NaNoWriMo
Today marks the first day of National Novel Writing Month. :) We have one month to write a 50,000 word novel, which means around 1,900 words a day for me (since I won't be writing on Sundays). Spent 40 minutes this morning and pumped out 1,100 words, so I think an hour a day will do. My novel is called Doubletake. As a way to keep me working on it, I'll post what I write each day. Feel free to leave comments. Here we go:
Fillmore stepped up to the ticket counter and handed the lady his ticket, but she frowned and said, "This isn't a ticket."
"What?" A hollow feeling started eating away inside him. "Are you sure?"
"Look, mister," she said in a thick Bronx accent, holding up a ticket that looked almost the same. "This is a ticket. This thing you gave me," and she pointed to Fillmore's ticket, "is a fake."
"But that's impossible!"
"Sorry, sir. Maybe there are some standby tickets available."
Fillmore swallowed. "But I've got a meeting--I'm going to be late! Isn't there something you can do?" He turned around and looked at the long line of people behind him, most glaring at him and tapping their watches.
"I'm really sorry," said the lady. "Now if you'll just move out of the way, sir, there are lots of people who need to get on this plane."
Fillmore blinked. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be real. He stepped to the side and, cupping his hands over his mouth, hollered, "Anybody have an extra ticket?"
More glares. The ticket lady looked uncomfortable and shot him a nasty look. Then a man stood up off to the side, in the waiting area. He waved at Fillmore, so he walked over to him.
"I have a ticket," the man said. He was wearing a sharp coal black business suit and a pair of rather large sunglasses. There was another man, younger but balding, sitting next to him and whispering into a cell phone.
"How much do you want for it?"
The man laughed. "Nothing. It's yours. But our flight doesn't leave for another ten minutes. Can you wait that long?"
Fillmore looked at his watch, a Mickey Mouse piece of white plastic he'd gotten at Disneyland last year. 9:44. "Yes, I think I can. My name's Fillmore, what's yours?"
"You can call me Smith," said the man, yawning. "This here is Anderson." The balding man nodded a hello at Fillmore.
"So," said Fillmore, "you just happened to have an extra ticket? That's kind of lucky for me, isn't it."
"Sure, whatever."
Fillmore's stomach growled. "Do you mind if I go get something to eat? I'll be right back."
"No problem," said Smith.
He started walking away and then spun around. "Oh, can you watch my bag for me?"
"Sure," said Smith.
There was a McDonald's down at the other end of the terminal. When Fillmore got there he fished through his wallet and found his McDonald's meal card, the one he won at the carnival two months ago. Five stamps so far -- only two more and he'd get a free Spiderman toy.
"Hi, what can I get for you today?" The girl at the counter looked like she was thirteen. Lots of freckles.
"I'll take a cheeseburger." Fillmore fidgeted with the card.
"That'll be two dollars and seven cents."
He pulled out two ragged dollar bills from his wallet and then reached into his other pocket and found a dime there. "Here you go."
"Three cents is your change," said the girl.
"No, no, you keep it." Fillmore smiled without showing his teeth. His top front tooth had gotten knocked out on the swingset a year ago, but since it wasn't a baby tooth it hadn't grown back in. And Fillmore hadn't had time to get a plastic one made, so he never showed his teeth when he smiled.
"Thanks, I guess. One moment please." She started walking to the back room to get the cheeseburger.
"Wait!" Fillmore knocked on the counter three times. "Can you stamp my card?"
"Oh, yeah. Sorry about that." She came back and stamped it.
While she was getting his burger, he looked around. There weren't very many people there, except for one table where a large group of people crowded around, looking at something. Some of them seemed very excited. Fillmore looked back across the counter but there was no sign of the girl, so he walked over to the table.
All of the people were Asian except for a girl at the other end of the table. Fillmore got up on his tiptoes and leaned over to see what they were looking at. There was nothing there. The only thing on the table was a tray with a milkshake. The girl was eating it with a spoon, but nobody was looking at it.
"Your cheeseburger is ready!" said the girl at the counter.
"Just a second," Fillmore cried back.
The girl at the table looked up, pushing her long red bangs away from her eyes. "What are you doing?" She said something in a weird language and all of the Asians stopped talking and looked up at Fillmore.
"I was just curious," he said. "What are you all looking at?"
"Nothing." She frowned and glanced at one of the Asians, a skinny boy in a polo shirt and shorts. He left the group and walked over to the counter, then returned holding the tray.
"Hey, that's my cheeseburger! Thief!"
"Hold on a second," said the red-haired girl. "He's not stealing it." She said something else to him and he handed Fillmore the tray. "Take a seat." She motioned to the seat across from her.
"I can't," he said. "My plane is leaving in five minutes."
"Sit!" She stood up and pointed at the seat.
"No, really, I can't. But what were you looking at?"
Two of the shorter Asians next to him grabbed his arms and pushed him into the chair.
"Wait, help!" Fillmore cried.
"Quiet," the girl shot back. "Are you crazy?"
Just then her eyes grew wide. She muttered something in the weird language and all of the Asians scattered.
"What's going on here?" said Smith. He stood next to Anderson, who was at least seven feet tall.
The girl swallowed. "Nothing, nothing. See ya." And she darted out of the restaurant.
"Hurry, Fillmore, the plane's about to leave," said Anderson as he looked down at Fillmore's cheeseburger. "Can I have some?"
Fillmore stepped up to the ticket counter and handed the lady his ticket, but she frowned and said, "This isn't a ticket."
"What?" A hollow feeling started eating away inside him. "Are you sure?"
"Look, mister," she said in a thick Bronx accent, holding up a ticket that looked almost the same. "This is a ticket. This thing you gave me," and she pointed to Fillmore's ticket, "is a fake."
"But that's impossible!"
"Sorry, sir. Maybe there are some standby tickets available."
Fillmore swallowed. "But I've got a meeting--I'm going to be late! Isn't there something you can do?" He turned around and looked at the long line of people behind him, most glaring at him and tapping their watches.
"I'm really sorry," said the lady. "Now if you'll just move out of the way, sir, there are lots of people who need to get on this plane."
Fillmore blinked. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be real. He stepped to the side and, cupping his hands over his mouth, hollered, "Anybody have an extra ticket?"
More glares. The ticket lady looked uncomfortable and shot him a nasty look. Then a man stood up off to the side, in the waiting area. He waved at Fillmore, so he walked over to him.
"I have a ticket," the man said. He was wearing a sharp coal black business suit and a pair of rather large sunglasses. There was another man, younger but balding, sitting next to him and whispering into a cell phone.
"How much do you want for it?"
The man laughed. "Nothing. It's yours. But our flight doesn't leave for another ten minutes. Can you wait that long?"
Fillmore looked at his watch, a Mickey Mouse piece of white plastic he'd gotten at Disneyland last year. 9:44. "Yes, I think I can. My name's Fillmore, what's yours?"
"You can call me Smith," said the man, yawning. "This here is Anderson." The balding man nodded a hello at Fillmore.
"So," said Fillmore, "you just happened to have an extra ticket? That's kind of lucky for me, isn't it."
"Sure, whatever."
Fillmore's stomach growled. "Do you mind if I go get something to eat? I'll be right back."
"No problem," said Smith.
He started walking away and then spun around. "Oh, can you watch my bag for me?"
"Sure," said Smith.
There was a McDonald's down at the other end of the terminal. When Fillmore got there he fished through his wallet and found his McDonald's meal card, the one he won at the carnival two months ago. Five stamps so far -- only two more and he'd get a free Spiderman toy.
"Hi, what can I get for you today?" The girl at the counter looked like she was thirteen. Lots of freckles.
"I'll take a cheeseburger." Fillmore fidgeted with the card.
"That'll be two dollars and seven cents."
He pulled out two ragged dollar bills from his wallet and then reached into his other pocket and found a dime there. "Here you go."
"Three cents is your change," said the girl.
"No, no, you keep it." Fillmore smiled without showing his teeth. His top front tooth had gotten knocked out on the swingset a year ago, but since it wasn't a baby tooth it hadn't grown back in. And Fillmore hadn't had time to get a plastic one made, so he never showed his teeth when he smiled.
"Thanks, I guess. One moment please." She started walking to the back room to get the cheeseburger.
"Wait!" Fillmore knocked on the counter three times. "Can you stamp my card?"
"Oh, yeah. Sorry about that." She came back and stamped it.
While she was getting his burger, he looked around. There weren't very many people there, except for one table where a large group of people crowded around, looking at something. Some of them seemed very excited. Fillmore looked back across the counter but there was no sign of the girl, so he walked over to the table.
All of the people were Asian except for a girl at the other end of the table. Fillmore got up on his tiptoes and leaned over to see what they were looking at. There was nothing there. The only thing on the table was a tray with a milkshake. The girl was eating it with a spoon, but nobody was looking at it.
"Your cheeseburger is ready!" said the girl at the counter.
"Just a second," Fillmore cried back.
The girl at the table looked up, pushing her long red bangs away from her eyes. "What are you doing?" She said something in a weird language and all of the Asians stopped talking and looked up at Fillmore.
"I was just curious," he said. "What are you all looking at?"
"Nothing." She frowned and glanced at one of the Asians, a skinny boy in a polo shirt and shorts. He left the group and walked over to the counter, then returned holding the tray.
"Hey, that's my cheeseburger! Thief!"
"Hold on a second," said the red-haired girl. "He's not stealing it." She said something else to him and he handed Fillmore the tray. "Take a seat." She motioned to the seat across from her.
"I can't," he said. "My plane is leaving in five minutes."
"Sit!" She stood up and pointed at the seat.
"No, really, I can't. But what were you looking at?"
Two of the shorter Asians next to him grabbed his arms and pushed him into the chair.
"Wait, help!" Fillmore cried.
"Quiet," the girl shot back. "Are you crazy?"
Just then her eyes grew wide. She muttered something in the weird language and all of the Asians scattered.
"What's going on here?" said Smith. He stood next to Anderson, who was at least seven feet tall.
The girl swallowed. "Nothing, nothing. See ya." And she darted out of the restaurant.
"Hurry, Fillmore, the plane's about to leave," said Anderson as he looked down at Fillmore's cheeseburger. "Can I have some?"
posted by Ben at 9:53 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home