“Click up there in the upper right corner, next to the X, there’s a button with a little line in it, no, up more, OK, now over to the left, other left, no, near the X, not the X, near it, where there’s a little line, not the bigger box, the little box on the left, no, not on the left side of the screen… do you mind if I sit down and do it?”
“Sorry I brought up bad memories.” The two furniture movers were just leaving the highway on their way back from an arduous trek across the E1000 highway in worse than normal traffic. Through talking with the driver, Andrius, on their route, Jane had started the process of getting over long unresolved deep psychological issues at her last company. “N-no, thank y-you for listening.” “We have a little more time if you’d like to keep going.”
I’ll casually estimate that I’ve published over 80,500 words related to “The Story” as of yet, even though all content related to it could easily surpass 150,000. Everything is nebulously floating around inside my head, loosely organized, so even writing specific ideas twice each week are just subjective rough drafts. My plan is to write everything in one go after I feel confident that I can. Until then, here’s a 6,000-word vertical slice walking through “The Story.”
Spoilers?: Major (an entire brain-dump)
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“What else’s on your mind? We’re still, like, 30 minutes to base.”
The two furniture movers, driver Andrius and passenger Jane, were over one hour later to their anticipated clock out time, already, and traffic on the E100 was just starting to loosen up on the formerly blazing Evillain summer afternoon.
“Can I tell you about this one time that really got me fuming bad?”
Andrius looked over, his foot firmly on the break.
“Since we’re stuck in traffic, what else is on your mind?”
The two furniture movers sat in traffic that moved ever so slightly then stopped suddenly every few minutes, with the driver, Andrius, keeping an even pace with leg muscles refined through years of playing football. Jane, meanwhile, had been glancing through a technical book before they got on their impassioned previous employers topic.
“Why do you think bosses act like that? Rude, passive-aggressive bit-“
“What a passive-aggressive punk!”
“I hate when people act like that!”
The windows were rolled down in the muggy cabin of the Sneaker Transport moving truck, letting in an ambient traffic rhythm for the two furniture movers to listen to as they complained about past jobs. Andrius, a former minor-league athlete nicknamed “43” after his jersey number, drove while Jane, a former computer repair “Doctor” as they called her, reclined.
“Woah… that’s it!”
“Lemme tell ya…”
“Hi~i! Ja~ane!! How’s it go~oin’!”
Jane hadn’t seen Karina this week.
“Good. You? Haven’t seen ya lately.”
“Yes! Tha~ank ya~a~ou!”
Jane and Jim had a furniture pick-up at the same location, a humble retirement home in a forested area outside of Eville, just as Karina and “Ruckus” had a drop-off.
“Oh, hi, Karina. I heard what happened, from Jane and Abe. Is everything alright?”
“Yes, tha~anks for the s~support, Jim. I~I~ w~was~ss in r~rough shape.”
“Just wondering, do I look h~hung ~o~ver?”
“Nah. Just tired.”
The two furniture movers were looking around a gas station for coffee and assorted junk snacks for their morning routes that dry Evillian morning.
“Go~od, be~cause~e,” she chuckled nervously, “I was o~out part-tying to~o~ late~ las~t n~night.”
“Wouldn’t have noticed, actually.”
“You s~should- join me next time. It’ll b~e fun~n.”
Jane subconsciously patted the small sobriety book in her jeans pocket.
“Thanks, but I’ll pass.”
Every morning, the same characters pop into my head. It’s not always John [left] or Trishna [right], but it’s always someone related to them in some way, whether it’s Pollyanna, Sammohini, Jane, or someone that in some way connects to either of them. I find it more funny than annoying or disturbing, because what other characters would I trade in their place? They’re the stars of “The Story!” Could I possibly trade “The Story” away?
Spoilers?: Minor (ubiquity of characters)
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The cabin of the mid-sized furniture moving truck was nearly uncomfortably chilly on that sweltering Evillian afternoon. The slow traffic moved at a reasonable pace. The passenger, Jane, had her black jeans crossed so she could prop up a technical book about computers, while the driver, Jakov, kept one eye on the road while maintaining eye contact with the other eye.
“That reminds me of this awesome idea I have for the videogame.”