(no subject)
prompt: steal the first line of a book you haven't read before. keep writing.
i chose isaac bashevis singer's the slave:
A single bird call began the day. Isaac reached over his wife, sleeping flat on her stomach, and picked up the phone. He fell lightly back into place on his side of the bed and looked at Sophia. How she could sleep with her face so deeply buried in her pillow, he had no idea, but she was impossible to wake. He wondered why he took so much care in staying quiet through the early morning hours, when he couldn't find his rest between the cawing of the crows and the distant rattle of tractors and chains. The light rested on his face as he dialed the phone.
"Hello?" he said. "It's Isaac. I know it's early, but I need to see you."
She was wearing a dress of dark blue that fell gracelessly over her slim frame. The pale skin cradling her collarbone held two tiny freckles near her throat. They seemed to move as she talked, following her words like the bouncing ball on a karaoke screen. "Isaac, you know I can't do this all the time. I'm married."
"So am I," he answered.
"You know what I mean," she said. And he did. He had seen them together. Her husband was tall and always wore blazers. It was only around men like this that Isaac ever took notice of his own appearance. His tattered corduroy pants and too-loose sweatshirts, always adorned with tiny stains of coffee or pizza sauce. His hair that looked disheveled no matter how short he cut it or how often he combed it. His muscular hands and dirty fingernails. His country-boy walk. It was horrifying. Linda looked at him with a sympathy so sincere he couldn't bear to meet her eyes. She loved him. For some unexplainable reason, she loved him before he could even try to impress her, which wouldn't have worked. She loved him before he had the chance to convince her that he was, in fact, unlovable -- so unlovable that even his unattractive, unmotivated wife couldn't care less whether he returned home within the day. The nights came faster and faster, and he found himself losing himself on long drives whose only purpose was to gather his strength. He had meant to leave Sophia and this loneliness behind, but as Linda looked at him with that great sympathy, he realized that what he was now feeling was a loneliness greater than any he'd felt before.
i chose isaac bashevis singer's the slave:
A single bird call began the day. Isaac reached over his wife, sleeping flat on her stomach, and picked up the phone. He fell lightly back into place on his side of the bed and looked at Sophia. How she could sleep with her face so deeply buried in her pillow, he had no idea, but she was impossible to wake. He wondered why he took so much care in staying quiet through the early morning hours, when he couldn't find his rest between the cawing of the crows and the distant rattle of tractors and chains. The light rested on his face as he dialed the phone.
"Hello?" he said. "It's Isaac. I know it's early, but I need to see you."
She was wearing a dress of dark blue that fell gracelessly over her slim frame. The pale skin cradling her collarbone held two tiny freckles near her throat. They seemed to move as she talked, following her words like the bouncing ball on a karaoke screen. "Isaac, you know I can't do this all the time. I'm married."
"So am I," he answered.
"You know what I mean," she said. And he did. He had seen them together. Her husband was tall and always wore blazers. It was only around men like this that Isaac ever took notice of his own appearance. His tattered corduroy pants and too-loose sweatshirts, always adorned with tiny stains of coffee or pizza sauce. His hair that looked disheveled no matter how short he cut it or how often he combed it. His muscular hands and dirty fingernails. His country-boy walk. It was horrifying. Linda looked at him with a sympathy so sincere he couldn't bear to meet her eyes. She loved him. For some unexplainable reason, she loved him before he could even try to impress her, which wouldn't have worked. She loved him before he had the chance to convince her that he was, in fact, unlovable -- so unlovable that even his unattractive, unmotivated wife couldn't care less whether he returned home within the day. The nights came faster and faster, and he found himself losing himself on long drives whose only purpose was to gather his strength. He had meant to leave Sophia and this loneliness behind, but as Linda looked at him with that great sympathy, he realized that what he was now feeling was a loneliness greater than any he'd felt before.