The Drifter
09-14-2005, 01:15 PM
So I got bored and decided to try and write a story. Haven't written since school tbh.. but I always enjoyed it.
Anyway.. I wrote a short prologue to a story here.. I'll probably continue it regardless of the feedback.. but it'd be nice to know what people think.
Link.
http://slumz.boxden.com/showthread.php?t=456586
Prologue.
4.28am.
I consider dreams the 8th wonder of the world. In the past it was easy to pass time. Movies, TV, books, masturbation and hardcore pornography.. usually of the three types mentioned. Even watching a young couple in the furniture department, undecided on a colour scheme yet too in love to disagree with each other. I daydream about their future and smile as the ‘unique’ tartan lampshade shatters into a thousand pieces against the blue sky of their living room walls mid break-up. Yet.. daydreams are as close as I get to slumber.
I’m a 24 year old man working at Homestores for the same wage as the acne beast on till 7 who just dropped out of high school. Chad. Even his name leaks prepubescence. It’s the same every night. 4.29am and I’ve successfully counted the ceiling tiles both in single tiles and sets of four. It would have been easier to divide the original count by four.. but then I’d have to find something else for my mind to exercise to.
fu*k it. I climb out of bed and trod over to the bathroom.. light on. The medicine cabinet is void of medicine per se.. instead filled with my driving license and three bottles of Nytol. The TV ads seem so snugly. ‘Have a good Nytol.’ Creative. Kinda makes me want to find that cartoon Nytol hippo and strangle him with razor wire. I’m up to 6 daily doses tonight and it still has no effect at all.. instead I seem to be developing a taste for the golden sludge of sleep medicine.
Could do with a new medicine cabinet as it happens. Or I could clean this one. Through the mist of dirt on the mirror I see my reflection.. a straggled beast of a man. Or less melodramatic.. (and more accurately) an unshaven mess. My nose is trickling blood again. Please let it be a brain haemorrhage. Might have some trouble waking back up again but at least I’d be unconscious.
Unrolling some toilet paper I decide to watch some late night TV. If ever there’s a cure for insomnia it’s the steady streams of Spanish soap operas and shopping channels. Dawn Of The Dead. Chances of that being on TV are slim to none.. yet my zombie like stumble into the living room gives me a glimmer of hope. The TV glares with aggression.. almost as if it’s telling me that I shouldn’t be doing this.
And it’s right.
Anyway.. I wrote a short prologue to a story here.. I'll probably continue it regardless of the feedback.. but it'd be nice to know what people think.
Link.
http://slumz.boxden.com/showthread.php?t=456586
Prologue.
4.28am.
I consider dreams the 8th wonder of the world. In the past it was easy to pass time. Movies, TV, books, masturbation and hardcore pornography.. usually of the three types mentioned. Even watching a young couple in the furniture department, undecided on a colour scheme yet too in love to disagree with each other. I daydream about their future and smile as the ‘unique’ tartan lampshade shatters into a thousand pieces against the blue sky of their living room walls mid break-up. Yet.. daydreams are as close as I get to slumber.
I’m a 24 year old man working at Homestores for the same wage as the acne beast on till 7 who just dropped out of high school. Chad. Even his name leaks prepubescence. It’s the same every night. 4.29am and I’ve successfully counted the ceiling tiles both in single tiles and sets of four. It would have been easier to divide the original count by four.. but then I’d have to find something else for my mind to exercise to.
fu*k it. I climb out of bed and trod over to the bathroom.. light on. The medicine cabinet is void of medicine per se.. instead filled with my driving license and three bottles of Nytol. The TV ads seem so snugly. ‘Have a good Nytol.’ Creative. Kinda makes me want to find that cartoon Nytol hippo and strangle him with razor wire. I’m up to 6 daily doses tonight and it still has no effect at all.. instead I seem to be developing a taste for the golden sludge of sleep medicine.
Could do with a new medicine cabinet as it happens. Or I could clean this one. Through the mist of dirt on the mirror I see my reflection.. a straggled beast of a man. Or less melodramatic.. (and more accurately) an unshaven mess. My nose is trickling blood again. Please let it be a brain haemorrhage. Might have some trouble waking back up again but at least I’d be unconscious.
Unrolling some toilet paper I decide to watch some late night TV. If ever there’s a cure for insomnia it’s the steady streams of Spanish soap operas and shopping channels. Dawn Of The Dead. Chances of that being on TV are slim to none.. yet my zombie like stumble into the living room gives me a glimmer of hope. The TV glares with aggression.. almost as if it’s telling me that I shouldn’t be doing this.
And it’s right.