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Tuesday, July 20, 2004 Time for a dose of creative writing. From the story I've been working on: An Excerpt An hour later, after containing all the irrational urges to fling shoes at his door, smash her computer, down a bottle of Tylenol (could one commit suicide with Tylenol?), and punch the wall until her fists bled, she realized that the small pile of over-processed cupcakes and brownies that Marie had bought her a month ago were still in her room. She’d stepped on them accidentally a number of times--the Cosmic Brownies were in a variety of distorted shapes, the Fudge Rounds looked more like pancakes, and she thought Little Debbie snacks were disgusting anyway, though they'd been a nice gesture; in lieu of baseballs or rocks, they would be a non-destructive indulgence for her volatile emotions. But she felt some trepidation. What if he heard her throwing them against her door? Would he think she’d gone crazy? Would he even hear, since his fan was whirling at its highest speed? Eventually she pushed aside her inhibitions and grabbed the sealed packages. They were the perfect size, nestling comfortably in her palm. Thwack. It felt freeing. Thwack. He was a jerk. Thwack. What kind of a friend would leave another crying? With all her strength. Thwack. Her phone was ringing. Cole. “I’m bored. Do you have a few minutes to talk?” “I guess,” she said, voice wavering. Sudden concern. “Alexa, are you ok?” “Kind of.” “What? Talk.” Her lips were trembling again. “Hey, talk to me. What’s wrong?” Silence. “Come on, you’ve helped me through so much, the least I can do is listen to you. Talk.” She tried to explain, fumbling over the words. Inarticulate, but at least he understood the gist of what she was saying. “I’m sorry Alexa, I wish—too bad I’m not around. But I guess I’m not the best person to talk to either since we’re not that close right now. Do you want me to call Kate and have her talk to you? She’s still up—I was on the phone with her just five minutes ago. I can call her right now.” “It’s ok,” she said, drawing circles on the wood floor with her finger. A lone tear. "I’ll be ok.” “I know you’re extroverted. Maybe it’ll help.” “What I really want right now is a piano. But there isn’t one here.” She pulled her knees up to her chest and buried her forehead in her left arm. “Well, at least I’ll be praying for you. And you know you can call me whenever, right? Seriously, even at 3:00am if you need to.” “Thanks Cole.” She meant it. “Thanks.” ^ Top | 5:45 AM | | | 
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