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Posts Tagged ‘realistic fiction’

I Could Not Wait For Midnight

Friday, January 29th, 2010

The weekly writing prompts have returned!  This week’s prompt was “I could not wait for midnight.”

It’s a bit darker than most of my pieces, but for some reason, it seemed to fit.  Enjoy!


I could not wait for midnight.

Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t excited for anything. In fact, the night I had planned was mediocre at best, just a night spent in front of the television. The extent of my plans was to listen to the hypnotic voices that made time fly by.

Life had other plans.

I got home as I usually did, a little past 6pm, after a long day at work. My job wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t really something I enjoyed anymore. I simply went in, did the job I was paid to do, and then came home, planning little more than watching a couple of shows I enjoyed, or perhaps picking up a book and getting my entertainment that way.

When did life become so empty?

Again, my life wasn’t bad, just mediocre. I wasn’t dissatisfied, but I knew there was so much more. Why couldn’t I be as happy as those people on the television? They always seemed full of life, and there always seemed to be someone coming over with an interesting story.

No one ever came to visit me.

I walked into the kitchen, setting down my groceries. I put them away automatically–I’ve done this countless times before, and could do it in my sleep. I always seemed to buy the same things, and put them away in the same order.

My life was too routine.

As I reached up to put away the potato chips on top of the refrigerator, the bag suddenly slipped from my hands. Strange, I thought as I bent down to pick them up. I again reached up to put them on top of the refrigerator.

That’s when the pain hit.

I suddenly felt like I’d been hit in the chest, and found it hard to breathe. [i]What’s happening?[i] I thought, as I dropped the potato chips a second time, pulling my hand to my chest. A second wave hit me, and I knew what it was.

I reached for the phone.

It pulled away from me, lifting up into the air. I felt the impact as I hit the ground. One hand still clutching my chest, I reached up in vain, grabbing for the phone. I remembered my cell phone, sitting in my pocket, and reached for that instead. I brought it to my face, and the room started to darken. I saw the time glowing on the phone: 6:23.

I could not wait for midnight; I was already gone.

Forgive the Spelling Mistake, Please!

Monday, October 5th, 2009

Dear Editor,

I’m writing to apologize for the spelling mistake in my previous letter, which led to our most unfortunate misunderstanding.

Just think, now that the incident is over, we can look back on this and laugh at how it came about.

The now famous letter, for your convenience, is attached here:

Dear Editor,

I went to meet the Prince when he came to visit our fair town.  While it was a pleasant and productive meeting, I was nonetheless surprised when, as we went to part, he shit in his hand and offered it to me.

He claimed this was a custom in his land, a way of sealing a deal.  I was, as I’m sure you’ll understand, disgusted by his action, and refused to take his hand.  The prince’s face grew red with anger at my refusal, and stormed out of the room…I was roughly escorted out of the room by his guards.

In short, I was both disappointed and disgusted in my meeting with the Prince.  I had expected more from an official from a foreign land.


Disgusted in St. Louis

I swear I’d read that letter several times before I sent it out.  A single character, using an ‘h’ instead of a ‘p’, caused all this trouble…riots, shouting matches, insults traded between our countries.

Who would have thought that such a simple typo would have led to an international incident?  Certainly not I.  However, you must admit that now I can add “Internationally recognized” to my list of accomplishments on my resume!

Before publishing my letter, you had written me back, asking for me to reread and verify all I’d written in my letter.  My assumption is you were concerned about printing something libelous.  I skimmed my letter again, but the events were the same (or so I’d thought).  I’d responded that everything was accurate and looked fine.

How could I have missed such an obvious error?

When I reread my letter, I’d read what I meant to say, not what I’d actually written.  I offer no further excuse.

However, I do offer a sincere apology to the Prince.  I’m still disgusted by his actions, but not nearly as much as my atrocious proofreading skills.  I do hope that he can find it in his heart to forgive me for such an egregious error.

I have only one further question for the Prince:  Can we shake hands and make up?


Embarrassed in Seattle

P.S.  Yes, I have moved in order to save myself further embarrassment, and have hired a team of three proofreaders to monitor everything I write before I send it out.

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