An author's battle against procrastination.
“Why are we here,” Tyler asked.
“It’s therapeutic, honey.”
Tyler looked around the abandoned school grounds. The wear had shown and time wasn’t kind to the decrepit building of learning. Tyler stood holding himself together, hoping not to scrape against something sharp, deadly and would cost him a very expensive trip to the emergency room.
“Would you relax,” Toni asked, breaking Tyler’s concentration.
“This is as relaxed as you’re gonna get.”
“Wanna try Mexican,” Rachel asked Bryan.
“I guess,” Bryan answered lazily, his head resting on the passenger side window. He observed the Arizona desert as it passed him by. The two cruised over the charred pavement. The air conditioner on max could barely keep them cool as the sun baked them inside.
Rachel turned to him with her hands still on the steering wheel. “What do you mean you guess? There’s nothing to eat for another fifty miles,” she said, waiting for a reply.
“So why’d you ask me,” he asked, still staring at the rolling desert.
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.
Danny stepped up to the glass counter, throwing his loose book bag over his narrow shoulders. He slapped the slim green box on the counter before hiking up his pants and belt. The guy behind the counter seemed uninterested in him as his eyes gazed to the back of the game store where two kids were making a mess of a shelf while they giggled.
A lonely, dusty white ceiling fan hung down the center of a dismal, nearly abandoned store. It spun lazily. The halogen lamps buzzed and burned brightly casting light on dusty old boxes precariously stacked with antique typewriters to the more modern day computers. Some machines were whole with giant price tags on them, while others were damaged or completely torn to shreds.
Continue reading “Troubleshoot”
Jace Rockland 