(no subject)
Back to fiction writing! It took me pretty much this long to figure out what my professor wanted from us, haha. It wasn't until I gave up that he liked what I wrote.
So here's this thing, since he never gives us prompts, not really.
Sometimes, Water Bottles
I guess I do get yelled at a lot. Sometimes I don’t complete my thoughts. I don’t get yelled at for that though. Sometimes I act on incomplete thoughts and that does.
Act I begins and ends with boyfriends. I’m hard pressed to find another reason. And not even boyfriends but any sort of significant other. Be it their significance or their foul temper, driving at night and letting the streetlights smear white and red over the glass is one of my favorite ways to calm down. Washing the dishes is also one, but we don’t talk about that.
Sometimes the wind presses its shoulder into the windows and I hope it breaks in. We could need to clean up afterwards but what am I good at if not cleaning up other people’s messes? I want someone to jog with me, drinking water and laughing at the edge of the road. The tomatoes are very close to the stove and the storm rages on outside.
There is no Act II because I have two eyes and I can tell when this isn’t a good idea. The knife is not even in this play, not now, anyway, but later, much, much later, when it gets stuck in my foot and won’t come out. My eyes lie though and I guess I have no choice but to keep my grip on the handle and hope that it’s not too late. It probably is. He shoves past me and I let the metal slide into its wooden holder.
So I dropped it. Water and soap and no gloves on what was I supposed to do when the cervices between my fingers drowned and let go of nice plastic? What sort of water bottles have a special place for ice inside them, anyway? Who needs that kind of stupid thing?
If you think that people who kill others have no lives outside of their rage and anguish, you might be wrong because this is Act III and everything is coming to a point in this triangle. I run past the other joggers, going the opposite direction. The light is probably hitting their eyes as the sun rises. I watch my long shadow bounce along and I wonder if the white outline around those dead bodies helped the TV police find anything. I jog straight into the shadows.
It doesn’t quite happen the way I intend it to.
I guess it’s over anyway.