An author's battle against procrastination.
Author
George sat in his car hunched over his steering wheel, starting at the seven story hopelessly average building that towered over the plain field that surrounded it. His car hugged the edge of the parking lot. Behind him, a dense forest. What if a mythical creature were to engulf him and his car in one bite. Would he be missed?
“Nice of you to come back,” Julia said in the corner of the sun room with her arms crossed. “Where were you?”
“Seeing what was left of my kitchen,” Christian said, dragging a chair behind him. The day had worn him down and bags hung under his eyes.
“Oh? You weren’t asking him his side of the story first,” Julia snapped.
“Does it matter,” Christian asked lazily.
“Sit down and shut up,” Christian yelled after he threw Josh down into a wooden chair. Josh’s shoe hovered in the air as he tried to balance himself and get back up again. Christian pointed him down until he relaxed.
“Look, I gotta catch a flight,” Josh pled.
“I said shut up!”
“Am I under arrest, officer,” Josh asked snidely.
Christian side eyed him. “Ha ha,” he answered dryly. “Just relax, all right,” he said with a reassuring hand. Anita entered the room with a knitted frown. “Where is she,” Christian asked her.
“She’s in the sun room,” Anita answered.
“I don’t need to be here,” Josh said, fixing his slightly burnt collared dress shirt.
“Josh, I’m not going to tell you again,” Christian said with his palm extended to silence him.
“I’m not the one who screwed up,” Josh said, smoothing his wet singed hair back.
“This wouldn’t be happening if you didn’t set fire to my kitchen,” Christian roared. “Now,” he said in a calmer tone. “I could press charges. I could call the police. But I’m not going to do that. I want one simple thing. I want you to tell me what happened.” Continue reading “Josh & Julia”
“Baby! I ain’t gon’ tell you again. Hurry up and get your narrow behind in the bed!”
Dion silently walked into the kitchen after his mother yelled loud enough to where the neighbors could hear, but not loud enough to embarrass Dion. Dion’s mother turned around from the counter where Christmas dinner was being prepared.
“Dion, what did I just say?”
Dion had a small piece of paper ripped out from a magazine folded neatly between his fingertips.
“What is it,” she asked with a softer voice.
A little over twelve minutes remained on the clock.
“How many minutes left?”
“Ten minutes. Maybe.”
Luther pressed his wristwatch for a ten minute timer. Luther stood at one side of the dark, damp stone cellar while James was ok the opposite end. Both were decked in military gear, covered in sweat and dirt. Luther stood upright, peeling off his gear, piece by piece. James crouched down, wringing his hands together.
“This will be the longest ten minutes of your life, boy,” Luther said, with a wry grin.
“These sweet potato fries are the best! Oh my goodness,” Jake said, carefully placing a small fry inside his mouth.
“Tell me about it,” Fran said as she stuffed a mouthful in her face. Her Brooklyn accent was present even as she chewed. Jake and Fran sat next to one another as they continuously grabbed more fries. Ofelia sat on the other side of the diner table in the side booth next to a large window. She carefully picked one and nibbled it. Jake and Fran paused for a moment while they chewed and looked at Ofelia, perched at the edge of her seat with a radiant, expectant smile.
“You gonna get in on this, or what,” Jake said with his mouth full of food.
“I already ate,” Ofelia said with a smile.
“Come on, O,” Fran said after swallowing. “It’s not often we’re all back at home like this. Let alone all of us at Vinny’s Diner.”
“Yeah. We always get sweet potato fries. Our favorite,” Jake chimes in.
“I’m not hungry,” Ofelia said with a quick shrug.
Fran and Jake looked at each other and shrugged before resuming their chow fest, remarking between chews and breaths on how delicious Vinny’s fries are. Occasionally, a puff of steam shot from their open mouths because it was right off the stove.
“So… notice anything different about me,” Ofelia said after a moment of silence and chewing.
“You look ridiculous, Tim,” Adam said.
“Oh, really? Have you seen yourself,” Tim asked sarcastically. “You look like a kid that couldn’t wait to dress himself after mommy gave him free rein to choose his identity.
“Dick,” Adam mumbled under his breath as he checked his clothes.
“Eh, you’ll get over it,” Tim said with a shrug. “This party looks lame.”
“Then why did you come here?”
“I’d prefer meeting someone then playing your stupid video games again,” Tim said, turning to him slowly. He held a pause to emphasize how serious he was through his sarcasm.
“Excuse me, Ms. Barrett?”
“Yes, Kevin?”
“I don’t feel well. May I go to the bathroom,” Kevin asked.
Ms. Barrett smiled as she faced the chalkboard and paused. “No, Kevin. Walter and Matthew are already in the bathroom.
You wake up in a house that’s not yours. What do you do? Don’t panic.
The recliner that I’m lying on is not even a recliner. It has a goth art deco style to it. I had to climb out of it to stand up. The room is black. Black walls. Black tables. Black everything. How incredibly depressing. I can tell you this place is definitely not mine.
“Another shot, Rex said.
“Are you kidding me,” Brody groaned. “No. I can’t.”
“Come on,” Rex urged with heavy exaggeration on the second word. “I don’t wanna go home yet.” Brody sighed. He always thought Rex sounded like a donkey when he did that. And Rex wouldn’t quit it until Brody gave in. “What are you going to do,” Rex continued.
Jace Rockland 