Writers' Exercise - April 16, 2009

[Unition]

Alright I promised I'd do these on Monday but I am a procrastinator.  Also, this took longer than 15 minutes but I got a little carried away.

Here's three more words:

BOTHER
ENERGY
CHECKER

I was awakened suddenly by the sound of a panicked knock on my front door.  Hoisting myself off my couch, I wobbled my way around dirty socks and old pizza boxes, and without even looking through the peephole, threw open the door.
Sweating on my top step was a short, balding man of indeterminate background, wearing a cheap suit, hat held in nervous hands.
"Sir," he said, and he spoke clearly, with a surprising British accent.  "Good afternoon.  My name is Amir.  I am sorry to bother you today, but-"
I interrupted him.  "Whatever you're selling, I don't want it."  I had noticed a crate filled with bottles by his dusty leather wingtips.  He tucked his hat under his arm, bent, and pulled one out, holding it up at eye level.  The label on it was homemade, printed off of a computer in Comic Sans.
"But," he said, the persistent wanker.  "I am trying to sell these energy drinks for money for food for myself and my family.  He stepped sideways, gesturing back towards the road where an old shitbox was parked, checkered with rust.  Stacks of luggage were bungeed to the roof racks.  A woman and child peered through the dirty windows at us.
He noticed me slowly inching the door closed and wedged his shoe in the jam.  "Only five dollars.  It will change your life, I promise!"
"I'm not going to buy some mystery tonic from a hobo salesman.  Especially not one sealed with...what's that, a cork?"  I leaned on my door.
He pressed his face to the crack left between door and frame."Respectfully sir, first of all, I am a scientist, not a hobo.  Secondly...smell this!"  He uncorked the bottle and suddenly thrust the opening through the crack towards my face.
Before I could duck out of the way the odor hit me.  It was unlike anything I had smelled before - neither a good nor bad smell.  Mostly medicinal, and heavy, and cloying.  My vision swam for a moment, and I released the door to rub my eyes.
When I looked up again everything was just a little bit different.  The edges of objects looked clearer.  I could hear birds, the neighbours' dogs, the sound of my shitty refrigerator compressor starting in the other room.  I wanted the drink.
The man was smiling at me.  He held the drink up and waggled it between two fingers, invitingly.
"Alright Amir.  Let's try this shit."  I fished around in my wallet for a five.
As I drank I waved him past me into my house, where it wasn't so hot and oppressive.  Amir sat down on my couch and relaxed for a bit.  What did it matter, now that we were friends?
The taste of the liquid was no more impressive than the smell.  But the power of the drink made my veins burn and my brain work overtime.  Old memories, pleasure, pain, the past and the present were all pulled out of me by the draught, and I had to sit down, overwhelmed.
Amir was talking, speaking to me about his past.  He told me of his great discoveries, his work with businessmen and goverments, his triumphs, and his eventual betrayal.  He was running, escaping from those who did not understand him.  And who could really understand him, know him without knowing his drink?  I was suddenly filled with a righteous fury.  I interrupted him.
"Amir, I've heard enough.  I'm coming with you.  What happened to you...that shit isn't right.  We need to get the word out there, to the people."
Amir smiled and clapped me on the shoulder.  "Thank you, my friend.  I was hoping you would say that.  Together we can accomplish many things."
Together we got up and walked out to the car.  I paused only once to pick up the crate, and soon enough we were continuing his good work.

[Tony Greyfox]

"Why in hell do I even bother with this?"
Andrew's fist slammed down onto his keyboard. Keys, so regularly replaced that they fell out in a stiff breeze, splashed up around his arm, setting him to angry cursing as he scrambled around to gather them back up.
"No ideas, no plot, nothing..." he muttered, trying to sort through the keys and remember their proper placement. "Some novel writer you're turning out to be, Andrew."
The young man swore again and picked up the can sitting on the desk, chugging his fifth energy drink of the afternoon. He hated the taste - it was kind of like drinking copious amounts of cough syrup - but he was funding what he laughingly referred to as his writing "career" by working night shifts at Wal-Mart, and the four hours of sleep he was allowing himself just wasn't cutting it. But, he mused muzzily as he felt the sugar and caffeine buzz through his system and start his heart pumping again, it was still better than the gas station. And he knew that with enough time, he'd find the right combination and have a bestseller on his hands.
If he ever got the damn thing written.
With a sigh, Andrew sat back down and bleared at the screen, along with the ten paragraphs he'd managed to plow through in the past few hours. There wasn't much sense to be made of them, at least not out of context, so he fired up the spell checker and let it chew through the new work. His spelling was, as usual, atrocious, but for the most part the spell check found his mistakes. He watched as it did its work. He yawned as the program plodded through slowly, and rubbed at his eyes, closing them for a moment.
When he opened his eyes, everything was dark.
Andrew looked around, confused, and checked his watch. 12:42 AM. He had missed the start of his shift, again. His manager had said he was done next time around.
"Great," he muttered, sitting up to smack his mouse and shut off the screen saver. Nothing happened. He frowned, and looked around. None of the power was on.
Irritated, he ran his hand through his unkempt hair and thought back. He vaguely remembered getting a power bill... but couldn't remember paying it. It was probably sitting next to the unpaid bills for his phone.
Andrew sighed, and made his way to the fridge, yanking it open. Well, he mused, he could put together a mustard sandwich, anyhow.
Armed with a mustard on white and a glass of vaguely cool water, Andrew sat down in his sparse living room and pondered his situation. Broke, jobless, and cut off.
He grinned. Maybe he *was* a professional writer, after all...

[Unition]

Pretty good, I can tell that you've done a lot of writing before!

Some parts that I thought were especially good:

he mused muzzily as he felt the sugar and caffeine buzz through his system and start his heart pumping

Armed with a mustard on white and a glass of vaguely cool water, Andrew sat down in his sparse living room and pondered his situation. Broke, jobless, and cut off.
He grinned. Maybe he *was* a professional writer, after all...

I hope your story isn't an accurate slice of your real life!

[Tony Greyfox]

Heh, thanks!
No, now that I've sold half of my soul and moved towards the marketing/PR side of things, they actually pay me. *g*