Sep 27, 2010 12:37
I woke up angry this morning. Really, physically angry, where your heart feels pressed up against your chest and your tongue starts to get heavy and swollen. Breathing in deep acts like windshield wipers; it'll give a few seconds of clarity, but if you don't keep breathing in deep and concentrating, everything becomes blurred and incomprehensible.
I have a few ideas for some short stories, too. Fury fuels determination, I think.
One story, which I want to write today, is about a police officer in his patrol car, and there's a 25-ish guy sitting handcuffed in the backseat. And the two are talking, or the officer is talking and the guy is panicking, and their car is actually at the bottom of a lake. They're not sure if any help is coming because the radio was damaged in the crash that sent them skidding into the lake. The officer knows that if he tries, he can kick open his own door and reach the surface in one breadth. But he's scared, because he's not sure if he can get out as the car fills with water, get the handcuffed guy out, and pull them both to the surface. So he doesn't move, and they wait. It might not be forever, but it feels like forever, and neither of them wants to be alone at the end.
I'll write something funnier later.