Tzomisx
04-04-2005, 10:17 PM
Note: I dont even know if I am going to finish this story or not, I dont know... I just sort of wrote it in 30 minutes. I've been told that alot of my junk is either hit or miss, so I have no clue if this one is a hit or a miss... but I have already come up with a conflict, a solution, and a twist to this story - what you are seeing now is just sort of "Part 1" or probably 3 or maybe 5. Yeah the title is a Billy Bragg song but it doesnt follow the song
I lay away in the dark in a cold damp sweat underneath a tangled mess of blankets, pacing anxiously in my mind in such that only a prisoner must feel on that cold night on death row when that reality finally hits and you realizes that even Jesus himself can’t save you from your final undoing. The humid air seeps through the minute crack of the window pane overhead as a small fan fights to keep the room cool, try as it might, but all it can do is blow back hot air right into my face. The radiated face of the digital clock is the only source of light in the room as the blinds of the window block out the melancholy summer’s moon. Its 3 AM and I haven’t gotten a wink of sleep since I lay down to rest at eleven earlier that evening. Hell, I wasn’t even tired but when you’re down, sometimes its for the best to get a little drunk and wrestle yourself, even when you know you are going to lose.
A sudden muffled ring comes out from underneath the sweltering sheet that admittedly catches me off guard… I don’t recall having anything in my pockets. The noise plays again almost instantaneously and with a quick sweep of my jean pockets with my hands, I discover the culprit. I pull the small rectangular phone out of my pocket and up to my face, reading the indigo screen to see which ******* I knew would be bothering me tonight and as I do so the ringer goes off again. Damn these things are annoying. ****, its that rat bastard Kirby… I accept the call and put the plastic piece of **** up to my ear.
I lay away in the dark in a cold damp sweat underneath a tangled mess of blankets, pacing anxiously in my mind in such that only a prisoner must feel on that cold night on death row when that reality finally hits and you realizes that even Jesus himself can’t save you from your final undoing. The humid air seeps through the minute crack of the window pane overhead as a small fan fights to keep the room cool, try as it might, but all it can do is blow back hot air right into my face. The radiated face of the digital clock is the only source of light in the room as the blinds of the window block out the melancholy summer’s moon. Its 3 AM and I haven’t gotten a wink of sleep since I lay down to rest at eleven earlier that evening. Hell, I wasn’t even tired but when you’re down, sometimes its for the best to get a little drunk and wrestle yourself, even when you know you are going to lose.
A sudden muffled ring comes out from underneath the sweltering sheet that admittedly catches me off guard… I don’t recall having anything in my pockets. The noise plays again almost instantaneously and with a quick sweep of my jean pockets with my hands, I discover the culprit. I pull the small rectangular phone out of my pocket and up to my face, reading the indigo screen to see which ******* I knew would be bothering me tonight and as I do so the ringer goes off again. Damn these things are annoying. ****, its that rat bastard Kirby… I accept the call and put the plastic piece of **** up to my ear.