scharlie
She sat, watching the time inch by, waiting, waiting. She was always waiting, but still she waited more for the inspiration she so desired to strike and for the words to begin to flow as the dam broke.
Finally.
The pictures hung in front of her, all pieced together like a puzzle where the pieces are jammed into all the wrong holes. There were eyes, legs, fingers but none of the pictures of individual body parts seemed to go be where their respective body parts were in actuality. Kate felt as though she were looking at a new age version of Picasso, or perhaps Mr. Potato Head.
But there had to be some order to it, some meaning behind where the pictures lay. There had to be some reason that the fingers were sandwiched between an eye and an elbow.
What was it? She had to know. There had to be meaning behind it. But where? What did it mean?
She sat, hugging the floral print pillow, trying to restrain the floods of tears that threatened her cheeks with all the pains associated with salty water. Amidst all the death, the revenge, the backstabbing, the heartbreak and heart healing, the TV screen remained tuned into the same Lifetime movie, the controller untouched.
Did you know that there's six tab-y things at the bottom where the timer is? It kinda looks like a river going under bridges. I'm just saying.
"Wait a second. You're telling me that...what was in that canteen?"
I was at the local antique shop. Working there, part time, summer job and all. We got a couple of oddities, weirdos who wanted specific things. This must have been the strangest of them all.
"Magic. There was magic in the canteen," I heard the old hobo-esque guy say from the other side of the counter. "You have to tell me who you sold it to."
The clock was ticking.
Tick tock, tick tock.
She tried to write some cohesive story, some outline, something, but words failed her. This was not a good time. You hear that, Muse? Jeez, when did she give out paid vacations to her muse like this?
Think, Clara, she reminded herself. Think.
"Time's up!" came the growling voice from behind her and Clara felt the hard, cold nozzle of a magnum press up between her shoulder blades. "Whaddya got for me?"
He held it up in front of him, blinking past the flames into the dark cavern that lay in front of him. He had not wanted this job. He had specifically told his boss not to put him on it, but here he was. Grudgingly leading the metaphorical way for others to follow in the footsteps the hard rock would not leave behind.
He was a desk sort of man. Offical ties and convincing powerpoints. He had made plenty of those throughout the years. And yet, here he was. His suit covered with dirt, his tie ripped and torn. Every square inch of him beaten, bruised and battered.
This was not what he meant when he told his boss that he wanted a promotion.
Booth. It's still 'booth'? I mean, jeez. It's the next day. Couldn't they put up a new word already? Urrrrghhhh.
"Quiet, young grasshopper. You must learn to be patient."
PATIENCE IS NOT A VIRTUE. Or at least, it's not one of mine.
It's really kind of a weird word, booth. Like... boot. With an 'h' on the end. Then again, it's the same for 'boot' - only this time, it's boo with a 't' at the end. Of course, you can go even farther with that and say that 'boo' is weird - 'Bo' (or the pronunciation of 'beau') with an extra 'o'. Then again, booth is really just a 'b' with all the letters that follow. Or perhaps it's a o or a t or an h with all these extra letters jammed up against it's sides.
writing since 2011 · 9 entries · 7 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Charlie showed up.
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the words Charlie reaches for
boothbehindpictureswaitingweirdwordbootbooextralettersfollowjammedmeanjeezlayjob