I think it’s become pretty clear that my day job is becoming a hindrance to my writing. At least when the objective is to write a minimum amount every single day. I guess I could just quit my job and become a full time writer, but then again I would probably find some other excuse, like how difficult it is to write when it’s cold and rainy and you live under a bridge.
I actually had a couple of classes cancelled today so I ended up getting home pretty early and on my way here I thought how lucky I was! Today I won’t reduce myself to writing at midnight and being super-cranky! So I got home at about 5:30, turned on the computer, sat myself on the sofa and began procrastinating. I read a couple of interesting New Yorker articles, an old interview of Terry Pratchett by Cory Doctorow, checked my Facebook news feed, checked my Twitter notifications, read some other blogs on WordPress and all in all managed not to write a single word for three full hours.
Then the love of my life got home and I admitted that a) I was feeling uninspired and b) I was hungry. We ended up having dinner watching last week’s Doctor Who. And I thought, this is it. I’m actually going to sink the project this time. So I went anachronistic, grabbed a notebook and a pen and locked myself up in the only room in the house that provided no distractions: the bathroom. There I sat, pen resting on my lips, cogs turning in my head, just the sound of the rain and passing cars to keep me company
I wasn’t surprised by the outcome. Just like yesterday, I apologise in advance for the lack of editing. I’ll try to fix these over the weekend.
Day 4 of #NotNaNoWriMo
Tim was curled up in a ball, huddled under the table. He had his brother’s jumper on and it was so big on him it went down to his knees. Tears were streaming down his cheeks and soaking it up at the hem. No matter how long and how hard he cried, no one came to comfort him. No one was there.
Only Scott stood guard between him ad the window, from which came the unceasing sound of rain pouring down and the noise of passing trains. But they were both eclipsed by the monster’s roaring, which seemed to shake even the floor. He had been hiding under the table since he had heard it a while ago, already. But here hadn’t been anything more since. Could he safely assume it was gone?
Tim let the hood drop back, revealing his mop of reddish gold curls. Just the rain. He made to crawl out when there it was, another terrifying cry of anger, so powerful and loud, like exploding firecrackers. He curled up again and started rocking back and forth, crying, despairing, wondering when somebody would come and find him.
Why did his mom have to go to that hyper thingie? And why did she have to drag Erin away with her? Erin was supposed to be there, with him. She was supposed to shoo the monster away, not leave Tim and Scott to fend for themselves all on their own.
Then the scariest idea formed in his mind: what if they never came back? What if they had been squashed by the monster as they made their way back home to rescue him? Then nobody would save him any more, nobody would know he was there! OK, maybe Daniel could have come back home, and he could take him with him. But even if Daniel did decide to come it would take him days to get there! What did he have to go off to that school for? Grown-ups don’t need to go to school, no matter how nice their jumpers are! Tim hugged himself tight, hand tucked in the long, long sleeves.
Daniel away, mom and Erin squashed under the monster… nobody would come for him. None of the people living nearby would know he was there, He imagined the neighbours being all huddled together, keeping safe from the beast, all united and family-like. And there he was, no one to keep him safe from… The monstrous voice rumbled again, making him wince. No one would come, unless…
Tim looked at the window, blind to the outside world with the white curtains covering it. All he could make out was a sky almost as dark as night, the only glow coming from the lit lamp posts in the streets and the lights along the rail line. From time to time the white became whiter as lightning flashed. He thought that perhaps he could make himself known. He could go to the window and shout to the top of his lungs and someone was bound to notice he was there!
Still he hesitated. The thing outside would know it too. A sob escaped his mouth, so hard it made him shake all over. He had no choice, he had to do it. So what if the monster noticed him? So would his rescuers! And they would take him away, some place safe where the beast wouldn’t be able to reach him.
His jaw firm, Tim finally crawled out from under the table. He pulled up the hood, then pulled at the strings to tighten it around his face and tied them in a neat bow like when he did his shoelaces up. He picked Scott up and tiptoed to the window.
“Help,” he said the first time as he stood behind the curtains, but it came out as a half-whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Help me!”
The monster roared and thundered, making Tim almost wet himself. “Please, help me!” he cried out.
Nobody answered so he lifted a corner of the curtain and peered outside. There he stood, tall and terrifying, his scaly body taller than any of the blocks of flats nearby. It rose up like a shadow against the scarce light, long tail bumping into cars and buildings, mouth wide open, teeth gleaming.
Tim pushed open the window, took one step on the balcony and started screaming. No words, just long, desperate cries until he’d run out or breath, and then he’d start wailing again. Thump!, went the monster’s tail. Thump! Thump!
The monster’s mouth stretched open again, ready for another thunderous cry. Tim decided to beat him to the punch and screamed even louder. Thump! Thump! Thump! “Is everything all right in there?” It was a man’s voice, shouting from behind the entrance foor.
Tim turned to look, eyes streaming, cheeks flaming red, but as soon as he realized he was giving his back to the thing he whipped around again. But he couldn’t see anything, only darkness and the soft glow of the lamp posts in the street and the lights along the rail line.
When the door finally opened, they saw little Tim standing there in his brother’s jumper, face flushed from crying, his stuffed puppy held tightly in his arm. “I think it’s gone now,” he mumbled in between sobs. They all sat with him on the staircase, keeping him company while he sippet at a warm cup of chamomile tea give him by Mrs Picklemore.
“Why would she leave him alone during a storm” grumbled Heather.
“Cut her some slack, she’s a single mother” said Mr Pitz.
“That’s hardly an acceptable excuse for having us turn into her ersatz nannies!”
Just then Tim’s mother and Erin returned, both loaded with grocery bags.