I'm a sleepy little bird
I think I'm going to write about Lauren. She seems down. I want her to feel better and noticed.
She just licked her computer.
"Why aren't you recording this?"
I just yawned. I had to draw on the bored. It was exciting....but sort of nerve wrecking. I can't draw. I need to learn how to. I feel like if I knew how to I would be much better at exploring my emotions and thoughts.
We're doing a writing prompt.
This is it:
Panda hat. I don't know what this part of the prompt is.
Someone has a flashback.
Jacob realized he hadn't thought about Lorraine in a while. He thought of the first time he met her. The way she moved across the ballroom floor in her elegant blue gown with white lace. They way her hair, pulled back, hung a little in the front. The way she smiled and his heart stopped. He came back to reality. 415. Too much time had elapsed. Such a problem. He moved towards the door. He had to get back home. He stepped from the doorway into the street. He noticed a man stumbling. At first he thought it was just some drunkard who got a little too happy before happy hour, but no, it was a man having a heart attack. He collapsed on the ground. Right in front of Jacob. He screamed. He called for help. He moved to check his pulse...it was too late. This is the first time Jacob had witnessed someone die. The first time he held death in his hands. He pulled out his executive pen from his coat pocket. He looked at it momentarily before putting it back. His mind wandered. He couldn't help but think about what that really meant. He realized the gravity of his situation. He called the police. ....
(An improbable event solves an improbable situation) A car pulled up on the curb as he was dialing 911. It struck the man, not Jacob, but the man and jolted him back to life. Exciting, no? Jacob reacted quickly, the way he had in Desert Storm. His training was coming back to him. How else would he have escaped the impending doom of the car hitting him. He noticed Nancy in the corner of his eye. A woman he hadn't seen in years. She still wore the same pearls, the same red bow in her hair, the same style of flats and the same style of dresses as she always had. She used to be the light of the town...when they both lived in the town and not the city, but had since gotten older. She calmed herself. She matured. But she held the same captivating beauty she always had. Jacob took out his pen. A coincidence that the woman that gave it to him, the woman that lit up his life so much, that reminded him of his youth and his prime and his wonder would be only a few feet away from him when he needed her the most. She kept moving. He kept silent. He finished giving his statement to the police and went to work. He needed to pick something from the office before he went home. When he arrived at his office, he couldn't remember what he needed. He thought long and hard, but couldn't recall. He decided to move on and deal with it later than waste his time. He headed home. 700. It's gotten dark. He moved to his car still in the same parking structure. He reached for the handle. Wine! He left the wine in his office. He ran to the elevator. It moved slower than usual, but he made it to the penthouse none the less. He opened his office door, on his desk was the bottle of Merlot he bought for this occasion. He was ready to celebrate his anniversary. The same night his wife died five years ago. He wouldn't celebrate that. He would destroy that. He would destroy himself tonight, by the gravest of methods. He grabbed the bottle. He went for the door. It locked. How was that possible. It only locks from the outside. He couldn't get out.
~This is why a man grieving should grieve when its time. This is why a man grieving should take time. This is why a person should take time. This is why you should take time for yourself. Put this down. Pick it up later. Live a little. ~
His rival, Steven Denny, laughed in the distance...well down the hall. Music started blasting. He heard laughter in the office. What has happening? How is this possible. He was the only one here. He listened by the door. He realized he was still trapped. He banged and yelled and hollered the way he did when he taught bootcamp, when he quite the marines and joined the navy. He looked for his knife. He would get himself out.
He heard another voice. Slightly familiar. It was the man from the street. The man who was supposed to be dead. How was he here. He yelled. He yelled. He listened again as he worked on the door. It was the sound of his son, Austin, running down the hall. Cheering. What's going on??? A crash. The same noise he heard when the door closed. He fell down. He was dying. He wanted to, but it was actually happening. Was his life flashing before his eyes and he didn't know it? He thought there. He lied there the way he did when he found out his wife was leaving him. When he found out she had died. When he found out everything was gone.
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