That's right. I'm actually going to start using this. I figured since this was occupying space on the interwebz and had my name on it I needed to actually do something with it.
We'll see how long that motivation lasts. This new writing project that I might be in will probably help.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Monday, September 13, 2010
Forever
((This is something I wrote for a project.))
She was happy about the offer. That much was true. Yet, as she stood there amongst her smiling, cheering coworkers, she could not bring herself to tell the truth, even to herself. So, she did as she always did in these situations. She smiled graciously, thanked everyone for their well wishes, and said not a word about how conflicted she was. Only when she was alone, in her own little space and time, could she allow herself to weep. It was the way things had to be.
The week had started well enough. Boring and monotonous, her job had always been one of little impact. After all, she was no one important within the company. She had worked there for over a year now, and being only one of dozens of file clerks and secretaries, she went through her day in autopilot, running errands and typing memos with an almost robotic air about her. She had the appearance of being unapproachable, and she truly was. She was good to work with, or so she had overheard, but she had no friends and wanted no friends. Friends were time consuming. Friends were a liability. Friends were... dangerous.
Her life outside of work was, well, nonexistent. She lived in a small apartment. Her furnishings were sparse and plain. Her meals were quiet and bland. Any offers to go out and socialize were politely refused, and now there are no offers at all. Her phone used to ring frequently, but once her number became unlisted, it completely stopped. She had done a very good job at making herself completely invisible, and she liked it that way. If she needed to, she could leave at a moment's notice and not be missed for several days. It was all according to plan... or so she thought.
Everything seemed like it always did. Monday and Tuesday passed with all the same old patterns. However, Wednesday she noticed, in her dull revery, that something was odd. She was being treated with more deference at work. Oh, it was nothing major, but more people than usual asked for her help. More important assignments made their way to her desk. More attempts were made to engage her in small talk on her breaks and as she passed by the more social areas of the office. For most, it was not even something that would be noticed. To her, and her carefully crafted world of separation, it was highly unusual, and more than a little frightening.
Unable to show anyone that she even noticed the change, she left work early, pleading an illness that she felt but did not show. She raced home, craving the quiet and predictability of her own home. When she arrived, she noticed right away that something was wrong with her door. The handle looked a little shaky, and there were fresh scratches around the keyhole. Every instinct screaming to run, she grasped the handle and slowly pushed the door open. It felt loose in her hand, as if it had been forcibly twisted until it gave. Time was in slow motion as the door swung inward. In her dazed state, she noticed the keyhole had been punched out, breaking the lock that she herself had installed. Still, she had started the action of opening the door, so she had to finish it.
As she stepped into the apartment, everything looked surprisingly normal. Nothing was missing or out of place. She breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe her anxiety had all been for naught. Dropping her purse onto the couch, she walked into the bedroom to change out of her work clothes. As she crossed the threshold and laid eyes on her bed, she froze in place. A single red rose lay upon her plain white coverlet. A white envelope with no writing on it lay across the stem, as if inviting her to read it. She slowly crossed to the bed and sank down next to the flower. Hand trembling, she grasped the envelope and cautiously tore it open. Reaching inside, she pulled out a small piece of folded white paper. Dropping the now empty envelope, she opened the paper. There was but a single word printed on it. As she read it, the color drained from her face. The paper fell from her now lifeless grasp, fluttering slowly to the floor, drifting as if on an invisible breeze, until it finally came to rest. She could still see it mocking her, proof positive that no matter how careful she had been... it was not enough. In a ink as red as blood, it screamed in her mind.
Forever.
Maybe she's wrong. Maybe he hasn't really found her. This could all be some terrible sick joke at her expense. Yes, a terrible joke. Clearly lying to herself, she crushed the paper beneath her heel. Grabbing the envelope and flower, she tossed them into the garbage and spent the rest of her evening as she always does, all the while ignoring the voice in her mind screaming to run. That he has found her. That she should have known she could never escape. In her preoccupation, she completely forgot about the unusual behavior at work. A mistake on her part.
Thursday morning. Expressing a lack of emotion she did not feel, she made her way to work, determined to put the night of anxiety behind her. As she walked in the door, she is immediately inundated by her coworkers, chattering excitingly. It seemed that a very important person had just paid a great deal of money for the company, and the balance of power had shifted overnight. A meeting had been called first thing to discuss the new management. There was also talk of promotions and firings within the company. She took this all in stride. Her problems were of much greater magnitude, and she could always find a new job. A part of her wanted to do that anyway now... a new job in a new city in a new state. Somewhere far from here.
She did not even realize everyone had left while she was musing, so she raced to the meeting room so that she did not miss the announcements. As she slipped in the door, she saw that they had already started, but no one seemed to notice her late arrival. Still distracted, she was caught completely off guard by her coworker grabbing her arm and shoving her out of her seat.
Completely confused, she turned to the front of the room and saw her boss motioning for her to come forward. When she arrived, he told her that the new CEO had noticed her exemplary skills and had seen fit to offer her a promotion. A very good one with excellent benefits. While a part of her was overjoyed, she merely smiled and nodded while her coworkers crowded around her. Something seemed terribly wrong, and she could not determine what.
Returning to her desk, she was completely taken aback. A single red rose was laid across her paperwork. No note this time, yet not a single one of her coworkers could tell her how it got there. Panicked, she was turning to excuse herself when she felt a hand placed upon her shoulder. Smoothing her features, she turned and saw that it was her boss. The new CEO himself was asking for her, and she had to come right this moment. Resolving to leave as soon as the meeting was over, she made her way to his office and was escorted in by his unfamiliar secretary. His chair was turned away, so she made a slight sound to announce her presence.
The chair slowly spun, and she involuntarily took a step back. It was him. He had found her. Even as he rose to his feet, she sank to her knees. Her eyes dropping, she sensed more than saw him come around the desk to stand in front of her. His hand went under her chin and forced her eyes upward. His gaze was cold and mocking, yet powerful and appealing. He was amazing handsome and charismatic. Of course, being as powerful as he was, he could have looked like a drowned frog and people would still trip over themselves to bow at his feet.
Shivers went up and down her spine as he berated her on the futility of her hiding, and the stupidity of her actions. He spoke to her as if nothing had changed between them, and of course he was right. Slowly she wilted further and further, only the strength of his grip keeping her upright. Snarling, he released her and let her drop to the floor. As she lay there, unable to even move in her mental agony, he reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a single red rose. As he held it out in front of her, she knew that if she took it, she would never be free... and yet, deep in her heart, she knew she would never be free regardless. There was no hope. There was no freedom. Shuddering, she pulled herself to her feet and reached out her open hand. As he shoved the rose into her palm, she felt the sting of its thorns and knew her pain was only just beginning. Her hand tightened around it, punching the thorns even deeper, and with tears streaming down her face, all she could do was close her eyes and whisper.
"Forever."
She was happy about the offer. That much was true. Yet, as she stood there amongst her smiling, cheering coworkers, she could not bring herself to tell the truth, even to herself. So, she did as she always did in these situations. She smiled graciously, thanked everyone for their well wishes, and said not a word about how conflicted she was. Only when she was alone, in her own little space and time, could she allow herself to weep. It was the way things had to be.
The week had started well enough. Boring and monotonous, her job had always been one of little impact. After all, she was no one important within the company. She had worked there for over a year now, and being only one of dozens of file clerks and secretaries, she went through her day in autopilot, running errands and typing memos with an almost robotic air about her. She had the appearance of being unapproachable, and she truly was. She was good to work with, or so she had overheard, but she had no friends and wanted no friends. Friends were time consuming. Friends were a liability. Friends were... dangerous.
Her life outside of work was, well, nonexistent. She lived in a small apartment. Her furnishings were sparse and plain. Her meals were quiet and bland. Any offers to go out and socialize were politely refused, and now there are no offers at all. Her phone used to ring frequently, but once her number became unlisted, it completely stopped. She had done a very good job at making herself completely invisible, and she liked it that way. If she needed to, she could leave at a moment's notice and not be missed for several days. It was all according to plan... or so she thought.
Everything seemed like it always did. Monday and Tuesday passed with all the same old patterns. However, Wednesday she noticed, in her dull revery, that something was odd. She was being treated with more deference at work. Oh, it was nothing major, but more people than usual asked for her help. More important assignments made their way to her desk. More attempts were made to engage her in small talk on her breaks and as she passed by the more social areas of the office. For most, it was not even something that would be noticed. To her, and her carefully crafted world of separation, it was highly unusual, and more than a little frightening.
Unable to show anyone that she even noticed the change, she left work early, pleading an illness that she felt but did not show. She raced home, craving the quiet and predictability of her own home. When she arrived, she noticed right away that something was wrong with her door. The handle looked a little shaky, and there were fresh scratches around the keyhole. Every instinct screaming to run, she grasped the handle and slowly pushed the door open. It felt loose in her hand, as if it had been forcibly twisted until it gave. Time was in slow motion as the door swung inward. In her dazed state, she noticed the keyhole had been punched out, breaking the lock that she herself had installed. Still, she had started the action of opening the door, so she had to finish it.
As she stepped into the apartment, everything looked surprisingly normal. Nothing was missing or out of place. She breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe her anxiety had all been for naught. Dropping her purse onto the couch, she walked into the bedroom to change out of her work clothes. As she crossed the threshold and laid eyes on her bed, she froze in place. A single red rose lay upon her plain white coverlet. A white envelope with no writing on it lay across the stem, as if inviting her to read it. She slowly crossed to the bed and sank down next to the flower. Hand trembling, she grasped the envelope and cautiously tore it open. Reaching inside, she pulled out a small piece of folded white paper. Dropping the now empty envelope, she opened the paper. There was but a single word printed on it. As she read it, the color drained from her face. The paper fell from her now lifeless grasp, fluttering slowly to the floor, drifting as if on an invisible breeze, until it finally came to rest. She could still see it mocking her, proof positive that no matter how careful she had been... it was not enough. In a ink as red as blood, it screamed in her mind.
Forever.
Maybe she's wrong. Maybe he hasn't really found her. This could all be some terrible sick joke at her expense. Yes, a terrible joke. Clearly lying to herself, she crushed the paper beneath her heel. Grabbing the envelope and flower, she tossed them into the garbage and spent the rest of her evening as she always does, all the while ignoring the voice in her mind screaming to run. That he has found her. That she should have known she could never escape. In her preoccupation, she completely forgot about the unusual behavior at work. A mistake on her part.
Thursday morning. Expressing a lack of emotion she did not feel, she made her way to work, determined to put the night of anxiety behind her. As she walked in the door, she is immediately inundated by her coworkers, chattering excitingly. It seemed that a very important person had just paid a great deal of money for the company, and the balance of power had shifted overnight. A meeting had been called first thing to discuss the new management. There was also talk of promotions and firings within the company. She took this all in stride. Her problems were of much greater magnitude, and she could always find a new job. A part of her wanted to do that anyway now... a new job in a new city in a new state. Somewhere far from here.
She did not even realize everyone had left while she was musing, so she raced to the meeting room so that she did not miss the announcements. As she slipped in the door, she saw that they had already started, but no one seemed to notice her late arrival. Still distracted, she was caught completely off guard by her coworker grabbing her arm and shoving her out of her seat.
Completely confused, she turned to the front of the room and saw her boss motioning for her to come forward. When she arrived, he told her that the new CEO had noticed her exemplary skills and had seen fit to offer her a promotion. A very good one with excellent benefits. While a part of her was overjoyed, she merely smiled and nodded while her coworkers crowded around her. Something seemed terribly wrong, and she could not determine what.
Returning to her desk, she was completely taken aback. A single red rose was laid across her paperwork. No note this time, yet not a single one of her coworkers could tell her how it got there. Panicked, she was turning to excuse herself when she felt a hand placed upon her shoulder. Smoothing her features, she turned and saw that it was her boss. The new CEO himself was asking for her, and she had to come right this moment. Resolving to leave as soon as the meeting was over, she made her way to his office and was escorted in by his unfamiliar secretary. His chair was turned away, so she made a slight sound to announce her presence.
The chair slowly spun, and she involuntarily took a step back. It was him. He had found her. Even as he rose to his feet, she sank to her knees. Her eyes dropping, she sensed more than saw him come around the desk to stand in front of her. His hand went under her chin and forced her eyes upward. His gaze was cold and mocking, yet powerful and appealing. He was amazing handsome and charismatic. Of course, being as powerful as he was, he could have looked like a drowned frog and people would still trip over themselves to bow at his feet.
Shivers went up and down her spine as he berated her on the futility of her hiding, and the stupidity of her actions. He spoke to her as if nothing had changed between them, and of course he was right. Slowly she wilted further and further, only the strength of his grip keeping her upright. Snarling, he released her and let her drop to the floor. As she lay there, unable to even move in her mental agony, he reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a single red rose. As he held it out in front of her, she knew that if she took it, she would never be free... and yet, deep in her heart, she knew she would never be free regardless. There was no hope. There was no freedom. Shuddering, she pulled herself to her feet and reached out her open hand. As he shoved the rose into her palm, she felt the sting of its thorns and knew her pain was only just beginning. Her hand tightened around it, punching the thorns even deeper, and with tears streaming down her face, all she could do was close her eyes and whisper.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Go With The Flow
So, I figured I would try my hand at having a blog. Maybe if I actually have a place to put my writings, I won't burn or delete them in a moment of extreme self criticism. I suppose this is like an introduction to it all, so I guess I will get all of the explanatory stuff out of the way first.
I'm young, but not too young. I feel a lot older than I am, honestly. I am a bit jaded (well, more than a bit) and depressed sometimes. I like to think I have the ability to be positive...I just choose not to be all the time. Why does this matter? Well, writing is directly affected by the attitude of the person who is doing the writing. That does not explain everything I will end up throwing in here, but it is a good guideline to remember.
I can't really say if this will turn into poetry or stories. I honestly never know what I'm going to write when I sit down to write it. I just get a little tickle in my head that says, "Hey you! It's time to write something! It's getting full up here!"
Well, that's done. Now that I've done my intro, I probably won't touch this again for like a month...I am such a slacker.
I'm young, but not too young. I feel a lot older than I am, honestly. I am a bit jaded (well, more than a bit) and depressed sometimes. I like to think I have the ability to be positive...I just choose not to be all the time. Why does this matter? Well, writing is directly affected by the attitude of the person who is doing the writing. That does not explain everything I will end up throwing in here, but it is a good guideline to remember.
I can't really say if this will turn into poetry or stories. I honestly never know what I'm going to write when I sit down to write it. I just get a little tickle in my head that says, "Hey you! It's time to write something! It's getting full up here!"
Well, that's done. Now that I've done my intro, I probably won't touch this again for like a month...I am such a slacker.
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