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Unpack my post
Okay, simple rules:
I'll type a word, sentence or paragraph in bold and the person posting after me has to unpack it. Then he posts his own word, sentence, paragraph. This can be anything really. I'll start.
[B]Jimmy was feeling really hot so he took off his pullover, but soon realized that it was cold outside and put it on again.[/B]
Unpack.
[QUOTE=stoyan]Okay, simple rules:
I'll type a word, sentence or paragraph in bold and the person posting after me has to unpack it. Then he posts his own word, sentence, paragraph. This can be anything really. I'll start.
[B]Jimmy was feeling really hot so he took off his pullover, but soon realized that it was cold outside and put it on again.[/B]
Unpack.[/QUOTE]
The single drop of sweat rolling down his back only amplified the scratchiness around Jimmy's neck from the wool pullover. Cindy would be back any minute. He put down his coffee cup and pulled back the drapes, letting the grey early morning light wash over him like a personal fog.
Fuck it. He pulled off the striped sweater, arranged it neatly across the back of his old recliner, and touched the window with the palm of his hand.
Instantly, Jimmy's nipples puckered, and a chill raced the drop of sweat down his spine.
Cindy's old mustang swerved into his driveway. She honked the horn. Time to sweat again, Jimmy thought, as he pulled the sweater over his shoulders and braced himself for the biting wind.
Here's mine:
[B]Ray put on the headphones, and turned up the volume.[/B]
[B]We were about to give up and call it a night when somebody dropped the girl off the bridge.[/B]--[I]Darker Than Amber[/I], John D. McDonald (Best opening sentence ever.)
[QUOTE=vandamage]
[B]Ray put on the headphones, and turned up the volume.[/B][/QUOTE]
The old man next to him, he was still talking. Seat 37a, he just wouldnt shut up.
Seat 37c wouldn't stop kicking his hairless, prepuescent legs, mostly because they didn't touch the floor. The in flight movie was going to start soon, and anything was beter than the old guy, or listening to 37c's mother keep telling him to stop kicking from accross the aisle.
The old guy, he was from Texas. He was talking in circles because he's always been nervous about flying, and somehow he and his wife had gotten separate seats on the flight. Since she needed to sit with her sister, who was even older than both of them, Ray got to sit right there, next to the old Texan. Right in between him and Dennis the fucking Menace.
36c, she got the last open seat on the plane when she told the flight attendant that she needed to move because she needed to get some sleep, and the kid, the one next to Ray, wouldn't stop kicking the seat.
8 hours to the next layover, Ray though as he flipped through the Sky Mall ordering guide, 8 more hours. The old guy, he's still talking. Talking to the window. The kid, still kicking.
And with a little tear in his eye, Ray can just make out the announcement that the inflight movie will not be shown. 8 more fucking hours to the next layover.
[QUOTE=ireLocus]ok here's mine
[B]"hello"
"rachel"
"who is this"
"is this Rachel?"
"But... no one knows I'm here.."
*click*[/B][/QUOTE]
The phone shouldn't be ringing but it does. Once, twice, again and again. Rachel is sitting right next to it, her thin fingers with the worn-off nailpolish hammering against her bare knee. She keeps looking at the old black telephone and every ring seems to be completely unexpected. A few times her hand reaches over to the receiver but then withdraws again. She bites her lips. She stands up, sits down again and with a karate-like movement picks up the receiver. The plastic is cold against her ear and her lips form the barely audible word [i]hello?[/i]
There is a fast moment of silence and her eyes close with tension.
"Rachel? Rachel dear is that you?"
"Who is this?"
With the word 'this' her eyes suddenly widen. She knows. And she knows he knows.
"Is this Rachel?"
But Rachel has left the room. Left the state. She is home again, the endless piano lessons of her sister coming through the thin walls, the smell of hot brownies coming from the kitchen, accompanied by her mother's calls.
While Rachel at home runs down the screeching wooden stairs, Rachel on the phone murmers [i]but[/i]. She murmurs [i]no one knows I'm here[/i].
Then she hears herself and she is once again entirely on the phone.
With an echo-less bang Rachel slams the receiver down. "Leave me alone," she says to the telephone.
[b]William was unsure whether what he felt for Amelie was real love, or whether it was just a simulation that he sustained to fill an emptyness inside.[/b]
[QUOTE]William was unsure whether what he felt for Amelie was real love, or whether it was just a simulation that he sustained to fill an emptyness inside.[/QUOTE]
She was crying again. William should have expected this, but he wasn't aware of how cliche his bland reasoning was.
"I'm just not ready, Amelie. Marriage is a big step."
He always took such a mechanical, logical approach to everything, so Amelie tried to reason logically.
"If you love me, why wouldn't you want to get married. We've been together for three years."
"We should move in together for awhile, see how it works."
[I]Always changing the subject[/I], she thought. She cupped her hand on his chin, trying to get a good look in his eyes. He took her hand, turned it over, and kissed it softly.
"How do we know if we'll work out as a couple if we don't live together first?"
She frowned at this. "If you loved me, you would want to take the risk."
As he scrambled for a reply that might appease her, William started to doubt himself. He really did want her to move in with him, but for some reason, marriage was still a frightening thought. Looking back on the past three years with her, he knew that his life would have been empty without her. He needed her in his life, but was this really love? Perhaps it was a mere exaggeration of this need?
He wiped a tear from her face and pleaded, "please move in with me first."
Okay, my turn:
[I]As he fumbled for his keys to open the store, Barney slipped on an unseen patch of ice.[/I]
cheers,
[QUOTE=jase][I]As he fumbled for his keys to open the store, Barney slipped on an unseen patch of ice.[/I][/QUOTE]
"All right, all right." Barney said to himself. With Goober running Aunt Bea to the Cornbread Festival and Andy off to the Professional Law Enforcement Sheriff's of America convention in Vegas, old Barn was in charge of Mayberry.
"'bout fuckin' time too." Adding that one more key to his already overflowing keyring immediately provided both confidence and panic. [I]I've got the keys, but dammit, which one is it.[/I] Juggling a steaming cup of joe and a king ring the size of a horseshoe takes stamina, courage, and lots of strength. Finally, Barney found the key, jiggled the key in the lock, and tried to remember which way to turn it. Left didn't work, right wouldn't budge. [I]Fuck.[/I]
"Now Got-dammit, I'm acting Sheriff in Mayberry. Andy's gone, you piece of shit key, so you'd better open the fucking door right now, or I'm going to unholster my lethal weapon and blast you to Hell."
Mustering all the strength he could, he twisted the key to the right, and watched in horror as the key simply broke off into the lock like a stick of butter melting in his hand. "Fuck me," Barney screamed, as the cup of coffee spilt down the front of his super-creased slacks. One tiny movement from his left foot shifted his weight, and once the well-worn sole of his boot hit the still warm coffee in front of the store, it was all she wrote.
His skull smacked the concrete, hard. Barney winced, but then the warm sting slowly faded to a nice coolness. At least he was out of the wind now. Barney decided to just lay there, maybe take a nap. Andy wouldn't be gone that long.
[B]We were about to give up and call it a night when somebody dropped the girl off the bridge.[/B]--[I]Darker Than Amber[/I], John D. McDonald (Best opening sentence ever.)
[b]As he fumbled for his keys to open the store, Barney slipped on an unseen patch of ice.[/B]
For a moment, it was all white, like the snow falling around him. White and clear and fresh and crisp, like a memory. And he was a snowflake, falling slowly and gracefully, now watching from above, now closing his eyes.
He thought of holidays, of turkey and presents and relatives. He thought as far back as he could remember, all at once he thought of childhood and sandboxes and his first driver's license. And he knew this was his life flashing before his eyes, and he thought of nothing to regret.
His eyes were closed now, still falling, and in that split second he had understood everything, and felt nothing but weightless surrender to the essence of memory. He was moving at the speed of life. Suspended for a moment between shadow and dream, he understands that this is the key: Things had come before, and things would come after, and there would be nothing new under the sun, and time and times coma and go, stoic and naive and indifferent all at once.
He thought of all he had tried to understand. All the things he tried to make right. He felt the weight of it all lift, and then he felt the firmness of the earth below come up and meet his body with impartial resolution.
Falling was a momentary freedom. And now that moment has passed. Barney has seen it all, and still holding the keys, he is now released of this world.
[QUOTE=ireLocus]whoops.... so we both did the same one. you can make the new phrase if ya want.[/QUOTE]
Naw, I forgot to do that in my momentary lapse of reason. Go ahead and pack her up tight.
[B]We were about to give up and call it a night when somebody dropped the girl off the bridge.[/B]--[I]Darker Than Amber[/I], John D. McDonald (Best opening sentence ever.)
Everytime someone mentions the name Barney, I am immediately time warped back to Mayberry.
Don Knotts, you are the greatest. Love ya man.
[B]We were about to give up and call it a night when somebody dropped the girl off the bridge.[/B]--[I]Darker Than Amber[/I], John D. McDonald (Best opening sentence ever.)
Wait...I got one.
[B]Mindy's hangnail hurt so bad, she didn't even want to masturbate.[/B]
[B]We were about to give up and call it a night when somebody dropped the girl off the bridge.[/B]--[I]Darker Than Amber[/I], John D. McDonald (Best opening sentence ever.)
Yea, I wanted to get in on the unpacking action so I was going to give this one a shot...then I realized I have no idea how to describe a female masterbation experience.
The last time i didnt come in first was never, I mean earlier today. - Strongbad
ahh okay sorry this kinda sucks but there ya go.... i did it quite fast....
“Fuckin’ hell,” Mindy thought to herself as she nibbled on her middle finger. “This god damn hangnail. I can’t rip the little bastard, fuck this, I have not nails.”
She kept biting at her finger; she looked so concentrated, nibbling in this distant daze, you’d think that she was thinking of something of some importance, of some substance even. She appeared so deep in though, looked so innocent.
“I haven’t gotten laid in months, every decent lay in this town I’ve had. No, you haven’t, you haven’t had that James Harrelson guy,” her internal dialog was arguing with itself as she was scanning her memory of all the guys she’s “gotten to know” over the past couple years. “Mmm, man I should give Charlie a call, he’s always...” she searched for a word, “fun?”
She gets jerked forward when the bus comes to a halt at her stop and she’s snapped out of internal “sex and the city”-like chat with herself. She gets off the bus, with her cheap little knock-off Prada pumps, and this blue-shimmery skirt, blue like eyeshadow only a cheap hooker would wear, that barely covers her ass and it looks like it came from, well, fuck only knows.
She gets up the steps to her shitty apartment, and fumbles around her furry grey purse for her keys. “Fuck,” she whispers loudly, “damn hangnail hurts like a bitch.”
The answering machine says “no new messages” in that irritating little computer voice, and she plops on the couch letting out a loud, annoyed sigh. She flops over so all the world is now sideways, she looks at her right hand and nibbles at her finger again. “Jeeez, now I know how guys feel when they haven’t gotten any action in a while; we gotta move to a bigger city,” Mindy says to Rodolfo, her goldfish. “Do you ever get horny like this little man? Maybe I should get you a woman friend, then atleast one us would be happy."
She sighs and turns to lie on her back. “This damn hang nail. Its like throbbing now.” The word throbbing makes her think of dick, which makes her think of fucking, which makes her think of getting off, which makes her think of masturbation.”
Mindy takes off her jacket, and violently rubs her hands together to make them a bit warmer. “Shit, this damn hangnail. Come on, give me a break here.” She puts it in the back of her mind, and slowly slides her hand down her soft, warm tummy, down her pelvis, and unbuttons her skirt. “Oh my god this hangnail, Christ!” she bitches.
She sits up, leans over to put her chin in ur palm, her feet pigion-toed, and starts to bite at her finger again. She thinks to herself, “If only I was left handed.”
[QUOTE=walkingcontradiction][B]she hated her father, yet the photo made her cry. [/B] [/QUOTE]
After driving through the sunset with only the sound of bald tires grinding into pavement, John threw a Doral into my lap.
"You know, your mother had one sweet pussy."
"Really."
He laughs as if we were joking. "You scared of me?"
"Me? I'm not scared of nothin."
"You think you'd live if I kicked you out this truck? Probably skin you all up."
"I'm not afraid of you, John."
He crumpled the empty pack of Dorals . Throws it at my forehead.
"So you aint gonna call me dad? Shit. I don't blame you. So what she say about me?"
"Nothin."
"I know she said something fucked up or you wouldn't be so damn quiet."
His face reminded me of the belt mom found on the road. Tan, scraped up, and stretched. But as old as it was, it could still break skin.
"So what are you now, thirteen? fifteen?"
Mom kept a wedding picture of them hidden in the den. Both of them running down the isle. Strangers staring at her pregnant belly. It was the only picture I had of him. It crackled in my pocket as I clutched it.
"Come on. What she say about me? All of it probably lies anyways."
As it crumpled into a ball, I couldn't help but realize it wasn't just the only picture I had of him, but it was the only thing I kept as some sort of hope.
"I never beat her. Damnit now, What the fuck. Are those tears?"
Now, I'm realizing that hope is something only fools believe in.
I manage to ask him for a lighter.
"I change my mind, Give me back that cigarette, girl. You aint old enough to smoke."
“If you can quit, probably you should.”
-Alexander Blackburn, then editor of Writer’s Forum in Colorado
[QUOTE=peppermd]After driving through the sunset with only the sound of bald tires grinding into pavement, John threw a Doral into my lap.
"You know, your mother had one sweet pussy."
"Really."
He laughs as if we were joking. "You scared of me?"
"Me? I'm not scared of nothin."
"You think you'd live if I kicked you out this truck? Probably skin you all up."
"I'm not afraid of you, John."
He crumpled the empty pack of Dorals . Throws it at my forehead.
"So you aint gonna call me dad? Shit. I don't blame you. So what she say about me?"
"Nothin."
"I know she said something fucked up or you wouldn't be so damn quiet."
His face reminded me of the belt mom found on the road. Tan, scraped up, and stretched. But as old as it was, it could still break skin.
"So what are you now, thirteen? fifteen?"
Mom kept a wedding picture of them hidden in the den. Both of them running down the isle. Strangers staring at her pregnant belly. It was the only picture I had of him. It crackled in my pocket as I clutched it.
"Come on. What she say about me? All of it probably lies anyways."
As it crumpled into a ball, I couldn't help but realize it wasn't just the only picture I had of him, but it was the only thing I kept as some sort of hope.
"I never beat her. Damnit now, What the fuck. Are those tears?"
Now, I'm realizing that hope is something only fools believe in.
I manage to ask him for a lighter.
"I change my mind, Give me back that cigarette, girl. You aint old enough to smoke."[/QUOTE]
That was nice. The scene played in my mind WHILE reading it. Great job.
[B]We were about to give up and call it a night when somebody dropped the girl off the bridge.[/B]--[I]Darker Than Amber[/I], John D. McDonald (Best opening sentence ever.)
Just a sidenote:
You can always practice unpacking by taking a six-word story from the six-word stories thread somewhere on this site or from my still unfinished website [url]www.writer.hit.bg[/url]
A great challenge would be unpacking Hemingway's masterpiece: for sale. baby shoes. never used.
Anyway, waiting for peppermd to give a sentence.
It seems that the world is ending, and the only thing I want to do is sleep.
When I heard about the meteor swarm, the first thing I did was buy a new pillow and a new quilt. Seeing how I had to move around a lot, the quilt--this ratty chocolate brown thing with exposed polyester batting--was used as cushioning. You know, sometimes you have to stuff all your dishes into your dresser drawer in a hurry, because the landlord wants you out NOW. That was day 30 of the 30 days they're legally obliged to store your stuff after eviciting you.
The newspapers and magazines all have big articles where a science guy explains exactly how dead you'll be with a bunch of science terms. Nuclear winter, acid rain, lung disease from inhaling microscopic vaporized space rock. All plant life dead from lack of sunlight. All animal life dead from lack of plant life.
And at the top of the food chain, they say, it's going to suck. Hard.
Where I shop at Wal-Mart, there's a mob of people pushing each other over to grab at batteries or canned food. Like it's going to do any good. It takes me extra long to find where the pillows are, elbowing my way through this panic-attack mob. On the plastic package the pillow comes in, there's a photograph of a sleeping model in lingerie who's [i]not[/i] getting hit by meteors.
The quilt is in a big package I can barely tuck under my arm. On the label there's a picture of an entire furnished bedroom that no one's slept in, where the quilt matches all the furniture and everything's lit perfectly.
By the doors, there are a couple security guards not even really bothering to stop any looters. People push past them with stolen food, and one of the guys earns his minimum wage puffing on a joint. I actually pay for what I took. The cashier girl pockets my money and smiles.
"Don't I get a bag?"
"No bag," she says.
I just hope I can get some rest with all of the noise.
[b]The soup tasted great, except I found a dead bug at the bottom of the bowl.[/b]
[QUOTE=Spike]When I heard about the meteor swarm, the first thing I did was buy a new pillow and a new quilt. Seeing how I had to move around a lot, the quilt--this ratty chocolate brown thing with exposed polyester batting--was used as cushioning. You know, sometimes you have to stuff all your dishes into your dresser drawer in a hurry, because the landlord wants you out NOW. That was day 30 of the 30 days they're legally obliged to store your stuff after eviciting you.
The newspapers and magazines all have big articles where a science guy explaining exactly how dead you'll be with a bunch of science terms. Nuclear winter, acid rain, lung disease from inhaling microscopic vaporized space rock. All plant life dead from lack of sunlight. All animal life dead from lack of plant life.
And at the top of the food chain, they say, it's going to suck. Hard.
Where I shop at Wal-Mart, there's a mob of people pushing each other over to grab at batteries or canned food. Like it's going to do any good. It takes me extra long to find where the pillows are, elbowing my way through this panic-attack mob. On the plastic package the pillow comes in, there's a photograph of a sleeping model in lingerie who's [i]not[/i] getting hit by meteors.
The quilt is in a big package I can barely tuck under my arm. On the label there's a picture of an entire furnished bedroom that no one's slept in, where the quilt matches all the furniture and everything's lit perfectly.
By the doors, there are a couple security guards not even really bothering to stop any looters. People push past them with stolen food, and one of the guys earns his minimum wage puffing on a joint. I actually pay for what I took. The cashier girl pockets my money and smiles.
"Don't I get a bag?"
"No bag," she says.
I just hope I can get some rest with all of the noise.
[b]The soup tasted great, except I found a dead bug at the bottom of the bowl.[/b][/QUOTE]
Bugs are like misplaced hairs. You blow then to the side till they are no longer a bother. Huffing and puffing I cruise thru the exit still bitter of the cock block that occured the night before. He calls. "
Hey bro, I told her you were into her."
"I don't care. I see where the feelings lie."
Don't go there man. I told her I had a girl and she was wasting her time with me."
"whatever. You're the guy she is going to want no matter how many girls you have."
You are still my boy. She wanted materialistic shit and he said I could give it to you. You are the better person cuz you did have feelings for her. I just wanted a different lay."
"Whatever is clever." You will always be the pretty boy and I will always be the guy who will be runner up if you are there and the man if you don't show up."
You are way more important than some chick we both played with. If you get her cool. If I get her even more cool cuz Im interested in her not just because of her chest, BUt your my boy and you know me better than anyone else."
I lied to myself. I wanted to be him. Getting the gurls night after night. I got ny girls but I did it the right way. I was myse;f and I had and said what they wanted to hear cuz it was truthful/ O love my boy to death, but he is out for himself and I respect that. Tp each his own. thats why I awoke alone but he awoke with an itch on his face that would soon turn into a blister. Cold sores, herpes are fair game.
Tyler is the one for me. She has a dancer's body and will be there for me. So smart, so beautiful. So independant. I love how she would wake me up when she was there next to me. I wanna be thinking of you last and thinking of you first. You smother me like a baby and a large pillow, yet Im even more alive.
Foregt my pulse as ther sin't one. You touch me and talk to me and I'm ,elted chocolate, under a maglifying glass with the hottest sun around. Roaches, bugs, rodents... couldn't get to me unless you were there.
You said it would be 2 days. 2 days past then I here about a bad accident that occured along your route. I just hold my breath and say, "I hate to be delayed. Wanna here you voice, your words. Can't wait to here "I love you and how you miss me so."
Words seems like paragraphs. Paragraphs seems like srories. Stories seem like days and days seem like forever. Last words I hear you say is I love you. Last picture I see in my mind is the 18 wheeler that plows thru u and you brpthers car. Last thing I see is you smile, when I awake in the middle of the night. Knowing & hoping you are there with me even though you have gone farthest away from me you have ever gone.
I hold on to what is not real. I beg and plead that was the worst I have ever dreampt and is not true. I awake and open my eyes to see my empty arms. Arms that you used to fill. I look and look until I get lost and afraid. I can't go on if you are not by my side. A fake occupancy fills the void. I must never awaken.
[QUOTE=Smartazboy]Bugs are like misplaced hairs. You blow then to the side till they are no longer a bother. Huffing and puffing I cruise thru the exit still bitter of the cock block that occured the night before. He calls. "
Hey bro, I told her you were into her."
"I don't care. I see where the feelings lie."
Don't go there man. I told her I had a girl and she was wasting her time with me."
"whatever. You're the guy she is going to want no matter how many girls you have."
You are still my boy. She wanted materialistic shit and he said I could give it to you. You are the better person cuz you did have feelings for her. I just wanted a different lay."
"Whatever is clever." You will always be the pretty boy and I will always be the guy who will be runner up if you are there and the man if you don't show up."
You are way more important than some chick we both played with. If you get her cool. If I get her even more cool cuz Im interested in her not just because of her chest, BUt your my boy and you know me better than anyone else."
I lied to myself. I wanted to be him. Getting the gurls night after night. I got ny girls but I did it the right way. I was myse;f and I had and said what they wanted to hear cuz it was truthful/ O love my boy to death, but he is out for himself and I respect that. Tp each his own. thats why I awoke alone but he awoke with an itch on his face that would soon turn into a blister. Cold sores, herpes are fair game.
Tyler is the one for me. She has a dancer's body and will be there for me. So smart, so beautiful. So independant. I love how she would wake me up when she was there next to me. I wanna be thinking of you last and thinking of you first. You smother me like a baby and a large pillow, yet Im even more alive.
Foregt my pulse as ther sin't one. You touch me and talk to me and I'm ,elted chocolate, under a maglifying glass with the hottest sun around. Roaches, bugs, rodents... couldn't get to me unless you were there.
You said it would be 2 days. 2 days past then I here about a bad accident that occured along your route. I just hold my breath and say, "I hate to be delayed. Wanna here you voice, your words. Can't wait to here "I love you and how you miss me so."
Words seems like paragraphs. Paragraphs seems like srories. Stories seem like days and days seem like forever. Last words I hear you say is I love you. Last picture I see in my mind is the 18 wheeler that plows thru u and you brpthers car. Last thing I see is you smile, when I awake in the middle of the night. Knowing & hoping you are there with me even though you have gone farthest away from me you have ever gone.
I beg and plead that was the worst I have ever dreampt and is not true. I awake and open my eyes to see my empty arms. Arms that you used to fill. I look and look until I get lost and afraid. I can't go on if you are not by my side. A fake occupancy fills the void. I must never awaken.[/QUOTE]
I don't get it. Thought you were gonna talk about good soup and bugs. Guess this is all metaphorical? + there are some blanket statements that should be unpacked imo...
"I hold on to what is not real."
"Tyler is the one for me."
"I lied to myself."
Oh, and don't forget to give us a statement to unpack. :)
“If you can quit, probably you should.”
-Alexander Blackburn, then editor of Writer’s Forum in Colorado
[QUOTE=peppermd]I don't get it. Thought you were gonna talk about good soup and bugs. Guess this is all metaphorical? + there are some blanket statements that should be unpacked imo...
"I hold on to what is not real."
"Tyler is the one for me."
"I lied to myself."
Oh, and don't forget to give us a statement to unpack. :)[/QUOTE]
My bad I was drunk.
as for the unpacking.....
The emptied pill bottle remained in my hand. I press my face againts the condensated window.
[I]The emptied pill bottle remained in my hand. I press my face againts the condensated window.[/I]
The cold outside had crept inside and chilled my body to the point where any movement creaked at the joints. My eyes were still closed, but I was awake. I could feel the gearshift lever digging into my thigh, and knew that I must have been shifting around all night looking for a comfortable position to sleep. I can tell it's light outside as a warm orangy glow colors my eyelids and refuses to let me sleep any longer.
First the left, then the right, my eyes crack open and scatter little icy deposits down my cheeks. The sensation stirs the memory of last night's snowfall. We shouldn't have gone to the party in the first place. We should have accepted the offer to stay the night. But noooo. We had to get back home. We had forgotten to leave Jake's pills for the babysitter, who was probably up waiting for us all night.
"You awake?"
The winshield is buried in snow, but the side windows didn't gather much, and the sun beams through the driver side so brightly that my eyes refuse to adjust and snap back shut.
"Hey, miss [I]it's not that deep[/I], you ready to go find help?"
I stab my index finger at the passenger seat. Nothing. I crank my eyes open and squint at the silhouette of an empty seat. Disoriented, I look in the back seat, but she's not there, either. Just our dead cell phone and an empty pet-porter.
I lean across the passenger seat, and my hand comes to rest on something hard and cylindrical. I pick it up, and see it's Jake's pill bottle. Empty.
I wipe the condensation off the window and press my face against it to see two sets of tracks leading off into the woods.
-end-
Try this:
The bus swerved unexpectedly, and my book slid out of my lap.
Wow, very creative unpacking!
[QUOTE=jase]The bus swerved unexpectedly, and my book slid out of my lap.[/QUOTE]
In Sofia, summer first arrives in the busses. When in May the winds slow down, so that you still take a jacket out, but end up not wearing it, the microclimate in busses becomes unbearable. You get in and a wave of tired heat wants to push you back out. The old engines (most of the busses are secondhand, bought from Germany or France), still used to the sluggish pulse of winter, quickly overheat and fill the legroom with combustion afterthoughts. The many people inside are all exhausted and sweaty and hate each other for that. Frail music coming from the driver’s radio accompanies the jiggling of the bus while it stumbles over the many holes in the malleable asphalt.
In one of the few window seats whose window actually opens sits an old woman who uses a paperback as a fan. Next to her sits another old woman, her eyes jealously monitoring the motion of her neighbor’s book. Two seats behind them sits a tired student who wants only two things in life: to get laid and to get out of this bus. You guessed it - that's me. The seat is annoyingly warm, even warmer than the sweaty old man next to me. From time to time he turns around to face me for no obvious reason and I feel his heavy warm breath on my temple. In my lap is my bible-big biology textbook. There's no way I'm going to carry that monster in my backpack. I drum a strange rhythm with my fingers on its hard cover.
Just as once again the warm breath of the old man warms my sweat covered temples, the bus swerves totally unexpectedly. I feel my warm seat slide away in a second my textbook slips down onto the dirty floor. Losing balance, I follow its example. The floor is hard, yet pleasantly cold. A moment after this observation, a heavy, sweaty old mass falls onto me.
[B]In desperate need of affection, kinda[/B]
Nervously, and ever so slowly, my fingers gently pushed the five-dollar bill under the micro-thin ribbon of Sandie’s g-string. The folded bill fit snuggly and comfortably right where her back ended as her soft crack began. Centered between her two dimples at the small of her back, it was saying “Kiss Me Here”.
It was my third time to tip her this week, my first with a five spot. On her knees, the glare from the white lamp overhead making the tiny fine hairs on her back come alive, she turned and smiled…at me.
My heart thudded in my chest. Thudded hard like an alien embryo ready to begin life outside, right before my ribcage would blossom for the big release.
She smiled at me.
She stopped at my table and asked if she could join me. I’ve watched her now for a couple of weeks and after a while of watching someone, you can really get an idea of what makes them tick. For Sandie, it was a shot called Bald Pussy. There was a shot already the table, so I stood and pulled back a chair, waving my hand at the drink in a Ta-da motion. She smiled, and took her seat.
She looked at the shot, shrugging.
“It’s for you,” I said.
“Really…how’d you know?”
“The bartenders here do more than serve drinks.”
Sandie was twenty-four, childless, school-less and just about every other kind of “less” you could think of. Moneyless topped the list. “Hotel California” came on soft and flowing over the speakers, and she asked if I wanted a dance.
In my wallet, there were four twenties and four fives, enough for three lap dances and a generous tip. She stood in front of me and slipped off her sheer white dress, revealing a lacy bra with a front clasp and the same tiny white g-string she wore on stage. When she climbed on top of me, gently grinding her knee into my crotch, she felt as light as a feather. The next song was something I never heard before, was short and frantic, but I asked her to continue just so I could feel her sweat beneath my fingertips.
When she finished, we talked some more, and then the floor lights came on. Sandie flashed her smile, then looked me square in the eyes. “I like you. I think you are so nice. Would you wait for me outside, I’ll only be a minute.”
Five minutes later she was knocking on the passenger side window. I unlocked the door, and she got in. “Where to?” I asked.
“This is going to sound strange, but could we go to my house? I’ve had a really bad day today, and you’ve just brightened it up.”
At last. There was a box of condoms in my glove box. My cock grew erect so fast that my pants felt too tight, ready to split open.
“You are so sweet. Here, I don’t need this,” she said. In her hand was a wad of money. It was the money I spent on her.
“What?” I blinked at her too many times. I gave her that money for a reason, dammit.
“I don’t need it.” She stared at me, until there were tears running down her cheeks. “I need someone to just hold me tonight. I though that maybe it could be you.”
I placed the money in her lap, and told her she was wrong about me.
The next night I went back to the club, hoping that maybe she would still need that hug, and that maybe, just maybe, I would have an opportunity to break open that condom box. I waited for about an hour, but no Sandie. I left my table and straddled a stool at the bar, and finally asked the bartender.
“She’s gone, man,” he said, looking away too quickly.
“She quit?”
“No, man…gone. She killed herself last night.”
Sometimes at night, when I’m by myself, I think about her. I think about her until the tears are running down my cheeks, and the pain swells so deep inside my chest that I hope I don’t live to see the morning.
My wish never comes true.
Now...unpack this:
[B]Michael stared straight ahead, not daring to look into his mothers eyes.[/B]
[B]We were about to give up and call it a night when somebody dropped the girl off the bridge.[/B]--[I]Darker Than Amber[/I], John D. McDonald (Best opening sentence ever.)
[QUOTE=peppermd]
[B]It seems that the world is ending, and the only thing I want to do is sleep.[/B][/QUOTE]
--
I look up from the note left on the kitchen table and I let it fall, soft as cotton candy, to the floor.
I feel the sunlight crawling over my body from between slats of the venitian blind, and the little fingers of that warmth massage my tired muscles.
It's quiet. Much more quieter than is comfortable, and the sounds outside from the street cannot feed the hungry, consuming quiet which is eating every sound it touches in the house in which I am now alone.
I begin walking from room to room, looking at what I see as if it's the first time I've ever seen what's here.
The living room is dark mahogony. The real stuff, not paneling. It had been imported from Chilé, and it matches the mahogony desk in the room in front of a window against the far wall.
Remembering again now, many hours of work have been spent sitting at that desk. How many moments with others have been lost pursuing the completion of whatever was then a more important task?
I turn and walk into the hallway.
High polish on the Cherrywood floors. I see my shoes, top siders. They have a nice grip on the slippery floor.
Not a sound in the house.
Nothing.
I step up the first stair, and I climb to the second story, one stair at a time. There are pictures on the wall.
The pictures are moments spanning the lives of several generations. I touch the glass of a black and white which has been lovingly restored, with no expense spared bringing it back from the past to hang on a wall.
The colors at the top of the stairs are brighter than below. Happy spring colors.
I know that there is a gun in the walk-in closet in the room off the hallway to the right. I know where the bullets are. In the cabinet at the back of the closet.
Taking my life is now the right thing to do. The only thing to do, it seems that.
The world is ending, and the only thing I want to do is sleep...
New --> [b]The maids found him this morning, one floor below me in his room.[/b]
--
signature
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[QUOTE=vandamage]
..unpack this:
[B]Michael stared straight ahead, not daring to look into his mothers eyes.[/B][/QUOTE]
Michael sat up straight in the chair and scratched at the stitches on his forhead with a light touch because he wanted the itch to stop, but he didn't want the bleeding to begin again.
His mother was drunk and talking about "..that son of a bitch I married", to herself as the spaghetti gravy simmered in a cast iron pot on the gas stove which Michael saw reflected in the arm of his wheelchair.
"That Son of a Bitch doesn't deserve to live, kiddo. " Michael stared straight ahead, not daring to look into his mother's eyes as she walked in front of him holding a cleaver which she intened to use on the beef she would put into the gravy.
Michael waited. Soon enough it would be time.
Michael scratched at the stiches in his forhead with the tips of his fingers. His Mother's time would come.
------
Unpack this...
[b]In the late 1950s, he packed his kids into the car and relocated to Broklyn.[/b]
--
signature...
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[IMG]http://www.chuckpalahniuk.net/fan/workshop/topdogs/assistant_editor_Father_Luke.gif[/IMG]
Just another sidenote:
The idea of "unpacking" simple statements, I learned from Chuck. In his essays he focuses mostly on unpacking emotions and attitudes ("John loved eating chocolate") and perceptions and sensations ("I had a horrible headache")
Of course one can as well unpack little stories, but I don't think that's always the point. Anyway, I'm glad the thread is functioning so well.
[B]In the late 1950s, he packed his kids into the car and relocated to Broklyn.[/B]
When I say late, I mean late late. As in December 24th 1959 late. As in 4:30 in the morning late. So late it was early. Christmas Eve morning, 1959.
When I say he packed his kids, I really mean he carried us downstairs into the foyer, 2 at a time, and told us to put on our coats and meet him at the service entrance, the one to the garage. He said not to wear the coat that went with our school uniforms, but to wear a different one. Hector wouldn't be driving today, so he said not to wait out front, to be sure to come out by the garage. Jeffy, he said, you make sure your brothers come out by the garage. He knew I would because I loved the garage. That was where Hector would let me wash the wheels and windows of the big, shiny, black whatever car my dad wanted to use that week.
I remember father was smoking that morning. Smoking like a gun. Smoking like one of the big factories that paid for the cars and the houses and the nannies and the private schools. I don't even remember the other maids and nannies names, just Hector. And the cars, I loved them too.
Randy, my youngest brother then, my youngest whole brother, he said he didn't want to go. He had noticed father was smoking, and said he only smokes when father's in trouble with lawyers, which I knew was just a code word anyways, but I didn't know for what just yet. I told him everything was going to be fine and to just be quiet while I helped him with his coat.
I remember father was wearing a suit that morning, with the tie undone, the way you wear a suit when you haven't slept all night because you've been thinking of a way to keep your wife and children alive. I knew there was trouble. I wasn't thinking of Christmas or presents of turkey. I was thinking of my brothers, and my dog, and I was thinking about mother and wondering why she hadn't come back from Aunt Ruthie's like we had expected.
Then Randy asked where mother was, I told him she was probably waiting for us, but I really had no idea. I told him she was going to surpirse us. All I knew is the "lawyers" didn't like father one bit, and they were probably making trouble for him again.
Father kept the newspapers out of the house, but everybody knew. All the papers knew, and so did our classmates. They would tease us with the headline clippings. Headlines with words I didn't understand completely. Words like strike and blackmail and stoolie. Words like witness and launder and crime ring. The papers knew before I did, knew father wouldn't live to see the new year.
When father dropped us off, he said that mother would pick us up in an hour, and to be polite and be perfect gentlemen. Then he gave me some money, and ordered us breakfast and said to tip well. After a while, the waitress asked us if things were alright and I told her mother would be there soon to pick us up. I told her I was watching my borothers, and I was paying for breakfast and said to just bring the bill please. Mother, the papers would later say, killed herself in the bathtub.
Randy said I was a liar, and told him to just be quiet until mother came. I said that nothing was the matter. I told him I would sock him if he didn't calm down and finish his eggs.
When the waitress came back, Randy was crying. Crying because he knew father wasn't coming back. Even the waitress knew, because she had already called the police and they picked us up and took us to what he called a safe house.
Three days later, the papers would say that father had shot himself in his house in Brooklyn inside a locked room. The gun, it was reported, was stolen and the serial number had been filed off. That's because everyone knew father didn't own any guns.
Blood pouring from her nose
white powder turns to
pink paste on the mirror
calling her names
pushing her away
her shirt lifting up
covering her face
tears of fear
fill her eyes
a slap across her head
more names
more blood
but no more coke
it's different when
you get a papercut
from a 100 dollar bill
[QUOTE=rkdaley]Blood pouring from her nose
white powder turns to
pink paste on the mirror
calling her names
pushing her away
her shirt lifting up
covering her face
tears of fear
fill her eyes
a slap across her head
more names
more blood
but no more coke
it's different when
you get a papercut
from a 100 dollar bill[/QUOTE]
Truly amazing.
[QUOTE=rkdaley]Nothing says it's over like a restraining order[/QUOTE]
The car runs smooth. It's a `67 Camarro, bowling ball black with a Thunderbird 390 special in it.
I glance in the rearview mirror, and adjust the view a little with my right hand.
I blink back a little tear, and move my hand down to the ignition and turn the key.
She is screaming now, and I can't breathe.
I look again in the rear view mirror and this time I can't blink back the tears.
My three year old daughter is running out across the lawn towards the car and screaming: "Daddy! Daddy ! Don't go, don't GO !"
I drop into gear. Nothing says it's over like a restraining order.
The car runs smooth.
--
unpack this:
Last night, a man with a bloody nose and two black eyes, wearing only an undershirt and nothing else, came into my room on the fourth floor of a secured building ...a man I didn't know .... and he was telling me he didn't know who he was, or how he got here.
--
________
*(True story, by the way... not that you have to have it be true for you to unpack it. But it is a true situation, one which happened to me. I have had a very weird life... )
--
[B]Father Luke[/B]
[URL=http://FatherLuke.com/][FONT=Times New Roman][B][SIZE=4]F a t h e r L u k e .com[/SIZE][/B][/FONT][/URL]
[IMG]http://www.chuckpalahniuk.net/fan/workshop/topdogs/assistant_editor_Father_Luke.gif[/IMG]
I am double dipping.
[QUOTE=Father Luke]--
New --> [b]The maids found him this morning, one floor below me in his room.[/b]
[/QUOTE]
[QUOTE=Father Luke]
--
unpack this:
Last night, a man with a bloody nose and two black eyes, wearing only an undershirt and nothing else, came into my room on the fourth floor of a secured building ...a man I didn't know .... and he was telling me he didn't know who he was, or how he got here.
[B]Father Luke[/B][/QUOTE]
My bed sags so much it feels like I'm sleeping in a hammock. 120 bucks a week for a sore back and a bathroom down the hall that reeks of piss no matter how many times the maids clean it. I was lying on my back jacking off last night thinking about the dancers at the strip club I can see from my fourth floor room when the door flew open.
I jumped up yanking the paper thin blanket around me and got ready to defend myself. My heart pounded as I backed up against the window looking for something to use as a weapon. Standing in my doorway was an old man with a bloody nose and two balck eyes. He was soaking wet, wearing a blood covered undershirt and nothing else.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I screamed at him "Get the fuck out of here!"
The man was old, maybe 70, 75. My heart calmed down a bit now that I realized I wasn't going to be killed. This is a secure building, but that just means that I'm locked in with them.
"What happened to you?" I dropped the blanket, and pulled on my jeans, hopping over to him as I pushed my last leg through.
"I don't know"
"What do you mean , you don't know? What happened to you pops?"
"I don't know, I don't know you" the bloodied old man mumbled
"What's your name pops?, what happened?"
"I don't know where I am. I don't know my name. Who are you?"
"Oh fuck" I sighed and wrapped the blanket around him.
"Come on lets get you some help"
There are tons of old men living in this YMCA. It's not so bad, big screen TV in the day room, laundry, full kitchen, vending machines, close to the buses, right in downtown Phoenix. A guy could easily do worse. One old guy has been living here for 35 years. I read about it in a newspaper clipping they have framed in the lobby. I tried to remember the what the guy looked like in the picture, hoping like hell this wasn't him.
He kept tripping over the blanket as I half carried, half drug him down the hall to the bathroom. The place was a wreck, trashcan dumped over, clothes everywhere, shampoo and the remains of a shaving kit scattered all over the place. Blood was splattered from the mirror to the floor, pooling around the sink.
"Who attacked you? Who did this?"
The old man just stared at me like I wasn't even there.
"Stay right here, I'm gonna go get some help ok? Stay here."
I left him there and headed for the elevator to the lobby. I heard si
Joined: 2003-08-24
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