Okay, what you see down here is a third character built from the first two.....
And I think I might a use for him in my story!
A new character built from the two previous
JD thought the world had begun when he started that computer. With the amount of work he had to do each and every day, he loved to hear that hum before he even drank that first cup of coffee from the kitchen. He still liked to get ready for work, even treating himself to a tie or a bolo. They had stopped using the cameras for conference calls eons ago, most likely encouraged by his own self interests. He insisted that he was afraid to see his coworkers in their underwears. In reality, it was he was afraid to have to face a world that was so unlike the one he lived in.
Once that computer started, he’d do all the things need to live—eat, brush his teeth and such but still, he closed the door. He rationalized it as keeping the office cooler and keeping the bills from getting higher, but the fact was, he could handle the smaller spaces better.
He had friends he would call, but visiting with them was getting more and more strained and he could not understand why. His interactions with people were mere words on a screen; when he went to visit with them, he never could seem to get that his bluntness and lack of compassion was infuriating them. He supposed it would be easier to just hang up when they called-but they always called, so they must serve a purpose for him.
Everyone in the videos he watched, his nightly chore, had friends. He remembered a time, long ago, in private schools, when they all were on the same page. Nowadays, he could not figure out where this group was coming from. They told him he should date someone, ANYONE, but their needling was worth less and less in its repetitions.
One year, they bought him a social networking site. He thought it was just pornography and occasionally would browse. Slowly he realized, they wanted him to have MORE friends. What they neglected to let JD know was, you actually had to want friends.
JD just did not see it. Why need friends when the computer fills in those gaps?
Monday, July 20, 2009
Friday, July 17, 2009
Two Characters
Character ONE:
He was always burdened with self-hatred, a gift that no one could even match, even in the depths of teen angst. As a kid, he’d set up scenarios involving all the other kids involved in the neighborhood baseball games. He hated baseball and all sports. But he’d make an effort to invite these boys over and hang with them. Eventually, they would wander off, having nothing in common outside of the shared events of swimming in his parents’ pool. He’d run to his parents and complain of his new loneliness and they were always too busy to notice the fabrication. Even these days, after college, he would sit in his apartment and discuss the needs to leave and cook dinner and wash some clothes. But his daydreams would wander and he would see the repetition of it all and just decide not to do anything but stare at the walls. He had friends now, stronger people who could take the volleys of his personality traits a bit better then most—so he would find reasons to merely skip visiting with them, even forgoing answering the phone. All to keep the sad loneliness’ comforts in the front of his mind.
Character TWO:
Outside of the mirror the bathroom, the only thing one could fix their hair in would be their reflection in the oft polished tables and counters. The cleaning was a result of mere boredom. His whole life he had everything he could have wanted, so he never had to struggle. He thought undergraduate would have given him a chance, but when his parents saw he could get the same degree whilst living at home and saving cash, that idea was quelled. So he looked at all the people his age, like the couple that lived next door to him when he finally purchased the five bedroom, with a certain amount of awe and speculation. He felt nervous even when the invited him over for a BBQ, but he went, knowing he should try. But love? He read the poetry his English teachers provided, but they might have been written in mandarin. He had no point of reference. His only friends that were consistent were three computers. He talked to coworkers there; he spoke to his parents through them at this distance. Their lines were more comfortable then the couch, their images stronger then the nightly news.
He was always burdened with self-hatred, a gift that no one could even match, even in the depths of teen angst. As a kid, he’d set up scenarios involving all the other kids involved in the neighborhood baseball games. He hated baseball and all sports. But he’d make an effort to invite these boys over and hang with them. Eventually, they would wander off, having nothing in common outside of the shared events of swimming in his parents’ pool. He’d run to his parents and complain of his new loneliness and they were always too busy to notice the fabrication. Even these days, after college, he would sit in his apartment and discuss the needs to leave and cook dinner and wash some clothes. But his daydreams would wander and he would see the repetition of it all and just decide not to do anything but stare at the walls. He had friends now, stronger people who could take the volleys of his personality traits a bit better then most—so he would find reasons to merely skip visiting with them, even forgoing answering the phone. All to keep the sad loneliness’ comforts in the front of his mind.
Character TWO:
Outside of the mirror the bathroom, the only thing one could fix their hair in would be their reflection in the oft polished tables and counters. The cleaning was a result of mere boredom. His whole life he had everything he could have wanted, so he never had to struggle. He thought undergraduate would have given him a chance, but when his parents saw he could get the same degree whilst living at home and saving cash, that idea was quelled. So he looked at all the people his age, like the couple that lived next door to him when he finally purchased the five bedroom, with a certain amount of awe and speculation. He felt nervous even when the invited him over for a BBQ, but he went, knowing he should try. But love? He read the poetry his English teachers provided, but they might have been written in mandarin. He had no point of reference. His only friends that were consistent were three computers. He talked to coworkers there; he spoke to his parents through them at this distance. Their lines were more comfortable then the couch, their images stronger then the nightly news.
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
A Letter From Inside the Story
Create a letter written by one of the characters in your story. The letter is not to be published as part. In this case, I’ll not tell you the story—but see if you are interested in it regardless.
To whomever finds this
I am writing this letter as an act of desperation. I have no will, I cannot think of any kind of line or note I left for anyone. There was always some time, I thought. Some time before this weekend. I came up here with my girlfriend. Her uncle’s cabin was a great idea, his buddies fun to be with. I am going to tuck this note away in my hip pocket in the hopes that his story will be found. I am currently hiding here in the crawlspace beneath the house, cabin, whatever. I can see the dark outside through some of the slots. I want to write this fast, so I can kill the flashlight and not attract any more attention.
I am torn. Do I tell you what happened? I don’t think these monsters that are after us clean up after themselves. I’m sure if you find me you will find that out. You will find my hide along with the rest of the rest of them.
Do I tell you what I wish? I know I am not a religious man. I could never relate to those neonazi groups that take up good television on Sunday mornings. But their message seems to have seduce many, many stupid people—and because of that, I know that when I die, it is okay. Losing so many of my friends in Iraq also confirmed that. So I am not afraid, totally, of being dead.
I am afraid of dying. The monsters surged at nightfall. They were smart, picking off many of us one by one. I cannot remember how we came across the first body. I thought it was even a joke, I laughed. And I know if anyone finds this note, I am truly sorry for that. I laughed because it was so far beyond normal, so horror movie-ish. They ate two people. And yes there were/are several. And they started at the throat and moved to where ever the soft flesh was, the places without bone. They saw the skin as nothing. The blood and stench did not frighten them.
Okay, I just graduated. Make sure that any money earned in this, like if someone sues someone or something, make sure my family is taken care of. Secondly, I have a series of sketches I made over the years—even after Ma told me to not be an artist—underneath the bed. I really think they are good and I was looking forward to using them as a spring board to take some extra classes in college. Do not destroy these. I thought I had everything. I thought this note would be my will. But as I lie here in the dirt, bugs in my hair, I realize I have a ton of stuff...but I have nothing to give to anyone.
If by luck I am found in pieces but alive, spare me the pain of being a burden to those I love.
The flashlight’s batteries are good. I can tell by the strength of the light. However, I hear heavy paws in the distance, probably up, upstairs, in the loft or on the second floor. I’m not sure how the beast got in there, but it means it’s above me and I cannot be found if I am to live through this.
I love you all.
To whomever finds this
I am writing this letter as an act of desperation. I have no will, I cannot think of any kind of line or note I left for anyone. There was always some time, I thought. Some time before this weekend. I came up here with my girlfriend. Her uncle’s cabin was a great idea, his buddies fun to be with. I am going to tuck this note away in my hip pocket in the hopes that his story will be found. I am currently hiding here in the crawlspace beneath the house, cabin, whatever. I can see the dark outside through some of the slots. I want to write this fast, so I can kill the flashlight and not attract any more attention.
I am torn. Do I tell you what happened? I don’t think these monsters that are after us clean up after themselves. I’m sure if you find me you will find that out. You will find my hide along with the rest of the rest of them.
Do I tell you what I wish? I know I am not a religious man. I could never relate to those neonazi groups that take up good television on Sunday mornings. But their message seems to have seduce many, many stupid people—and because of that, I know that when I die, it is okay. Losing so many of my friends in Iraq also confirmed that. So I am not afraid, totally, of being dead.
I am afraid of dying. The monsters surged at nightfall. They were smart, picking off many of us one by one. I cannot remember how we came across the first body. I thought it was even a joke, I laughed. And I know if anyone finds this note, I am truly sorry for that. I laughed because it was so far beyond normal, so horror movie-ish. They ate two people. And yes there were/are several. And they started at the throat and moved to where ever the soft flesh was, the places without bone. They saw the skin as nothing. The blood and stench did not frighten them.
Okay, I just graduated. Make sure that any money earned in this, like if someone sues someone or something, make sure my family is taken care of. Secondly, I have a series of sketches I made over the years—even after Ma told me to not be an artist—underneath the bed. I really think they are good and I was looking forward to using them as a spring board to take some extra classes in college. Do not destroy these. I thought I had everything. I thought this note would be my will. But as I lie here in the dirt, bugs in my hair, I realize I have a ton of stuff...but I have nothing to give to anyone.
If by luck I am found in pieces but alive, spare me the pain of being a burden to those I love.
The flashlight’s batteries are good. I can tell by the strength of the light. However, I hear heavy paws in the distance, probably up, upstairs, in the loft or on the second floor. I’m not sure how the beast got in there, but it means it’s above me and I cannot be found if I am to live through this.
I love you all.
Sunday, July 05, 2009
Face Recognition
Face Recognition
*) 400 words
*) Write about recognizing a person’s face
I had climbed the same three steps three times. This was more of a task then it sounds, for the winter gifted a horrible snowstorm the day previously, those steps were more ice then all of Alaska. He knew I was coming, I could see him moving about in the kitchen off to the single story house’s right window. The yellow ceiling light bled onto the smooth blues of the drifts of his front lawn, his shadow cut a huge swatch as he moved from the kitchen to, I would later learn, to the small coffee table he used to serve dinner.
Lasagna. I knew he was going to make lasagna.
I stepped down the three steps again and looked at the rental. I could turn back now. My friends were having a shindig not too far away at their house. I knew everyone there. I knew I would have a guaranteed good time.
But I made a promise to this stranger. I would meet them, at least once, this New Year’s. One date at his house.
The shadow darted faster then before when I rang the doorbell, after going back up those three steps.
The light from inside flooded the doorway and framed his huge torso before me. I did not have to look up very far. He was my height. He had perfectly round glasses, a contradiction to rectangle face. His hair gene was not borne yet, for his coif was equal on all sides, proof that he had no cares about the quality of his ‘do. The ears framed his hair, but they were smooth and to his head. His nose was also nothing to brag about, a mere place for his glasses.
But the smile was perpetual.
His bottom lip seemed to underline that smile, like some kind of emphasis. It was larger then the top lip. The teeth were slightly crooked, but not minded due to their shine and sheen. The eyes also figured their way out from behind the glasses’ lenses, a sharp blue-gray that I would later find had the ability to make you confess.
The smile reflected more light. It was too cute to be annoying.
I recognized this face. It was the face of someone who would be my best friend ever.
*) 400 words
*) Write about recognizing a person’s face
I had climbed the same three steps three times. This was more of a task then it sounds, for the winter gifted a horrible snowstorm the day previously, those steps were more ice then all of Alaska. He knew I was coming, I could see him moving about in the kitchen off to the single story house’s right window. The yellow ceiling light bled onto the smooth blues of the drifts of his front lawn, his shadow cut a huge swatch as he moved from the kitchen to, I would later learn, to the small coffee table he used to serve dinner.
Lasagna. I knew he was going to make lasagna.
I stepped down the three steps again and looked at the rental. I could turn back now. My friends were having a shindig not too far away at their house. I knew everyone there. I knew I would have a guaranteed good time.
But I made a promise to this stranger. I would meet them, at least once, this New Year’s. One date at his house.
The shadow darted faster then before when I rang the doorbell, after going back up those three steps.
The light from inside flooded the doorway and framed his huge torso before me. I did not have to look up very far. He was my height. He had perfectly round glasses, a contradiction to rectangle face. His hair gene was not borne yet, for his coif was equal on all sides, proof that he had no cares about the quality of his ‘do. The ears framed his hair, but they were smooth and to his head. His nose was also nothing to brag about, a mere place for his glasses.
But the smile was perpetual.
His bottom lip seemed to underline that smile, like some kind of emphasis. It was larger then the top lip. The teeth were slightly crooked, but not minded due to their shine and sheen. The eyes also figured their way out from behind the glasses’ lenses, a sharp blue-gray that I would later find had the ability to make you confess.
The smile reflected more light. It was too cute to be annoying.
I recognized this face. It was the face of someone who would be my best friend ever.
Thursday, July 02, 2009
The Epiphany
The Epiphany
*) Write about the unwritten epiphany in a person’s life.
300 words…that might make this difficult
The date had long been arranged before he even met Eric. He had know Teresa, or Tea as she liked to be called, for some time—her boyish cut of hair was unique at the college, her sports abilities meant that they kept bumping into each other at the school’s gym, either coming or going out of the weight room or locker rooms. So there they sat on the couch in his tiny little basement apartment and they were catching up on the better segments of Leno.
“You want something to drink?”
“Nah, I’m still good with this water. Could use some popcorn, but don’t wanna move much.”
Tea had moved to leaning on his shoulder and Bob had thought she might begin to drool if given half a chance. He checked his crotch, to make sure that his jeans had not bugled when he slammed down—he had no urge to make it look like he was interested. He reached out and remembered doing the same thing with Eric merely a week ago. Eric was looking at the school as a transfer and Bob thought it would be great if he hung for a night or two. Eric was independent and older, so the dorms were not where he had hoped to end up. They not only watched Leno together, they went to two different clubs the night prior and, even though they drank, their collective hearts and brains were very, very clear.
Eric wanted more popcorn, and it was evident he did not want to make Bob feel uncomfortable by his reaching across him—so he asked. And Bob started to talk over the television too much.
He handed Tea the popcorn bowl. She took it and moved back up. Bob check to see if he needed to straighten his shirt. He pondered if Eric was back to his college yet. He looked to the clock.
“You gotta be some place?” Tea looked. His repeated glances were not intentional. But they had their effect.
“Yeah, can we call this a night?”
Tea furrowed and polished off a fistful of popcorn. Annoyed, she stood and Bob did not walk her up the stairs.
Bob realized something he had known for a bit of time now.
And Eric was the first time his heart throbbed.
*) Write about the unwritten epiphany in a person’s life.
300 words…that might make this difficult
The date had long been arranged before he even met Eric. He had know Teresa, or Tea as she liked to be called, for some time—her boyish cut of hair was unique at the college, her sports abilities meant that they kept bumping into each other at the school’s gym, either coming or going out of the weight room or locker rooms. So there they sat on the couch in his tiny little basement apartment and they were catching up on the better segments of Leno.
“You want something to drink?”
“Nah, I’m still good with this water. Could use some popcorn, but don’t wanna move much.”
Tea had moved to leaning on his shoulder and Bob had thought she might begin to drool if given half a chance. He checked his crotch, to make sure that his jeans had not bugled when he slammed down—he had no urge to make it look like he was interested. He reached out and remembered doing the same thing with Eric merely a week ago. Eric was looking at the school as a transfer and Bob thought it would be great if he hung for a night or two. Eric was independent and older, so the dorms were not where he had hoped to end up. They not only watched Leno together, they went to two different clubs the night prior and, even though they drank, their collective hearts and brains were very, very clear.
Eric wanted more popcorn, and it was evident he did not want to make Bob feel uncomfortable by his reaching across him—so he asked. And Bob started to talk over the television too much.
He handed Tea the popcorn bowl. She took it and moved back up. Bob check to see if he needed to straighten his shirt. He pondered if Eric was back to his college yet. He looked to the clock.
“You gotta be some place?” Tea looked. His repeated glances were not intentional. But they had their effect.
“Yeah, can we call this a night?”
Tea furrowed and polished off a fistful of popcorn. Annoyed, she stood and Bob did not walk her up the stairs.
Bob realized something he had known for a bit of time now.
And Eric was the first time his heart throbbed.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
The Wilderness
The Wilderness.
*) Put two characters in the wilderness and let one find traces of the other along the way.
Bert swilled the last bit of beer in his mouth like a bitter mouthwash. The act provided little use for Robert but to just make the alcohol last a smidgen longer. He even looked to the bottom of the bottle in the hopes that some drink had escaped him.
The bottle was empty.
Bert released the brake but did not but the engine back on. He listened to the strum of the sand and dirt on the duster’s underside as she slid into a parking space at the bottom of the small slope. There was little else to look at but the black truck of Ronnie’s, positioned parallel. The parking area was empty, a surprise for a Friday night.
As Bert pulled the parking brake, several bottles rolled forward clanking in the foot-well on the passenger side. Robert swore and looked up towards the truck.
No movement.
Bert was surprised by this. He had rehearsed the entire drunken drive to the lover’s lane on what he was going to say. He knew that Ronnie had seen him talk to Melanie several occasions at the school. Ronnie even questioned once if they had some kind of relationship, or were planning to, but walked away before Bertie could answer. Melanie, this chilly evening, was going to be his respite. He figured it was best to just say she had jilted him and walked away from the date. But then, as he exited, he would be the victim. Maybe he should say that he decided to cancel the date because she was so mean. That did not work for him either. So he elected to see Ronnie, play up the drunk part, and see how Ronnie responded.
And how Ronnie’s date responded as well.
He knew Margie from his one first period. I thought about asking her about homework or why she was always running into class late but chose, again, just to see how Ronnie was doing.
He saw the moisture in the inside of the glass and was relieved. He would not have to spend this Friday night alone again.
“Hey RONNIE!” He yelled, “Surprising to see you here!” He feigned a belch that was audible to several deer a few yards away.
No answer.
Bert rapped on the glass several times and squinted. Some humor might be derived from seeing one or both of them in a state of undress, but he noticed the steam was only on one side. Books from school were thrown on the passenger side.
Bert realized the wet earth below him was contaminated by his only playacting of drunkenness. He stood upright and looked down.
Ronnie’s tennis soles were as huge as his feet and led away from the immediate area and into the woods. Bert reached into the Duster and pulled out a flashlight, his laser pointer and a Colt from the back seat. He placed the gun in the small of his back, turned on the light and was about to yell when the situation took the better of him. He started to trek into woods.
The cold nights and the uncut trail left many branches sticking out into path and easy to break. Most were just muddy, stepped on by someone without a flashlight but not completely a bother.
He found his track easily. It was the sound of tears that he was not ready for.
Bert smiled at the opportunity.
*) Put two characters in the wilderness and let one find traces of the other along the way.
Bert swilled the last bit of beer in his mouth like a bitter mouthwash. The act provided little use for Robert but to just make the alcohol last a smidgen longer. He even looked to the bottom of the bottle in the hopes that some drink had escaped him.
The bottle was empty.
Bert released the brake but did not but the engine back on. He listened to the strum of the sand and dirt on the duster’s underside as she slid into a parking space at the bottom of the small slope. There was little else to look at but the black truck of Ronnie’s, positioned parallel. The parking area was empty, a surprise for a Friday night.
As Bert pulled the parking brake, several bottles rolled forward clanking in the foot-well on the passenger side. Robert swore and looked up towards the truck.
No movement.
Bert was surprised by this. He had rehearsed the entire drunken drive to the lover’s lane on what he was going to say. He knew that Ronnie had seen him talk to Melanie several occasions at the school. Ronnie even questioned once if they had some kind of relationship, or were planning to, but walked away before Bertie could answer. Melanie, this chilly evening, was going to be his respite. He figured it was best to just say she had jilted him and walked away from the date. But then, as he exited, he would be the victim. Maybe he should say that he decided to cancel the date because she was so mean. That did not work for him either. So he elected to see Ronnie, play up the drunk part, and see how Ronnie responded.
And how Ronnie’s date responded as well.
He knew Margie from his one first period. I thought about asking her about homework or why she was always running into class late but chose, again, just to see how Ronnie was doing.
He saw the moisture in the inside of the glass and was relieved. He would not have to spend this Friday night alone again.
“Hey RONNIE!” He yelled, “Surprising to see you here!” He feigned a belch that was audible to several deer a few yards away.
No answer.
Bert rapped on the glass several times and squinted. Some humor might be derived from seeing one or both of them in a state of undress, but he noticed the steam was only on one side. Books from school were thrown on the passenger side.
Bert realized the wet earth below him was contaminated by his only playacting of drunkenness. He stood upright and looked down.
Ronnie’s tennis soles were as huge as his feet and led away from the immediate area and into the woods. Bert reached into the Duster and pulled out a flashlight, his laser pointer and a Colt from the back seat. He placed the gun in the small of his back, turned on the light and was about to yell when the situation took the better of him. He started to trek into woods.
The cold nights and the uncut trail left many branches sticking out into path and easy to break. Most were just muddy, stepped on by someone without a flashlight but not completely a bother.
He found his track easily. It was the sound of tears that he was not ready for.
Bert smiled at the opportunity.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Chaos Follows
Create a small story where chaos follows your protagonist:
Tyler was impressed as he rounded out the moping on the floor of the shop. He had opened the front door and propped it with a cleaning bin to let the evening's air flow a bit more freely. The clouds were rolling in and he had hoped to finish his chores a bit prior to the storm's impending arrival. Besides, the open door dried the floor a bit faster then he could with the heat from the just finished kitchen.
What impressed Tyler were the three drops of water that had landed on his forearm. The parking lot was beginning to fill with the black dots of first rainfall. Three had some how found their way into his workplace and flew all the way to his blond fur on right arm. He smirked.
His smile grew as he noticed a majority of the floor was truly dry.
He wheeled the bucket to teh back of the back of kitchen and thought about what he could do with the rest of the evening.
"Ayeeeeeeeflabuuushamasssssshhhh!"
The smile did not leave his face. That scream was too fake. He rounded the doorway.
There was an arm on the counter. The rest of the arm's keeper was somewhere lower, out of view.
"Oh-my-Jesus, I'm sorry!"
The floor must not have been dry.
He curbed the edge of the counter like a pro. He had loved this job at the store, luckly to find it on such hard times and short notice. There was a young gentlemen, of similar age, tshirt horked up to a nail jutting out of the wood paneling and his shoes sideways.
"Nah, it's cool. Most people see wet floors and decide not to cross them."
"I am so, so sor..." Tyler's left leg did not clear the counter's edge and twirled him downwards, towards the first victim. He landed on top of the young man, pulling him away from the old nail and tearing his shirt into two. Tyler did not have time to stop the collison.
Tyler looked down and shook his head. The vistor did not open his eyes.
"Is it over?"
"I hope so, sir. I guess it's too late to tell you we're closed?"
The falling man popped his eyes open at Tyler. They were in kissing range and Tyler found it comfortable.
And it scared him. He stood abruptly and held out a hand.
The young man on the floor took stock with his right hand to the back of his head.
"Ah, good, no blood. This," he tried to piece his shirt back together over his torso, "however, is a goner."
"Oh no, my boss is going to kill me for not putting a sign out! Oh, no, no, no..."
"Relax, Tyler, it's Tyler right? We go to the same school, you're alright, it's alright. I have a sweatshirt out in my gym back in the car."
"OH! Okay, yeah, yeah, I've seen you! Lemme get, some, ice? Maybe? Oh! I have a shirt that might fit..." Tyler feld to the back of the store.
"Just wait..there's..."the falling victim stepped forward and put both arms on the counter to balance himself. He looked back at the floor. Not a single skidmark was there. He was impressed with his bad luck.
"Here!" Tyler jutted the tshirt into his face.
"I'm Mike. I work next door. I just wanted to say your front door," he gestured in the general direction," was open and a storm was coming in."
"Hey, hi, yeah, Mike, and I'm really sorry." Mike had removed the remanants of the shirt and begun to replace it with the new black duds the youth had handed him. It fit perfectly, if slightly tight.
"No worries. I know your boss, he's a friend of mine," Mike stated as he pulled down.
"Oh crap."
"And he's not going to find out, unless," Mike started to scratch his chest, "unless you tell him your...um, is it warm in here?"
"No, not with the door open!"
"True, but I have, oh no, you use Tide, don't you!"
"Yeah, why?"
"I'm allergic!" Mike tore off the shirt.
Tyler was impressed as he rounded out the moping on the floor of the shop. He had opened the front door and propped it with a cleaning bin to let the evening's air flow a bit more freely. The clouds were rolling in and he had hoped to finish his chores a bit prior to the storm's impending arrival. Besides, the open door dried the floor a bit faster then he could with the heat from the just finished kitchen.
What impressed Tyler were the three drops of water that had landed on his forearm. The parking lot was beginning to fill with the black dots of first rainfall. Three had some how found their way into his workplace and flew all the way to his blond fur on right arm. He smirked.
His smile grew as he noticed a majority of the floor was truly dry.
He wheeled the bucket to teh back of the back of kitchen and thought about what he could do with the rest of the evening.
"Ayeeeeeeeflabuuushamasssssshhhh!"
The smile did not leave his face. That scream was too fake. He rounded the doorway.
There was an arm on the counter. The rest of the arm's keeper was somewhere lower, out of view.
"Oh-my-Jesus, I'm sorry!"
The floor must not have been dry.
He curbed the edge of the counter like a pro. He had loved this job at the store, luckly to find it on such hard times and short notice. There was a young gentlemen, of similar age, tshirt horked up to a nail jutting out of the wood paneling and his shoes sideways.
"Nah, it's cool. Most people see wet floors and decide not to cross them."
"I am so, so sor..." Tyler's left leg did not clear the counter's edge and twirled him downwards, towards the first victim. He landed on top of the young man, pulling him away from the old nail and tearing his shirt into two. Tyler did not have time to stop the collison.
Tyler looked down and shook his head. The vistor did not open his eyes.
"Is it over?"
"I hope so, sir. I guess it's too late to tell you we're closed?"
The falling man popped his eyes open at Tyler. They were in kissing range and Tyler found it comfortable.
And it scared him. He stood abruptly and held out a hand.
The young man on the floor took stock with his right hand to the back of his head.
"Ah, good, no blood. This," he tried to piece his shirt back together over his torso, "however, is a goner."
"Oh no, my boss is going to kill me for not putting a sign out! Oh, no, no, no..."
"Relax, Tyler, it's Tyler right? We go to the same school, you're alright, it's alright. I have a sweatshirt out in my gym back in the car."
"OH! Okay, yeah, yeah, I've seen you! Lemme get, some, ice? Maybe? Oh! I have a shirt that might fit..." Tyler feld to the back of the store.
"Just wait..there's..."the falling victim stepped forward and put both arms on the counter to balance himself. He looked back at the floor. Not a single skidmark was there. He was impressed with his bad luck.
"Here!" Tyler jutted the tshirt into his face.
"I'm Mike. I work next door. I just wanted to say your front door," he gestured in the general direction," was open and a storm was coming in."
"Hey, hi, yeah, Mike, and I'm really sorry." Mike had removed the remanants of the shirt and begun to replace it with the new black duds the youth had handed him. It fit perfectly, if slightly tight.
"No worries. I know your boss, he's a friend of mine," Mike stated as he pulled down.
"Oh crap."
"And he's not going to find out, unless," Mike started to scratch his chest, "unless you tell him your...um, is it warm in here?"
"No, not with the door open!"
"True, but I have, oh no, you use Tide, don't you!"
"Yeah, why?"
"I'm allergic!" Mike tore off the shirt.
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