Well rested, in a good mood, and ready to go! Five minutes on the clock, and here we go:
The voice came to him as if from a long tunnel; tinny and distorted. Must be the tunnel his sight had been reduced to.
“Evan, you O.K.?”
A person appeared at the tunnel; a person he knew and he felt himself being grabbed. Was Evan his name? No, no it wasn’t… but it was the name this person knew him by. It was getting hard to keep everything straight somehow.
It was getting hard to keep everything straight somehow. His thoughts were so many butterflies, trapped and choking in amber. He was reduced to spectating life, his body resisting his commands.
“Damn man, you don’t look good at all. Good thing you called. Can you talk to me? I can see you’re conscious.”
The words made no real sense. Had he called Josh? Why would he do that? He found himself sitting up but still moving. He was in a car. Josh was taking him somewhere. There were shooting pains, random and far away. Was he hurt?
Josh was taking him to the clinic, that was why he called! The car stopped and there was more yelling before his mind went completely white.
And there it is, another 4 minutes 22 seconds later another piece in the can! Hopefully all of you reading are enjoying this, because it’s about to get a little weird. See you next time!
Alright, back to the Greek guys, and to one that should need no introduction. Born A.D. 46 he became a priest, philosopher, and later Roman citizen and was well respected. He did many works on the life and times of people of his day, and died in A.D 127.
“No man ever wetted clay then left it, as if there would be bricks by chance and fortune.” – Plutarch.
Kind of Ben Franklin-esque, before there was a Ben Franklin. This is of course a quote for:
See you all next time!
Alright, here we are again. My attempts at getting you all to respond to me an utter failure, I will return to my tale. Once again, 5 minutes on the clock and a complete lack of plot or structure is in effect.
There was a hospital he knew of; many professionals such as he frequented it. They had some of the best but disgraced doctors money could buy, as well as a select few that were mostly on the straight and narrow. However it was a hospital where no insurance was accepted, and no questions were asked. Only those with cash need apply.
And he needed that right now. It was across town, but he had friends in all walks of life, and his phone was in safe in his pocket. He speed-dialed the 3rd number. It was picked up immediately.
“Josh. Need a ride to the clinic.”
“How soon?” The sleep addled voice returned.
The voice was wide awake in an instant. “Where from?”
“Corner of Hess and Fourth.”
It wasn’t the usual meeting place, but he didn’t think he could drive to it in his current condition. Normally he wouldn’t show such weakness, but Josh was someone you could trust.
“On my way. Sit tight.”
He couldn’t sit tight, he had to get to the location and case it before Josh arrived. Better safe than sorry.
And that’s it: 3 minutes 57 seconds. Until next time, and please, if you’re reading and a writer yourself, answer the question I posed last week; I won’t bite!
Alright, a break from the old guys for this week. Or at least the oldest old guys. Today we go to an Irish playwright, born the 16th of October 1854. He was famous for his plays in the 1890’s, but today is more famous for “The picture of Dorian Gray.” Here it is:
“The old believe everything, the middle-aged suspect everything, and the young know everything.” – Oscar Wilde.
This is, of course, for:
Until next time!
I’d like to just write another piece of the tale today, but I can’t. Call it a cop-out, but I.m simply too distracted. You see, I finished writing a book about a month ago. I’ve been waiting as patiently as I’m able while a small but professional company edits and produces it. The problem is, they have taken a month to do so, and aren’t done yet. I haven’t even seen any edits sent back to me.
So I have a question to the writer community out there; is that normal in any way? It seems to me to be a long time waiting for edits on what is barely over 60,000 words.
Alright, still riding this Greek old guy theme. Next up is a guy who was born A.D. 50, started life a slave, rose to a position of respect, then was banished from his home of Rome. He then stayed in Western Greece until his death at A.D. 135. An early stoic, he believed in fate. Not sure I do.
“When you are offended at any man’s fault, turn to yourself and study your own faults. then you will forget your anger.” – Epictetus.
As always, this is for:
Until next time!
Alright.Five minutes on the clock, and the plot thickening. Slowly, but it’s getting there. I’m going to reiterate for the record here; this is all 100% in my head. None of it is written down anywhere else. There is no plot outline, no character write-ups, this is entirely seat of my pants. Here we go!
He ditched the car in an old junkyard he knew; it was no longer being used, so there were no questions. As usual, he had a car here too, a late model foreign car that was a best seller for six years in a row. There would be no way to tack him down through motor vehicle records or a VIN; it was even more of a black hole than the car he just ditched.
He had to assume that safe house and that life was burned. That was the only safe approach to take. That was alright, he had others. The real concern was his contingency. He would have to return to the scene of the crime in order to check on it.
He made it three blocks before he started to feel violently ill; too sudden to be a coincidence.
And done! 4 minutes, 22 seconds. See you next time!