Just for the sheer hell of it.
A story...
(GONEism, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 22:12, 3 replies, latest was 17 years ago)

Here it is
They had met in the mill. Born together, in fact. But they weren’t siblings or anything like that, so it’s okay. He was rolled from the press first, she came out around 4 sheets later. He always wondered, to this very day, what would have happened if one of the three sheets before him had said hi to her instead. Luckily, the clumsy work experience boy had dropped all 5 of them on the floor, and when they had been gathered up, they were pressed together. He had to say hi.

“Hi, I’m Jeff”.

“Umm…hello Jeff.”

“Yeah, hi.”

Jeff was rubbish at conversations. Luckily, she wasn’t.

“So, how long have you been here Jeff?”

“Well, around 17 seconds. Bit of a draft in here isn’t there?”

Go with the temperature. Always an ice breaker.

“Yeah, here’s hoping we can get out of here soon.”

Their wish was soon granted, as they were pressed in tight with 298 of the others, wrapped up, and…well, it was a bit dark after that. But he was pressed up against her, and he could hear her. Very fortunate, he thought.

“I’m sorry, how rude of me. I never asked your name?”

“Oh, it’s Lisa, pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“Any idea where we’re headed?”

He was getting a little better at this.

“Well, my guess would either be an office or a school. My god I hope it’s an office. I don’t want to wind up soaked and stuck to some god-awful classroom ceiling.”

They both laughed. And fortune would be on their side, as sure enough, they and their colleagues were placed in a cupboard at a small bank in a little village.

It would be nearly 2 months before they were found a job. Jeff knew that striking something up with Lisa would be ultimately pointless, as once they had both been put through the bubble jet printer, they would probably be discarded by some customer, doomed to see out their lives in separate bins with last months bank statement printed on their faces. But still, there was always hope. Tragic inevitability always stank like manure, but manure is needed to grow the prettiest flowers. This flower came in the vague hope that they would wind up together after the printing. They were together in the pack, and may form some kind of important document. A document that would be kept in records for hundreds of years and they would be there, pressed face to face, for a century. Just talking about the temperature, or where they might go next.

But one spring morning, the doors to the cupboard creaked open. This was par for course – the biros were in the same cupboard. But this time the packet was ripped open, and a fat, fleshy hand moved at them for a grab. Jeff’s mind raced. He wanted to tell Lisa he loved her but it would take time to pluck up the courage. He didn’t have time. The hand grew closer, accompanied by the hand’s fat owner whistling an out of tune rendition of “Morning Has Broken”. Lisa was asleep, but Jeff panicked.

“Lisa! Lisa! I need to tell you something!”

Lisa stirred but didn’t register what he’d said. Damn.

But by some miracle, he was missed. So was she. The yellowing, chipped nail of the fat thumb moved across his surface, and plucked 65 from the packet. They were then stuffed into the photocopier. 65 of his colleagues, doomed to be cheap, carbon imitations of one lucky individual who was emblazoned with the original material. Perhaps a few that would display a picture of a drunken employee’s backside. Who knows?

The close call had been a wake up call to Jeff, who decided that he needed to press ahead with getting to know Lisa, before they were taken away. But what to talk about? He’d only spent 17 seconds of his life without her, so there wasn’t an awful lot to say. He’d try and talk about how when he came out of the press, the first thing he saw was this young work experience lad with half a finger crammed up his left nostril, but it was a) a little vulgar and b) not the kind of topic one can use as a foundation for a relationship. But Lisa was intrigued by Jeff. His sudden, apparently unprovoked attempts to get to know her had made her laugh, and she was curious about the slight desperation in his voice. She’d been curious about him since the start. She was slightly wary of him on that first day in the mill. He kept going to say things, and would stop just a millisecond after his voice became audible. She got the feeling that there was so much he wanted to tell her, and it was a constant battle for all these ideas and remarks, all of them fighting to be spoken first. She’d watch him while he was asleep. He’d frown as though perplexed by something.

He would watch her sleeping too. She had an air of calmness about her. There was something he felt about her – something that told him that she would meet all problems and trials in life with an understanding smile. All this time, however, he was mentally fishing in an empty sea. Just one word. That’s all he needed to get him started. One word he could build a sentence around to tell her that he really liked her. The thumb incident may have scared him, but it didn’t speed up the mental process.

She really liked him, but didn’t want to say so. She thought it would make things awkward between them, and his stuttering, blurted comments about things that had happened in the 17 seconds prior to her arrival in his life made her feel like he wanted her as a listener – a student, perhaps. She wanted to sit, and wait and listen for the day when he could stop stuttering and tell her all those stories in a coherent fashion. God, she really liked him.

Damn. He really liked her.

The spring was hot and all encompassing, and dragged it’s bloated, sweaty way towards summer, who took over with equal aplomb. The bank had been quiet – the new shopping complex in town had resulted in a new branch being opened that was far more high tech. There had been talk about relocation for the 4 members of staff. 16 victims of the thumb incident had been used to make official memos that would try in a cheery, sing-song, couldn’t-care-less kind of way to tell the staff that they were screwed. This was a big problem for the fat handed man. For months, he’d been looking at the bony fingered woman in a different way. Her recent marriage troubles had made the marked wedding ring on her finger seem translucent. He’d been there for her. He’d sat with her while she cried. He encased her small hand in his fat one while she used her other hand to remove the snot and tears of miserable wedded bliss from her face. She had thanked him for his support as she watched her marriage tip up and sink into the murky depths. God, how he wanted her. But he’d been single for a long time, and it was like learning to ride a bike again. With his slightly more rotund posterior, and inability to stay balanced even when sat down, learning to ride this bike was a daunting task. He’d stay up late at night in his office, claiming there was paperwork to do. He would leave the cupboard open, to get to the biros. He’d chew pens, thinking of the perfect thing to write for her. He’d chew and chew some more, and then he’d need a new pen. He’d write in his own personal ledger. Jeff looked down at the double page – it was a semi exploded minefield of scribbled out verses and paragraphs, and inky fingerprints.

“He seems worked up. I wonder what’s wrong?”

“He loves her, Jeff”

“Oh…so…nice night tonight, hey?”

“I think he’ll find the right thing to say if he keeps writing, don’t you?”

“Yeah. It’s lovely and warm. But not overbearing, like it is in the daytime”.

This was unbearable. He looked at Lisa watching fat hands. Again, she radiated calm understanding. She knew he’d find the right words. She’d never looked at Jeff like that.

“I’m going to sleep, Lisa. Goodnight.”

At around 1am, the air was cool enough to make the sweat on fat hands make him chilly. But he didn’t notice. The magic hour had set in. That special time when all the words that bleed ink into the paper and mark the page are the right ones. He had it. He had formed the words.

“Jocelyn, I will keep this short. I met you when I was 17, and we have spent practically every day together since. We’ve had some good times, and some fun times. But I need to tell you something important. The time we’ve spent together had made me realise that I love you. Please love me too.”

Fat hands leant back in his chair, rubbed his eyes, looked up to the light bulb above his head, and closed his eyes. He’d marked the paper with the right words, and they were now a contract. It was time to speak them to her. Lisa knew he’d found the right words. She couldn’t see them, but the look on his face confirmed it. She turned towards Jeff, who was now asleep, and frowning. She cried a little. She lay on top of him, and fell asleep too.

She was woken the next morning by the sun’s rays, which was unusual because usually the cupboard was locked shut. She looked up, and saw it. The cupboard was on the other side of the room. She panicked. She instinctively looked for Jeff. But as she happened to glance down, she noticed something. She’d been written on. She looked closer. Jocelyn, I will keep this short. But it had been scribbled out. She then noticed the fat, inky thumb print on her, just underneath. He’d bottled it. He was going to give her the note, and keep his chubby mouth shut. She looked to her left, and saw two fat hands, sweatier than normal, swinging to and fro. He was pacing. But he had something in his right hand. It was Jeff. Suddenly, the door was knocked. Fat hands thrust Jeff down on the desk, right next to Lisa.

“Jeff! Are you ok?”

He was covered in the note.

“I don’t know. He grabbed me at 6am and started scribbling like crazy. You slept through the whole thing. I don’t know how you managed to do it. Lovely morning this…”

She wasn’t listening. She read his face. Suddenly she understood. She realised how much Jeff loved her now it was written all over his face. She smiled, but this wasn’t a calm smile. It was a smile that was full of passion and excitement. She opened her mouth to speak.

“Jocelyn, can I see you for a minute?”

Jocelyn walked to the desk. Fat hands had his eyes locked on her the whole time. Even as he grabbed for the note to pass to her. He passed the note to Jocelyn, without speaking.

“Ian, there’s nothing here, it’s something scribbled out.”

“Oh…oh bugger, hang on.”

His left hand reached down to pick up Jeff. His right hand screwed up the note. Lisa. He threw her at the bin in the corner and missed. She fell behind the bin. Jeff was placed in a bony hand. Jocelyn read the note slowly and deliberately. Jeff was stuck looking up at the light bulb. He closed his eyes. He hadn’t taken his chance. Jocelyn cried, which was to be expected. She placed Jeff on the edge of the desk. He could see the bin, and he knew Lisa was behind it. He shouted. He shouted it all. He shouted how much he loved her. The ink ran across his eyes from Jocelyn’s tears. She was talking to Ian in a quiet tone. A calm tone. Jeff heard words like “friend” and “friendship”, so he figured that Ian had struck out.

After an hour, Jocelyn had left the office. For 3 days, nothing in the office was moved. The cupboard stayed locked. The chewed biros remained on his desk. For 3 days Jeff screamed. He didn’t know if Lisa could hear him. He didn’t know if she was still behind the bin, which by now had been filled to the brim with torn pages from Ian’s ledger. One night, Jeff fell asleep through exhaustion. The tears had dried and left him brittle. Come next morning, he was woken by sunlight again. He looked up and saw a lady with a bandana round her head. She was cleaning. He swung round to look at the bin. It was still there, but empty. He was too tired to react.

“Jocelyn, about the other day. I’m sorry. I was out of line, and I shouldn’t have written that note. I hope we can still be friends?”

“Of course we can Ian.” She smiled. “Come on, let’s go do some work”.

Ian smiled, and picked up Jeff. His fat hand closed around him, deforming him. He threw him at the bin, and again, missed. He landed behind the bin.

“Jeff? Is that you?”
(GONEism, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 22:42, Reply)

my screen is flickery
so i cannot take the length.
but don't think your tale will go ignored :)
( gypsy turnips, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 22:57, Reply)

One creative turn
deserves another...


( warmfuzzies Isn't here, Sat 4 Oct 2008, 1:10, Reply)