PRACTICE
Take fifteen minutes to write a paragraph or two based on the photo below.
When you’re finished, post your practice in the comments section. Then leave feedback for others!!
Photo by Thomas Leuthard
Here's my practice:
Is that him? I wonder, squinting my eyes to focus on a shadowy figure with a black bowler hat. A wave of anger passes over me, causing my shoulders to tense, my jaw to clench. How could Dave ask me to stand in this dark, isolated tunnel with the goal of catching the attention of a middle-aged white man as if I some sort of prostitute?
It's the middle of the day in a large city, yet I, a young woman, made the choice to stand outside the protection of the sun's light and alone in the dark. On my own volition, I have abandoned the safety in numbers and am instead standing at an inconvenient entrance during a time of day with infrequent pedestrians. And why? To show that I'm a good girlfriend? To not scare Dave off by being difficult or angry? I thought the whole point of having a boyfriend was that you had someone to protect you from these situations–not put you in them. I never should have agreed to this.
Just a quick little paragraph.
Ridge stands at the top of the stairs, eyes squinting as he tries to see into the murky darkness.
“Nora?” His voice rings out and echoes on the tile walls below. No one responds. When he takes a step down, the briefcase in his hand thumps against his thigh. So slick are the steps, both feet slide out from under him and he falls flat on his butt. A clatter echoes in the depths beneath. It’s a struggle to get up, and he uses the sticky handrail.
“Nora!” He hollers and rubs his bottom. The words is repeated, each time becoming more and more dim. Then it’s silent again.
Ridge descends slower this time, holding the heavy case in one sweaty hand and the handrail in the other.
It’s pitch black, except for the feeble glow at the base of the stairs, cast by a single, naked bulb.
So this is where Nora Windsor lives.
I like it! Seems like it will go in an interesting direction.
The word choice seems to jump around a bit though “He hollers and rubs his bottom” doesn’t match “It’s pitch black, except for the feeble glow at the base of the stairs” in my head. One seems lighter, the other seems darker.
What do you think?
Intriguing
Ooh…definitely got me hooked. Would love to know how Nora ended up down there.
He had no idea how many stairs he had just come down. He remembered trying to keep count of each step and losing it again and again until he had finally given up. He’d already forgotten that he had given up counting the steps before that as well, and before that, and before that. Thousands upon thousands of steps counted thousands more left uncounted for each one he did record.
The steps were all the same, grey concrete. Ancient and worn, but without more than a superficial crack that he could remember. Steep enough to demand attention, but at no
point could he recall slipping or even coming close. He was still pretty sure that there had been a time when he hadn’t been walking down those stairs, but he wouldn’t have bet
his life on it. Though a life composed entirely of walking down stairs wouldn’t really be considered high stakes.
I guess I’m here, he says to no one in particular, reaching the last step and passing it without any satisfaction.
Wow. This was moving. I can’t help wondering why it wasn’t satisfactory or maybe scary to arrive at the last step when steps were all he could remember. Fascinating.
Lol! I love the focus on the stairs rather than the man. I’m definitely wondering what his deal is. It doesn’t sound quite like OCD, so what’s going on with him??
Thanks! I was going for a stairway as limbo sort of thing.
I’m a beginner writer, but hoping to start practicing regularly now!
He walked casually down the dark stairs towards me. Despite being 30 minutes late, Marvin showed no sign of hurry and seemed calm. He got a faint smile on his face. It was a sunny October noon, but it was cool and dark at the underpass and it was oddly quiet that day. “This is it Marv..” I quietly whispered at him.
Sweat was running down my back and I could feel my hands tremble. Maybe he knows about my plan, maybe he already knows his fate, but it doesn’t matter anymore. After this, it’ll all be over.
A beginning writer is still a writer! Thanks for sharing, and I look forward to seeing more of your practices on The Write Practice! 🙂
Nice. I want to know more! 🙂
I discovered The Write Practice a few days ago and instantly realized I should have found it sooner. I hope to start and continue practicing regularly, since I’ve just begun really writing.
I stood in a dark corner, waiting, plastered to the cold walls of the dark tunnel. There were footsteps, and I saw the silhouette of a man, a man wearing a suit and a hat, his shadow a threatening presence. He was clutching a suitcase in his hand. The footsteps I heard started becoming closer and closer… My heart pounded and I could hear every single beat in my ears, like the drums at a pop concert, booming from the speakers. I could hardly breathe. Every breath was like pure agony, and every step I heard made my heart stop.
Run. That’s all that rushed through my mind. Just run. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was frozen, stricken with fear, and fear was a contagious disease. His footsteps now faltered, and the rhythm slowed. Then there was a sudden eerie silence.
He had found me.
This was so creepy and mysterious! Good job, it is beautifully written
Nice!
It’s never too late to discover The Write Practice! I really liked this practice! My only comment is that the man in the photo isn’t wearing a suit, so I got confused for a bit lol. Keep writing!
Lol whoops! Didn’t see that there! I think I had the screen a bit too dim so I didn’t exactly see that.
Thanks everyone!
They passed him often, the shadowed man. Small children scamping home from the local elementary school, teenagers trudging by with weighed down back packs- all with hushed voices as they neared the ever present figure.
He was seemingly always there, waiting in the corner of the dim stairwell that led up to the train platform. The word “homeless” lingered densely in the dank air, a word that held varying connotations as it escaped the mouths of many. Some said it with cruel laughter, others with sympathetic solemness. Others said it with fear.
Only when the hour was late, and the station deserted, he would step out of the shadows. Scruffy and thin, his lanky shadow cast against the walls each night as he waited for the figure that would soon approach him.
“Daddy!” the young boy would cry, and rush forward to greet the man with the kind of hug that only the most innocent of children are capable of. Smiling silently into the his son’s tousled hair, the man’s blue eyes would finally take on life.
One night, when the man had tucked his son under a thin, fraying blanket, gone over the times tables three times, and reviewed his new vocabulary words from school, the boy asked a question.
“Daddy,” he said, his wide eyes peeking out from under the blanket, “why can’t we go live with Mommy again?”
” Honey,” the man sighed, “Mommy was a meanie. She hurt us, remember? She gave you ouchies”
“Yes Daddy, I know.” The boy paused. “Daddy- are we… homeless?”
“Not homeless son,” the man cooed, snuggling up to the boy to keep in warmth on the cold night. “This is our home. Here we are free.”
“Well I don’t believe it. You ain’t changed a bit!”
His signature booming guffaw had become much more wheezy over the years, but Jack knew beyond all doubt that the voice belonged to the one and only Gib Hicks.
The old cowboy still had the same old ‘lucky hat’ he had kept throughout the war but he was now double the size that Jack remembered him as being, and once jet-black hair had been replaced by baldness and patches of grey.
Jack greeted him at the bottom of the stairs, reaching out to shake Gib’s now rather pudgy hand.
“How was the trip?” He asked.
“Well… takin’ the train cross-country ain’t what she used to be. But I tell ya it’ll be a cold day in hell before I ever get on another plane.”
Jack understood completely. Although it had been 30, perhaps even 40 years since they were nearly shot out of the sky somewhere over Siberia, Jack had never quite regained the stomach to fly again, unless absolutely necessary.
“You don’t think anyone knows you’re coming to see me, do you?” Asked Jack. He glanced around apprehensively, taking great pains to ensure that the CCTV camera remained behind him and did not see his face.
“Well, look – I managed to get through New York City unnoticed, an’ that was with Larry, – ya know he’s got a wife and grandkids now – so I ain’t too worried ’bout nuthin’ now.”
Jack remained still. He still felt uneasy about his rendezvous with Gib, even after all these years.
“How many of us are still alive?” He asked Gib, slowly trailing him but trying not to make it obvious that the two men were walking together.
“Heck I don’t even know,” Said Gib. “There’s you, me, Larry… I heard that Rat’s apparently kickin’ around somewhere, but I’m not sure where. Bill moved over to England. An’ the rest… well I just ain’t sure.”
Jack smiled, albeit briefly, his lips curling at the corners of his mouth and then returning to their usual position.
There was something vaguely thrilling, even at this stage in his life, about what he doing. Meeting with Gib – and Gib meeting with the others; it was a final act of rebellion against a government that had, as far as he was concerned, betrayed him.
All official records of what he, and Gib and the others did back then had been shredded, and the CIA were still taking pains to ensure that no one involved was able to communicate with anyone else involved. Edward Mulligan, who Jack remembered as being just a skinny boy from Boston, had tried to go public. His story never made it out, and then a few months later he disappeared.
“Ya ever think ’bout back then?” Asked Gib, finally breaking the ice.
“All the time,” Said Jack. “But I think more often about what happened once we made it home. The way we were lied to. They said we’d be heroes, the President himself congratulated us. And then they turned their backs, pretended it never happened. Didn’t get so much as Veteran’s benefit.”
“Yeah. Ronald Reagan… that lyin’ prick.” Said Gib and he spat violently on the ground.
“And it’s only gotten worse since then.” Said Jack.
“I know,” Said Gib. “I may be livin’ out the back of nowhere, but I still read the news.”
“It’s worse in the cities,” Jack had already spotted the blank faced man talking into an earpiece. “They’re everywhere. They’re always watching.”
Gib spotted them ahead too. There were two of them, doing a bad job of blending into the crowd at the station concourse.
“Do ya think we still got it in us to do this?” Asked Gib.
“Always,” Said Jack and he smirked. “Time for one last adventure. You know where to meet me afterwards.”
The only thing I didn’t like about this is that it ended! Looks like the start to a great story. The only comment I have — and it’s a small one — is that you don’t need to capitalize “Said,” “Asked,” etc., in the dialogue.
Thanks. And yeah, I have the terrible habit of capitalising things that don’t need to be capitalised. Although I was terribly hungover when I wrote this, so didn’t really proofread it.
Awesome dialogue!
Thanks!
I hated parking garages… hated them. Not only were they dark and empty but they made you feel like the weight of all those cars above, below and around you was crashing in on you. Every time I passed someone I eyed them, fearing they would whip out a knife or gun and my name would be but a memory in a few short seconds. I didn’t feel too bad about making those assumptions, I was sure others made the same assumptions about me. I didn’t blame them. I had the cowboy hat, the belt, the boots and the spurs. All I lacked was the gun. At that moment I really wanted the gun.
Nice way to touch the feelings of isolation in a parking garage
I like this a lot! I have the same irrational fears about parking garages, so i can relate.
Interesting, you took the position that the guy was scared and I took the position that the guy was scar-y! Thanks for sharing!
This made me smile! It reflects what so many of us feel in a parking garage – I’m positive!
I got to the meeting point about 10
minutes early. I had hoped for more time to survey the situation and
the area; I needed the time to orient myself to both the tunnel and
and the people that were there. Knowing what was normal for any area
was paramount. As I stood there it sank in that too much time would
have been suspicious and would have brought attention. 10 minutes
should be just enough. He and I ran this once before, back in Bosnia.
Only then he was sizing me up and watching me. Now, we were meeting
so he could pass me some information.
When the shadow came down the stairs
and I could see that damn stupid bowler hat I had to bite my cheek to
keep myself from smiling. He walked with a limp now, time and
circumstances had not been kind to him, as I was certain they would
not be kind to me if I was to stay in this game as long as he.
Without so much as a nod or any acknowledgment of me he strolled over
and placed his case down just next to mine. It was darker where we
stood. I stooped down and picked up his case and walked away.
What I wouldn’t have given at that very
moment to be at the Huntsman’s Club where we first met. Back where we
could share drinks, and laugh over local figures, discuss trade
craft, and glean gems of wisdom from my elder. Not at this time,
though. Now, I had to get this case out of Kosice and to the US
Embassy in Bratislav, Slovakia before anyone knew its contents were
missing.
This is great, very creative. Definitely left me wondering what went down in Bosnia and how they got there. Also, the comment about the stupid bowler hat made me laugh. Thanks for sharing!
Thank you for reading this. I am so glad that you enjoyed it.
What a great story out of this picture. I really felt like I could have kept reading.
Thank you, Elise. Glad that you enjoyed this. It was fun to write.
Cool. Very crime/thriller. It’s amazing what a simple photo can evoke. I like how you can reflect on the past, be in the present and in the next breath consider what need to be done on the future. good work.
I’m not sure what the rules are for using numbers (someone else might know?), but maybe the ’10’ should have been a word ‘ten’.
This one resonated with me. When I read what you write, I can visualize it handwritten on a legal pad. You write quickly, the tempo of the story carrying your words and making your letters bold and dark. Love the imagery.
Thank you, Elise. That the story resonated that way with you is thrilling.
(Can you tell I’ve been watching too much “Scandal”?! :))
Pope knelt, folding the plastic quickly, methodically. He wiped the blood and other remains from the floor, from his arms, from his face. He dragged the plastic-wrapped body over to the rug and rolled it up before kicking it out the side door to the dumpster waiting below.
He glanced back at the room before leaving, his eyes making a trained sweep for anything he might have left behind. He patted his bag, assured that all the tools of his trade were with him and not hiding in a nook or cranny to become evidence later.
The phone rang, and Pope answered it.
“It’s done,” he said to the caller.
He listened for a beat and nodded.
“I’m on my way,” he said, snapping the phone shut and turning off the light.
He entered a darkened hallway and veered left, counting backwards the steps he’d taken to get here. “97, 96, 95 …” he muttered. As he reached the 50s, the hall began to lighten, like the first gray streaks of dawn between sleeping and waking. His pulse quickened. He was halfway there.
By the 30s, a throng had converged and he felt the rumble of distant trains as darted about in the darkness. The corridors had brightened considerably and he pulled his hat lower to cover his eyes. He knew where all the cameras were and he’d best be avoiding those. He hated this part of the job; being below ground, being trapped, cornered even. He needed sunlight. He needed to breathe. He needed to lose himself in the wind.
“10, 9, 8 …”
The stairs loomed large before him. In a rare lull, the crowd dispersed and he was down to four more paces. Four paces stood between him and the entrance to freedom. He took the first step.
A shot rang out.
I really liked this one!! I like that you started before he reached the stairs as opposed to beginning the story there. Also, I DEFINITELY saw the Scandal references, haha! But as someone who is inspired by Shonda Rhimes, I’m not mad at that!
Wow. Nicely done. I would see this movie. 🙂
The ascent was more difficult than he had imagined. Every step took him away from what was familiar, if dark, and led onward to the higher, warmer unknown. His bag grew heavy in his hand. His legs began to tremble. His chin sank down to his chest, allowing the grimy hat he wore to block out the light blinding his eyes.
Was the climb worth it?
Suddenly, a sound came from above.
Almost unrecognizable to one who had sat in silent darkness for so long.
A child’s laugh.
He shifted his bag to his other hand, gripped the railing, and took another step.
I like the imagery here. The weight of the bag, the light blinding his eyes…
Thanks!
I loved the hope and nerves in this. I liked how you showed how he was nervous istead of telling us.
They were to sneak in and sneak out again. That was the deal. This was not supposed be the kind of guns blasting with citizens screaming type of heist. Nor was it to be the movie sort of robbery with a group of unique and friendly thieves. Simply put, it was a steal and go.
Lyle was the leader. He was an antisocial modern cowboy. He had his reasons for the crime that he thought were, probably, better then his fellow accomplices. He needed the wealth so bad that he felt it in his bones. His soul cried out for the green gold. He couldn’t live with out it, but more important, neither could she. The others, boys really, wanted the cash for the fun and easy life it would bring. Shallow kids, but Lyle needed them in order to finish job.
The entered the bank in the deep dead night, and by the time they finished the dawn was chasing away the stars. They exited the building like a bug that goes unnoticed under your bed while you’re sleeping. The plan went smooth. Each of the three men now had a enough doe to please their needs for sometime.
They split the take fair and without betrayal. When the time came to part Lyle silently walked off into the new day holding his black leather bag filled with cash. The juvenile criminals gawked at the cowboy as he strutted of into the sun and down into the subway.
Lyle spirits were high and he descended the cement steps into transportation hell. The stairs and entrance were clean but he could smell the rotting flesh of rats, overflowing garbage, and the body odor of the sad souls living hidden in the corners. His destination, and fate, was to one of these people.
She sat begging in the same place she always did. Her hair was gray and thin with a few bald spots, and the clothes she wore were old and tearing. Her frail white skin was filled with grime and unthinkable things.
She remembered how she was not always such a sad soul as she watched the gruff man near. There was time when she was young, vibrant, and beautiful. But that was all before her health took a turn, and medical bills left her out on the streets. She searched for work, but couldn’t find any in her poor condition. So there she sat the mercy of others.
The tall cowboy was familiar. He was one of the decent few who threw more than a few fuzz filled pennies into her cup. Her spirits lifted when he approached.
Lyle thought to himself that the moment had finally come. This was his chance to pay the debt for all his past crimes. Her wrinkled hands held up the tin can.
“No.” Lyle said as he crouched next to her and stared into her jungle green eyes. He pushed the cup back down to the ground. “Not today.” His deep, smoke burned voice said.
The woman dropped her head in shame for a moment. When She looked up again the cowboy was gone, swallowed into the crowd of an arriving train. She went back to begging without noticing for several moments that he had left something behind for her.
A full leather bag.
Cool a generous thief. I really enjoyed reading this.
Good short practice. I believe this could be transformed into a decent short story so you can ‘show’ more of the context.
I suggest being careful of POV. When the narrator can see into the minds of everybody (what the beggar is thinking to herself and what Lyle is thinking) it can get a little much.
Some of the more accomplished people on this site may be able to offer some clearer advice.
Great work Eliese
Hi 😀 Thanks so much. I am glad you liked and gave such helpful advice. This was my first time writing from this POV, the third person unlimited I think it’s called? Plus a first time in the past tense, so it was strange and fun to write. I am going to take your advice to heart. Thanks 🙂
Leaning my shoulder against the cold tile wall, I watch James trundle down the steps after a long night of work. His bag drips something dark. The work and the night both hang heavy on his shoulders; nearly as heavy as the succubus riding there as well. He is much more wrinkled than the last time I watched him. The early morning light plays muted off his face like yesterday’s discarded newspaper, crumpled and worn.
He’ll probably be grateful for the kind of relief I can give him. Must give him.
That’s what I tell myself, anyway, as I quietly slide out of the shadows. There’s no
place for guilt in this little war, and this specific move needs to happen before morning rush hour hits. Neither of us wants that kind of audience. I adjust my own bag, my own succubus, as James looks up and pauses.
“Hello old friend.”
He hunches defensively and snarls, “We were never friends.”
“Well,” I shrug, unlatching my bag slowly. “At least I got the old part right.”
Ummm interesting. 🙂 Succbus???? I’m intrigued. Thanks for sharing
Thank you ^^
All that remained was the shadow. First the flash, then the shadow. That’s how it was in Hiroshima all those years ago. But this was different. The flash was local, and caught on the security camera – which still functioned. No, this was no nuclear flash. The nearby phone was found mid-text. ‘It comes’, said the message, ‘it comes for m…’ The city was silent.
I’m a bit new to writing and am trying to find my own voice. Better to practice than not at all, right? This is my first time doing this, so here is goes:
_________________________________________________
I sat on the tiled floor, holding my head as I waited. I briefly looked up to be sure it was him making his way down the stairs. He yelled impatiently,
“What the hell are you doing sittin’ on the floor?”, as if he were embarrassed of me even when no one was around to see.
“My head hurts. I needed to go somewhere to escape from all the noises.”
He bent down in front of me, and unzippered his heavy work bag. He reached into the bag and gave me a bottle of water, a container of fresh, sliced fruit, and the bottle containing my medication.
“Well, I got places to be. I only had time to give you your pills”, he said in a sympathetic voice. He stood up, leaned over to hug my head, and then turned to walk up the stairs. I was sad to see him go. I wanted to fill the room with witty words that would lighten the mood. All I could think of to say was
“Thanks Dad”.
– thequietrecliamer.blogspot.com
Very cool. Nice job. I got a sense of their relationship. If you’ll allow me to imagine another part of the story as a way to show you what I felt. This is what your story conjured up for me — a dad who is stressed from working too many hours and raising his daughter alone, thus the impatient communication that softens to hugging her head when he realizes he only has a brief moment to be together (remembering all the times he went to bed at night regretting his quick temper and how it affects his daughter). The daughter who, perhaps, lost her mom too young and is on a life path that doesn’t match what she deserves.
I have one suggestion. When I read “he said in a sympathetic voice,” it struck me as a little out of place for a couple reasons. (1) “Well I got places to be” is still showing impatience. Perhaps you could interject after that sentence someting along the lines of “Then he caught himself and sympathetically said, ‘I only had time to give you your pills.'” The second possible contradiction is how shortly in the story after he actually lightens his tone and gives her a gesture of his love that the daughter wants to “lighten the mood”. Something about that, for me, lessened the impact of the last part, from “I wanted to fill the room…” all the way to “‘Thanks, Dad.'” (which I like the wording of). I don’t know if that makes sense.
I’m fairly new to the Write Practice (and to creative writing), too. I joined in awhile ago, then didn’t have time for awhile, but am taking more frequent opportunities to visit and savour this amazing environment again.
I’m glad the relationship between the father and daughter came together for you! And thank you for the helpful suggestion. Looking back, it is a bit contradicting and would be a lot better if the ending was a bit more thought out.
I’m a bit new to writing and am trying to find my own voice. Better to practice than not at all, right? This is my first time doing this, so here is goes:
_________________________________________________
I sat on the tiled floor, holding my head as I waited for him. I briefly looked up to be sure it was him whom was making his way down the stairs. He yelled impatiently,
“What are you doing sittin’ on the floor?”, as if he were embarrassed of me even when no one was around to see.
“My head hurts. I needed to go somewhere to escape from all the noises.”
He bent down in front of me, and unzippered his heavy work bag. He reached into the bag and gave me a bottle of water, a container of fresh, sliced fruit, and the bottle containing my medication.
“Well, I got places to be. I only had time to give you your pills”, he said in a sympathetic voice. He stood up, leaned over to hug my head, and then turned to walk up the stairs. I was sad to see him go. I wanted to fill the room with witty words that would lighten the mood. All I could think of to say was
“Thanks Dad”.
I’m a bit new to writing and am trying to find my own voice. Better to practice than not at all, right? This is my first time doing this, so here is goes:
_________________________________________________
I sat on the tiled floor, holding my head as I waited for him. I briefly looked up to be sure it was him whom was making his way down the stairs. He yelled impatiently,
“What the hell are you doing sittin’ on the floor?”, as if he were embarrassed of me even when no one was around to see.
“My head hurts. I needed to go somewhere to escape from all the noises.”
He bent down in front of me, and unzippered his heavy work bag. He reached into the bag and gave me a bottle of water, a container of fresh, sliced fruit, and the bottle containing my medication.
“Well, I got places to be. I only had time to give you your pills”, he said in a sympathetic voice. He stood up, leaned over to hug my head, and then turned to walk up the stairs. I was sad to see him go. I wanted to fill the room with witty words that would lighten the mood. All I could think of to say was
“Thanks Dad”.
Sorry, I’m not very good with technology and didn’t realize I posted three separate times…
I’ll know for next time.
Back in the saddle again!
Man, I’ve missed this. I feel like I am twenty five years old again. Ah, what I could have done with this kind of take back then.
I can’t think about that now though. I can’t second guess anything. I did what was right for me. I did what was right for them. I would have been no good to her if I took that gamble and lost.
I still think about her sometimes though. What can I say? Even bad guys know what love is. We know better than you might think.
How does that go… “places to go, people to see, things to do…”. Yeah right. Just getting up and getting ready for a purposeful day is a challenge. And here i am, headed down the steps, half in shadow, ready to get on the early train. To where? Yet another interview, with the likely ‘sorry, but…’ outcome. As I put one foot in front of the other, the echo punctuates my determination and anticipates the hollow feeling of failure.
Great. Inside his head. Down the steps again! Good analogy.
Thanks for sharing.
Dave’s steps echoed around him as he
descended into the tunnel, the sound knocking his ears as it bounced off the
walls. The underground passage was devoid of life and he was enveloped in the
gloom, the light from the street gradually fading behind him. The strap on his
bag was cutting into his shoulder, heavy from the weight of all he owned. He’d
left much behind, brutally culling his possessions until he had only the bare
necessities.
He was walking away from all he had known
for the past 5 years. But that life no longer fitted him. He could no longer
live with his wings clipped. He needed to stretch beyond the restrictions, to
spread his wings and embrace change. The path ahead was pitch black, but a
glimmer appeared in the distance. Not hesitating, Dave put one foot in front of
the other, striding away from his past and closer to his future. The exit
appeared before him and as he reached the top he paused, closed his eyes and
took a deep breath. And smiled.
Riley called from the end booth “OK folks. Let’s call it a
day. You can all go home and get some rest.”
He swiveled round on his tired old leather director’s chair
and placed his thick black rimmed glasses on the centre of his desk. Riley
dropped his head and clasped his hands in resignation.
“There’s nothing more we can do today.”
The two young officers and the records assistant looked up in
surprise. The old man had never suggested they stop their tenacious pursuit on
current crime and hot press stories. Over-time was always a given.
Giovanni jumped up grabbed his jacket from the back of his
chair and sat his felt trilby atop his square head.
“ Best news I’ve heard all day.” He smiled threw his coat
over the crook of his arm and headed for the door.
“Hey Gio’. Not you. I need a word. The rest of you scarper,
I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Arrghh. Nearly out. What’s up boss? “
“Sit down Gio. Take off your hat.” Riley swung the big black
LCD screen around. “What’s going on?”
Giovanni flushed red. His thick middle aged jowls whimpered
with the heat and blood seeped purple threads across his whisky wrinkled
cheeks.
“How did you get that? You been following me?” he stuttered,
nudging his glasses further up his nose.
“It’s a still from platform eleven ‘n twelve at Central yesterday.
I was flicking through the released security footage for the Bazzard case, and
well there you are. Looking quite relaxed strolling down to the foyer between
the platforms. Just about the same time as the girl went missing.”
Riley leaned forward biting his bottom lip. “You need to
talk to me. We’re already in deep on this case. If they even so much as think
we’ve had our people snooping around the place when this happened, well heads
will role.”
Riley leaned back. His chair screeched beneath his bulging
girth.
“Explain yourself. And it better be good.”
I like how you expanded this beyond the basic guy walking down the stairs. You took a glimpse of that scene and transported it very skillfully into a whole different scene. Well done.
Thanks. I just started writing and this is what came out. It always intrigues me what emerges.
I’ll stay tuned to see how the next scene plays out! = )
I stare down the dark tunnel nothing shines though just like my hopes. I climb the stairs the steel railing cold on my hand. Why had I done this. The sound of my footsteps echos though the tunnel. A light flickers giving a glow in the dark of the tunnel filling me with hope. I sit down and grab a little blanket and look in it and see a face of a baby looking up at me in hope. I walk with her back though the tunnel.
Footsteps make hollow companions when the only ones you hear belong to you. I should have worn my soft soled shoes. These oxfords feel the need to inflict an ear-aching echo on each sleeping marble step. But this mausoleum could do with an awakening anyway. I pause on the last step. Sinister light greasily illumines the next flight of stairs.
Also, there is the hallway. It stretches to my left and to my right, the mouths of a yawning, two-headed monster. Either one will swallow the unassuming pedestrian in either greed or despair. There are ten stone tiles that I must cross before I can descend deeper into the bowels of this building. The key, of course, is to walk slowly and assuredly, looking neither to the right or the left, stepping only on the tiles directly in the center of the passage. I slide my feet one tile to the right and listen to the sharp rhythm of my shoes. Too sharp. A metallic clang sounds off to the left. The building is awakening.
Hi Elise.
I enjoyed seeing you practicing the use of bringing the environment to life for example the building will ‘…swallow the unassuming pedestrian’ and ‘The building is awakening’, ‘…descend into the Bowles’.
I also liked the way you have used the sound of shoes, as if they are invading silence and waking the building up. Good effort. 🙂
Wow. Right off, that first sentence is quotable… can I quote you? As Dawn said, lots of interesting phrases. I didn’t quite understand the stepping only directly in the center of the passage. What I’m thinking of is how people in anonymous places don’t look at others and just make their way straight to their destination within the building. I’m curious what that part means to you.
As I leave this world and enter into another, the silhouette of a man appears. He’s hovering over the paramedics who are methodically trying to revive me. I see them speaking but don’t hear their voices because of to the deafening siren above. The man leans back, looks skyward for a moment as if a droplet of rain has somehow pierced the roof and bitten him on the hand. He nods subtlety and squeezes himself into the seat next to the paramedic. With his country style fedora resting on his lap and an unzipped bag stuffed between his legs on the floor held in place by his heels, the man sits erect as if waiting for a bus to take him to work.
“Michael, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand if you can hear me” ordered the female paramedic.
I do nothing but lay there vulnerable and unaware of what is going on. I want to scream out but am unable to. My hands and feet are freezing cold just like they were when I did that polar bear swim in ’95. Fuck I was cold. What was I thinking?
“He’s gone” the other medic declared.
I exhale as though I had been holding my breath for 43 years. A faint smell of vanilla with a hint of chocolate fills my nostrils as the siren stops abruptly. The man reaches for his bag below while carefully placing his hat upon his head.
“Follow me” he says with a velvety smooth voice.
Through a lazy fog I grasp the mans silhouette with my eyes not wanting to lose him. It’s as if I am floating like a morning mist that blankets a lake. A few moments pass until I reach a shoreline of silvery-white marble tile set inside a pristine train station platform.
The man is ahead of me making his way up a perfectly constructed staircase.
“Are you coming?” the man asks as he looks over his shoulder.
“Uhm, are you God or Satan?” I ask reluctantly
He chuckles and says “Just follow me. You’ll know when we reach the top of the stairs”
I step forward and it suddenly becomes clear.
He stepped slowly down the stairs into the darkness. For once it doesn’t stink down here, he thought. Still, he took his time, waiting for his glasses to transition from the bright daylight above to the dim below. It was beautiful and warm today, he had draped his coat over his bag, but he was still warm in the pull over he wore. The cool in the station felt nice, and he thought again how glad he was that the station didn’t smell.
As he crossed the tile floor to the platform, he thought about his day and smiled. He was certain nothing could shake the euphoria he felt. The call that morning warmed his heart. His only daughter was on the other end when he picked up. Over the phone her voice sounded exactly like her mother’s, and for a moment, he thought he was speaking to his late wife. But Alice had been gone for exactly a decade today.
The quiet platform felt like a mausoleum and tears came to his eyes at the thought of her. He distracted himself by checking the arrival board. Six minutes. He blinked rapidly and forced the tears away.
Today was not for mourning, but rejoicing.
Annie, his precious daughter, had called him. He had not seen her since the funeral. She had blamed him for the death of her mother. After they spread the ashes of their wife and mother at the seashore, Annie turned on a heel and walked out of his life. His calls to his daughter went unanswered, and not long after, the number was disconnected. In the matter of a month, he lost the two women he loved the most.
It would have been easy to turn back to the bottle, but his last promise to Alice was that he wouldn’t. While Alice could not argue, Annie was not convinced when he told his daughter the promise he made the last moment with his wife. Too many promises broken, Annie said.
But he kept that promise. He knew the coin in his pocket was there, but he absent-mindedly patted his pant leg. Ten years clean.
And the call. The call!
The telephone never rang, especially in the morning. It startled him so much that he dropped his spoon into the bowl, splashing bits of cereal and milk around the table. He was annoyed by the mess he made, but breakfast was soon forgotten when he heard Annie’s voice.
His daughter wanted to talk. Annie said she had wasted so many years angry at him and she hoped her father could forgive her. She wanted to see him! With a trembling hand, he wrote down her address.
His old leather bag was in the back of the closet. In it, he kept precious momentos of Alice that he promised he would someday give to their daughter. Some photos, a few of the small cross-stitched pictures Alice loved doing so much. There was a journal there, too, one Alice had started when before Annie was born, in which Alice wrote the hopes and dreams she had for her daughter. He found it buried in Alice’s closet. He hadn’t read but the first page. It wasn’t for him.
He lifted the bag as he waited for the train, gripping the worn handle tighter. It reassured him that the journal and other items were still with him. He checked the board again. Four minutes. He could hardly contain his excitement. Annie said she would meet him at her stop. He wondered how his daughter looked now. He smiled, beautiful like her mother, he was sure.
A voice behind him broke him out of his pleasant thoughts.
“Hey, old man. What’s in the bag?”
He turned to see three youths. They looked like trouble and flanked him threateningly. That’s when, with his hand trembling, he pulled out the old revolver.
I enjoyed reading that. I got areal sense of the swirl of reflection and current of emotion that ‘he’ was experiencing. And a great ending. Thanks for sharing.
Thank you!
I walk out of the train entering into the stone room.
The musty smells of mold and moister, seems to linger in the air hitting against my face.
I thought to myself, “It must be raining out, so high above the stone room”
Far off, I can here drips falling.
That gentle drip drip sound sings and soothes me, but the light ahead beckons me to continue forward.
I walk until I reach the exit and entrance, of the stone stare case.
I pause, watching a young man enters down to the dark stone room, exiting the bright world from above.
Even from far away, I can see his suit drenched, from the stormy rain that I know is poring .
In a hurry, he moves farther down to meet the train that comes.
I check my phone, flipping it open.
It is then and there, that I smile once again, glancing at that happy photo of me and my love.
Still, my messages show, there is still no respond from him.
So, here I stay until that message gives me the motion, “I’m here, and waiting for your arrival. Enter the bright world and come with me, I wait for only you”
Now leaning against the stone walls, my eyes look up to the bright world.
They stay adjusted to the dim stone room, leaving my mind in wonder, “what is, in that world above?”
My heart races so quickly, as I feel that buzzing with clenched fingers in my pocket.
Scanning my phone, I’ve been under here for a hour and a half.
The old man slowly descended the stairs into darkness. Tonight he was feeling his years his leather satchel felt heavier than usual and his knee ached from the dank cold of his surroundings. It was time to retire. No longer could he stomach the wails and pleads of those he was recruited to extract information
from.
He was tired of living in the bloodied shadows of the
underground and yearned for the warmth of the sun on his wrinkled face. He wrapped his knuckles against the thick iron door and waited. A small widow flew open
and two beady brown eyes popped out.
Just as fast it slide shut and was followed by the familiar sound of a heavy dead
bolt being pulled to one side. The massive door heaved open dramatically as the old man removed his hat and slowly walked in.
It was at this time, when he was coming from home, yet he didn’t know where he was headed. Everything seemed dark; his path seemed dark. Infact, he probably didn’t have a path since he didn’t know where he was going in life.
He did hop on the train that night; and did get off at a random stop. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know who he was; anymore. His life had passed him by. His past flashing in front of his eyes. Nothing felt real anymore. Everything was left into ashes.
He had no friends. No family. He was all alone. He pushed himself to believe in the power of the universe, but it was tough.
I live for this moment, it is responsible for my ego and has shaped my personality. People look at me different and try to push it out of their head when they talk to me. It is the unspoken fact of my life. I don’t hesitate out of fear or lack of courage but rather to savor the moment. I’ve paused for far too long now and he’s moving farther along the stairs, I need to accomplish what I’ve came here to do.
His movements are very jerky. He is hurt. He takes the stairs as if they are his last round in a boxing match. He is damaged inside and out. If only he knew the intentions of others. He is not me, I have been taught to finish strong, but he enjoys embracing the self pity. Its been way too long now, I am still in my window of time, my training has not failed me, breathing, sight picture, constant even trigger squeeze…
Screw this Crap
“Screw this crap!” It had been a long day in front of the computer, in a 6.5 by 6.5 cubicle, (exact measurements are requited due to electrical outlet feeds ) at a desk with
limited personal items, and he had had enough. The call center had finally
created enough of a non-creative and indifferent environment that he just had
to leave, no paycheck needed, no explanation needed, no explanation wanted,
“take this job and shove it”.
Since there were no personal items allowed on the desk, John only had his gym bag and his hat to contend with and just a two goodbyes to fellow workers. First he went to the
employee lunchroom, where he knew that Josh would be eating lunch and he sat
down. Josh who was reading a book and eating at the same time said “ What going
on?”
John stated, “ I have had enough and I wanted to say goodbye. Please don’t say anything to anyone or some manager will trip the alarm and they will lock down the place. I do not want to be delayed another minute” Josh ask “ Are you OK?”
“I actually have never felt better. My decision has been made and I can now carry on with my life. I hope that we can get together outside of work and I will fill you in on
details and say a proper goodbye. Please do not be alarmed; all is well. I going
to say goodbye to Martha and then head out. Take care, I will call you”
Josh’s expression was both dumfounded and happy, his mouth with a slight smile and his eyes giving a quizzical look made John wonder if Josh had not thought of acting in a similar manner. John walked out of the lunchroom to Martha’s desk and stood by while
she completed a phone call.
“Hi” said Martha. “What’s happening? Have you heard the latest news on our boss?” John stated that he had not heard any news, but he had some news for her. “ I am walking out now and I wanted to say goodbye.”
“You what?”. John put his finger to his lips and said, “Keep it down. I don’t want management to know until after I am gone. I will call you and Josh later and we can get together.” Maratha jumped up and gave him a big hug and whispered, “ You better call my
cell, because I might just follow you!” They hugged and John made his way thru
the obstacle of cubicles and to the elevator.
Johns’ misgivings began to creep into his mind as he descended to the first floor parking deck. How would he pay his bills? How would he pay
for food? He exited the elevator with his gym bag and walked over to the
stairs, which lead to the second basement, parking garage. As he walked down
the stairs, he realized that the lights were off and it was unusually dark. He
said out loud, which surprised him, “ I hope that this is the only darkness
into which I am walking!”
The day weighed heavy on Troy’s mind. When he left work he decided to walk to the next closet subway stop instead of the one nearest his work. It was cool so he donned his hat but chose to carry his jacket and let the cool air lift away some of the heaviness. His best friend Steve wasn’t at work today, he had called in sick but Troy knew the real reason he wasn’t there.
As he approached the descent to the subway he thought to himself, “What’s he going to do tomorrow and the day after? Steve’s problem isn’t going away any time soon.” As the dim light of the tunnel ascended, the mild breeze from above gave way to the cool, musty air below. Troy found an odd comfort in the shadows punctuated by the evenly spaced lights along the walls. There were other people but he didn’t notice them.
He found a seat off to the side a bit removed from the bulk of the other waiting passengers. He sat down, laid his jacket across his lap and stared off somewhere, chin resting on his hand, focusing on nothing. “I know he’s tried to shield Kaley from this” he thought. “They care about each other and they’ll have to broach this at some point if they’re in for the long haul” he justified to himself. But he couldn’t shake the idea that it wasn’t it his place. “Maybe I’ll call her” he thought as he heard the train approaching and stood up to get in line.