New Novel (Rough Draft) Viewable Now.

September 12th, 2008; 8:01 PM

Current mood:creative

She sat typing. The room was dark and the world outside her apartment was quiet still. All that could be heard was the rapid typing of her keyboard. Click click. Tap tap. She just had to get it done. One way or another it was time to write that novel. What would it be about? Would she dare to write down all of the crazy shit that occurred to her every day? The kinds of things that she would laugh about inside her head while maintaining her calm exterior? The inner-workings of her mind were a jungle of paranoid, bizarre, and obscure references. She could laugh at almost anything. It was the results of having years of misery and trouble plaguing her. Once the decision was made to live, there was nothing left to do but to go forward with her plan.

            "I used to think about suicide a lot." Kim used to say. "There's nothing left to live for anyway. I mean all of the best philosophers have already come up with anything worth thinking. All of the best artists have already lived and died. There's no new music to write, no new ideas to think, or dreams that haven't already become recycled, regurgitated, and destroyed by our mass media frozen-TV-dinner-thinkers. Politicians don't care about the people, and the people are too stupid and numb to even care."

            "So why don't you just do it?" Beatrice replied. "I'm not stopping you. If there's nothing left to do or be…then why are you still here?" She said icily. Beatrice strode coolly over to the pot of coffee. It had just finished peeing the black French roast into the glass pot. Sputtering out the last few spurts, like Larry coming after a week of no sex. She poured herself a large bowl of coffee and sprinkled some cinnamon on top. She always drank her coffee from a bowl; Beatrice thought it made her look cool and French. –She was a Francophile really. She tried to pretend that it wasn't because of that time she went to Monica's house and saw the hot chocolate bowls that her mother had given her from her winter vacation to France. The envy Beatrice had almost overcame her when Monica had the nerve to scoff at the bowls. They sat there, lonely, and unused in Monica's cupboard. It was all Beatrice could do to not take them home with her, just slip them into her purse when Monica wasn't looking. She wouldn't even miss them. But then the shame of that thought caught up to her. She had some bowls at home that would do just fine for drinking out of. Large, deep blue, ceramic bowls that she had picked up at a garage sale down on Spencer Avenue, behind the market. Beatrice was always trying to be more cultured than her small town existence, and 23 years could reasonably allow. She had never been anywhere further than Scranton, Ohio. And her idea of high fashion was digging through the sales racks at Ross,Marshall's, or the local thrift shops if she was feeling really bohemian chic. Then she sat down next to her unfortunate friend and looked her in the eyes. "Why are you still here?"

            "Fuck you. I'm here because I want to be. Because although there's nothing special about you, me, or anyone else out there, I am still here. I will be here if not for any better reason than to get even with Jimmy Thompson from the third grade, Paul Hendricks from Junior Prom, and the biggest mistake: Tim Proctor that jock spectacular that I thought had a heart but it turned out to be a football. I figure I could kill myself, but then what fun would that be? I mean if I live…even if it sucks…I'm guaranteed to have at least one good day a month. Even if it's by accident. I don't really have to try to do that. It just happens weather I want it to or not. And anyway, revenge is fun. I think if I don't do it, nobody will. And then what will happen??? They just get away with it?" the look of disgust was written all over Kim's little pug face. Her nose wrinkled up and her brow furrowed. Beatrice could see the deep fat lines that carved Kim's features. Her nose had a largish hook to it, and the look of anger, disgust, and revulsion was constantly on Kim's face because of her heavy jowlish 'laugh-lines' –fat lines were how Beatrice thought of them.