(no subject)
Writing is fun. The following is an excerpt from the middle of a book I'm writing called Psions. Don't read it unless you have nothing to do. Also, don't read it unless you like me. That will give you a nice bias. :-P
It was nearly midnight when Mae was skipping up the steps to her apartment, traces of the conversation she'd just had still buzzing between her ears. As she approached the first door on the right and slipped her hand into her left pocket, her excitement suddenly melted away into panic. There was no key. Quickly she pulled both pockets inside out. Loose change clinked against the fake tile finishing of the hallway. She even checked her back pockets and her socks (just in case), then rechecked all the corners of her front pockets again. There was no key. She had left it on the coffee shop table.
Mae banged her head against the door, thinking hopelessly of her options, which were often interrupted by the penetrating realization: "I am such and idiot." She couldn't go back and get the key. She had ridden the last bus home, and she couldn't walk that far through Tampa at night. Even if she made it there alive, it would be closed. She couldn't break in through her window, because there was no fire escape to get her there. If her stupid landlord lived in this stupid building, she could wake him up. Where did he live? If she knew, she could walk there. She couldn't just sleep on her doormat all night... could she? Filing this option in the "Maybe" folder, Mae slammed her head against the stubborn door again.
Pieces of her long talk with Gary and Keith were still flashing in her head, mixed with enthusiastic renditions of "I am such and idiot." Once quote in particular came up quite a few times.
"All it takes is a little creativity..."
Mae slid her head over the door to the crack where the door was supposed to open and then pushed herself up with her hands so she could see better. There, in the crack, was a small, visible sliver of the big, steel bolt that kept Mae from her sweatpants, her sleep, and her cigarettes.
"Creativity..." she repeated unconsciously. Alright, lock, she thought at it, do this for me.
At first she tried using TK to force the bolt to slide back into the door, but after trying this for a few minutes and getting a feeling for the lock mechanism, Mae realized that she might as well be trying to lift a truck.
That is when she put her hand over the lock and closed her eyes. One the other side of the door, beneath her hand and some wood and steel, was the little knob at her eye-level that she had turned so often from the inside. If she could turn that knob, the door would unlock. Mae drew in a deep breath. Turn, she thought at the knob, turn, turn, turn. She wouldn't be able to see if it was obeying, of course, but she wasn't thinking about that. All of her focus was on the act. She could no longer hear the rain outside or feel the lock under her hand. Turn she thought ferociously, turn. The world faded away, and she was only aware of herself, and the undeniable link between her and her target. Turn.
Click. The sound wrenched Mae out of her trance with hope in her heart. She looked back into the narrow crack between the door and its frame, and saw no steel bolt. Hand shaking with sudden exhaustion, Mae opened the door, drifted into her apartment, dropped stomach-down onto her bed with her clothes still on, and instantly fell asleep, smiling.
It was nearly midnight when Mae was skipping up the steps to her apartment, traces of the conversation she'd just had still buzzing between her ears. As she approached the first door on the right and slipped her hand into her left pocket, her excitement suddenly melted away into panic. There was no key. Quickly she pulled both pockets inside out. Loose change clinked against the fake tile finishing of the hallway. She even checked her back pockets and her socks (just in case), then rechecked all the corners of her front pockets again. There was no key. She had left it on the coffee shop table.
Mae banged her head against the door, thinking hopelessly of her options, which were often interrupted by the penetrating realization: "I am such and idiot." She couldn't go back and get the key. She had ridden the last bus home, and she couldn't walk that far through Tampa at night. Even if she made it there alive, it would be closed. She couldn't break in through her window, because there was no fire escape to get her there. If her stupid landlord lived in this stupid building, she could wake him up. Where did he live? If she knew, she could walk there. She couldn't just sleep on her doormat all night... could she? Filing this option in the "Maybe" folder, Mae slammed her head against the stubborn door again.
Pieces of her long talk with Gary and Keith were still flashing in her head, mixed with enthusiastic renditions of "I am such and idiot." Once quote in particular came up quite a few times.
"All it takes is a little creativity..."
Mae slid her head over the door to the crack where the door was supposed to open and then pushed herself up with her hands so she could see better. There, in the crack, was a small, visible sliver of the big, steel bolt that kept Mae from her sweatpants, her sleep, and her cigarettes.
"Creativity..." she repeated unconsciously. Alright, lock, she thought at it, do this for me.
At first she tried using TK to force the bolt to slide back into the door, but after trying this for a few minutes and getting a feeling for the lock mechanism, Mae realized that she might as well be trying to lift a truck.
That is when she put her hand over the lock and closed her eyes. One the other side of the door, beneath her hand and some wood and steel, was the little knob at her eye-level that she had turned so often from the inside. If she could turn that knob, the door would unlock. Mae drew in a deep breath. Turn, she thought at the knob, turn, turn, turn. She wouldn't be able to see if it was obeying, of course, but she wasn't thinking about that. All of her focus was on the act. She could no longer hear the rain outside or feel the lock under her hand. Turn she thought ferociously, turn. The world faded away, and she was only aware of herself, and the undeniable link between her and her target. Turn.
Click. The sound wrenched Mae out of her trance with hope in her heart. She looked back into the narrow crack between the door and its frame, and saw no steel bolt. Hand shaking with sudden exhaustion, Mae opened the door, drifted into her apartment, dropped stomach-down onto her bed with her clothes still on, and instantly fell asleep, smiling.