I wouldn't have minded her munching on my hair, because I knew she was drunk, and when she gets drunk she has these "texture issues" with her mouth, but it was the fact she was drooling and whispering my name in my ear loud enough to cause ringing. When I leaned forward to get further from her, she fell down and rolled off the couch onto the floor, banging her temple on the coffee table. She did not cry out, or even say, "Ouch," but sort of giggled "Oh man oh man..." like she somehow knew the pain would eventually come when she sobered up the next day. I saw the small trickle of blood start and roll across her head in lazy patterns and she swayed to sit upright. Her slender fingers, pale with the booze, found the bottle in its attempt to steady a swirling world, and instead of being part of the fruitless task of helping Anna stand up straight, it clasped the bottle in a reassuring way, and a reflex action swigged the remnants of Jack Daniels to her mouth that ended with a juicy belch and a giggle. And thus began the worst spring break trip in recent memory.
Bits of stories float around my head in no order, and come up at work, on the subway, and so on... and have no home. Where will these people go?
Saint George stood over the body of the beast, still hot to the touch and slick with the blood of dragon and men alike, and let out a heavy and regretful sigh. All these years. All the traveling. All the people he met, church politics he endured, supply problems, and endless nights under the stars, looking for signs of the dragon he had been hunting all these years... all of it was now over, and he realized, "Life fucketh me. I am out of a bloody job!"
They come in flowery bursts like poems, only they aren't about love and they aren't even clever. They just come in waves.
As Bridgett watched the orange glow flick from her fingertips, she suddenly realized she was standing in a puddle of kerosene. As she watched it fall to the ground, her stomach clenched in anticipation. What did they teach her? Tuck and roll? Duck and cover? Did she even have a fire blanket? Would the fire hurt? Could she somehow outrun the flames, and get out of the abandoned warehouse before her fiery doom? She was wearing leather jacket, would that protect her? She was also wearing taffeta under her black lace skirt, would that just light her cootch up like kindling? A thousand thoughts reached a crescendo when the lit ash from her cigarette extinguished itself with a small "hiss" and she was left with a snapshot of the end of her life still lingering in the air. "Oh God..." she shuddered. "I'm still alive. Fuck. Man. Oh man." But as she turned around to leave, she ran headfirst right into a metal pole, and fell to the ground. "Mother FUCKER!" she said with such released intensity, that even though her mother lived 1000 miles away, she suddenly felt a pinch in her vagina.
I am pretty good at writing scene, and setting up characters, it's the plot that I am weak. I could write paragraphs all day, but they will never connect.
Thog not understand. What happened to tribe? Cave empty. Gone. Tribe gone. Family gone. Fire gone. Fire mean family to Thog. Family migrate? Family flee sabertooth cat? Thog kill sabertooth. Thog hate sabertooth. Sabertooth ate last kill of Thog even though he not hunt for it. Sabertooth hiss and make Thog run like child. Shamed Thog in front of brother. Him not honest hunter. No. Thog must not think of cat. Thog must think of where fire go. Where fire, there family. Where family, there tribe. Thog must look for smoke. Smoke is fire. Smoke is tribe. Maybe tribe think Thog is dead. Thog get lost many nights because of sabertooth. Thog think sabertooth has cheating mother who spoil cub. Spoiled cubs steal meat from honest hunters. No. Thog not think of cat again. Think of smoke. Where is smoke? Must find high place to look for smoke. Before night. Fire keeps evil night spirits from tribe. Not from Thog. Thog must keep running. This time, not from cat.
Sometimes they are funny. Actually, mostly they are funny. Occasionally thoughtful, and I explore a little further, but my characters don't see to DO anything interesting after a while.
"I'm thirty two," John kept thinking. "I am immune to this. I should be better than this, it's for the best." He kept fishing the wires around the data racks, his thoughts lost in the static white noise of hundreds of power supply fans. "I am thirty two. I can handle anything. I am an adult. My parents should not affect me," he kept trying to tell himself. A wire jammed. He tried to force the wire through the hole, but it was like pushing rope. What was it sticking on? He kept saying louder and louder, "I am thirty two, goddamit! My parent's decisions are their own, I don't live with them anymore, I don't have to do what they say, we are all adults. I am thirty TWO! Not TWELVE!" He pushed the wire so hard, his fingers slipped, and he caught the edge of his fingernail against a sharp mental shelf. He grabbed his hand in pain, and then collapsed to the floor, sobbing. "I am thrifty two, and my parents are getting a goddamned divorce!!!" He gritted his teeth through his tears, and asked aloud for the first time, "Why...?"