Well after a summer of traveling and taking time off work, I’m easing back into regular life. I know this blog has been collecting dust, but honestly a lot has happened since May, so it took a back burner. But back to business!
I rarely write short stories, but I’ve been working on a little something which I thought I would share a few pages of. Enjoy!
It started with a seagull. One dirty smug ass seagull. I was biking to work. I was already late. I had been late often in the last few months, for my life was falling apart. I won’t bore you with the details, but I had come to completely hate myself. In that small window between the time the bar closes and before the blue hue of dawn approaches is where I sit in my one living room chair and allow myself to wallow. This hour belongs to people like me. Single. Bored. Horny. Hungry. Confused. We complain. A lot. About absolutely nothing. Our friends listen, and for some reason find us particularily interesting. These friends with their serious relationships, or their kids, or their important jobs that make them constantly busy. They are left with no time to wonder about themselves and what brought them to the point where listening to people like me is the most interesting part of their week. At 3:48 am with a whiskey buzz I sit in my chair and laugh at how stupid my life is compared to theirs. I’m not even lonely. I’m not even genuinely upset about anything. I’m just so ordinary, that it makes me sad. Sometimes, I think I could be happy. I get motivated to break out of every stupid thought I’ve ever had about myself, but then I resort back to my chair at 3:48 am, and it’s so comforting. Being sad I mean. I lose all motivation to get happy. Motivation. What I hard thing to acquire. Motivation for my job was at an all time low, hence why I was late. Again. I thought about my boss and how he would do his famous scowl when I walked in. He won’t fire me. I don’t know why. But he loves to scowl. I’ll do that thing where I put my hands up, and in a voice I won’t recognize I’ll say something idiotic like, “I didn’t even hear the alarm! How CRAZY is that? HAHAHA.” I have perfected this laugh. Everyone in the office knows it. You have it too. That one laugh everyone knows. We all join in, when in reality we all want to blow each other’s heads off. This is what I’m thinking of as I steadily bike up the one big hill on my way to work. It lasts about one minute, but feels like twenty. I figure this is my one point of that day where I genuinely exercise. I consider it enough. I was also thinking about Sophie and the cute little way she flips her hair back when she’s waiting for a drink at the bar. She thinks this accomplishes two things.
One: the bartender will immediatly serve her before the five other people also waiting to be served.
Two: it makes her look mystery and dangerous. Which she is neither of.
I met Sophie through my work buddy Tim. It’s his ex-girlfriend. They dated for four years. They broke up cause she wanted to get married, and Tim wanted to fuck the barista a few blocks from their apartment. His coffee intake went from one good morning cup on Sunday, to one on his way to work and one on his way back. When he finally broke things off with Sophie last year it took him only 48 hours until the barista was in his bed. Now him and Sophie hang out under the pretense of being friends, but in reality they like to keep tabs on each other. The games we’ve been playing ever since humans started having relationships. I want to sleep with Sophie. She would do it too, only to mess with Tim. This might seem low of me, but frankly I haven’t had sex in four months, and when I say I have no motivation, this includes making the effort into reeling the opposite sex towards my dick. With Sophie it would take 4 gin and tonics and some talk about how “Tim never really deserved her.” So with thoughts of Sophie’s hair brushing against her bare shoulder as her head slowly turned towards me, and my boss’s scowl, was when the god damn seagull attacked me. It was an abnormaly large one too. Like it had eaten all the leftover hamburgers in the trash. I shit you not, it had a pot belly. I wouldn’t even have noticed it if it weren’t for that pot belly. I felt a flutter of wings and looked above me to see it sail right towards me. It wasn’t panicked. Wasn’t worried that something was obstructing it’s flight path. It had a death glare aimed at my pathetic existence. Right before it’s beak slammed into the side of my head, it smiled. I could hear it’s thoughts in that split second.
Wake up Lars.
This fat seagull had a plan. It’s plan was to slam into the side of my head and cause a rucus of feathers and cursing from it’s target. It happened exactly like it had envisioned it. I even swore in my native tongue, which I rarely do considering I had moved away from Sweden when I was ten. I also fell off my bike. I landed on my right hand which instantly turned to jelly after I used it to cushion my entire weight. I cursed again, this time with the more familair “FUCK”, causing the mother who had started to run to my aid from her patio to slow down her pace. She yelled at her kids to get inside the house, and then called out to me. I reassured her I was okay and rolled over to my other side to catch my breath. I caught a glimpse of the seagull flying off. It’s head turned to something, I followed it’s gaze down to the crow casually standing beside my head. The seagull croaked at it, to which the crow cawed back in a relaxing one note. These fuckers. They were communicating. I closed my eyes as a wave of nausea from the fall came over me. I felt the gravel on my back, the morning sun hitting my legs. I was wearing cargo shorts. I remembered Sophie telling me how dumb I looked in cargo shorts last night. I had imagined the birds communicating. Seagulls and crows don’t communicate. It was a coincedence. Different species of birds don’t plan attacks on humans. I opened my eyes and turned my head. The crow was still there. Watching. I remembered watching a documentary on crows late one night when I was having a week of insomnia. Crows were smart. Very smart. If ever a species of bird WOULD succeed in infilterating another kind to become allies, crows would be it. I lay there, my right hand throbbing, the wheel of my bike still spinning, kids screams of delight from a nearby playground, and this one particular crow starring at me eye level. It took one small step towards me so that it’s beak was almost touching my nose. And then I heard it. In my head. Loud and clear.
We’re ready, Lars.