Proof but no proofing

Another 3am bit of fiction done! Today I'm well outside the suggested word count, and, again, I'm not sure if I'm doing it "right". The exercise was (surprisingly enough) to write a fragment of a story made up entirely of imperative commands. The language of the prompt seems to suggest that I should not have used "you" so liberally, and I should not have been so detailed with my storytelling.

In any case, 937/500 words it is.

How to Win Me Back

Realize that the door I left open on my way out is a symbol, not of the gaping hole in your heart, but I didn't fully shut the book on us when I said "It's over" and left. Heave yourself out of that sticky leather chair, and don't even bother to fix the skirt that's clinging halfway up your thigh. Wander towards the door, still in shock, jaw as wide as the doorway. Look towards the street where I usually park my car. Look, but don't notice I'm still there, watching your silhouette on the porch.

Close your mouth, at last, and feel the dry rasp of your tongue to the roof of your mouth. Take a gulp of the wine that's still in your hand; it tastes better now that it's had time to breathe. Go back inside before your eyes fully adjust to the darkness I left you in.

Kick off your shoes after you close the door, steadying yourself by holding the knob. Leave them there, in tilting disarray, instead of nudging them into their cubby hole, lined up with all the other. Hear only buzzing in your ears, louder than the TV you'll forget to turn off, louder than your own thoughts (if you could form any coherent ones right now).

Pull at the zipper at your side; you may have to glance down for a moment to see the button still clasping the fabric to your hips. Let the fabric swirl and fall to the floor. Take two more unsteady steps; set the glass on the coffee table. Don't spill. Reach down and pull off your blouse, over your head, tossed on the sofa. Ignore your glass of wine as you keep moving, grab mine from the counter and stumble seamlessly to your bedroom.

Don't turn on the light, just tilt towards the bed and drain the last of the wine before gravity has a chance to pull the glossy liquid into your precious area rug. Let the glass roll one way as you twist the other way, onto the bed, away from the light still invading your sanctuary from the other room. Grope the nightstand for the phone, and place it on the pillow that used to be mine. Wonder if it's meant to be dialed or answered.

Will yourself into a deep, dreamless sleep.

---

Wake up focused, no more laziness or pity. Look yourself in the eye in the mirror as you wash your face. Tell yourself, "No more fooling around." Mean it.

Triple check everything in the hall mirror before leaving for work. Make sure every line and crease, every tooth and nail is razor sharp; god forbid anyone crosses you today. Forget the files you pulled out of your briefcase last night before our "chat". Walk so quickly to your bus stop that you reach it too early. Pace until the bus arrives.

Ride the bus. Ride the elevator. Ride your damn fine legs over to his desk and stand your ground. Ask if you can speak somewhere private. Don't take no for an answer and don't let him lead you anywhere. Keep in control, my love.

Take him to an out of the way corner and tell him it's over. Tell him it was mistake, tell him you are in love with me. Say "I'm sorry", if you must. Leave him hanging. Walk away without another word. Make sure he knows it's not up for discussion.

Go to your desk, unpack your bag. Discover your papers are not all there, and smile to yourself. Lean over to Debbie, or Marsha, or Alexis, whatever her name is, and interrupt her call. Apologize profusely, explain the missing files. Leave your attache behind and make your escape.

Daydream about freedom as you ride down eight floors in a stuffy box. Imagine bursting onto a rooftop, sun on your face. Wish for a trolley to hang from dangerously, wind tugging at your hair. Step out of the box and wade through the stream of tailored suits hurrying towards the beige maze you just left.

Eschew the plodding schedule of the bus and hop a cab to the travel office. Stand in front of the window we skimmed past on many a date. Plant your feet in the tide of pedestrians and search the giant world map for the perfect answer. Let your eyes slide along jet-streams and latitudes, across borders and over mountain ranges. Waste an hour and ignore two offers for help from the travel agent before stepping into the storefront. Hand over your card to pay for the elegant, obvious solution.

Cross the street to the florist and pick out a simple arrangement. Choose violet flowers to match your eyes. Choose blue flowers to match your mood. Choose yellow flowers to remind me of the roses I brought you when we first met. Tuck the tickets from the travel agent into the envelope. Watch a handful of customers come and go as you decide what to write on the card. Help an older gentleman decide what to get his wife for her birthday. Ask the florist for a new card; you wrote something silly on the other one. Ponder how to best express yourself on a two by three bit of paper. Write "Take me back" on the outside. Finish the thought with "to our future" inside. Giggle to yourself, then pay to have the flowers delivered.

Catch another taxi. Wait nervously for me to appear and sweep you up in our favorite cafe... across the street from my office building... in the lobby... near the elevators... in my reception area...

I imagine this probably falls a little flat as text-fiction (when I started I wanted it to be a little more romantic), but I'd like to see it done up as a little film (or I could do it as a comic? :D ). It would start a tad before this text, with the actual break-up on camera. Then the narrator would depart and begin his voice-over. All would go as planned for the first section, perhaps even until the dumped character gets to work the second day*. But instead of breaking up with the man in her office, she says "he dumped me! we can be together!" Except we don't hear her say that, it's all in her body language/actions. The voice-over drones on, but the woman enjoys her day and her other man, finally FREE of the awful control freak.

(*one hint otherwise is that she mouths something else to herself in the mirror the second morning, probably "it's really over".)

And then the comic/film ends with the other guy leaning out of his office to ask his secretary something like "you're sure nothing's come for me?" or "Nobody's waiting for me?", unable to fathom that the woman he just dumped isn't crawling after him.

But, as I said before, when I first started typing it was the woman who left and was commanding the guy to do a bunch of romantic (but reasonable) stuff for her. When I got to the bit about getting out of the leather chair, though, a messed up skirt was a compelling image and I stuck with it.

hum de dum. time to draw.