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 Posted: Mon Oct 16, 2006 10:31 pm
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The Other Day
The old man rubbed one temple. The migraines were back.
The girl glanced at him. Absent-mindedly, she chewed on one fingernail. Then she spat it out like the shell of a pumpkin seed.
" 'nything else ya need, mister?" Her voice was slight hoarse, and her nose and eyes were swollen from compressed mucus.
"Nothing. Thanks a lot." She blinked at him. Maybe she noticed the edge of sarcasm in his voice.
Or maybe not.
She shrugged one shoulder. It barely twitched. The lazy kid, he thought to himself, but remained silent. The awkwardness stretched until it filled him, and he felt appeased. Finally, he turned around and limped to the door of the driver seat. He could hear her sigh of relief, and then the squeaking wheels of the shopping cart.
This is ******** up, he thought to himself. His leg agreed, and sent a burst of pain into his side to show its displeasure. The car was quiet and mocking, glittering with the reflected light of the moon. A reflection of a reflection.
He giggled helplessly, slumped against the old machine, and started to cry. The shine was gone now, and the layers of dust rubbed onto his clothes. His nose felt slimy. The stupid girl must have given him a cold. Stupid lazy kid, he thought to himself again, and jerked open the door. Crutch was on the ground, and his knees had buckled. He swore again, this time out loud. It took a few minutes for him to drag himself up on his good leg and pull himself into the seat, crutch reclaimed in one hand.
Damn it all. He slammed the door closed, yelped quietly in pain, and put the gear into reverse.
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Posted: Tue Oct 17, 2006 2:35 pm
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Posted: Tue Oct 17, 2006 3:10 pm
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Posted: Tue Oct 17, 2006 6:21 pm
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Posted: Thu Oct 19, 2006 4:32 pm
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Her
She ground the cigarette butt under on heel, letting a little of her venom out through pounding it into a dirty orange and white little splotch on the asphalt.
The sun, bright and nastily intended as a half-cooked orange egg yolk, burned her shoulders. It remained one of the great mysteries of the world as to why she had gone out in a long sleeved shirt. <********, it's hot," she said, mostly for the joy of feeling the heavy, guttural syllable rolling around in her mouth. "******** ******** ********." There was a scrawny little tree, by which was parked a truck that dwarfed the pitiful excuse for vegetation, but between the two, they'd provide enough shade for her. Her legs wouldn't move, though. It was as if they were rooted to the ground.
*
I think this is the same girl he was talking to.
Not sure though.
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Posted: Sat Oct 21, 2006 10:42 pm
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KirbyVictorious Ooo...? What's this? Is this part of your story in works? Cause I'm confuzzled...
Nah.
Edgy
The man's leg was twitchy and he wanted coffee. It was three o' clock in the morning, so nothing decent would be open.
Just his luck.
He limped downstairs and stopped when he heard a series of loud bangs. For a moment there-
No, it was the construction workers starting early, that's all.
He twisted the key in the lock. Hands kept shaking, goddamned arthritis was back full force. The key clatted to the ground but the last turn must have unlocked the door because it creaked open to show a crack of greyish light. He knelt awkwardly and pocketed the little metal card.
His crutches got him tangled up for a moment, and he swore.
"Keep the noise down! Some people got kids in bed right now!" came a screeching voice that seemed to penetrate the thin walls of the apartment like a saw. He swore again, loudly, just to show that b***h of a woman, McCarty's wife he was sure, that he wasn't stopping because of her. Then he stepped outside into the parking lot.
It took him a minute to find his car, and then he bent and twisted to get inside the front seat properly, before closing the door.
It occured to him that he was still wearing the clothes from yesterday, which stank of sweat. Also, his wallet contained max maybe a fiver.
Didn't matter, he decided. But he climbed back out of the car, endured the long painful process again, and walked away from the lot and the apartment buildings.
He was on the freeway now, pressing himself to the edge and smelling smoke, blinded by headlights. He was hearing bombs again, whistling past. Flashes as they made contact. The terrible stench, mostly of dying men's s**t.
The thought pleased him, and he sat down on the side, or maybe collapsed was the right word, and watched as the sky grew and grew. |
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Posted: Fri Nov 10, 2006 4:09 pm
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Posted: Fri Nov 10, 2006 4:16 pm
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