Prompt: write about something boring.
The something boring: standing in line.
***
Derek was glad his phone had Tetris, because otherwise he might have killed a few people out of boredom already. He briefly imagined a game of Tetris played with contorted human corpses as he slotted a square into place before realizing the thought was probably morbid. His roommate Brian was a a psych major, and he was always going on about Derek's supposedly morbid outlook on life. Said it wasn't healthy, or whatever.
He felt a bit justified at the moment, though. Standing in line at the DMV had the atmosphere of a funeral combined with a shipwreck. Desperation and the consuming urge to get the fuck out while there were still lifeboats left tempered with the heavy, paralyzing weight of inevitability you feel when faced with the cruel fact of mortality.
Yeah... better to focus on the Tetris game. Derek mashed the buttons, trying to find a place for an L-shaped block. Damn thing was the wrong type of L. He ran out of time and swore as it plopped down ungracefully, leaving several spaces empty but inaccessible.
Many, many people into the distance, someone called, "Next!" The murmur of the crowd rose slightly as a wave of shuffling moved from the front to the back of the line. A space opened up in front of Derek in his peripheral vision, and he moved forward without taking his eyes off the little screen. He was never going to fix those empty spaces now; the higher the pile got, the harder it was to maneuver.
GAME OVER. Derek sighed and glanced at his watch before starting a new game. Twelve twenty--he had class in an hour, and this line was taking forever. Maybe he could grab a sandwich on the way back to campus. Which was more likely to get him in trouble with Professor Miles, he wondered. Falling asleep from hunger, or trying to eat a sandwich sneakily. Sounded like a no-win situation, really.
Why didn't they have more people at the desks, anyway? It was lunchtime, the time when people ran out of their cubicles and classrooms to do all the things they couldn't do while working. If the DMV people had any sense, they'd have more people working during lunch hours. Which, come to think of it, explained why they didn't.
Derek frowned at his cell phone and wished that all the people there were gone. Then at least he could grab something to eat before trying to wrap his head around derivatives that afternoon.
Another space opened up in front, and Derek stepped forward, still preoccupied with Tetris. No back appeared in his vision, so he kept going. Finally, people were actually moving--about time.
He didn't realize how far he'd walked until he bumped right into the counter. Letting out a grunt of surprise, he finally looked up from his game. Turning around, he took in the cramped office space. There was no one there. No old man arguing with a harried worker about the results of his eye test, no spotty teenager getting his pictures taken, no woman talking loudly into her bluetooth headset.
"What the fuck?"
***
Bad ending. Well, it doesn't have an ending. Hm...
Apparently strange things occur to me when I'm really tired and should be falling asleep. (contorted corpse Tetris game? O.o)
Showing posts with label new years resolution. Show all posts
Showing posts with label new years resolution. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Monday, January 11, 2010
Tycos
Harriet's calves burned as she plodded up the dune. Why the hell was she here? Even on paper Tycos looked inhospitable. Absolutely freezing at the poles, made of nothing but rock and sand in the so-called temperate zones--it was a wonder anything at all could live on this god-forsaken planet. But no, she just had to jump at the first extraterrestrial opportunity that came along.
A momentary lapse of concentration and Harriet's foot slipped out from underneath her. She swore. Damn dunes. They got increasingly unstable the more tired you were just to spite you. Jerome might laugh, but she knew they did.
Reaching the top, she at last caught sight of the base. Harriet half-ran, half-skidded down the slope, an avalanche of sand following her. At the bottom she looked back at the trail she'd carved in the dune, knowing she'd get teased for her inelegance if anyone had been watching. Oh well. At least she no longer somersaulted down the things.
The base sat in an ancient, dried-up lake bed, its small metal pods connected by enclosed walkways clustering around their ship. As she trekked closer, Harriet could see that sanddrifts were already forming on the wind-ward sides of the pods. Someone would have to clear that soon, or they'd be completely buried during the next storm.
Harriet sighed. Just another perk of being stationed on Tycos.
A momentary lapse of concentration and Harriet's foot slipped out from underneath her. She swore. Damn dunes. They got increasingly unstable the more tired you were just to spite you. Jerome might laugh, but she knew they did.
Reaching the top, she at last caught sight of the base. Harriet half-ran, half-skidded down the slope, an avalanche of sand following her. At the bottom she looked back at the trail she'd carved in the dune, knowing she'd get teased for her inelegance if anyone had been watching. Oh well. At least she no longer somersaulted down the things.
The base sat in an ancient, dried-up lake bed, its small metal pods connected by enclosed walkways clustering around their ship. As she trekked closer, Harriet could see that sanddrifts were already forming on the wind-ward sides of the pods. Someone would have to clear that soon, or they'd be completely buried during the next storm.
Harriet sighed. Just another perk of being stationed on Tycos.
Friday, January 8, 2010
What She Missed the Most
She missed waking up next to him the most. Cocooned in a warm pocket under the duvet, limbs tangled, drool on the pillow. They'd occupied that in-between place, where you're left with only fleeting images of dreams but have yet to remember the plates in the sink or the report due at work. It was that small space of time she missed, the moments before he had rolled over and whispered, "Fancy a quick one?" in her ear, or rolled the other way and got out of bed to slip on his jeans, or she threw back the covers to let the shock of cold air wake her.
It wasn't that she hadn't enjoyed the quickies, the way she felt hurrying into the office a little late, a smile tugging at her lips. The comfortable silence as she watched him dress, shooting a smile over his shoulder as he walked out the door, well, she had liked that, too. Even his protests on those mornings she had shucked the duvet were familiar, and therefore missed.
She didn't know why she missed the waking up the most, although she imagined it had something to do with that pang she felt each morning when she moved her arm and found the other side of the bed was empty.
***
Sometimes you just have to write something clichéd.
It wasn't that she hadn't enjoyed the quickies, the way she felt hurrying into the office a little late, a smile tugging at her lips. The comfortable silence as she watched him dress, shooting a smile over his shoulder as he walked out the door, well, she had liked that, too. Even his protests on those mornings she had shucked the duvet were familiar, and therefore missed.
She didn't know why she missed the waking up the most, although she imagined it had something to do with that pang she felt each morning when she moved her arm and found the other side of the bed was empty.
***
Sometimes you just have to write something clichéd.
Waiting Room
Continued from previous post.
***
It was like those numbers taken by people waiting to be served at the the local butcher's. Ben had one too, he realized. He opened his fist and examined the crinkled paper. Had he always had it?
The number on the ticket was really long. The numerals were small, and they seemed to be flickering. That was strange. Squinting, Ben brought it closer to his face and realized they were wriggling around, switching places. They refused to stay in one place and be read.
"You won't be able to read it." The boy sat across from him, flipping through a sports magazine without looking up. "I haven't figured out mine yet."
"I don't understand--do you know why we're here?"
The old woman next to Ben started snoring softly; her head nodded onto his shoulder.
The kid shrugged and turned a page. "Nope. Doesn't matter."
"Where are your parents?"
"Dunno."
"Don't you care?"
He shrugged again. "They're around here somewhere."
Ben ran his hand through his hair and sighed--
And woke up. He propped himself up on an elbow and blinked in the morning light.
"Weird." Ben dragged himself out of bed and made his way to the kitchen, wondering if he had any toffees. Maybe if he met the old woman again she'd offer him one.
He paused in the middle of measuring out his ground coffee. Not that he'd meet her again, because that had just been a dream. Ben shook his head and laughed softly to himself.
***
I'm bored with this already... Writing ADD?
***
It was like those numbers taken by people waiting to be served at the the local butcher's. Ben had one too, he realized. He opened his fist and examined the crinkled paper. Had he always had it?
The number on the ticket was really long. The numerals were small, and they seemed to be flickering. That was strange. Squinting, Ben brought it closer to his face and realized they were wriggling around, switching places. They refused to stay in one place and be read.
"You won't be able to read it." The boy sat across from him, flipping through a sports magazine without looking up. "I haven't figured out mine yet."
"I don't understand--do you know why we're here?"
The old woman next to Ben started snoring softly; her head nodded onto his shoulder.
The kid shrugged and turned a page. "Nope. Doesn't matter."
"Where are your parents?"
"Dunno."
"Don't you care?"
He shrugged again. "They're around here somewhere."
Ben ran his hand through his hair and sighed--
And woke up. He propped himself up on an elbow and blinked in the morning light.
"Weird." Ben dragged himself out of bed and made his way to the kitchen, wondering if he had any toffees. Maybe if he met the old woman again she'd offer him one.
He paused in the middle of measuring out his ground coffee. Not that he'd meet her again, because that had just been a dream. Ben shook his head and laughed softly to himself.
***
I'm bored with this already... Writing ADD?
Sunday, January 3, 2010
2010
Oh, look, a new year!
I finished my creative writing class, obviously. In the end my revisions for the portfolio went well, despite my stressing. I'm still not quite happy with the story and the poem, but my professor liked them, so I suppose that suffices.
(She suggested I submit the poem to journals for publication, which was a bit of a shock. I don't think it's up to that, but I may do so anyway--never too early to start racking up rejection slips. ^_^)
I've joined meri in a new years resolution, to post at least 200 words at least 4 times a week to a thread in Locution. Mine is here, and meri's is here. I think I'll co-post here, just to keep things in one place...
***
Ben found himself in a waiting room suddenly, in that strange, scene-hopping way that dreams change. One minute he was fishing with his dad in a lake of lava and the next he was sitting in a plastic chair under fluorescent lights.
"Would you like a toffee, young man?"
Ben stared down at the candy in confusion. It shook in the old woman's hands, the red wrapper bright against her skin, and she smiled at him.
"Um, no thanks."
"Ah well, suit yourself." She unwrapped it and popped it into her mouth, sucking noisily. "I shouldn't, really, but if you can't indulge when you're old, when can you?"
"Yeah..." The lake was fading, and then it was gone. Ben couldn't remember how he got here, or what he was waiting for. He said so to the old woman.
"Oh, don't you worry about that, dearie. I expect someone will be along in a bit to sort it all out." She patted his knee twice and settled back into her seat.
"Wait, don't you know why you're here?" Ben asked.
She frowned, puzzled. "Now that you mention it, no. My memory must not be what it used to be. Maybe I wrote it down." She patted her trouser's pocket and drew out a slip of paper. "Oh, look, my number. Perhaps they'll call it soon."
It was like those numbers taken by people waiting to be served at the the local butcher's.
***
It's a story idea I came up with over Christmas break, while vacationing in the swamp. I'll see where it goes~
I finished my creative writing class, obviously. In the end my revisions for the portfolio went well, despite my stressing. I'm still not quite happy with the story and the poem, but my professor liked them, so I suppose that suffices.
(She suggested I submit the poem to journals for publication, which was a bit of a shock. I don't think it's up to that, but I may do so anyway--never too early to start racking up rejection slips. ^_^)
I've joined meri in a new years resolution, to post at least 200 words at least 4 times a week to a thread in Locution. Mine is here, and meri's is here. I think I'll co-post here, just to keep things in one place...
***
Ben found himself in a waiting room suddenly, in that strange, scene-hopping way that dreams change. One minute he was fishing with his dad in a lake of lava and the next he was sitting in a plastic chair under fluorescent lights.
"Would you like a toffee, young man?"
Ben stared down at the candy in confusion. It shook in the old woman's hands, the red wrapper bright against her skin, and she smiled at him.
"Um, no thanks."
"Ah well, suit yourself." She unwrapped it and popped it into her mouth, sucking noisily. "I shouldn't, really, but if you can't indulge when you're old, when can you?"
"Yeah..." The lake was fading, and then it was gone. Ben couldn't remember how he got here, or what he was waiting for. He said so to the old woman.
"Oh, don't you worry about that, dearie. I expect someone will be along in a bit to sort it all out." She patted his knee twice and settled back into her seat.
"Wait, don't you know why you're here?" Ben asked.
She frowned, puzzled. "Now that you mention it, no. My memory must not be what it used to be. Maybe I wrote it down." She patted her trouser's pocket and drew out a slip of paper. "Oh, look, my number. Perhaps they'll call it soon."
It was like those numbers taken by people waiting to be served at the the local butcher's.
***
It's a story idea I came up with over Christmas break, while vacationing in the swamp. I'll see where it goes~
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
