Friday, December 20, 2013

3 minutes. Go!

Hey, writer-type folks. Every Friday we do a fun free write. Basically, you can write whatever you want in the comments section. You have THREE minutes. Have fun. The more people who play, the more fun it is. So tell a friend. If you have one. If not, tell your enemies. 

You open your eyes and everything is different. Don't move...you don't know what you've gotten yourself into. The sliding world brings familiar things to you. Your smell is acute. You smell carne asada cooking somewhere. You think about your life and question its legitimacy.

You stand up and get up and what else are you going to do? But the toothpaste isn't where it usually is and, when you find it, you realize it tastes salty, gritty. It does not taste like peppermint. 


You stand and lean against the wall, trying to make sense of it. There is a distinct taste of copper in your mouth.


You want a drink, but you don't know why. You want a shield, a barrier, something to protect you from the newness of the world. You need to relearn everything. Now seems like a pretty good time to start. Or stop as the case may be.


You take the pills that are put in the little boxes. You never forget. They have told you that the pills will fix things. Set them right. You're not sure what you believe, but what do you have to lose?

5 comments:

  1. Unlike the suited moguls who gave him his marching orders, Charlie didn’t like to be high up in the clouds, looking down on the ant-like people who skulked about on their ant-hills with matching coffee cups and grumpy Monday morning faces. No, he liked to be down. He lived on the second floor. Just one step up from easy pickings of criminals or the view of a dog lifting his leg on his window box, but low enough to see, to be in among, the throng. People walking by fascinated him; the music of their strides, the bounce of hair, the toss of shoulders. The snatches of conversation that lifted to his window like radio static, that, too, was the backdrop to his life, when he’d open the terrace doors and let the city in, breathe it, embrace it, let it flow. Part of it, it was part of him and he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Why would he, when the whole world was here?

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    Replies
    1. Brilliant. Now I want to move back to the city. Thanks for playing, G.

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  2. That's awesome. There are a few stories in there.

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  3. Frozen ponies as far as I can see. Stretching ahead and to left. Curving around. Others chase me.

    I never did like carousels.

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    Replies
    1. You can't trust em. Always revolving. Never evolving.

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