Sunday, June 23, 2013

It's What They Wanted

Something great.

I put down my pen, got up, and walked out the door. Sure, it might not have been exactly what they wanted, but it was all I had at the moment. I can't write on command, I have to have time to think and debate, to erase and cross out. I counted down from five as I took a left at the bottom of the steps. I heard the door slam behind me, and I ducked through the open fire door. The heat hit me, but I knew that I had to get out of there. I couldn't stay and have them yell at me, trying to get me to put words together on a page. If they want to make money, if they want something that will make people want more, they have to give me a little time. It'll all come eventually. I stopped at the corner store, just to grab some dark chocolate and a bottle of wine. After a stunt like this, what more do I have to lose? I looked up just in time to see a mass of hair and money stumble pass. I paid and shook hands with the cashier and smiled as I made my way out the back door. The dirt path lead me away from the main road, and I stopped to drop my phone behind the flowers... Okay, I'd be lying if I tried to deny that I smelled the flowers too but if I included that in any kind of story, it'd be one more chiche that I wish I didn't use. I guess because it's the here and now, it's just a reminder that this is a beautiful day outside the control of the do-anything-power. D.O.P. Dop. Dope. Ha. I bet that's what they do in their free time. Hell, that's what I'd do if I had any free time. If I'm not sitting there in their office then I'm evading their clutches. If I'm not evading their clutches then I'm sleeping. If I'm not sleeping I'm sitting there in their office. That's because they know where I live, well, they're paying for housing, and food, and pretty much anything else I need. They just use me for my well constructed sentences, and dashing good looks. Someone's gotta stand behind the words I write, and I insisted that it was me. I mean, I may be going on six feet tall and I can hide behind a young sapling without any troubles, but the acne's cleared up and Dop's ordering contacts for me soon. They're trying to move me on to that "cool kid" phase that I missed during puberty 10 years ago. Honestly, I'm not sure that they would have picked me if they looked at my headshot first. I was just some bum off the side of the street, with nothing much but a notebook and a bent up copy of my senior portrait showing off my manly stoic face. Shuttering from my blocked memories creeping up on me, I emerged from the path turned wooded brush, and jumped across the creek. Part of me wishes that I didn't leave my phone in the flowers, I'd have done just as well to have dropped it along the rocks and let the water take it. I wonder  how life would have turned out, it I didn't see that poster walking along the sidewalk by the guidance of the breeze. Would I be dead now, of starvation? Would I have sold a story, taken my pay, and gone without another look back, swearing that I could use the meager earnings to start a real job? I'd have my soul back, I know that much. I stepped out into the clearing, and retrieved my corkscrew from the hollow log the I had dragged into the center. I'll admit that it wasn't my first time going AWOL, but they still had yet to figure out where I disappear to. As long as I return with something great to show them, they'll be able to finish their anthology and I'll be able to pretend I don't exist until they go demanding more words for some other project. Sinking down to the ground, I kissed the top of the bottle and let the sweet juice drip down my throat. I reached into the log and retrieved my battered notebook. I found a margin and squeezed in two words as I breathed in a sigh of relief as my imagination started to run wild.

Something great...

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