What do you think of my short story? (1 Viewer)

Schoey93

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Hi all

Story attached. It's titled "Sergio meets Mr Gough". Anyway, if you could please critique it that would be very much appreciated. :D

Sorry, it's incredibly long - 3,000 words (4 A4 pages).

- James

Sergio Meets Mr Gough
© James Schofield, 2008
“You! Out!” The tall, stocky, scruffy-haired man’s voice boomed across the room, causing Sergio to jump half a metre off the floor in fright. Sergio peered around the room, endeavouring to find someone else the beetroot-red faced man could be bellowing at. Nope, he could not see anyone else who looked remotely embarrassed or even a tad frightened.
“Yes, that’s right! You, young man, get out! Now!”
Keen not to anger his new teacher even more, Sergio left the room, wondering quietly what that man’s name was. He walked out on to the classroom’s long, wide balcony, peering up into the clear blue sky, full of regret. It was Drama class.
He had not meant to upset what’s-his-name…oh, that’s right…Mr Glasson. You see, Mr Glasson was also an English/Italian/history teacher. And stupid little Sergio had been talking to his little friends about how boring Australian history was. Naturally, Mr Glasson had to disagree. He was endlessly passionate about Australian history, so much so that he took four Australian history classes. Mr Glasson’s favourite area of Australian history was ‘The Policies and Prime Ministership of Gough Whitlam’. To make matters worse, this had been the particular area of history Sergio had been complaining about to his friends.
However, Sergio’s friends had the smarts to realise it was not an issue to be discussed in young Mr Glasson’s class. They had gone about trying to stop Sergio, better know as Sergt, from babbling on about this irrelevant issue, but had no success. Then Mr Glasson overheard and sent Sergt sprawling out the door.
Now, as Sergt looked up into the sky, he noticed some sky writing that just really hit home with him. It said ‘Gough Whitlam sacked 25 years ago today’. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear…he had been such an ignoramus!
Mr Glasson had left the Year 10 Drama class and was approaching Sergt. He looked at him, fury flashing upon his deep blue eyes, eyebrow crinkled in disgust.
“I assume that you read the sky writing, young man?” Mr Glasson asked, evidently still fuming.
“Yes, sir, I have. I’m sorry about what I said. I understand that Gough Whitlam’s prime ministership is a very significant piece of history.”
“Oh, Sergio, you little loser, don’t give me that rubbish! You know as well as I do that you could not care less if Gough Whitlam was here right now and collapsed of a heart attack. Part of me doubts you’d even call an ambulance, Sergt. So don’t lie to me; I can see right through it.”
“Okay, sir.” Sergt looked down at his feet, biting his lip. “So, what’s my punishment…something fun, no doubt?”
“Ha, ha! Well, I have noticed that you have a great passion and love of the study of Italian, your other elective. Now, I implore you to utilise your knowledge of the Italian language and prepare an A2 poster for me. It is to be a creative reflection of your ideas about Gough Whitlam and Australian government is the 1970s, Sergio. I trust that it will be both highly informative and creative. I wish you to submit this poster to me next week. That shall give you a whole weekend to work on it. It must be colourful, historically accurate and written entirely in Italian.” Mr Glasson grinned.


“No, sir, please! Please don’t force me to make a poster. I have so much homework, and then there are the seven assignments I have to do, all due in the next two weeks! No!” Sergt dropped to the floor on his knees, grasping the sides of his skull, displaying a classic example of teenage angst.
“Sergio, I will gladly ignore that little outburst. No doubt you are glad to have been given further opportunity to demonstrate your historical knowledge?”
Sergt gulped. “Yes sir,” he said, almost swallowing his words.
“Chin up, young lad. Who knows, you might enjoy this little task I have set you. So you know…I do speak Italian, fluently. The task is due on Monday. There’s the bell,” he pokes his head into the classroom, “class dismissed!”


I sat down that night to do the assignment. I found it was, as Mr Glasson not doubt wanted, very boring. I could not concentrate and kept opening up games of Minesweeper on my computer. I stopped after Mamma caught me.
At the end of the night I had completed Mr Glasson’s assignment. I rested my head on the desk in my bedroom, just for a moment, and not soon after I fell asleep.
However, I was shaken awake by Mamma storming down the hallway outside my room, perhaps fuming after an argument with Papa. Then, something caught my eye. I looked at my lamp; glowing blue. It gave off a tinge of red and when I touched the red spot, the globe gaped open. Instantly my navel was jerked and I was propelled into empty space.
Mamma mia! Che cosa sta succedendo?” I spoke in Italian because it seemed natural to do so. Anyway, I soon realized that I had stopped falling into what I had assumed was a bottomless pit. My feet were placed firmly on the ground. Then I wobbled slightly, almost falling over. I looked around? Where was I? Surely this was not what the inside of a light bulb looked like?
Some guy approached me, grinning. “It is great news, isn’t it, mate?” I had a strong urge to tell him that we were not mates, but I would tell him with a rather nasty adjective thrown in. However, I just smiled and nodded quietly. He opened his mouth to say something, but then kept on walking. Afterwards, a woman came up to me and patted my shoulder.
“Fantastic news, no?” Grinning, she ruffled my hair and said, “What’s wrong Sergt, cat got your tongue?” I shook my head, swallowed and said,
“What year is it?”
“Why, Sergio, you know what year it is; it’s 1972. Don’t ask such silly questions! You make me worry sometimes, mio ragazzo. She just called me her boyfriend! I have a girlfriend! Oh, and yeah…I appear to have traveled back in time.
Mi dispiace, la mia ragazza. I suppose I had a mental blank. Anyway, yes it’s such great news!” (I had a stab in the dark.) “Gough Whitlam has been voted Prime Minister!”
, sì…oh, it is just great news for Australians, Sergt. I know you think so.”
“Oh yes, it truly is a great moment in Australia’s history,” I said dully.
“Hey, what’s up with you?” She looked at me, annoyed.
“Oh, sorry…hard day,” I smiled weakly. I knew choosing drama would pay off someday.
“Okay, Sergio. I can understand.” Then she did something totally unexpected. She leaned towards me and locked lips with mine. Briefly, we kissed. She kissed me tenderly, and I kissed back. It was quite pleasant really. After a minute, it is over. However, it is as though through kissing me she has shared some secret knowledge. For I now remember her name (it is Joy). I also remember the exact date (5 December 1972), and then I realise I am wearing retro clothing. It’s kind of attractive; one might even say I thought it was sexy.
I wore flare jeans, a dull green T-Shirt, small white lace-up shoes…and…what were those chunky rims around my eyes that were bothering me? Oh; they’re big black tinted sunglasses! Hey, I could get used to those. I readjusted my sunglasses and followed Joy down the street. We are walking in beside the gutter. She smiles at me, beaming and asks, “So, what party did you vote for, Sergt?”
I reply automatically, “Labor, yes, I voted for the ALP. I support Whitlam!”
“Good choice!” She winked at me.
I smiled, realising that I was older. I brought my thumb and forefinger to my face, massaging my chin – hey, what were those little prickly hairs doing there? Oh my God, I had a beard! Wow! And then there was also my growth spurt. It occurred to me that I my height had been a foot different three decades later.
Joy was quite tall; too, her forehead would touch my nose when we kissed. She was also wearing tight jeans, but had a lime green T-shirt on, hidden under a dark leather jacket with fake brown fur around the collar. She was very attractive. She had naturally olive skin, similar to mine, but slightly darker, hazel eyes, a small, broad nose, tiny ears and long straight blonde hair parted down the middle. I suddenly had the urge to kiss her again, but ignored it and continued to follow her down the street. She looked over her shoulder at me, urging me to walk faster so we could talk.
I caught up to her, panting and grinned. “What do you Gough Whitlam’s and his party will do for Australia?” I asked her, curious.
“Whitlam will do lots for Australia,” she said. “As you know, he and his party ran a great campaign…using the slogan ‘It’s time’ really hit home with ordinary Aussies like you and me. He’s promised to promote equality. He’s promised to ensure Australians are more involved in parliament’s decision making. He’s promised to strive to improve education for all. He’s promised to introduce a universal health insurance system. He’s promised to promote justice and to be more welcoming of migrants. And, finally, Sergio…he’s promised to abolish conscription and give Aborigines land rights,” she drew breath, beamed at me and said thoughtfully, “now to see if he can fulfil those promises. I truly think he will and I am very hopeful.”
“Yeah, we all know politicians aren’t always the most honest folk,” I mused.
“Indeed, Sergt. Well, I trust Whitlam, don’t ask me why – but I do. I think he will leave a lasting legacy for our country and I know he understands Australians are placing deep trust in him, and he feels he has great responsibility to do what’s right.” She smiled. And I smiled back. She was so passionate about her views, so honest, so trusting. I could see how I had ended up with her.
“Want to go grab a bite to eat?” I asked her.
“Yeah, sure!”
“That place on the corner looks good. ‘Real burgers, real milkshakes, real fast!’ Great!”
“Ah, the old hang out.” She smiled.
“Uh…yeah. Sure is. OK, let’s be on our way.”


So we stopped at the burger shop and got some great tucker. It was fun. And as we sat there, Gough Whitlam walked into the shop. Joy looked at me over her burger, had a sip from her milkshake and gave me a nudge. “Why don’t you go talk to him?”
Volentieri!” I wrestled the bacon out of my teeth, chewed and swallowed, then washed it down with a sip of my lime milkshake. I walked over to the Man of the Moment, sat down next to him (he had received his burger very promptly) and said, “Hi, sir. Can I have a word?”
He smiled. “Certainly, young man. What would you like to know?”
“I just wanted to know what you’re going to do for own country, sir.” I looked at him intently. I found that the longer I stayed in this time, the stronger my appreciation of Mr Whitlam became.
“Young man, please! Call me Gough, that’s my name after all. What will I do for the country? Well, I’m only one man, but my party and I strive to promote equality. That is at the top of Labor’s agenda of things to achieve before the next election. We are also very focused on the areas of health and education, young man. May I ask what your name is?”
“I’m Sergio, Gough. Sergt for short.”
“Uh-huh.” He chewed into his beef, beetroot, tomato and lettuce burger with plum sauce. “Well Sergt,” he talked between mouthfuls, “I’m very upset about the unequal treatment of Australian women. That simply has to be fixed. And we will shortly be introducing the country’s first national healthy insurance scheme. We will bring sewerage to all urban areas, create passports that do not call Australians ‘British subjects’, create an office to provide legal representation for the poor and we, the ALP will ensure consumers are treated fairly. We will also create several organisations to protect Australian heritage sites and promote the arts. Well…did you have any other questions?”
“Yes, Gough. You aim to achieve a lot. Did you ever stop to think that maybe your policies and hopes for the future aren’t a bit too ambitious?”
“Yes, of course, young man. Why, Sergt, I’d be lying if,” he takes another bite of his burger, “I said I never doubt myself. But young man, this party is about change! You know that. Labor strives to change Australia radically and bring about great reform. After all, it’s time.” He grinned at me. I grinned back. I believe I agreed.


The date is November 11, 1975. I have been in the past for nearly three years. I have waited for this day with intense anticipation since the day after my arrival, when I awoke and realised that I was still in the past. I realised long ago that Joy and I live together in Canberra, quite near Parliament House. I am sitting on the balcony now, staring at the mass of people crowded there, chanting intently, “We want Gough, we want Gough, we want Gough!”
I have watched this man and his government triumph, I have watched them make one mistake after the next and ultimately put themselves in the red. The ALP has damaged their credibility with the Loans Affair and Dr Jim Cairns’s alleged affair with Juni Morosi. A part of me regrets voting Whitlam and the Labor Party to office, but then I remember that charismatic man I met in the burger shop that day and smile quietly to myself. I would not have it any other way. Sir John Kerr, in the midst of this constitutional crisis, has appointed Malcolm Fraser caretaker Prime Minister, under strict conditions. I, of course, already know that Fraser and the Coalition are voted in at next month’s election. However, there is an atmosphere of anger and, to a point, nostalgia as people relive in their minds, Whitlam’s time in office.
I am glad that I got to be here until this day. I know that I do not have much time left here, so I’m savouring my last moments with Joy. She comes up behind me and massages my shoulders, peers into my eyes and kisses me. We are in love.


Sergio said something to me today about having to leave. I am not sure what he meant, but I know that whatever happens, I will always love him. We have been seeing each other for four years now. I am going to miss him.
I suggested to him after our kiss that we go and join the demonstrators, but he was reluctant to do so. He said he preferred to just watch and enjoy it. I thought this was a decent enough idea. I sit with him, watching, just watching them and thinking, “This day will go down in Australia’s history.”
Sometimes I think that Sir John Kerr should never have sacked Whitlam. Something tells me Fraser will be voted in at the next election. Peccato, ma è va bene. If it was meant to be, then so be it.
It is okay with me that Sergio does not want to stay with me. I can cope with that. I know that he loves me, but there is something he has to do. It is not something I can understand, but he is my boyfriend and I support him in everything that he does. Oh – he has just stood up. The demonstrators have calmed now.
“Joy, I have to go. I will not see you again.” He takes a swig of dark ale from his glass, swishes it around his mouth, looks at me and we rub noses. He swallows, and we kiss. I hold him tight, caressing his body, fascinated by this gorgeous young man and his intelligence.
I say to him, “It’s okay, baby, I understand. I support you.” We go inside and lay on the bed, just hugging and kissing, being close to each other. I will miss the intimacy we shared.
Afterwards, he stands up and pulls on his jacket. He stands at the door, I run to him and we share one last kiss. Then he walks out into the hallway, I close the door, and a minute later – he is gone.


I miss Joy. She is who I miss most from the past. And I miss my height! I miss being who I was then; I had become so accustomed to my body and who I was. But now, I am back in the year 2000. I am pleasantly surprised by the familiarity of it all, everything comes flooding back.
I stare at my lamp, glowing blue in the darkness of night. I smile weakly and climb into bed, still staring at the lamp. Then, suddenly resolute, I reach out and turn it off.
This time it does not glow red. I lay there in the darkness, crying softly. I miss her. I miss that time. I miss the atmosphere of ‘change’.
I will sleep now. I cry myself to sleep, and for the first time, I do not feel like a loser just because I am crying. It feels good to cry. Then – I have my eyes closed, and the darkness swallows me, so I sleep. And the hurt I feel, the longing to be back in the 1970s, it passes, because I remember, in my dreams that I have so much to live for in the 21st century, and I tell myself that I am lucky and that I will take advantage of all the opportunities that come my way; I will.

Do not even think about plagarising. I will sue the pants off you if do lol :D

Okay, bye!
James
 
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it's okay..

but it didn't give me that spark when i read extroadinary short stories
 

rolror88

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It's not that good.. I felt that by the time I read through it, I felt like I shouldn't have bothered

How you incorporated the Gough Whitlam thing (did you have to?) was just completely whack...
 

lionking1191

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i think the OP wants constructive criticism, not see how much crap you can come up without reading the thing ;)

having said that i didn't read it properly either..but when writing stories in the future try picking a theme that steers well away from school related stuff. teachers absolutely hate anything to do with teen angst


edit: upon actually reading parts of it looks like there wasn't much school stuff after all. but yeah stuff on whitlam was poorly worked in. looks like you referred to historical info just for the sake of it. still you are in yr10, not a bad effort at all
 
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Aznmichael92

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um, i am not sure if this is correct but, most books I have read and what my teacher told me is that, when you are using quotation marks, the word following it should be in lower case. e.g.

"Hello Tom!" said Kelly.

I think the story was alright. I lost my attention reading it half way through. Maybe you should try to incorporate something that can engage the reader. I know I am not the best person to give advice but that is what I think. I am failing it as well so don't worry. My story is not engaging at all.

EDIT:

HOpe that is slightly better. I do a lot of errors when I write/type.
 
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Aznmichael92 said:
um, i am not sure if this is correct but most books I read and what my teacher me is that, when you are using quotation marks, the word following it should be on lower case. e.g.

"Hello Tom!" said Kelly.

I think the story was alright. I lost my attention to reading it half way through. Maybe you should try to incorporate something that can engages your reader. I know I am not the best person to give advice but that is what I think. I am failing it as well so don't worry. My story are not engaging at all.
nor is your grammar
 

ital101

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Hi guys. I spoke to James (he goes to my school) and he's going to edit the short story and post a (much shorter) version again later tonight or tomorrow at school, so yeah.

I liked it anyhow...I really like the Gough Whitlam topic in Yr 10, makes me wish I'd taken Modern History. I agree that it could have been better worked in, but I thought the Sergio/Joy relationship was well done. I don't know what to say really, quite long and I must tell him to better incorporate the Gough Whitlam information...but as far as I can remember it was fairly historically accurate - and James said the task was 'write a short story about time travel' ...well fits the brief then! :D
 
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A few observations I made as I skimmed through it, make of them what you will.


"wondering quietly" - this is a tautology, how else do you wonder something?

"you little loser" - is this how a teacher would speak?

"Sergt dropped to the floor on his knees, grasping the sides of his skull, displaying a classic example of teenage angst" - that's not teenage angst, lol!

"Instantly my navel was jerked" - sounds like a Harry Potter portkey or something, be more original.

"I wore flare jeans, a dull green T-Shirt, small white lace-up shoes…and…what were those chunky rims around my eyes that were bothering me? Oh; they’re big black tinted sunglasses! Hey, I could get used to those." - an issue you have throughout; though you are writing in past tense, you give a present-tense thought process... needs some rewriting.

"So we stopped at the burger shop and got some great tucker. It was fun." - unsophisticated lapse in expression.


The rest was interesting, though perhaps a bit too jumpy, but I know it's hard to skip through time smoothly. The changes in perspective between Joy and Sergt were nice.

Not bad overall, but only as a writing exercise. The idea itself doesn't grab me.
 

aimhigh10

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theres a lot of dialogue.. which is good :)
but i must admit i skipped some bits because they were a bit boring
the language at the end is good tho
 

agirlinatutu

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I read the first line and got bored.

Dont worry you have like a year and a half to improve before you even hit year 11
 

ital101

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Um here's the new version of the story, he forwarded it to me. So, happy reading!

Sergio, It’s Time

© James Schofield, 2008

“You, get out!” The tall, stocky, scruffy-haired man’s voice boomed across the room, causing Sergio to jump half a metre off the floor in fright. Sergio peered around the room, hoping to find someone else the beetroot-red faced man could be referring to. No such luck.
“Yeah, that’s right! You, young man, get out! Now!”
Keen not to anger his teacher even more, Sergio left the room, wondering quietly what the substitute teacher’s name was. He walked out on to the third-level classroom’s long, wide balcony, peering up into the cloudless blue sky, full of regret. He had just been excused from drama class.
He had not meant to upset what’s-his-name…ah, that’s right. Mr Glasson was his name, that English/Italian/history teacher man. He was only 23 years old. Stupid little Sergio had been talking about how boring Australian history was, when he was in a class with a man who had chosen to take four classes of Australian history! Then Sergio, better know amongst friends as Sergt noticed some fluffy sky writing… ‘Gough Whitlam sacked 25 years ago today’. Well, to make matter worse, the boy had been telling his friends how Gough Whitlam was the most boring Australian personality in the history of Australian politics! Man was he going to get it.
Mr Glasson stormed out of the classroom, back straight, fury flashing upon his deep blue eyes. ‘Assuming you’ve seen the sky writing, will you explain yourself young man?’
‘Uh…I’m sorry sir. Gough Whitlam had a significant place in Australian history and I respect that,’ Sergt smiled weakly.
‘Oh, you little ignoramus, don’t give me that rubbish. You wouldn’t even call an ambulance if Mr Whitlam turned up here and had a heart attack. You know that as well as I do.” He was seething.
‘Yes, sir. I know. I should not have lied.’
‘No, you should not have lied! And just to teach you a lesson, having noticed your enthusiasm for Italian…your teacher commented on the quality of your work at a meeting, you are to complete for me an A2 poster on Gough Whitlam’s prime ministership and Australian government in the 1970s, due on Monday. Now, Sergio, no doubt you are pleased to have an opportunity to extend yourself, you little loser!’ His bright red face swelled and his eyes seemed to almost pop out of his head.
‘Hey, you can’t call me a loser, sir!’
‘Son, I will call you anything I very well please, given the obscene language you used when describing Mr Whitlam to your peers. Now…there’s the bell,” he pokes his head through the drama classroom door, “class dismissed!”
‘Now, have I made myself clear? Your little history assignment is due on Monday, full stop.’ Sergio stared at him blankly.
‘Understood, sir.’
‘Good. Goodbye, loser.’

I completed my history assignment punishment that night. As I am sure Mr Glasson would have appreciated, it was excruciatingly boring, so I kept losing my focus and opening up games of Minesweeper on Windows ’98. Anyhow, I started the assignment at 4 p.m. I put all my other homework and assignments to the side and focused solely on the history task.
It took until 8 p.m. to complete. Afterwards, I found myself dozing off, head on my bedroom desk. I awoke suddenly when Mum walked in to place my supper on the desk. Having ate it, I stared, mystified at my bright blue lamp, glowing majestically in the darkness. I loved that lamp. I loved it so much that of course I was bound to notice when it started to change colour of its own accord. It was quite a startling occurrence. A tiny red light flashed in the centre of the blue globe, beckoning me to touch it. So I did. And with that, my navel was jerked and I was propelled into nothingness.
After what felt like an hour of falling, but what had in fact being a mere two minutes, I felt my feet hit the ground with a thud. I was in Canberra, at the city centre. Actually, I was quite near parliament house. I could see it, it looked as though it was on the horizon almost, with the setting sun peering out behind it. I was approached by an old man who said to me, ‘Isn’t it just wonderful news, mate?’ Struck with the undeniable urge to tell him (descriptively) that I was not his mate, I found I could do nothing but smile and nod.
Then I was approached by an attractive young woman wearing retro 1970s clothing – flare jeans, a subdued green T-shirt, a heart-shaped golden locket and chain, big chunky dark sunglasses and a black leather jacket with a faux fur collar. I admired her sense of fashion. Almost instantly, I was struck with the feeling that I knew this woman and that she knew me, too. But why on earth would she dress like that in the year 2000?
‘Hi, Sergt! How are you?’
‘I’m good…uh, sto bene, Joy. You?’ That was it. Her name was Joy!
‘Sto benissimo, grazie mille. It’s great news that Gough Whitlam and the ALP won the election, no?’ She’d just provided me with an answer to my question about her attire. However, so it was the 1970s! I did not care. I had a girlfriend! Joy was my girlfriend!
‘So, Sergt…did you vote for him?’ I followed her down the street. We walked beside the gutter. I had suddenly realised that I must be 18. And I was wearing ’70s clothing, too. Flare jeans, lime green tight-fitting T-shirt that displayed my ‘pecks’ and a fluffy jacket. All this was accompanied by chunky dark sunglasses similar to Joy’s.
‘Yes, I did vote for him,’ I said automatically, ‘he’ll make a great leader.’
I naturally assumed we were heading to a place that had food. Then it hit me.
‘Hey Joy! Want to grab a bite at Real Burgers, Real Milkshakes, Real Fast?”
‘Ah, the old hang out. Hey, sure!’ So we sprinted down the road to the shop on the corner, and order a burger and a milkshake each. They did not joke around at that shop, either – the food was ready in mere minutes. And who should walk in just as I finished my burger …
‘Gough Whitlam! The Man of the Moment, Sergt…hey, go talk to him!’ She nudged me. I guess I looked perplexed, so she said, ‘Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.’ Then she rubbed my shoulders and leant toward me. We locked lips and she kissed me – and I kissed back. It was my first kiss I remember, come to think of it. So – afterwards, a minute later, I removed the bacon from the gaps in my teeth, rinsed my mouth with my lime milkshake and approached Mr Whitlam. I had a feeling he was the reason that I had came. Joy was kind of like my partner, she was there to help me find out more about him, and to support me.
‘Ah, excuse me, Mr Gough. Could I please talk to you?’
‘Yes, sure. What is it, young man? What’s your name, lad?’
‘I’m Sergio, Mr Whitlam. Sergt for short.’
‘Uh-huh.’ He chewed in his beef, beetroot, tomato and lettuce burger which had came with the special plum sauce. I had ordered and devoured the very same burger.
‘What do you aim to do while in government, sir?’
‘Please, Sergt! Call me Goughy. Well, Sergt…I’m very upset,’ he took another bite of his burger and proceeded to talk to me between mouthfuls, ‘about the unequal treatment of Australian women. That simply has to be fixed. Also, we will bring sewerage to all urban areas, create passports that do not call Australians ‘British subjects’, create an office to provide legal representation for the poor, and we, the ALP will ensure consumers are treated fairly. We will also create several organisation to protect Australia’s heritage sites and promote the arts. Well…did you have any other questions?’
‘Yes, uh…um,’ I really did not feel comfortable calling him ‘Goughy’, but it was what he had requested, so, ‘Goughy, did you ever stop to think that maybe the ALP’s promises and goals aren’t a little too ambitious?’
‘Yes, of course, Sergt. Why, Sergio, I’d be lying if,’ he takes another bite of his burger, ‘I said I never doubt myself. But young man, this party is about change! You know that. Labor strives to promote equality for all and bring about great reform. After all, it’s time. He grinned at me. I grinned back. I believe I agreed.

What a story I’d have to tell Joy.

The date is 11 November 1975. I have been in the past for nearly three years. I have waited for this day with intense anticipation since the day after my arrival, when I awoke and realised that I was still in the past. I realised long ago that Joy and I live together in Canberra, quite near Parliament House. I am sitting on the balcony now, staring at the mass of people crowded there, chanting intently, ‘We want Gough, we want Gough, we want Gough!’
I have watched this and his government triumph, implementing policies that still exist in my time, such as Medicare health cover, and the exclusion of the issue of race in international relations. But then I have also watched Whitlam make one mistake after the next – the Loans Affair, Dr Jim Cairns’s alleged affair with Juni Morosi; the Labor part put themselves in the red and ultimately damaged their credibility.
Now, in a constitutional crisis, Sir John Kerr, Governor-General has sacked Mr Whitlam (Goughy) and elected Mr Malcolm Fraser as Australia’s caretaker PM. At the moment, there is an atmosphere of anger, but next month Australians will vote to elect Fraser as PM. He will serve as Prime Minister for eight long years, making only small changes and been far from radical, as Goughy aimed to be.
I am glad that I got to be here until this day. I understand now how Mr Glasson can be so fascinated by Gough Whitlam’s prime ministership. I too, now find it enthralling. I have had a lot of fun with Joy, we’ve shared laughs, been mutually happy, but shared secrets and pain. Overall, it has been a great ride and I would not trade my time in the early 1970s for anything.
Joy comes up behind me, rubs my shoulders, sticks her head over my right shoulder and again, she kissing me passionately. Our tongues meet gently and move gracefully, like beautiful eels.
It is wonderful. I stand, hold her close and we caress each other’s bodies.

Sergio told me today that he will be leaving. At first I was angry, then I was curious, so he offered up an explanation, ‘Joy, I love you, but there’s something I have to do. There’s people who need me and I have to be there for them.’
‘Oh my God, you’re having an affair!’ I started sobbing softly.
‘No, Joy, I’m not. I’m talking about my mother, my father and my sister. They need me to be with them and I love you so much. It’s just such a tough choice to make, but I’ve made my decision and I need to be with them, or they will have missed me their whole lives.’ He smiles, somewhat anxiously. ‘Okay?’
I stopped crying suddenly. That was really very noble of him to put his family first. As much as I loved him and wanted to be with him and start a family, there was only so much I expected. I grinned, tossed my long blonde hair (which is parted down the middle) over my shoulder and told him, ‘That’s very nice of you. I understand, Sergt, and I support you.’

Now we’re hugging each other, kissing passionately on the balcony. We go inside and lay on the bed. He removes my clothes, very carefully, and it makes me love him so much. I remove his shirt, his pants, his underwear. We lie their together, kissing and hugging, dragging each other closer.

Soon, it is done and I have to say goodbye. I will miss him. But he is doing what he thinks is right, and that is what matters. We share one last fleeting kiss, then he is gone. I go to join the demonstrators outside Parliament House, knowing that I will not make a difference, that Fraser is bound to win the election next month, but hoping, ever hoping that I will make a difference.
If Sergio taught me one thing, it is that my opinions matter and I should respect myself. I miss him every day. And I know that he misses me, wherever he is. But this is the way it has to be.
He was a great man, and I am sure that he does his family proud. I miss him.
 
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I wasn't just saying that as a joke. <_<

Here's a few things I consider worse:
First paragraph - makes the teacher sound very unrealistic (including more uses of word 'idiot' which I said to cut in my first post).

Second paragraph - description of Joy & her r'ship with Sergio is even more clunky, meeting Gough and the conversation with him is made less subtle.

The rest - emphasis on physicality between Joy and Sergio, no real character development.
 

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I generally 100% creative, and from my experience, you don't need so much dialogue between the characters.

At maximum, there is about ten lines spoken between the few characters in my story, and the rest is all description appealing to the senses, and also language involving metaphors, and subtle (but not too subtle) motifs, and such.

Also, personal reflection threaded through the story tends to score well (I focus on one character's thoughts and feelings over the rest).

Take from this what you will.
 

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