Following on from my previous wanderings of a book in progress:
https://steemit.com/inspiration/@emeraldearth/waves-of-wandering
I am a self confessed book vampire, I consume fiction in a frenzy of hunger, and once satiated, toss it aside with indifference. Now you know!
One of my favourite characters is the antihero. He or she doesn't really set out to do 'the right thing', but somehow they end up saving the day with indifference.
When I realised that the main character of my book was male, I immediately understood that I was creating him based on a couple of characters I had previously 'consumed'. More on this topic in future posts...
This then, a scene from somewhere in the middle of the book:
The sickly sweet smell of greasy sweat, and regret, lingered like a haze of fruit flies in the air. I waved my hands ineffectually, trying to disperse the heavy atmosphere.
'What is it?' she asked.
I felt the achingly familiar sorrow sliding up my spine, circling my chest, before coming to a halt with a dull throb in my heart.
'It's...nothing, nothing' I said, 'just a whole bunch of fucking nothingness' I exhaled with a futile breath, like the last bit of air in an already flat balloon.
'I miss her too, you know', she whispered sadly, reaching for her 'bag of fixing tricks' as she called it.
'Yeah, of course you do' I muttered, unwilling to release my grip on my own sorrow.
She turned her back to me, a cold shoulder, a shut door; a closed book.
'Spring the latch on your way out' she said, her mind already distracted by the thought of the foggy oblivion soon to come.
'Right, take it easy baby' I drawled, pulling my pants on.
'I'm always easy' she smiled cheekily over her shoulder.
I gave her a wink, slung my crumpled shirt over my shoulder, trying not to look at the full needle in her righteous hand, and forced myself out the door.
Back in my car, I rested my forehead momentarily on my arms, the hot, sticky steering wheel searing it's brand of failure into my soul. When I finally raised my head, sweat trickling down my face, I resolved that this would be the last time I would cheat on my dead girlfriend with her heroin addicted sister. Somehow I would keep this door closed, create an impassable dead end. It's not like it's a helpful encounter anyway, I told myself. Just a union of sorrow and pain and unforgiveness. 'She doesn't even share her orgasm with me', I whined to myself, preferring instead the needle or the vibrator after I leave, shunning the closeness of connection, unable or unwilling to shed the guilt of betrayal.
As the eerie red sunset filled my windscreen, the shepherds delight playing like a mantra in my eratic thoughts, I resolved that tomorrow would be The Day. The Day of new beginnings, The Day of no turning back, 'The Day my life will surely change'...I snickered as I drove slowly away.
Thank you for reading!
