Tap. Tap. Tap. That sound is repetitive and obnoxious now, as anything would be if you did it a thousand times. Sitting in front of a computer wasting away in some hopeless wasteland of lost dreams, or rather a dream, is not what I thought I'd be doing. A dream of something new, something no one has ever thought of. My college professor gave me an assignment one day,,approximately 3 years ago. He said, "Write a story about something, no one has ever thought of before." Here I am, still, monotonously typing, then erasing every word I write. Thought after thought races through my mind, matching plots with movies and books. "Something, surely just something.." I think to myself. My baggy, blood shot eyes finally close. The burning sensation from staring at my computer's screen so long is nearly unbearable. This wasn't meant to be an obsession. A simple assignment. That's what it was supposed to be. But somehow the definition of new didn't exist anymore. Running topic through topic, epiphanies so great I would think I have actually found something so profound and meticulously thought out it'd get me somewhere but... But I haven't. It's been three years and I haven't thought of one thing not previously thought of before. I wasn't aware the whole class was meant to fail, being that it would be next to impossible to originate a story no one has thought of, or rather wrote down. I need to get out. I need to find the answers I'm looking for. I need inspiration. Something to prove that it isn't impossible, that I'm not just crazy. Something to prove that there is a reason I took this with me all these years. I need a story. --------------------- I wasn't going to seriously write this but, it seemed so interesting I couldn't pass it up. Leave thoughts, hope you enjoy. ?
The sunlight burns my eyes before I can flip down my sunglasses. Plain black, just like people always said my personality was. I guess there was sort of a dull darkness to me, or so they thought. The coffee shop is literally right down the street. However, besides walking to the bathroom and kitchen, my legs have been on a hiatus while my mind works to achieve greatness. Greatness being my inability to walk anywhere without feeling a tad bit winded. I guess I'll suffer for a cup of cheap coffee. Although, I guess both of those things are pretty sad, aren't they? I make my way into the coffee shop, a trickle of sweat dripping down my face from the harsh sun. I looked at the waitress before heading over to where she was stationed. By the looks of things, she had two dogs. Presumably one a golden retriever, and one a German Shepard just by the length, color, and thickness of the hair that was clinging to her outfit. The fresh coffee stain hadn't faded on the bottom left of her waitressing uniform. Which was a tannish outfit, with a black apron. Perfect to hide that you haven't washed your work attire from the day before, except to a keen eye. I'm no Sherlock, mind you, but as a writer you learn that details matter. Details are what keep you original, or rather intriguing. We're still on a quest for the existing word that seems to have lost its definition; original. Although, sometimes details are quite sad in nature. Her eyes are red and swollen, her fingers are shaky, her teeth are slightly chattering. So subtle that she continues normal life, at the very start of her addiction. Pretty soon, the rotting teeth and decaying facial features will provide a clear insight into her before, and after-work rituals. Although, I suppose that's none of my business. Her employers won't be too optimistic about it as I am, probably. "Coffee. Black, please." I emotionlessly say setting some cash on the counter. "Keep the change." ------------- Just some insight into how he is, who he is, and how he thinks about things. I kinda spiraled all over the place, and wrote it in a totally different direction than first thought. Lol
Can you pleeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaassssseeeee tell me the end. I must know. Either that or delete this so I forget about this and stop obsessing. Please?
This is so intriguing, love where you're going with this! Wall me if you update, but I'll be checking either way xD
I feel like any time now I'm going to run out of money, resources, and time. Although I can get money, it's never honest money. Honesty doesn't come with the ability to stay at home and waste my life away in a dim room with black *expletive* curtains and a burning light stimulating my retinas to the point of pure agony and pain...but even then I won't stop. I'm the reasons addictions start. I am an addict too, but I am dependent upon on idea, in which my fascination leads me to compulsively do what I need to do in order chase it. Even if that means giving people some bad habits of their own. I could hint all day, but you know what I do for a living. What's important is that I have a bit to live on for at least a little while. For now I have sanctity in knowing I can sit in this faded tan booth, and drink my plain black coffee in peace by my lonesome. Maybe I can formulate a damn thought. "Are you okay?" The waitress says staring at me intently. "I was just wondering if you wanted a refill?" She asks, drawing out the word "refill" in a way that almost directly questions the cause of my strange actions. I drank all my coffee like I was on autopilot, thinking 5 minutes had passed. Truth was, it was an hour I sat in that booth, trapped in my own thoughts. But I was also trapped in everyone else's, because nothing I thought of could've been considered my own. I still wonder why I torture myself like this.
*5 years later* --- Now, it wouldn't be my expectation to wake up face down in a prison cell partly in my own puke, and probably partly in someone else's. I am not alone in here. No, I'm in here with the scrawny wife beaters, and the beaten down drug addicts that I've put here. Oh hey Jimmy? I know you're unconscious but maybe you'd like to tell me what's going on? No? It's okay, probably my fault anyway. I guess I could've avoided all this. Maybe if I'd took the night off like I said I was going to do. No more shady people in dark alleys with a bundle of cash waiting for the devil to show up and take their soul. *3 years prior* "You've got the devil in you, boy." She said sitting on here perfectly crafted leather couch, along with her perfect manner, perfect placement of everything around her. It's like she was everything good, and I was everything evil, and that's why I knew she was so wrong. "No, I am the devil." I suppose the cold look in my eye told her all she needed to know before she looked at me in defeat. Her young eyes, but her aged face looked at me in a way that I for a short moment I felt the guilt for the things I have so shamelessly done. "Please, get out. I cannot help you." I nodded, looked her in the eye, and exited calmly without a word. The waiting room was cold in contrast to her office, in which I was supposedly safe to say anything I wanted. But I guess God himself can only take too many sins, and I think she can take even less. *Present Day* Sitting on a cold, grey bench made out of metal isn't comfortable. But neither is t-shirt with puke stains, and a lack of shoes from them being stolen by a young idiot with a money problems from a man virtually dying on the ground. I know I'm not the best kind of man, but would I rob a man who has nothing left? Yeah, I probably would if it meant getting what I need. If it meant the end to my search, and the end to my bad habits. But you can't fix bad habits, with more bad habits. You also definitely can't find anything locked in a prison cell, but I guess that's going to change. "Lucy, wha-" I stood up looking at her with my blackened eyes and fat lip, feeling quite insignificant. She was so beautiful. Such beauty I haven't seen for so many years. "I'm here to bail you out. Now get out before I changed my mind." She had a take charge attitude that stayed with her still. As they opened the cell, I walked out silently, seeing the disappointment in her expression. I stood silent, looking into the endless abyss of her bright blue eyes. But she doesn't know, I'm not focused on beauty or reuniting with old friends. I'm focused on getting what I need to end my obsession, and she may be useful for the time being, but I'm not much for keeping people around. ------------------ Yes, my stories get dark. So enjoy. And, tell me what you think please.