Short Story: FOR ONE NIGHT ONLY
Apr. 14th, 2014 12:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grav_ityI aimed for a ghost story. I may have missed. But I tried!
For One Night Only
“Dammit!” he says, then throws the pencil across the room. It’s not the first time he’s done that tonight. It won’t be the last.
It’s a nice room, really, for all the pain and suffering he endures within it. Hardwood floors slope unevenly so that you couldn’t drop a marble and expect to find it any time soon. The boards are sanded down by years and wear, but he always has on slippers, so he barely notices the soft carpet he put under the window. He doesn’t like the window. Too much goes on outside of it.
But the room, the room is his. It’s got a heavy desk and a comfortable chair. The desk is for his dignity, the chair is common sense. He’s not about to put himself through physical pain as well as emotional. His pride and joy, though, are the shelves. They’re heavy too, with leather-bound books he’s never read but which give the room just the right look, the right smell. Great men, great thoughts, and someday he’ll be worthy of them.
The desk is dark wood. The antique dealer who’d sold it to him swore there was a hidden compartment, only he’s never been able to find it. He decorates it with a red blotter, on which sit his paper and row of neatly sharpened pencils, and a single lamp.
He had planned this room down to the scent of the air, but he hadn’t planned on her.
For One Night Only
“Dammit!” he says, then throws the pencil across the room. It’s not the first time he’s done that tonight. It won’t be the last.
It’s a nice room, really, for all the pain and suffering he endures within it. Hardwood floors slope unevenly so that you couldn’t drop a marble and expect to find it any time soon. The boards are sanded down by years and wear, but he always has on slippers, so he barely notices the soft carpet he put under the window. He doesn’t like the window. Too much goes on outside of it.
But the room, the room is his. It’s got a heavy desk and a comfortable chair. The desk is for his dignity, the chair is common sense. He’s not about to put himself through physical pain as well as emotional. His pride and joy, though, are the shelves. They’re heavy too, with leather-bound books he’s never read but which give the room just the right look, the right smell. Great men, great thoughts, and someday he’ll be worthy of them.
The desk is dark wood. The antique dealer who’d sold it to him swore there was a hidden compartment, only he’s never been able to find it. He decorates it with a red blotter, on which sit his paper and row of neatly sharpened pencils, and a single lamp.
He had planned this room down to the scent of the air, but he hadn’t planned on her.
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Date: 2014-04-15 02:14 am (UTC)Before I forget to tell you this again, I think Owen would make a fantastic cartoon series - especially if you dropped the ages of the main characters a bit. I see it in my head and it's really quite enjoyable. I know someone else who very successfully turned a one-off book into a cartoon series. Graphic novels (comic books) would also work well at the characters' regularly written ages. Oh, the possibilities!