Thursday, August 21, 2003
Storytime...
Writing Exercise - Word: Damp (written on the bus tonight):
The basement smelled old, musty, damp. She hugged the wall, searching for a light switch. G-d, she hoped there was a light switch. She would hate to have to step away from the solid safety of the the wall, blindly reaching up to find a dangling light bulb that might not even have a pull chain attached, not knowing what she might encounter in the thick, black dark that closed in around her.
She started to panic, cursing herself for not bringing a flashlight, a candle, even a stupid book of matches. Who the hell goes into a strange basement without back-up lighting of some kind? And why the hell did he send her down for the wine, knowing her fears?
Images flashed behind her eyes. She saw rats and roaches scurrying across her feet, unseen but definitely felt. She saw the house being shaken apart by a sudden earthquake, even though earthquakes were unheard of in Florida. In her mind the safe walls crumbled like blue cheese around her, the ceiling collapsed on her head and she lay buried in the rubble, stunned but conscious, the unseen rats and roaches making a meal of her.
Breathe deeply, she told herself. Even he wouldn't send her down to a dank basement if it were unsafe. Sure, he was pretty screwed up, but he knew her horror of the dark, of being buried alive.
G-ddamned Poe stories. Who was the brain trust that decided Poe was appropriate reading for impressionable children? That was some fucked-up shit for a third grader to be forced to read, especially one as preternaturally fearful as she was. Ever since she had read "The Cask of Amontillado" and "Fall of the House of Usher", she'd been terrified of basements and old houses and the dark. Always the dark. Enveloping her, enfolding her, smothering her in its relentless embrace.
Wait, was that a rustle? It was hard to hear over her ragged breathing, but she was sure she heard some rustling. Was she sharing this space with horrible rodents and insects and maybe even reptiles? Shit oh shit oh shit...
She decided to go back up the stairs, smack him so hard those slightly crossed eyes of his went straight and fell out of his demented skull, when her trembling hands ran across a switch. A light switch. Oh glory, blessed be. Okay, she thought as her fingers flicked the switch upwards, she'll get the wine. But she was still going to slap him silly for making her do this, the sick fuck.
The light flashed on, momentarily blinding her, and she heard the rustling again, louder than before, this time accompanied by a stomp or two. In the brief instant that it took her eyes to adjust to the bright light, terror spiked through her, rising to her vocal chords. Her scream was lost in the voices bombarding her. "Surprise! Happy birthday, Sam!"
She stared at the familiar faces of her friends and family. The door above creaked open and she looked up into his face with its crazy grin.
She glared at him and spoke, her eyes steely, her tone unforgiving.
"Jeremy, you are so not getting laid tonight."
The basement smelled old, musty, damp. She hugged the wall, searching for a light switch. G-d, she hoped there was a light switch. She would hate to have to step away from the solid safety of the the wall, blindly reaching up to find a dangling light bulb that might not even have a pull chain attached, not knowing what she might encounter in the thick, black dark that closed in around her.
She started to panic, cursing herself for not bringing a flashlight, a candle, even a stupid book of matches. Who the hell goes into a strange basement without back-up lighting of some kind? And why the hell did he send her down for the wine, knowing her fears?
Images flashed behind her eyes. She saw rats and roaches scurrying across her feet, unseen but definitely felt. She saw the house being shaken apart by a sudden earthquake, even though earthquakes were unheard of in Florida. In her mind the safe walls crumbled like blue cheese around her, the ceiling collapsed on her head and she lay buried in the rubble, stunned but conscious, the unseen rats and roaches making a meal of her.
Breathe deeply, she told herself. Even he wouldn't send her down to a dank basement if it were unsafe. Sure, he was pretty screwed up, but he knew her horror of the dark, of being buried alive.
G-ddamned Poe stories. Who was the brain trust that decided Poe was appropriate reading for impressionable children? That was some fucked-up shit for a third grader to be forced to read, especially one as preternaturally fearful as she was. Ever since she had read "The Cask of Amontillado" and "Fall of the House of Usher", she'd been terrified of basements and old houses and the dark. Always the dark. Enveloping her, enfolding her, smothering her in its relentless embrace.
Wait, was that a rustle? It was hard to hear over her ragged breathing, but she was sure she heard some rustling. Was she sharing this space with horrible rodents and insects and maybe even reptiles? Shit oh shit oh shit...
She decided to go back up the stairs, smack him so hard those slightly crossed eyes of his went straight and fell out of his demented skull, when her trembling hands ran across a switch. A light switch. Oh glory, blessed be. Okay, she thought as her fingers flicked the switch upwards, she'll get the wine. But she was still going to slap him silly for making her do this, the sick fuck.
The light flashed on, momentarily blinding her, and she heard the rustling again, louder than before, this time accompanied by a stomp or two. In the brief instant that it took her eyes to adjust to the bright light, terror spiked through her, rising to her vocal chords. Her scream was lost in the voices bombarding her. "Surprise! Happy birthday, Sam!"
She stared at the familiar faces of her friends and family. The door above creaked open and she looked up into his face with its crazy grin.
She glared at him and spoke, her eyes steely, her tone unforgiving.
"Jeremy, you are so not getting laid tonight."
Labels: story time
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