The Maelstrom

23 Aug


The sun peeks in through half-shuttered windows, shades down but open, fan clicking as it spins weakly on the desk beside his hand.  Bottles and cans clatter against each other as his foot taps impatiently.  Music crackles from the speakers, the song coming to a close and looping back to the beginning with endless patience.  The halcyon glow of the monitor tints his features a pale bluish-white, bleaches the cheeks between untamed coils of dark hair.

A blank page taunts him.  His fingers drum on the desktop in step with the music.  He glances at the back of his hand, beads of sweat clinging to sparse hairs, but it’s another few, long seconds before his mind registers the absence of the clicking over his stupor.  Alt+Tab, Space, music jerks to halt. He stands and kicks empty energy drinks and yogurt cups out of the way, deceased fan in hand, stumbles over to the wall and rips the plug from the socket.  He opens the window and glances down to the street to make sure no one is beneath him, then pitches the entire construction out of his apartment.  It crashes to the pavement and splits into jagged, plastic shards.

The computer soon follows.

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Posted by on August 23, 2010 in Writing


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