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mc776As an avid non-reader of novels it would be utter hypocrisy for me to attempt to write one. I will treat this instead like a textual Inktober: every day, write some bit of fiction. Preferably over 50 words, but like I've been doing with Inktober (which ended up being mostly practising handwriting with these fountain pens) I will have no standard beyond "something".
Here's a threefer as it seems I'm already behind.
1:
She lit a cigarette and leaned back against the beaten-up old leather sofa. "I'm so fucking tired of this shit."
"And I keep telling you", the zombieskin sofa puffed, letting the air coming out do the enunciating as she put her weight on its back, "there are so many different things you could be doing, if you would just set aside some time!"
"Time I never have!" Her free hand waved across the sky, as though gesturing at the vast expanse of space-time that was visibly earmarked as not being hers. The nudibranchs had blasted a hole in the roof during the last skirmish, and most of her neighbours had already retreated to the lower levels. The landlord only let her stay up here provided she took over his night watch shift. Only three cans of Red Bull left.
The sofa squeaked out of the hole in its right seat contemptuously. "I'm just saying - again - that we have everything lined up to go, but you just need to be more assertive about boundaries when people ask you to do something! But I do have to say: can you please start using that ashtray? This is very bad for my complexion."
2:
She stepped out onto the desert plain and beheld the shimmering torus. Not another soul for miles. The Ship Ordnance UnEntropic Artifical Intelligence ("Shounen-Ai" for short) beepbooped consternedly behind her.
"Why have I been brought here? Speak, O unfortunately shaped stranger, if you understand." The torus spoke in clear, soothing tones, in a voice that immediately reminded her of Morgan Freeman.
"You... you speak English?"
There was an awkward pause. Then the torus began rattling off numerous queries in Arabic, French, a very halting and mangled Cantonese,...
"No, no I speak English fine! I'm just... surprised you... do..."
Shounen-Ai gave a brief caution buzz in her ear about a sudden rise in her blood pressure. Several dozenscore memories of condescending racist bullshit were flashing through her mind. "Look, I didn't mean... I'm sorry about making assumptions and--"
The entire world seemed to darken slightly for a brief moment. It took a second for her to realize that the torus had blinked. "No, no, it's fine," said the torus after an awkward pause. "It's not just every day that I see a floating, shimmering cylinder in the sky talking to me..."
3:
This was it. He did it. This was simply the best fucking grilled cheese sandwich mankind had ever made, the likes of which in its wondeful, smoky, piping hot glory, will never be seen again. And it was his, and his alone.
"I just want to be good at this one thing," he said to himself in a mocking voice. "Of course it had to be this. Just this - make the perfect fucking grilled cheese sandwich, but only in a situation where I could only eat it myself. Thanks, genie. Thanks."
He was celiac and lactose intolerant.
Here's a threefer as it seems I'm already behind.
1:
She lit a cigarette and leaned back against the beaten-up old leather sofa. "I'm so fucking tired of this shit."
"And I keep telling you", the zombieskin sofa puffed, letting the air coming out do the enunciating as she put her weight on its back, "there are so many different things you could be doing, if you would just set aside some time!"
"Time I never have!" Her free hand waved across the sky, as though gesturing at the vast expanse of space-time that was visibly earmarked as not being hers. The nudibranchs had blasted a hole in the roof during the last skirmish, and most of her neighbours had already retreated to the lower levels. The landlord only let her stay up here provided she took over his night watch shift. Only three cans of Red Bull left.
The sofa squeaked out of the hole in its right seat contemptuously. "I'm just saying - again - that we have everything lined up to go, but you just need to be more assertive about boundaries when people ask you to do something! But I do have to say: can you please start using that ashtray? This is very bad for my complexion."
2:
She stepped out onto the desert plain and beheld the shimmering torus. Not another soul for miles. The Ship Ordnance UnEntropic Artifical Intelligence ("Shounen-Ai" for short) beepbooped consternedly behind her.
"Why have I been brought here? Speak, O unfortunately shaped stranger, if you understand." The torus spoke in clear, soothing tones, in a voice that immediately reminded her of Morgan Freeman.
"You... you speak English?"
There was an awkward pause. Then the torus began rattling off numerous queries in Arabic, French, a very halting and mangled Cantonese,...
"No, no I speak English fine! I'm just... surprised you... do..."
Shounen-Ai gave a brief caution buzz in her ear about a sudden rise in her blood pressure. Several dozenscore memories of condescending racist bullshit were flashing through her mind. "Look, I didn't mean... I'm sorry about making assumptions and--"
The entire world seemed to darken slightly for a brief moment. It took a second for her to realize that the torus had blinked. "No, no, it's fine," said the torus after an awkward pause. "It's not just every day that I see a floating, shimmering cylinder in the sky talking to me..."
3:
This was it. He did it. This was simply the best fucking grilled cheese sandwich mankind had ever made, the likes of which in its wondeful, smoky, piping hot glory, will never be seen again. And it was his, and his alone.
"I just want to be good at this one thing," he said to himself in a mocking voice. "Of course it had to be this. Just this - make the perfect fucking grilled cheese sandwich, but only in a situation where I could only eat it myself. Thanks, genie. Thanks."
He was celiac and lactose intolerant.