NaNoWriMo 2008: Day 2
-=Sophie, Part I=-
So I'm supposed to be getting ready for work, but I don't really have the energy to get out of bed. Or care that I should be getting out of bed, for that matter. All I want to do is stay here, nice and cozy, with a pile of blankets over me, and my feathery mattress beneath, and just fall back to sleep.
Yes, back to sleep, just like I was five minutes ago, before my stupid cat-shaped alarm clock had to go and wake me up.
Back to sleep~ back to that weird dream I was having... mmmm. Snuggly. Warm...
The cat-shaped alarm clock patiently waited out it's five minute snooze cycle, ticking pleasantly while Sophie drifted back to sleep. It seemed to smile as her breathing slowed, and she was once again swathed it the gentle nothingness of dreaming. And then, the cat-shaped alarm's eyes gleamed, and it was time to strike. The snooze cycle ended, and the alarm made it's move. With a chunk it's snooze button popped up, and Sophie's quiet doze was suddenly filled with a startling EEE EEE EEE EEE EEE
She slammed her hand down on the snooze button again, making sure this time to knock the cat-shaped alarm across the room in the process. The alarm didn't think this was an entirely polite thing to do, and so it switched on the radio. Very loudly.
“Alright! SHUT UP!” Sophie practically launched herself out of bed, and had her hands around the alarm in a heartbeat. Crouching over it like a beast with it's prey, she jammed all of the alarm's buttons furiously until she found the one that made it silent.
“There,” she said, satisfied, but still incredibly irritated. And victorious, she stood, carrying the alarm back over to her nightstand.
Sophie sat back down in bed, begrudgingly noting that she was now wide awake, and would have no chance of getting back to sleep. She glared at the cat-shaped alarm.
“I'm still not going work.”
The cat-shaped alarm had no qualms with that, so long as Sophie was now up and about. It's task had been accomplished, and so it could spend the rest of the day secretly feeling fulfilled and important.
Sophie got up and left the room, her stomach growling for food, and her brain demanding coffee.
Somewhere, in an entirely different country, a man in a top hat stepped into a pub.
~~~
-=Keyholder, Part II=-
The walrus-mustachioed bartender was not at all intimidated by the behatted man's attempt to imply that he would become dangerous if he didn't get some water. The bartender was a hard man, who had lived a hard life, and it would take more than a particular tone of voice from an uptown snob to have him kissing feet and begging forgiveness. And anyway, amicable and flimsy looking as the hatted man was, not even the weakest of weak would feel threatened by him, so most certainly the bartender did not. No, it was quite the opposite. In this situation; the bartender, already disagreeable as he was, did his very best to become threatening right back. Time to show the hatted fop who was boss in this pub, and all of that territorial business.
But then the hatted man looked the bartender in the eyes, and he smiled. And something in his expression made the bartender freeze in his place.
“Please?” Said the hatted man, all pleasantries and charm. “I would truly appreciate having a glass of water.”
Sweat beaded on the bartender's forehead, and he managed a frightened nod.
~~~
-=Facts, Part II=-
In the world, there are places which all people are familiar with, that are visited every day. Places like cities and houses and boats are fairly common, inhabited often, and are generally taken for granted. We see these every day, or even possibly live in one of them (Or a few of them at a time. For instance, a person might live in a house, made out of a boat, inside a city. Or maybe they live in a city built inside a boat. You get the general idea.), and we're very familiar with their function.
But there are also places which are not so familiar, that are visited only by a scant handful of fellows (or ladies), who happen to, by some coincidence or another, know of these places' existence.
The places may resemble houses, or cities, or what have you, but in reality they're nothing of the sort, and their function is entirely different from what one might expect.
These places have fanciful names such as Beneath, Behind, or Between. Sometimes they're also called Inside, or possibly Under. There are even a few of these places that go on the records as having been called 'The Great and Vasty Caverns of Jejunum What Sometimes Take On the Appearance Of Your Grandmother's Closet', or 'That Place Where All the Socks' Mates Go'. To make things more simple for the people who go to these places, the names can sometimes be shortened to things like 'Jejunum Closet', and 'Sockland'.
Now, one should know that there's a very distinct difference in the meanings these places' names have.
Between, for instance, may not entirely be what it sounds like. After all, it's one thing if you're simply standing between two things. Like between a chair and a table. Or between a rock and a hard place (which is not at all the same sort of place as the one named “Jejunum Closet,” but rather a metaphor for an unfortunate state of being).
No, it's an entirely different sort of affair when you're actually in Between. Because you're not really between anything in particular, so much as everything all at once.
The same rule applies to every other place with a name like this. Sockland might not actually be filled with socks, and regardless of what the name may imply, Behind probably won't be found behind something.
Another important fact: None of these places exist, and if you go to them, neither will you.
~~~
-=Chad and His Carousel, Part I=-
Chad Branswith was a young man who worked inside of a carousel. This may seem like a ridiculously impossible job, but it was true. At the center of every carousel there is a little round compartment, which is full of gears, a few levers, and possibly a control panel with brightly colored buttons on it. Sometimes a chair is also placed inside this compartment, so that the men who work inside of them can sit down when they get tired.
Chad Branswith had a chair. He also had a bag of pot, which he kept in a backpack beneath his chair. Every thirty minutes, Brad would take out the bag of pot, and roll himself a joint. Then he would sit in his chair and get high while the carousel went around and around and around.
The carousel Brad worked inside of was a massive beast of a thing; Every inch of it had been hand carved, hand painted, and put together by the man who had designed it. It was built in the early nineteen hundreds, and had two levels. Three years after the designer was finished working on it, men came and bought it, took it apart, and shipped it from it's Italian home land to America. The carousel was bought and sold many more times after that, and made it's home in many, many different circuses. It's paint was worn thin, it's lacquer dulled, and heaving innards of gears became rusted and immobile.
Finally, it was abandoned.
One month later (which in history was two years ago on October first), the carousel was stolen by a man named Mackennely Stutton. Generally, this would have cause somewhat of an upset for the carousel (it liked to think it was rather above being stolen), but because it was beginning to decay, instead it held about it the air of relief. Mackennely could feel it too, and knew that by stealing such a massive, ancient attraction, piece by piece he was doing the right thing.
Imagine his surprise when, after he refurbished the carousel and had it gleaming and rotating again, he would be told it was an utterly priceless antique.
The carousel was set up inside a shopping mall which Mackennely Stutton owned, and there it was kept clean, beautifully maintained, and adored by a multitude of shoppers.
This was where Chad came in. As mentioned before, he worked inside of the carousel. His job was to make sure that when the carousel wasn't moving, the gears were kept oiled and grime-free. When the carousel was moving, his job was to make sure it didn't stop due to things like gears locking up, explosions, or zombie invasions. After all, it was extremely important to have a properly functioning carousel in the event of zombies. Everyone knew that rotating things confused the undead. This was a fact of life.
Chad had gotten his job because he was adamant. When he applied, his eyes had been wide and clear, and his boss Mr. Stutton felt like he could see right through them. Chad told Mr. Stutton of a time when he was a small kid, running through an amusement park. The world back then had been tall and colorful, and details were blurred away by the sugar glazed excitement of a child who was still too young to care about remembering things. Little bitty Chad had evaded his parents all day, and rocketed his way past game stalls, food carts, and rides that must have been “more taller than Godzilla.” He had seen them all; played the games and ridden the rides. But surely there must have been something new to do there? He hadn't been sure, but there was a distant feeling of having passed over something new and beautiful.
Eventually teeny Chad was tired and ready to go home. He turned around and looked up at his parents, (he had never really, truly evaded them. They just let him think he had, as many watchful parents are want to do with independent children). But just as he opened his mouth to say, “Let's go home now,” he heard it; A crisp, tinkering, music box song that was entirely different from any other sound at the park.
Chad had followed the music, which drew him through the amusement park like a beckoning voice.
Eventually he stood in front of a carousel.
It wasn't the same as the one he worked inside of now. In fact, the one he found when he was young had been rickety, splintery, very small... there were only about ten horses in the thing, and at least three of those were broken. But to him, and to his childish, awestruck view of the world, it was the most astounding contraption he had ever seen.
Well. To be honest, children will see things far more wonderful than carousels. The world is full of wonderful things, after all, and each one is better than the next. But in this particular instance, the discovery of the rundown ride was to Chad, for whatever reason, strangely astounding. Perhaps it was the excitement of having 'discovered' something he hadn't thought was there. Perhaps it was the way the carousel was silhouetted against the pale blue and purple of a sunsetting sky. Perhaps it was the song playing as the horses danced round and round. Perhaps it was the man who operated the thing, in his entirely unnecessary coat and tails, top hat, and sleek black gloves.
Whatever the reason, Chad had been transfixed. He would never forget the feeling.
Years later and a local shopping mall would announce the arrival of an antique Italian carousel, recently restored, which would be occupying the court where a leaky, unattractive fountain had once been. Chad, along with many others, went to the mall to witness the grand unveiling.
The huge sheets which had hidden the carousel came down, and Chad...
Chad could have sworn he was a child again, standing transfixed in an amusement park, while a man in a top hat pressed a button, and sent the horses turning, turning, turning...
“So that's why,” He had told Mr. Stutton. “That's why I want to work here. I mean, it sounds a little ridiculous, sure, and I have no idea how these kinds of rides even work, but.. Well, I'll learn fast, I swear. You totally won't regret it, Mr. Stutton, seriously.”
Chad Branswith got the job.
Mackennely Stutton didn't regret it.
~~~
-=Sophie, Part II=-
Sophie was not entirely pleased with the idea that her boss had had the nerve to call her and tell her she was fired before she had even had the chance to take a shower. Bad news was always best accepted while clean, and so it was understandable that the news of losing her job didn't go over too well. Her hair was still grimy, after all.
Sophie seethed, and cussed, and threw a few of her belongings. Then she took a shower. She felt much better after that.
“Oh well,” she said aloud, to no one in particular. (She had no idea her ferns were listening intently.) “I guess I don't have a job, then.”
And the statement made her smile.
She was free.
It was still somewhat early in the day, so to celebrate her end of slavery, Sophie went into the kitchen to have another cup of coffee. (This would be her third. She still wasn't sure if the caffeine was working yet.)
“So,” she asked into her coffee mug, “What should I do today...?”
The coffee didn't give her any useful replies, but then...coffee generally never did. Sophie smiled at her reflection in the dark liquid, undaunted by the lack of conversation.
“Maybe I'll go raid some pawn stores~”
Somewhere, in an entirely different town, Chad Branswith was getting high inside of a carousel, while the horses went around and around and around.
~~~
-=Keyholder, Part III=-
The man in the top hat sipped his water quietly, and the bartender watched him with the face of one who had seen death reaching for him. The scene played itself out like this for a good few moments, with neither person saying anything. The bartender-
[Continued on Day 3]
~~~
Skip to:
Day One
Day Two - You are here
Day Three
Day Four
Day Five
Day Six
Day Seven
Day Eight
Day Nine
Day Ten
Day Eleven
Day Twelve
Day Thirteen
Day Fourteen
Day Fifteen
Day Seventeen
Day Ninteen
Day Twenty
Day Twenty-One
Day Twenty-Three
Day Twenty-Four
Day Twenty-Five
Day Twenty-Six
Day Twenty-Seven
NaNoWriMo 2009