Hum
I haven't posted in forever here, but recently a couple things happened.
First, I have a spiffy new layout, courtesy of side_of_zen. It's Abby Wambach, from the US Women's National Soccer Team. And it's very cool. *hugs layout*
Second, I was talking with another friend, akselav, and telling her that I hadn't written in forever and needed someone to actually give me something very short to write on, just to see if I could do it. She said, "Write a scene where a person witnesses something very ordinary, which becomes somehow extraordinary in his or her mind." I didn't know what to do with that at first... and then... well... this kind of happened while I was at work. I hope someone out there likes it.... though, the best part is.... it's finished!
Jen dropped heavily onto the sofa in the break room. It would be nice to relax, even if it was only for fifteen minutes.The store was a madhouse, with a major sale going, drawing in customers that seemed to lose more IQ points the longer they stayed in the store. She'd spent hours explaining and re-explaining the same things to numerous people who couldn't be bothered to read the signs that were set up to answer the very questions Jen was constantly being asked.
She had to admit, the frustration level in the store was rising, and hers was particularly high at the moment.
Closing her eyes, she sighed and tried to focus on the music. The store played a constant 80's track that was supposed to be neutral and friendly to the customers. Normally, she didn't even notice it. When she was on the floor, the music became background noise, like the hum of the air conditioners and the murmer of customers. Here in the semi-quiet of the background, the music was the loudest sound, and she could let herself follow the words and rythm.
The song changed from the Fabulous Thunderbirds to Bruce Springsteen, who began telling her about glory day passing her by. It was a song Jen could relate to. At 20, she'd been in the middle of college, with professors assuring her of a bright future. At 25, she was a college graduate with an agent and a portfolio of short stories. Novel plans had been in the works. By the time she was 28, she'd lost the agent, but was still plotting to take the writing world by storm with her first novel.
At 32, she was working full time at a department store. The computer she used to write on saw more solitaire games than characters.
She could admit that she missed it. The playing of scenarios and crafting of settings for characters had been a mainstay of her life since she was a small child. But in a world that valued money more than happiness, imagination didn't pay the bills. Nowadays she went home exhausted, wanting to stop thinking all together. Glory days had been long ago, if they even ever existed.
The song changed again, and this time the Bangles told her to walk like an Egyptian. Jen smiled. One of her writing passions had been stories of Egypt. Pharaohs and tombs, gods and curses, all of them had filled her notebooks. Even now, an unfinished novel sat on her computer, about an evil Pharaoh and his enemies' struggle to unseat him. She hadn't touched the story in a year, though it was something she still thought about from time to time. Finished in her mind, the energy to actually put it down seemed to elude her night after night.
But it didn't take energy to imagine, and she let her mind picture the scene, the characters . . .
There was mostly silence in the cell where Mehksenet hung from her chains. She was exhausted after spending so much time pulling on them with no result. She knew there was no escape from this cell, yet she couldn't stop fighting, stop trying. Even now she took a deep breath to try again; if nothing else, the skin at her wrists could be rubbed raw against the leather, and she'd slip out of the chains using her own blood to ease the way.
Where she'd go then, she didn't know. One thing at a time.
She'd begun to turn her wrist, grinding it against the leather and chain, when the sound of footsteps cut into her concentration. When the princess looked up, she saw the Queen of Egypt looking at her, her face serious and drawn. Several people were with her, including the Ambassador from Kush and two cloaked figures.
"My Queen. You choose a strange time to visit the dungeons."
"I choose to be where I am needed. We need to talk, General, you and I. There is little time. Will you listen?"
Knowing there was little else to do, Mehksenet nodded wearily. "Do you think your husband will approve?"
Ahhotpe gave a sadly sarcastic smile. "My husband, I believe is -- not himself. And I have a son to think about." She motioned to the guard. "Open this door. I will speak with the prisoner."
Though he looked confused, the man did as he was told. The queen stepped easily through across the threshold and stood in front of Mehksenet, pulling herself up to her full height. Still two inches shorter than the General, she met the older woman's gaze evenly. When she spoke, it was in a voice barely above a whisper.
"I believe you know now that my husband, that Pharaoh, is not what he seems."
Mehksenet nodded. "I don't believe he's even human anymore."
"We'd wondered for some time."
"We?"
Ahhotpe motioned to the Ambassador, and another of the cloaked men, who dropped his hood. It was Bakari, the merchant, one of the conspirators who'd approached Mehksenet the week before. "We. The conspiracy against Pharaoh. I began it, to do what I could to stop his plans. Unfortunately I failed. All I did was get people killed, and now Pharaoh rides to battle."
"It's worse than you know." The General sighed. "He has found a way to make himself immortal. If he succeeds, Egypt will never be free."
" Can you stop him?"
Rattling her chains, the General nodded. "Take these off, give me a chariot and a few men. I'll stop him, or die."
The queen nodded. "I believe you. But there is one thing that you must agree to. If you don't, I'll leave you here and let Pharaoh have his fun with you when he returns."
"That doesn't sound like much of a choice. What is your condition?"
"You must promise me that Ahmose will be Pharaoh when he is ready."
Mehksenet raised one eyebrow. "Egypt is in danger, and you think of your son?"
"I think of my son, who will one day be Egypt. Will you promise?"
There was no hesitation. "I promise. If I defeat Pharaoh, Ahmose will take the throne when he is a man. Until then I will protect him as best I can." She paused for a moment. "But if you do not act soon, Pharaoh will not need a son, and no one can save Ahmose. Will you release me?"
The queen nodded, then leaned forward and kissed her half-sister's cheek. "Guard, remove her --
"Jen! Hey! Your break is up. We need you out here. Come on!"
Shaking her head to rid herself of the images, Jen stood and stretched. Slowly, the mudbrick of the cell gave way in her mind to the cement walls of the break room. The voices of the General and Queen faded, and she let them be drowned out by the sound of customers as she re-entered the sale area.
They were, after all, the same as the music. Only background noise.
First, I have a spiffy new layout, courtesy of side_of_zen. It's Abby Wambach, from the US Women's National Soccer Team. And it's very cool. *hugs layout*
Second, I was talking with another friend, akselav, and telling her that I hadn't written in forever and needed someone to actually give me something very short to write on, just to see if I could do it. She said, "Write a scene where a person witnesses something very ordinary, which becomes somehow extraordinary in his or her mind." I didn't know what to do with that at first... and then... well... this kind of happened while I was at work. I hope someone out there likes it.... though, the best part is.... it's finished!
Jen dropped heavily onto the sofa in the break room. It would be nice to relax, even if it was only for fifteen minutes.The store was a madhouse, with a major sale going, drawing in customers that seemed to lose more IQ points the longer they stayed in the store. She'd spent hours explaining and re-explaining the same things to numerous people who couldn't be bothered to read the signs that were set up to answer the very questions Jen was constantly being asked.
She had to admit, the frustration level in the store was rising, and hers was particularly high at the moment.
Closing her eyes, she sighed and tried to focus on the music. The store played a constant 80's track that was supposed to be neutral and friendly to the customers. Normally, she didn't even notice it. When she was on the floor, the music became background noise, like the hum of the air conditioners and the murmer of customers. Here in the semi-quiet of the background, the music was the loudest sound, and she could let herself follow the words and rythm.
The song changed from the Fabulous Thunderbirds to Bruce Springsteen, who began telling her about glory day passing her by. It was a song Jen could relate to. At 20, she'd been in the middle of college, with professors assuring her of a bright future. At 25, she was a college graduate with an agent and a portfolio of short stories. Novel plans had been in the works. By the time she was 28, she'd lost the agent, but was still plotting to take the writing world by storm with her first novel.
At 32, she was working full time at a department store. The computer she used to write on saw more solitaire games than characters.
She could admit that she missed it. The playing of scenarios and crafting of settings for characters had been a mainstay of her life since she was a small child. But in a world that valued money more than happiness, imagination didn't pay the bills. Nowadays she went home exhausted, wanting to stop thinking all together. Glory days had been long ago, if they even ever existed.
The song changed again, and this time the Bangles told her to walk like an Egyptian. Jen smiled. One of her writing passions had been stories of Egypt. Pharaohs and tombs, gods and curses, all of them had filled her notebooks. Even now, an unfinished novel sat on her computer, about an evil Pharaoh and his enemies' struggle to unseat him. She hadn't touched the story in a year, though it was something she still thought about from time to time. Finished in her mind, the energy to actually put it down seemed to elude her night after night.
But it didn't take energy to imagine, and she let her mind picture the scene, the characters . . .
There was mostly silence in the cell where Mehksenet hung from her chains. She was exhausted after spending so much time pulling on them with no result. She knew there was no escape from this cell, yet she couldn't stop fighting, stop trying. Even now she took a deep breath to try again; if nothing else, the skin at her wrists could be rubbed raw against the leather, and she'd slip out of the chains using her own blood to ease the way.
Where she'd go then, she didn't know. One thing at a time.
She'd begun to turn her wrist, grinding it against the leather and chain, when the sound of footsteps cut into her concentration. When the princess looked up, she saw the Queen of Egypt looking at her, her face serious and drawn. Several people were with her, including the Ambassador from Kush and two cloaked figures.
"My Queen. You choose a strange time to visit the dungeons."
"I choose to be where I am needed. We need to talk, General, you and I. There is little time. Will you listen?"
Knowing there was little else to do, Mehksenet nodded wearily. "Do you think your husband will approve?"
Ahhotpe gave a sadly sarcastic smile. "My husband, I believe is -- not himself. And I have a son to think about." She motioned to the guard. "Open this door. I will speak with the prisoner."
Though he looked confused, the man did as he was told. The queen stepped easily through across the threshold and stood in front of Mehksenet, pulling herself up to her full height. Still two inches shorter than the General, she met the older woman's gaze evenly. When she spoke, it was in a voice barely above a whisper.
"I believe you know now that my husband, that Pharaoh, is not what he seems."
Mehksenet nodded. "I don't believe he's even human anymore."
"We'd wondered for some time."
"We?"
Ahhotpe motioned to the Ambassador, and another of the cloaked men, who dropped his hood. It was Bakari, the merchant, one of the conspirators who'd approached Mehksenet the week before. "We. The conspiracy against Pharaoh. I began it, to do what I could to stop his plans. Unfortunately I failed. All I did was get people killed, and now Pharaoh rides to battle."
"It's worse than you know." The General sighed. "He has found a way to make himself immortal. If he succeeds, Egypt will never be free."
" Can you stop him?"
Rattling her chains, the General nodded. "Take these off, give me a chariot and a few men. I'll stop him, or die."
The queen nodded. "I believe you. But there is one thing that you must agree to. If you don't, I'll leave you here and let Pharaoh have his fun with you when he returns."
"That doesn't sound like much of a choice. What is your condition?"
"You must promise me that Ahmose will be Pharaoh when he is ready."
Mehksenet raised one eyebrow. "Egypt is in danger, and you think of your son?"
"I think of my son, who will one day be Egypt. Will you promise?"
There was no hesitation. "I promise. If I defeat Pharaoh, Ahmose will take the throne when he is a man. Until then I will protect him as best I can." She paused for a moment. "But if you do not act soon, Pharaoh will not need a son, and no one can save Ahmose. Will you release me?"
The queen nodded, then leaned forward and kissed her half-sister's cheek. "Guard, remove her --
"Jen! Hey! Your break is up. We need you out here. Come on!"
Shaking her head to rid herself of the images, Jen stood and stretched. Slowly, the mudbrick of the cell gave way in her mind to the cement walls of the break room. The voices of the General and Queen faded, and she let them be drowned out by the sound of customers as she re-entered the sale area.
They were, after all, the same as the music. Only background noise.