An interesting challenge
A real update will be made right after this.
The challenge was "Write a scene showing a man and a woman arguing over the man's friendship with a former girlfriend. Do not mention the girlfriend, the man, the woman, or the argument."
This is my shot at it.
A box of old pictures hits the wall. As they slide out of the overturned box, a door slams, the wind of it’s sudden closing flips the topmost over, concealing the subject of the photographs. A ring sits in a pocket, no longer wanted. It will be returned tomorrow. Perhaps it will bring joy to someone eventually, but for now, it weighs heavily for all that it weighs mere ounces. Soon, an apartment will be half empty, waiting in vain for a return that isn’t to be. Perhaps the empty room will be occupied shortly, but that is up to fate. A creaking as a chair is filled, the wood of the table soaks up a few salty drops of water. The debris of a departed time remain in the room now vacant. Slowly, it appears on the curb, no longer wanted, nor needed. A small child looks up at a window, shrugs, and pockets a solitary earring, never to be re-united with it’s match. A few minutes later, the child is up 17 dollars, and a pawnshop owner is looking at a small gold band with a magnifying glass.
Down the block, a cell phone dials the number of an old friend. A bed and a sympathetic ear is promised. A cab is hailed, but ignores the whistle. The crowd parts slightly, as a beggar decides not to interrupt the mark he had been eyeing. Long experience tells him that no meal is worth this risk. He is proven right in his assessment when a small child walking in the opposite direction is pushed aside like a rag doll. At a busier intersection, more cabs are hailed. Eventually, on stops.
A phone rings across town. It is picked up, but by then it is already too late, and all that is heard is a dial tone. Moments later, a cell phone rings a couple blocks from the apartment. The call is ignored, and a number is deleted from the phone. The quick-dial number 7 is free once more. The phone across town rings again. When it is answered, a choking sob is heard before a click is heard as the phone is returned to it’s cradle in the apartment. The phone is not picked up again. A bed spring squeaks in protest at the sudden weight, and slowly, a pillow soaks up tears.
It may well be flavored by my angst. Now for the real update.
~Nekkid.
The challenge was "Write a scene showing a man and a woman arguing over the man's friendship with a former girlfriend. Do not mention the girlfriend, the man, the woman, or the argument."
This is my shot at it.
A box of old pictures hits the wall. As they slide out of the overturned box, a door slams, the wind of it’s sudden closing flips the topmost over, concealing the subject of the photographs. A ring sits in a pocket, no longer wanted. It will be returned tomorrow. Perhaps it will bring joy to someone eventually, but for now, it weighs heavily for all that it weighs mere ounces. Soon, an apartment will be half empty, waiting in vain for a return that isn’t to be. Perhaps the empty room will be occupied shortly, but that is up to fate. A creaking as a chair is filled, the wood of the table soaks up a few salty drops of water. The debris of a departed time remain in the room now vacant. Slowly, it appears on the curb, no longer wanted, nor needed. A small child looks up at a window, shrugs, and pockets a solitary earring, never to be re-united with it’s match. A few minutes later, the child is up 17 dollars, and a pawnshop owner is looking at a small gold band with a magnifying glass.
Down the block, a cell phone dials the number of an old friend. A bed and a sympathetic ear is promised. A cab is hailed, but ignores the whistle. The crowd parts slightly, as a beggar decides not to interrupt the mark he had been eyeing. Long experience tells him that no meal is worth this risk. He is proven right in his assessment when a small child walking in the opposite direction is pushed aside like a rag doll. At a busier intersection, more cabs are hailed. Eventually, on stops.
A phone rings across town. It is picked up, but by then it is already too late, and all that is heard is a dial tone. Moments later, a cell phone rings a couple blocks from the apartment. The call is ignored, and a number is deleted from the phone. The quick-dial number 7 is free once more. The phone across town rings again. When it is answered, a choking sob is heard before a click is heard as the phone is returned to it’s cradle in the apartment. The phone is not picked up again. A bed spring squeaks in protest at the sudden weight, and slowly, a pillow soaks up tears.
It may well be flavored by my angst. Now for the real update.
~Nekkid.