A day in the life of a vague writer
Her mind's eye flickers as she shifts his lazy eye from left to center in the split second before she perceives him through the door, hat in hand. She interprets this corrective electrical impulse as evidence of his emotional depth and of the divine connection between them. She often thinks of this during prayer.
He is a vague writer. She fills in the holes in his prose with her own emotion and oxytocin. His generalities become specific to her. She marvels at his skill to speak to her heart. When she's alone, she reads his secret poems. She likes the first drafts better. They are worse.
Today to satisfy his vanity, his fantasy of a thousand swooning women at his book signing, he gets corrective laser surgery. Now he will have such penetrating eyes, no wavering of the pupil on the path to intimacy. No thought of her, no, no thought of her.
When he gets home and takes off his sunglasses, something is different. Something is flat. By dinner, he's doomed. He deserves it.
He is a vague writer. She fills in the holes in his prose with her own emotion and oxytocin. His generalities become specific to her. She marvels at his skill to speak to her heart. When she's alone, she reads his secret poems. She likes the first drafts better. They are worse.
Today to satisfy his vanity, his fantasy of a thousand swooning women at his book signing, he gets corrective laser surgery. Now he will have such penetrating eyes, no wavering of the pupil on the path to intimacy. No thought of her, no, no thought of her.
When he gets home and takes off his sunglasses, something is different. Something is flat. By dinner, he's doomed. He deserves it.
posted by JMH | 10:34 PM
2 Comments:
You have the ability to form well defined characters in a few sentences. This writing was suspenseful.
sybil - Awesome yourself.
jorg - Thanks. Suspense is something I could really get into. But can it exist without plot?
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