319, 320
319: Friday
I prefer Thursdays.
But seriously, I'm pretty indifferent to Fridays. TGIF doesn't apply when you don't have a job. Or when you're a novelist - no scheduled work week, after all. So I haven't been excited to see a Friday since before I started writing.
320: What do you command?
Chuck woke with a start, gasping for air and drenched in sweat. He winced; the hangover was a bad one. Not as bad as what he'd seen, though...
What he'd seen. Oh, God. Chuck grabbed for his phone with shaking hands, punching in familiar numbers he'd never had need to dial before. He paused at five digits, hands shaking for a different reason. He turned to look out a window.
That had sounded like...
Crack.
Lightning. Chuck's eyes dropped to the phone and he sighed. Giving up, he tossed the phone aside and booted up his computer.
Opening a word processor, he started typing. This continued - for how long, Chuck couldn't tell - until Chuck was interrupted by his stomach growled loudly. Pausing, he grabbed his phone again. It still showed the number he'd been trying to call. Shaking his head, Chuck cleared the screen and dialed a new number. The phone rang three times before someone picked up.
"Yeah, hi, this is Chuck Shurley..." A weak, breathy laugh. "Yeah, the usual. And, hey, could you throw in an extra fortune cookie? I think I could use all the luck I can get. Thanks."
Digging around in his pockets for some cash, Chuck sat back down at his computer. He looked over what he'd written and, sighing, printed out a copy. He grabbed his editing pen off of the last manuscript he'd been working on, and while he waited for the ink to dry, saved the document to a folder on his desktop labeled "Supernatural", naming the file "The End.doc". Shutting down the computer, Chuck grabbed the new material and started to read.
He put it aside after three pages, leaned forward until his head was resting on the table and groaned. "God," he muttered to himself, "this is so depressing."
The doorbell rang. Chuck stood up, knowing there would be a crumpled twenty on the floor somewhere, and went to get his order.
Chuck Shurley
Supernatural
47/316
I prefer Thursdays.
But seriously, I'm pretty indifferent to Fridays. TGIF doesn't apply when you don't have a job. Or when you're a novelist - no scheduled work week, after all. So I haven't been excited to see a Friday since before I started writing.
320: What do you command?
Chuck woke with a start, gasping for air and drenched in sweat. He winced; the hangover was a bad one. Not as bad as what he'd seen, though...
What he'd seen. Oh, God. Chuck grabbed for his phone with shaking hands, punching in familiar numbers he'd never had need to dial before. He paused at five digits, hands shaking for a different reason. He turned to look out a window.
That had sounded like...
Crack.
Lightning. Chuck's eyes dropped to the phone and he sighed. Giving up, he tossed the phone aside and booted up his computer.
Opening a word processor, he started typing. This continued - for how long, Chuck couldn't tell - until Chuck was interrupted by his stomach growled loudly. Pausing, he grabbed his phone again. It still showed the number he'd been trying to call. Shaking his head, Chuck cleared the screen and dialed a new number. The phone rang three times before someone picked up.
"Yeah, hi, this is Chuck Shurley..." A weak, breathy laugh. "Yeah, the usual. And, hey, could you throw in an extra fortune cookie? I think I could use all the luck I can get. Thanks."
Digging around in his pockets for some cash, Chuck sat back down at his computer. He looked over what he'd written and, sighing, printed out a copy. He grabbed his editing pen off of the last manuscript he'd been working on, and while he waited for the ink to dry, saved the document to a folder on his desktop labeled "Supernatural", naming the file "The End.doc". Shutting down the computer, Chuck grabbed the new material and started to read.
He put it aside after three pages, leaned forward until his head was resting on the table and groaned. "God," he muttered to himself, "this is so depressing."
The doorbell rang. Chuck stood up, knowing there would be a crumpled twenty on the floor somewhere, and went to get his order.
Chuck Shurley
Supernatural
47/316