It has been awhile since I last posted anything. Normally I would continue with my series, but I don't feel like writing that up right now (but I will continue it soon). Instead, I will share another short story that I have written. It will only be the first few paragraphs as usual, though (I do this so that if I have the opportunity to get it published somewhere, I don't have to worry about taking down my story). Enjoy:
Patrick Gilmore opened his bedroom window and poked his head outside. The air was cold--very cold--like a piercing dagger. But no matter the unpleasantness, there was a familiarity Patrick felt--though it wasn't a comforting familiarity. He paused.
A lady, walking her dog, sauntered along the sidewalk. She leaned backwards on her heels as if she had nowhere to be and nothing to worry about. Even the dog let its tongue hang loose, breathing heavy, dopey breathes of innocence. A couple ran along the sidewalk, talking and laughing. Patrick's neighbor across the street, Luther Franklin, stood in his bathrobe, pajama pants, and slippers, waiting for the mailman. Just waiting. Waiting with a cup of coffee in his hands. Waiting. And when the mail did come, Luther greeted him with a smile and a wave as if they were old college pals.
Patrick couldn't help but feel sorry for those poor souls. Their innocence. Their carefreeness. Their nonchalantness. Their ignorance truly is bliss, thought Patrick, but it's tragic. If only they knew what I knew. If only they could walk a day in my shoes, knowing the imminent threats in the world. But they are far too occupied with the pleasures of walking the dog, sharing laughter, and lounging in lush pajamas with a warm cup of coffee. I know better than to be preoccupied with the fantasies of this world. Reality is where I sit.
Patrick continued watching until the people cleared from the street. Then he pulled back from the window. He felt more relaxed with an empty street.
But then there was this car. Patrick's eyes went on alert, darting around. A Jeep Grand Cherokee parked across the street at the neighbor's house. Black. Tinted windows. License plate number MJY D303. Florida. What is Florida doing in Wisconsin? Family? Friends? The snow around the tires looked undisturbed. Whoever it is, they must have gotten here sometime last night, before the snowfall.
A nice opening, Mr. Morici. However I have two critiques and no one of them is not that it isn't an Audi that rolles up to the neighbor's house. First I generally would think tea would evoke a more lavish image than just a warm cup of coffee. Perhaps another adjective to describe the exclusiveness or something; it depends what image you're trying to convey. Second "What is Florida doing in Wisconsin?" doesn't make sense. Either that or I've missed the convention of calling a car from a specific state just the name of the state. Other than that I do like the inclusion of a car, a Jeep in fact. Sometime though you should write a short story and include an Audi... But none the less I look forward to reading another completed work by R.W. Morici.
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