Original fic - feedback wanted!
This is what you get for being friends with a writer - not just fanfic, but original fic (if you're lucky!). This is a story I am working on, and the section I am sharing with you today is a segment of Chapter 1. I am curious as to what you think about the characters.
Charlie leaned over the kitchen sink, staring at nothing in particular, not even the jaundiced half-moon. He rubbed the back of his neck as Misty crunched away on her kibble. At least someone was happy in this house. He continued to stare out the window at the alley as a group of kids rode past on their bikes, shouting their conversation to each other. Hearing a soft thump, Charlie looked to the back door as Misty sat on his sneakers looking at him.
“Sorry girl, I’m too tired. And I know Paul took you out an hour ago. He texted me bitching how my bitch was ruining his love life,” Charlie said as he patted Misty on the head. “Good girl, keeping him from that queen. He always complains about Jose sucking his soul out of him and yet keeps jumping into bed with him. I don’t get it sometimes, although I’m the one who stayed married to Michelle for nine years.”
Charlie tromped down the hall pulling his t-shirt over his head. Entering his bedroom he threw the shirt into the corner and undid his jeans, stepping out of them where they fell. He slid into bed, not even bothering to turn any lights on. Charlie felt the bed shift as Misty settled at the end of the bed. Burying his head into the pillow, Charlie tried to shut out the day, and keep the dreams at bay for one night.
Morning, or rather early afternoon, came too soon for Charlie. Other than himself needing to go to the bathroom, Misty demanded he take her out as well. After that exciting start to his Sunday, Charlie settled down in front of the t.v. to watch the Bears lose again with some cold pizza. Misty settled down on the couch next to him, her head on his thigh, patiently waiting for the errant piece of sausage pizza.
Charlie had just fed her a hunk of the piece of pizza he was munching on when the doorbell rang. Charlie glanced down at Misty. She merely cocked her eyebrows and swallowed her piece then licked his hand for more.
“Hell of a guard dog you are,” Charlie said as he got up from the couch and hurried over to the door.
Looking through the peephole Charlie sighed and swung the door open letting in Paul. Paul waltzed in, shoving a stack of mail into Charlie’s hands. As soon as the mail was out of his hands, Paul’s were all over - fixing his own hair, checking the collar on his shirt, smoothing down his waistcoat.
“Seriously, honey, you of all people need a wife,” Paul stated, flouncing down onto the couch next to Misty. He scratched behind her ears and she nuzzled up against Paul. “Unfortunately I’m a little busy to take on the job.”
“How did you get in and why do you have my mail?” Charlie tossed the mail onto the coffee table next to the bottle of beer he had been drinking.
Paul picked up Charlie’s beer and took a sip, making a disgusted face at the taste. Paul looked at the label on the bottle, rolled his eyes and crossed his legs. “Haven’t I taught you anything? You need to get rid of this Miller Lite swill and at least move up to better beer. You know, something like Stella Artois, Guinness, or at least Heineken.” Paul took another swallow of Charlie’s beer and balanced the bottle on his knee.
“I’ll have to remember that the next time I actually make any money working at the university,” Paul replied as he pushed Misty off the couch and sat down. She gave him an affronted look and then plopped down in front of the door.
“They should be paying you the big bucks, you’re the one getting them their glorious money,” Paul stated, drinking half the beer in one swallow.
“I’m a grant writer, not a fucking miracle worker. I’m lucky they still have it as a necessity otherwise I’d be collecting unemployment.” Charlie sprawled back on the couch looking at Paul. “And never mind that, you never answered my questions. How did you get up here and why did you have my mail?”
“You obviously couldn’t do it. All the more reason you need a wife honey. That and the most obvious reasons,” Paul replied as he drained the rest of the beer. “Now that that’s done, think of the sacrifice I just made for you, go get something better and I’ll think about if you need your spare set of keys back or not.”
Charlie shook his head and pushed himself up off the couch. “You should keep them, but should I be worried why you are carrying them with your everyday keys?”
“Oh yes, I use your dump as my secret love nest so Ted doesn’t find out about Jose.”
“I thought threesomes were your thing,” Charlie stated as he headed down the hall to the kitchen.
“You should know,” Paul replied. “You never texted me that you came home last night so I grabbed them incase. I saw your car in your parking space, cursed you with a small penis, and then came up here,” Paul yelled down the hall at Charlie.
Charlie rolled his eyes and opened the fridge, grabbing two more bottles of Miller Lite. IF Paul wanted the “good stuff” he could buy it for once. Charlie grabbed the jar of salsa and slammed the fridge door shut with his foot. The last seven years of his life had sucked balls and just when things were starting to look up his Mom had succumbed to her fight with cancer leaving him all alone.
Walking past the table to the side cabinet for a bag of tortilla chips, Charlie’s hip bounced off the box of books, sending them crashing to the floor. “Shit,” he muttered, bending over to pick up the remains. He hurriedly shoved them back into the box helter-skelter, some even on their sides. Tossing two dusty volumes on top of the now overflowing box, Charlie pushed the box next to the wall with his feet. He grabbed the bag of chips from the cabinet and juggled the chips, two beers and a jar of salsa down the hallway to the front room.
“Oh come on!” Charlie shoved the bottle of beer at Paul’s face. “I am not watching America’s Next Top Model when the Bears game is on.”
“Oh please honey, do you honestly think the Bears are going to win?”
“They had a chance against Minnesota,” Charlie sputtered as he sank down into the couch, piling one chip high with dripping salsa. He hurriedly stuffed it into his mouth before any juice could drip to the beige carpet. Trying to chew the whole thing, he motioned for the remote.
Paul put the remote down on the other side of the couch and started nibbling on a tortilla chip. “No way honey, it’s a marathon. If you want to go, just go,” Paul stated as he opened his beer and took a sip.
So? Does it have hope for a life?
Charlie leaned over the kitchen sink, staring at nothing in particular, not even the jaundiced half-moon. He rubbed the back of his neck as Misty crunched away on her kibble. At least someone was happy in this house. He continued to stare out the window at the alley as a group of kids rode past on their bikes, shouting their conversation to each other. Hearing a soft thump, Charlie looked to the back door as Misty sat on his sneakers looking at him.
“Sorry girl, I’m too tired. And I know Paul took you out an hour ago. He texted me bitching how my bitch was ruining his love life,” Charlie said as he patted Misty on the head. “Good girl, keeping him from that queen. He always complains about Jose sucking his soul out of him and yet keeps jumping into bed with him. I don’t get it sometimes, although I’m the one who stayed married to Michelle for nine years.”
Charlie tromped down the hall pulling his t-shirt over his head. Entering his bedroom he threw the shirt into the corner and undid his jeans, stepping out of them where they fell. He slid into bed, not even bothering to turn any lights on. Charlie felt the bed shift as Misty settled at the end of the bed. Burying his head into the pillow, Charlie tried to shut out the day, and keep the dreams at bay for one night.
Morning, or rather early afternoon, came too soon for Charlie. Other than himself needing to go to the bathroom, Misty demanded he take her out as well. After that exciting start to his Sunday, Charlie settled down in front of the t.v. to watch the Bears lose again with some cold pizza. Misty settled down on the couch next to him, her head on his thigh, patiently waiting for the errant piece of sausage pizza.
Charlie had just fed her a hunk of the piece of pizza he was munching on when the doorbell rang. Charlie glanced down at Misty. She merely cocked her eyebrows and swallowed her piece then licked his hand for more.
“Hell of a guard dog you are,” Charlie said as he got up from the couch and hurried over to the door.
Looking through the peephole Charlie sighed and swung the door open letting in Paul. Paul waltzed in, shoving a stack of mail into Charlie’s hands. As soon as the mail was out of his hands, Paul’s were all over - fixing his own hair, checking the collar on his shirt, smoothing down his waistcoat.
“Seriously, honey, you of all people need a wife,” Paul stated, flouncing down onto the couch next to Misty. He scratched behind her ears and she nuzzled up against Paul. “Unfortunately I’m a little busy to take on the job.”
“How did you get in and why do you have my mail?” Charlie tossed the mail onto the coffee table next to the bottle of beer he had been drinking.
Paul picked up Charlie’s beer and took a sip, making a disgusted face at the taste. Paul looked at the label on the bottle, rolled his eyes and crossed his legs. “Haven’t I taught you anything? You need to get rid of this Miller Lite swill and at least move up to better beer. You know, something like Stella Artois, Guinness, or at least Heineken.” Paul took another swallow of Charlie’s beer and balanced the bottle on his knee.
“I’ll have to remember that the next time I actually make any money working at the university,” Paul replied as he pushed Misty off the couch and sat down. She gave him an affronted look and then plopped down in front of the door.
“They should be paying you the big bucks, you’re the one getting them their glorious money,” Paul stated, drinking half the beer in one swallow.
“I’m a grant writer, not a fucking miracle worker. I’m lucky they still have it as a necessity otherwise I’d be collecting unemployment.” Charlie sprawled back on the couch looking at Paul. “And never mind that, you never answered my questions. How did you get up here and why did you have my mail?”
“You obviously couldn’t do it. All the more reason you need a wife honey. That and the most obvious reasons,” Paul replied as he drained the rest of the beer. “Now that that’s done, think of the sacrifice I just made for you, go get something better and I’ll think about if you need your spare set of keys back or not.”
Charlie shook his head and pushed himself up off the couch. “You should keep them, but should I be worried why you are carrying them with your everyday keys?”
“Oh yes, I use your dump as my secret love nest so Ted doesn’t find out about Jose.”
“I thought threesomes were your thing,” Charlie stated as he headed down the hall to the kitchen.
“You should know,” Paul replied. “You never texted me that you came home last night so I grabbed them incase. I saw your car in your parking space, cursed you with a small penis, and then came up here,” Paul yelled down the hall at Charlie.
Charlie rolled his eyes and opened the fridge, grabbing two more bottles of Miller Lite. IF Paul wanted the “good stuff” he could buy it for once. Charlie grabbed the jar of salsa and slammed the fridge door shut with his foot. The last seven years of his life had sucked balls and just when things were starting to look up his Mom had succumbed to her fight with cancer leaving him all alone.
Walking past the table to the side cabinet for a bag of tortilla chips, Charlie’s hip bounced off the box of books, sending them crashing to the floor. “Shit,” he muttered, bending over to pick up the remains. He hurriedly shoved them back into the box helter-skelter, some even on their sides. Tossing two dusty volumes on top of the now overflowing box, Charlie pushed the box next to the wall with his feet. He grabbed the bag of chips from the cabinet and juggled the chips, two beers and a jar of salsa down the hallway to the front room.
“Oh come on!” Charlie shoved the bottle of beer at Paul’s face. “I am not watching America’s Next Top Model when the Bears game is on.”
“Oh please honey, do you honestly think the Bears are going to win?”
“They had a chance against Minnesota,” Charlie sputtered as he sank down into the couch, piling one chip high with dripping salsa. He hurriedly stuffed it into his mouth before any juice could drip to the beige carpet. Trying to chew the whole thing, he motioned for the remote.
Paul put the remote down on the other side of the couch and started nibbling on a tortilla chip. “No way honey, it’s a marathon. If you want to go, just go,” Paul stated as he opened his beer and took a sip.
So? Does it have hope for a life?