How He Even Had Kitten Bandages, He Had No Clue

An Exerpt from my 2007 Nanowrimo Novel that would likely end on the cutting room floor:

Leland pushed his head farther under the covers, but the sound kept coming back. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! He had to get up. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! He remembered this. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! But, making his body agree to the arraignment was not going to be easy. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! He considered the consequences if he stayed just a few more minutes in bed. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! He had have to skip a shower. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! He could eat one of those nasty cereal bars while he was on the bus across town. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! He could comfortably be ten minutes late and not lose his job. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! He could get another job. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! He snaked an arm out from under the blanket. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! He felt around on the bedside table to find the alarm clock. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! There it was. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! He grabbed it. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! He raised his arm as far as the weight of the blankets would allow. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! He chucked the alarm clock across the room. BEEP! BEEP! THUNK! BEee–__ Blessed silence filled the room.

Forty-five minutes later, Leland rolled out of bed because his bladder would not let him stay down any longer. He wondered why his alarm did not go off this morning. He stepped on shards of plastic on his way to the toilet and remembered that his alarm had gone off this morning, and so had he. After relieving himself and digging the plastic splinter out of his foot (and applying a bandage with kittens all over it to keep from getting spots of blood on the carpet- how he even had kitten bandages, he had no clue) he sat down on his bed to assess his options. He could shower, get dressed, eat a cereal bar on the bus across town and see about groveling to his jerk of a boss in the hopes of getting another job. He could call his mommy and complain until she offered to let him crash on the parent’s couch for a few months (which he could probably spool out into at least a year if he wanted to, but that would require actually living in their house and letting them meet his dates, which- no- just no). He could go back to sleep and pretend that he did not have as many financial issues as he did and instead dream of chocolate and pretty, pretty girls for a while. Yes, pretty, pretty girls win (do not they always?).

Categories: fiction | Leave a comment

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