I stepped closer, drunken laughter tumbled into the street as the patrons chugged their drinks. The glare spilled from the windows onto the cobbles in front of me, illuminating the old, mossy stones slicked with the rain from earlier. The doorway was sitting there, waiting patiently. Tonight's the night. 

I stepped across the threshold and onto the rough, matted doormat. It was made from coarse fibers that clung to your every step, some kind of animal hair, and was emblazoned with the word 'WELCOME' in block writing. As I made my first steps across the mat, my left foot caught in a loop of the fiber. I stumbled, barely keeping my balance as my foot slipped into its side - SNAP. I looked down, and saw the slender spike of the stiletto caught in the mat, with a jagged tip where it had snapped off my shoe as I tripped. Flushing red, I quickly bent down and picked the stiletto up. I couldn't walk with just one. Slipping both my shoes off, I left them by the doorway and made my way inside the bar barefoot.  

My eyes panned from left to right, searching for his face. He was sitting at a table littered with empty glasses, guffawing as he drank another pint of beer. He was maybe 10 metres away. I began confidently strolling over. He still hasn't noticed me. I shifted my stiletto in hand as I walked the last few metres towards his table. He looked up, his eyes partially glazed over and a permanent drunken smile filling his face. I locked eyes.  then walked past him, I circled the back of his chair.  

I plunged the stiletto shard into his neck. 

In one swift motion the shard slipped back out of his neck as I continued walking back towards the doorway. He sputtered in shock behind me. He garbled something, unintelligible words spilling from his mouth, but it was lost in the sea of noise at the bar. His table groaned as he tried to force his way up out of his seat. I reached down, picked up my shoes, and stood at the doorway. I glanced over, watching him struggle to his feet with his dying breaths. His eyes were filled with terror as he clutched his neck, the wound throbbing with blood, and he collapsed onto the floor. 

As I entered the lobby, I saw the old lady standing beside the stairs. Smiling, I showed her the shard of stiletto soaked in blood. She toothlessly grinned back, and as I walked past pressed a photo into my hand. The man in the photo was kind-of cute. He'd be even more fun to deal with tomorrow. 

Kevin and Cthulhu

 

 

 

Kevin and Cthulhu

 

It had been a long day, like every other. Boring, but Susie was back after her recent illness so at least there was one upside. Plus, tomorrow was the trip day – marine biology at its best, out in the field and potentially discovering new life. Cold winds, chapped lips and a tiny tugboat – I can’t wait. The clock ticked away in the corner of the lab, counting the seconds until 4:00 and the subsequent rush of tired, overqualified technicians desperate to get home to their pot noodles or their families, or sometimes both. Working on weekends was looked down on, but she worked them too, and, especially on a such a cold day out, this could be my chance of a lifetime!

Silence dropped like a mist. All focus was on the clock. The second hand was nearing the peak, slipping closer each moment. Glancing backwards, Susie was zeroed in on the clock like a sniper until she noticed me and flashed a quick smile. I turned away faster than lightning; warmth rushed through my face as I reddened and refocused on the clock. 10 more seconds. 9. 8. 7. I hadn’t actually checked if Susie was on the boat tomorrow with me. 5. 4. She probably would be. Hopefully. I should have asked. I should have asked! The last second slipped away. As the room erupted with the scraping of chairs and scramble towards the door, I turned and dived to my left, dodging the chairs strewn away from their desks in the frantic rush. Susie was taken by the tide of people, swept towards the door. I tried to push through, met with frowns and shoves - there seemed to be an endless barricade of sweaty old men between me and her. I would never get through. Dejectedly, I watched her get dragged through the doorway with the herd, the final slam of the door heralding the end of the stampede. I was alone in the room. Susie had better be on that boat tomorrow.

The alarm buzzed rhythmically on the bedside table, which had been nudged so it rested against the leg of the bed. This caused my entire body to shake as I