Hozer has inspired me to post some of my writing. Here is a story I've just finished. It's quite long so i'll post it in parts. Not sure yet if i'll post all of it. I'll see what happens.
The Field of Glass
Janes lit a cigarette. Over in the corner the TV was on. Its sounds drifted in and out of consciousness and he tried to think. He thought to himself, "I'll have to sit down and get a grip".
Outside the courtyard was flooded and most of the other tenants were indoors with their lights on. Time seemed to be going nowhere. The darkness in the room was clouding his mind as well as his vision. The floor was cold and he was shivering, though he knew he was not shivering from the cold. Janes lifted himself up and went downstairs.
On the floor, at the bottom of the stairs, lay skin. He stepped around it and went into the lounge room. A cigarette was still smouldering in the metal ashtray on the stand beside the leather lounge. Nothing he saw made sense. His memory was intact. He could remember every movement. But his consciousness was no longer under his control. Walking, as if merely an observer within his own body, he took his scarf from the hall stand and left the house. In the street there were a few cars passing in the rain. Janes saw a face in one of the windows and felt sick. He ran into the dark street.
When he got home, Janes locked his door and went into the bathroom. Starting a bath running, he took off his clothes and tossed them in a pile on the floor. The mirror had begun to cloud up with steam but Janes could still see his reflection in the glass. His eyes seemed to speak something telepathically to him. "Flesh is weak."
The bath water stung his skin with heat but it felt good. The warmth soaked into him and a wave of relaxation went through his body. The world seemed an alright place again. The light above him begun to blur as he slowly lowered his face beneath the surface. All sounds became soothing sensations. Nothing penetrated his complete sense of peacefulness. His mind seemed to reach out into oceans of space and float there.
After he was washed and dressed in his pyjamas, Janes went to work. He took his container of glues and scenery and surveyed the courtyard. There were a few trees which had become unstuck and were leaning to one side. The grass had come up well and he considered it to be his best turf work yet. A couple of benches seemed out of place but he usually always changed his mind on that sort of thing. So he decided to not mess around with them until he'd done more of the surrounding foliage. More than once had he rearranged fixtures early on in a job only to move them back to their original position later. He decided to go to work on the new trees, figuring he'd leave fixing the unstuck trees til last, that way he wouldn't risk dislodging them while doing other work.
Janes began to notice a headache forming in the right half of his skull. He wasn't sure if the glue was causing it or whether he noticed it before he started using the glue. Either way he wanted to take some C30. He found the bottle in its usual place and took two tablets, washing them down with a cup of black coffee. His C30 tolerance was gradually increasing and Janes suspected he would need a third tablet in a while.
A brief recollection of life in a golden town flashed through his mind and he couldn't tell if it was of his own memories or not. Perhaps part of some movie, he thought. Some song. Perhaps part of an advertisement on television. The memory dissipated through the throbbing pain in his head. The C30 would take at least thirty minutes to cross the blood-brain barrier and exert its action. Nothing to do but wait and avoid loud noises. He sat back and looked at the diorama, admiring his own craftsmanship. It truly was a great piece of work. Possibly the best he'd ever done, overall.
"I might win an award with it," he thought. It was as least as good as last-years winner of the Bytell Inter-division Corporate Diorama competition. Janes would really have a shot at it this year with his Bytell Private Municipal Library model. It meant a lot to him and not just because of his involvement in the library's planning and development stage. He loved books as much as he loved making dioramas.
A drowsiness began to come over him. He shook it off and went to make another coffee. This time he put milk in. Black coffee tended to make his mouth very dry and grainy but the caffeine hit seemed to be a little stronger. "It's a matter of weighing up all things on any given occasion," he thought to himself as he returned to the diorama and studied it again. There was as sense of action about the way he looked at it, following the lines and flat surfaces with a critical eye. He set to work and forgot about the throbbing in his head and the memories of earlier that night.
The Field of Glass
Janes lit a cigarette. Over in the corner the TV was on. Its sounds drifted in and out of consciousness and he tried to think. He thought to himself, "I'll have to sit down and get a grip".
Outside the courtyard was flooded and most of the other tenants were indoors with their lights on. Time seemed to be going nowhere. The darkness in the room was clouding his mind as well as his vision. The floor was cold and he was shivering, though he knew he was not shivering from the cold. Janes lifted himself up and went downstairs.
On the floor, at the bottom of the stairs, lay skin. He stepped around it and went into the lounge room. A cigarette was still smouldering in the metal ashtray on the stand beside the leather lounge. Nothing he saw made sense. His memory was intact. He could remember every movement. But his consciousness was no longer under his control. Walking, as if merely an observer within his own body, he took his scarf from the hall stand and left the house. In the street there were a few cars passing in the rain. Janes saw a face in one of the windows and felt sick. He ran into the dark street.
When he got home, Janes locked his door and went into the bathroom. Starting a bath running, he took off his clothes and tossed them in a pile on the floor. The mirror had begun to cloud up with steam but Janes could still see his reflection in the glass. His eyes seemed to speak something telepathically to him. "Flesh is weak."
The bath water stung his skin with heat but it felt good. The warmth soaked into him and a wave of relaxation went through his body. The world seemed an alright place again. The light above him begun to blur as he slowly lowered his face beneath the surface. All sounds became soothing sensations. Nothing penetrated his complete sense of peacefulness. His mind seemed to reach out into oceans of space and float there.
After he was washed and dressed in his pyjamas, Janes went to work. He took his container of glues and scenery and surveyed the courtyard. There were a few trees which had become unstuck and were leaning to one side. The grass had come up well and he considered it to be his best turf work yet. A couple of benches seemed out of place but he usually always changed his mind on that sort of thing. So he decided to not mess around with them until he'd done more of the surrounding foliage. More than once had he rearranged fixtures early on in a job only to move them back to their original position later. He decided to go to work on the new trees, figuring he'd leave fixing the unstuck trees til last, that way he wouldn't risk dislodging them while doing other work.
Janes began to notice a headache forming in the right half of his skull. He wasn't sure if the glue was causing it or whether he noticed it before he started using the glue. Either way he wanted to take some C30. He found the bottle in its usual place and took two tablets, washing them down with a cup of black coffee. His C30 tolerance was gradually increasing and Janes suspected he would need a third tablet in a while.
A brief recollection of life in a golden town flashed through his mind and he couldn't tell if it was of his own memories or not. Perhaps part of some movie, he thought. Some song. Perhaps part of an advertisement on television. The memory dissipated through the throbbing pain in his head. The C30 would take at least thirty minutes to cross the blood-brain barrier and exert its action. Nothing to do but wait and avoid loud noises. He sat back and looked at the diorama, admiring his own craftsmanship. It truly was a great piece of work. Possibly the best he'd ever done, overall.
"I might win an award with it," he thought. It was as least as good as last-years winner of the Bytell Inter-division Corporate Diorama competition. Janes would really have a shot at it this year with his Bytell Private Municipal Library model. It meant a lot to him and not just because of his involvement in the library's planning and development stage. He loved books as much as he loved making dioramas.
A drowsiness began to come over him. He shook it off and went to make another coffee. This time he put milk in. Black coffee tended to make his mouth very dry and grainy but the caffeine hit seemed to be a little stronger. "It's a matter of weighing up all things on any given occasion," he thought to himself as he returned to the diorama and studied it again. There was as sense of action about the way he looked at it, following the lines and flat surfaces with a critical eye. He set to work and forgot about the throbbing in his head and the memories of earlier that night.
One thing I noticed, there should be an a instead of as in this sentence "There was as sense of action about the way he looked at it,"
I like the name Janes. Never heard it used before.
Oh and if you want to read anymore of my story let me know