Just because I want to write but can't, I'm going to draw back on old stuff again. Sorry. These are beginnings to stories I never wrote. Please keep in mind that some of them are very, very old. I've been not finishing stories for many years now.
First, there was nothing. Then light appeared. It seemed to creep up slowly, smothering the warm, dark carpet. I flipped onto my stomach and let my cheek hang off the pillow as I tried to return to my dream.
He and I stared blankly at each other, me pressed against the wall in an attempt to get out of the way, and him still clutching the doorknob as if loss of contact would keep it locked forever. "There's no way out?" He asked briskly.
"No." We were doomed.
I sank to the floor and looked around the room. Toilet. Sink. Tub. There were no resources, no possible means of escape. His back thumped against the door as he sat down across from me.
Helen looked up at Mother, who was wringing a Kleenex in her hands and staring intently at the never-ending gray highway, which separated their neat green lawn from the tumbledown Mullet farm.
It’s funny how things you look forward to seem to shrink as you near them.
It’s a chilly June morning and I’m burrowed under my blankets like my dog, Leech does when he hears the word V-E-T. I wake up to a scuffle outside my window.
1 comment:
Hmm, interesting!! I like it! :)
You can't write either? I'm having a hard time too. I'm better than I was before, but ever since the musical, I've been lacking creative juices. Oh well.
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