For Bkwurm1: 30 Minutes on a Sunday Morning
Title: 30 Minutes on a Sunday Morning
For: Bkwurm1
Type of Work: Fic
Author: To be revealed
Rating: PG-13 (but barely. It's really PG except for one word.)
Length: 1400 words
Prompts: Happy ending, hand holding, strangers think they are a couple
30 Minutes on a Sunday Morning
Getting back on the horse with fresh air and stream of consciousness writing. I'm not sure why I picked the Metro Coffee Stop, except that it has outdoor seating. I suppose it's the tortured artist in me that wants to sit outside and type in December. It builds character, I'm sure. Plus I don't have to listen to the damn Christmas music.
Speaking of characters, there are a few out here braving the cold with me. There's a grumpy looking man huddled over his cup. How much you want to bet he added his own shot of vodka? I'm going to call him Gunther. Disheveled gray hair, stains on his shirt. He had a hard night, hasn't been to sleep yet. I feel you, Gunther. Life isn't fair. You have my sympathies and if I could buy you another shot I would. You've earned it, one way or another. But you're boring, Gunther, boring and predictable. So moving on...
Young couple in the corner. They're cute together, too cute. Holding hands across the table. Oh, almost holding hands. The tips of their fingers are so close they're practically touching. So they're not into open displays of affection. You're not fooling anyone. It's plain as day you're an item, Bobby and Beth. They're definitely the type of couple with matching first initials. .
He's got that wholesome good looks of a Bobby, dark hair, blue eyes, dimpled chin. Damn he's good looking. He's so cliché he had to have been the high school quarterback of some small town team. As easy as he must have it, there's a look in his eyes like the weight of the world is resting on his shoulders. Is the burden of unnatural beauty too much for you, Bobby?
Beth's not unattractive, petite and blonde, but she doesn't have the kind of looks that will let her skate by in life. Her nose is too long. I wonder if that's given her a complex. I like it. It gives her character. She's had to work for everything in life, unlike Bobby. Oh, and when she smiles her face lights up. She's totally my type. Another reason to hate Bobby. The way she looks at him with wonder and love. You better be good to her, Bobby. You could be sent from God to protect the human race, you still wouldn't deserve her.
What are they talking about so intensely? They're leaning over the table, whispering. I'm surprised they haven't bumped foreheads. They're barely out of college, what do they have to worry about? I mean besides the general malaise of having your whole life in front of you. Wait a decade or two. Wait until all the top publishing houses in Metropolis reject the novel you spent the past five years on. The novel you poured your blood into. Where you crafted every word so that it hummed with the pure tone of truth. Read those rejection letters then you can complain to me about your directionless life.
Beth would understand. She's a writer. I can sense it. Non fiction. She has that certain air about her. She's the type of a person who comes alive when she can dig down and bring to the surface that piece of information that will change the world. I wouldn't be surprised if she was a journalist. She probably ran the school newspaper. That's how she and Bobby met. The high school quarterback fell for the newspaper editor. You're not so cliché after all, Bobby. Maybe I do like you a little bit.
And honestly, the way he looks at her, a mixture of admiration and comfort. He does love her. She's his home. She's his... inspiration?
Am I too cynical for Beth and Bobby? The writer in me wants to tear them down and find the rot at the root of their relationship, but the more I look at them the more I'm caught up in how pure they are. Of course they're not pure. There's pain and struggle there, but between the two of them there's something indescribably beautiful. Maybe I'm not the jaded old fart I'm pretending to be. Maybe there's an idealist inside me fighting to be free. Maybe I should go back inside and hum along to the Christmas music.
Damn it. She just said his name. Clark. If he's not Bobby then she can't be Beth. I suppose her name is Carol. Clark and Carol. It works... I guess.
So, what is it they're talking about? What is she looking up on her phone? It's more important than movie times? They're so serious, you'd think they were trying to stop the Suicide Slums Slasher. Good luck with that, kids. If the Metro PD and FBI can't crack the case, what makes you think you can?
And what exactly does Clark bring to all this? I mean, Carol's obviously the brains of the operation. Does Clark stop crime with his good looks? Maybe he's one of those masked vigilantes that are popping up, like that bat guy in Gotham. Maybe he's starting a bat guy franchise in Metropolis.
Thought for next novel: Young couple moves to big city to fight crime and fall in love. I'd need a better villain than the Suicide Slum Slasher. I'm mean, it's okay for a chapter or two, but for the arc of the book they'd have to fight something bigger. They'd have to fight a representation of the corrupt establishment. Someone like Lex Luthor. I could call him... I don't know... a name that alludes to winning. For some reason I'm thinking it should start with a T. I'll come up with the right name later.
So, Clark and Carol move to the big city to stop T from all his evil machinations. Carol investigates him, writing cutting exposés for the daily newspaper. Clark takes to the streets, using his quarterback skills to stop T's schemes.
Yeah, it needs work. Clark's the problem. Carol's great. I feel like I have a handle on her character, but Clark... he's just a pretty face. There's got to be more to him than that. Carol has depth and purpose. She wouldn't fall in love with just a pretty face. So what does Clark have that makes him--
Shit! Shit! God.
What just happened? The car... it was coming right for us.... once it jumped the curb I could've sworn it was going to flip, but... no one got hurt. Gunther pissed his pants, but other than that... It's a miracle. I still can't... How is that possible?
The odd thing, the really odd thing is that I was looking at Clark right before it happened, trying to suss out something interesting when he... how do I explain it? Damn it, I'm a writer and I'm at a loss for words. Maybe I was staring too much. My eyes got blurry and then he seemed to... disappear? Just for a second. There was the screech of tires and some shouts and the car stopped. I don't know why but I think Clark did that. How? How could he have stopped a car in the process of becoming airborne? And how could he do it without anyone seeing him?
Carol knows. It's the way she took his hand and squeezed it. She knows Clark did it. Everyone else thinks it was blind luck that kept the car from crashing into the cafe. But today luck has a different name, Clark.
They're looking at each other, in the eyes. Breathing simultaneously. He won't let go of her hand. I don't think he can. Whatever powers he has (and I'm sure they're amazing) they're too much for him. He could be as strong as Atlas but he doesn't have the strength to carry the burden of his own abilities. Not alone. He needs her. He needs her to stand next to him and shoulder the weight, the overflow, that he can't take. She is so incredibly important and I don't know her real name.
This is... damn. What did I stumble on? This isn't a novel I can write. It's more than that. This is... This is...
This is the beginning of a legend.
And I got to see it.
Damn.
The End
For: Bkwurm1
Type of Work: Fic
Author: To be revealed
Rating: PG-13 (but barely. It's really PG except for one word.)
Length: 1400 words
Prompts: Happy ending, hand holding, strangers think they are a couple
30 Minutes on a Sunday Morning
Getting back on the horse with fresh air and stream of consciousness writing. I'm not sure why I picked the Metro Coffee Stop, except that it has outdoor seating. I suppose it's the tortured artist in me that wants to sit outside and type in December. It builds character, I'm sure. Plus I don't have to listen to the damn Christmas music.
Speaking of characters, there are a few out here braving the cold with me. There's a grumpy looking man huddled over his cup. How much you want to bet he added his own shot of vodka? I'm going to call him Gunther. Disheveled gray hair, stains on his shirt. He had a hard night, hasn't been to sleep yet. I feel you, Gunther. Life isn't fair. You have my sympathies and if I could buy you another shot I would. You've earned it, one way or another. But you're boring, Gunther, boring and predictable. So moving on...
Young couple in the corner. They're cute together, too cute. Holding hands across the table. Oh, almost holding hands. The tips of their fingers are so close they're practically touching. So they're not into open displays of affection. You're not fooling anyone. It's plain as day you're an item, Bobby and Beth. They're definitely the type of couple with matching first initials. .
He's got that wholesome good looks of a Bobby, dark hair, blue eyes, dimpled chin. Damn he's good looking. He's so cliché he had to have been the high school quarterback of some small town team. As easy as he must have it, there's a look in his eyes like the weight of the world is resting on his shoulders. Is the burden of unnatural beauty too much for you, Bobby?
Beth's not unattractive, petite and blonde, but she doesn't have the kind of looks that will let her skate by in life. Her nose is too long. I wonder if that's given her a complex. I like it. It gives her character. She's had to work for everything in life, unlike Bobby. Oh, and when she smiles her face lights up. She's totally my type. Another reason to hate Bobby. The way she looks at him with wonder and love. You better be good to her, Bobby. You could be sent from God to protect the human race, you still wouldn't deserve her.
What are they talking about so intensely? They're leaning over the table, whispering. I'm surprised they haven't bumped foreheads. They're barely out of college, what do they have to worry about? I mean besides the general malaise of having your whole life in front of you. Wait a decade or two. Wait until all the top publishing houses in Metropolis reject the novel you spent the past five years on. The novel you poured your blood into. Where you crafted every word so that it hummed with the pure tone of truth. Read those rejection letters then you can complain to me about your directionless life.
Beth would understand. She's a writer. I can sense it. Non fiction. She has that certain air about her. She's the type of a person who comes alive when she can dig down and bring to the surface that piece of information that will change the world. I wouldn't be surprised if she was a journalist. She probably ran the school newspaper. That's how she and Bobby met. The high school quarterback fell for the newspaper editor. You're not so cliché after all, Bobby. Maybe I do like you a little bit.
And honestly, the way he looks at her, a mixture of admiration and comfort. He does love her. She's his home. She's his... inspiration?
Am I too cynical for Beth and Bobby? The writer in me wants to tear them down and find the rot at the root of their relationship, but the more I look at them the more I'm caught up in how pure they are. Of course they're not pure. There's pain and struggle there, but between the two of them there's something indescribably beautiful. Maybe I'm not the jaded old fart I'm pretending to be. Maybe there's an idealist inside me fighting to be free. Maybe I should go back inside and hum along to the Christmas music.
Damn it. She just said his name. Clark. If he's not Bobby then she can't be Beth. I suppose her name is Carol. Clark and Carol. It works... I guess.
So, what is it they're talking about? What is she looking up on her phone? It's more important than movie times? They're so serious, you'd think they were trying to stop the Suicide Slums Slasher. Good luck with that, kids. If the Metro PD and FBI can't crack the case, what makes you think you can?
And what exactly does Clark bring to all this? I mean, Carol's obviously the brains of the operation. Does Clark stop crime with his good looks? Maybe he's one of those masked vigilantes that are popping up, like that bat guy in Gotham. Maybe he's starting a bat guy franchise in Metropolis.
Thought for next novel: Young couple moves to big city to fight crime and fall in love. I'd need a better villain than the Suicide Slum Slasher. I'm mean, it's okay for a chapter or two, but for the arc of the book they'd have to fight something bigger. They'd have to fight a representation of the corrupt establishment. Someone like Lex Luthor. I could call him... I don't know... a name that alludes to winning. For some reason I'm thinking it should start with a T. I'll come up with the right name later.
So, Clark and Carol move to the big city to stop T from all his evil machinations. Carol investigates him, writing cutting exposés for the daily newspaper. Clark takes to the streets, using his quarterback skills to stop T's schemes.
Yeah, it needs work. Clark's the problem. Carol's great. I feel like I have a handle on her character, but Clark... he's just a pretty face. There's got to be more to him than that. Carol has depth and purpose. She wouldn't fall in love with just a pretty face. So what does Clark have that makes him--
Shit! Shit! God.
What just happened? The car... it was coming right for us.... once it jumped the curb I could've sworn it was going to flip, but... no one got hurt. Gunther pissed his pants, but other than that... It's a miracle. I still can't... How is that possible?
The odd thing, the really odd thing is that I was looking at Clark right before it happened, trying to suss out something interesting when he... how do I explain it? Damn it, I'm a writer and I'm at a loss for words. Maybe I was staring too much. My eyes got blurry and then he seemed to... disappear? Just for a second. There was the screech of tires and some shouts and the car stopped. I don't know why but I think Clark did that. How? How could he have stopped a car in the process of becoming airborne? And how could he do it without anyone seeing him?
Carol knows. It's the way she took his hand and squeezed it. She knows Clark did it. Everyone else thinks it was blind luck that kept the car from crashing into the cafe. But today luck has a different name, Clark.
They're looking at each other, in the eyes. Breathing simultaneously. He won't let go of her hand. I don't think he can. Whatever powers he has (and I'm sure they're amazing) they're too much for him. He could be as strong as Atlas but he doesn't have the strength to carry the burden of his own abilities. Not alone. He needs her. He needs her to stand next to him and shoulder the weight, the overflow, that he can't take. She is so incredibly important and I don't know her real name.
This is... damn. What did I stumble on? This isn't a novel I can write. It's more than that. This is... This is...
This is the beginning of a legend.
And I got to see it.
Damn.
The End