16 May 2012
Writing prompt : The story must occur in the timeframe of exactly 6 minutes, and the 6 minutes must be part of the story somehow that it is 6 minutes. Any length. Must be a dead animal. Has to be a weapon that is used that is not considered a weapon, and there has to be a variety of identifiable textures. Textures have to be in the story.
Just to say, I was not looking forward to this prompt from my teacher... Ugh.
Story:
12:43PM. How could the time go so slowly? I watched the scenery along the road while listening to music. The horses were out chewing on the grass, bathing in the sunlight, and could see a few birds flying about. I watched as a leaf fell from one of the many trees along the way. It was quite majestic in its decent; fluttering, twitching and turning every which way it could—surfing the air I’d say, though no words were muttered from my mouth. I liked the trees, seeing their rough, brown bark in a cylinder formation. It was unique. The fences varied in shapes and sizes too, from metal to wooden, short and tall, all nearby some driveway that led off to a house that I’ve never been to. Sometimes I’d like to see what lay within these homes, though I am too scared to ask if I could just look inside. Out of the whole minute of allotted time to watch the scenery to my destination, it was not enough. But I would not be going back to look at it all over again either till tomorrow.
12:44PM. The silence can be disturbing at times… I opened the car door. I wanted to say thank you for the ride, but I could not. Considering everything in the past, this was beyond me. When within this presence, I am not myself, I am someone else. I am a silent, time constrained person who does not need any of the offerings of the world. I close the vehicle door, and enter through the house. If someone needs to be thanked for a good deed they have done, they are still immature and need to grow more inside. I untie my shoes as I listen carefully to my mom step through the front door behind me, and without a word, walk off to her room. If they need to be told that I love them, from me, they are still not mature enough inside. But this is the exact opposite of what I yearn for, of who I am on the inside. They created that person that I am, not me. I have found a way to escape that face and be who I really am when I am not around their presence. I decide to head to the kitchen for a glass of water, passing by my mom without a word spoken between us. So close, but so distant. Both opposites equal in unison, co-existing in an undefinable definition. The silence keeps the distance and closeness as extreme as possible.
12:45PM. I wish I could escape this distant nightmare. I lock my bedroom door as I entered my room. I have been waiting patiently to be in the only place I can actually be me in what is still distant. I turned the TV on as I sat down at my bed, checking my iPod to see who is online, hoping to message my close friends as the TV drowns out my noise and provides a fairly blank background from whatever is being played. My friend isn’t responding to any messages I send her. She did say she was headed to the studio, and so thought maybe she’d be there when I get home, but maybe I’m early. I look at the TV, seeing of the chefs cutting up a chicken. Never been fond of death, but I’ve seen so many dead carcasses handled by master artists in designing the use of them, that it hardly bothers me anymore. Seeing that fiber-like flesh twitch every which way, hearing bones crack and that sound of joints being disconnected by pulling is bothersome for me. What they haven’t done is show one of those chefs travel to different regions and forage for their gourmet meals. I would bet some would stop experimenting with what they could do with the variety of carcasses they could obtain. This was enough for me for one day, and turned the channel to history before I sat down at my computer. I wonder when my friend will be back…
12:46PM. The time is irrelevant. Everything is in proportion to what it is made to be. I log onto my laptop and instantly start my game. The keys are just a little oily, from sweat and lots of use through the years, but I manage to keep it clean enough so I can feel the smooth plastic underneath that. This was my escape for my whole life, and then abandoned. Just happened that I got into my gaming addiction again due to a club at school, but I found how to manage it now. My life, so full of holes, broken by the sheer amount of the time that I used playing games. I wonder what my friend would think of me when I have gotten back into this… I notice one of the people online. They’re a friend, who I enjoy playing with because of their love. They are kind, and caring—someone who gives me some love that I yearn to see more of. I invite them to a game, and when they accept, I start. I give them a hug before the game starts. They call me babe. I am not their lover, but non-the-less, it flutters my heart just a little. I love this love, I love them.
12:47PM. My friend, my savior, my world. They saved me from myself when I needed it most. The game was starting. I just had a minute waiting for it to load, and so I was looking at the other characters people chose, deciding my route for the game. My iPod beeped at me; it was my friend at the studio. Though they have sent over hundreds of thousands of hugs to me, each one is just as special as the first. I feel relieved, I feel comforted. I feel like I am loved, and actually connected somewhere, to someone. I have a purpose, for them, through them, a destination in life. Of my whole life, they are the only one who I actually feel truly love me for me; no fronts, no backdoors, no masks or escapes, or hidden passages or anything. Though we are miles apart, I feel closer to them then I do myself. I am theirs, an open book at their command, though they never command it. I wouldn’t want it any other way either, I need them. I need them to see me, guide me the way they do, care for me, no matter how silly anything may seem. I have nothing to hide, or fear from them. As long they’re there somewhere, I will endure somehow. I send them a hug back, and another a few moments after. I get another hug—my favorite thing in this world, their hugs. I ask them how their day is, while I also see what I’m up against on my game.
12:48PM. The start of a new day within a day. My day is already feeling much better with their hugs. I set my iPod down and prepare for my game, getting in lane, watching the minions advance. I have fought against bots, but I feel terrible slaying them. Plus, the way the makers of this game set up the PvP system, I feel much better going against real people. Death is a part of the game, it’s guaranteed you will die somewhere, and that’s perfectly fine to do so too. The atmosphere is meant to be nice, and just for fun, no seriousness involved. I can lose or win, and feel just content that I had faced a team who was equal to mine in some regards, though one side pulls out ahead. I tell the person through the game that I love them, and wish everyone good luck before starting my assault. My friend at the studio sent another message. It read ok. I sent them another hug, and asked what abstract piece they were doing today, and quickly turned back to my game. I was widdling down one of the enemy team members. Just below half health. A little further, and I will get first blood. My friend from the studio sent me back a message. She was still deciding what to paint. I suggested a metaphorical sunset before quickly turning back to my game, setting my hand down on in position. I line myself up, preparing to get first blood, and wait for them to take the bait. Just a little closer, I kept thinking, just a little closer… I shoot off my charm, watching the pink heart shoot across the screen, striking the enemy, and then I use all my abilities at once. One second… My friend dies… Just a tad disappointed I couldn’t get, one of their team mates got first blood instead on a different lane. They slain my friend, but they’re not out. Two seconds pass from my abilities, watching everything move so slowly, but happen so quickly, and they fall. I slain my enemy this time by throwing my orb out to them, but it might not be so next time around. My iPod goes off as I type to my friend, telling them they did a good try, and congratulate the enemy team on the first kill.
From Home To Pass Time • Opuss № I