You cannot eat an orange without first peeling an apple.
A person may say to you that you will have no idea how it is to live in their shoes until you point out that you stole a pair of their shoes.
*****
Imagination is faster than any speeding bullet. Elliot Cramell sits lethargically in a grey fabric task chair as another day at his desk job slowly creeps by. He lays his head on the desk, resting his eyes for a moment, only to be revived by the sound of a blaring Cisco phone from a cubical next to his. His head shoots up in excitement; as if an alarm went off; like a scared rabbit scurrying out of his hole. Then the adrenaline wears off, and boredom began to seep into him again. As he composes himself, he sees a small picture of his grandparents through his cobwebbed daze. "You are such a funny boy." Elliot's grandfather would say. "One day your imagination is going to take you places."
"Hardly." Elliot scoffs quietly as he sluggishly sits up in his chair. The clock sadly tells him that only an hour has past on this Wednesday fall morning. He wipes his hands over his face, morphing his skin in odd facial expressions that would delight a 5 year old. He lets out a yawn and re-situates himself in is chair. He stares at the picture once again.
It's been many years since he has seen his grandparents. His grandfather was quite a big man. The outdoors roughened his skin, coloring his body with a even dark brown tan. He warmly stood over Elliot's dainty grandmother. Her grey hair was coiled perfectly; each curl seemed to have been manipulated flawlessly; her pale and freckled hands sat on her lap. "I wish I had time to say good bye." Elliot murmured. He trailed his finger down the portrait, as if scanning his grandfather's brutish figure and down to his grandmother's pale and delicate body. He put the picture down, closed his eyes and imagined the farm. He felt the long grass whip against his khaki pants. The brisk breeze swims through his stringy black hair. And with a deep breath of the country air, he marched his way to the barn. "Hey, wasn't Elliot here just a minute ago?" a co-worker asked. And where Elliot sat was scattered grass shaving and the hint of country air slowly sinking to the ground.
A person may say to you that you will have no idea how it is to live in their shoes until you point out that you stole a pair of their shoes.
*****
Imagination is faster than any speeding bullet. Elliot Cramell sits lethargically in a grey fabric task chair as another day at his desk job slowly creeps by. He lays his head on the desk, resting his eyes for a moment, only to be revived by the sound of a blaring Cisco phone from a cubical next to his. His head shoots up in excitement; as if an alarm went off; like a scared rabbit scurrying out of his hole. Then the adrenaline wears off, and boredom began to seep into him again. As he composes himself, he sees a small picture of his grandparents through his cobwebbed daze. "You are such a funny boy." Elliot's grandfather would say. "One day your imagination is going to take you places."
"Hardly." Elliot scoffs quietly as he sluggishly sits up in his chair. The clock sadly tells him that only an hour has past on this Wednesday fall morning. He wipes his hands over his face, morphing his skin in odd facial expressions that would delight a 5 year old. He lets out a yawn and re-situates himself in is chair. He stares at the picture once again.
It's been many years since he has seen his grandparents. His grandfather was quite a big man. The outdoors roughened his skin, coloring his body with a even dark brown tan. He warmly stood over Elliot's dainty grandmother. Her grey hair was coiled perfectly; each curl seemed to have been manipulated flawlessly; her pale and freckled hands sat on her lap. "I wish I had time to say good bye." Elliot murmured. He trailed his finger down the portrait, as if scanning his grandfather's brutish figure and down to his grandmother's pale and delicate body. He put the picture down, closed his eyes and imagined the farm. He felt the long grass whip against his khaki pants. The brisk breeze swims through his stringy black hair. And with a deep breath of the country air, he marched his way to the barn. "Hey, wasn't Elliot here just a minute ago?" a co-worker asked. And where Elliot sat was scattered grass shaving and the hint of country air slowly sinking to the ground.
posted by Ryan Schneider at 16:57
2 Comments:
This was just cool. I wish I could do that when I'm in a place I hate. This was wonderful as a fantasy. You should do a lot more with it. (Did you get this from the show Heroes? It felt like a plot line from that.)
Ryan,
This is possibly THE best thing about the whole story, "the hint of country air slowly sinking to the ground." I loved the personification here. As though scent has a physical weight that can sink rather than spread and disappate. (I don't have spell check at work...disregard spelling errors.) That's a beautiful idea. It's kind of what I call a curveball idea.
Interesting idea you've got there though really. It is a little surreal and a little sci-fi too. I'd like to see more though. Interesting hook for sure.
You tend to kind of linger on cliched ideas though. I think I'd like to see more character developement before he disappears. Just a thought. - Tina
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