Here's something I have lying around on my computer, it was made for English in school, and it's not finished. But it was pretty close, might give it its finishing touches someday.
Ticking and flicking, the man went at the buttons on screen. Always dull eyed, never truly awake. Once alive, now dead, he will never be whole again. By his right, a picture of him and another, now blurry to his memory. But the picture stays crisp, with only a layer of dust distorting her image. A beautiful woman, most likely long forgotten by history’s short expanse. And now behind him, a man dripping slightly on his carpet.
The dead man would ask the wet man why he was pointing a now long empty gun at his wall. But he was too busy trying to fix his own delusions, with him thinking he was ever in that dusty picture, when it was clearly a much more healthily built man within the image and all. But he liked to pretend he had a good life before this, sometimes losing himself in the fantasies. The ones where he was happy were the most likely to infect his mind.
“The task at hand is urgent you know.” He said to the wet man pointing what he now thought to just be a finger gun, not a real weapon being aimed at his hard earned wall. The wet man, finally acknowledging his presence, withdrew his finger gun. Sheathing it into his pocket, and pulling out his hand in a limp fist.
“Why?” The wet man simply asked.
“Why? Oh, I can’t recall. But I remember there is a great importance to it I assure you.”
“Yes I am sure.”
The wet man remained silent at this new development. Now that the man without life was drawn away from his work, he was annoyed. But he wanted and needed an obvious end to this conversation. Ending it so abruptly and without closure would gnaw at his mind, distracting him from his important work at such a critical state.
“Do you mind?” He said rather briskly to the man that was beginning to drip water less and less onto his carpet.
Waiting for a response that didn’t seem to be coming, he got up from his chair. Only to have his legs shake and fail him. His fall was caught by his strange guest, the now only slightly dripping man. Observing him in a closer light, he
could see his thick dampened coat was rather stingy, without much of any care put into its preservation.
The damp man put him back onto his chair with care, giving him a meek look before stepping back to give the out of breath man some space. Which both men found strange, with his current state being dead and such. Tears began to build at the bottom of his eyes, but before they could fully form, he broke them down with his eye lids. Not letting weakness set in just yet.
“More time.” He mumbled partially to himself.“
Always more time with you!” A new booming voice said behind his own door. The knob turned and rattled, but did not open, soon it became banging. The dead man hurriedly went back to his work, and the damp man moved towards a foldable chair leaning against the wall, then swiftly took the chairb and set it underneath the rattling doorknob as another barring between them and the new voice’s entry. The dead man hurriedly worked, making many mistakes
and many corrections. It had to be perfect before he could be finished.
The dampened man was now at this point, fairly dry, his clothes with a crisped texture to them. So no longer wet, or damp, unsure what to be called. Crisp man being distasteful, dry man as well, so conflicted as to what he is now, he decided he would have himself as Minoe. A nice name he thought, a nice name he wanted to speak.
“Minoe.” The man now named Minoe, said.
“What was that?” The dead man said over his shoulder, still working at a distressed rate as the banging from the door perused.
“I am Minoe”
“Ah, my name is… my name- I don’t know my name” The dead man finished, sounding distressed. Feeling rather sad for the dead man, Minoe decided to take responsibility and give him his name, even though he himself didn’t know it, if he ever did know.
“You are Ron”
“My name is Ron?” Ron said, turning towards Minoe with a hopeful tone. Minoe shook his head yes, with a smile on his face. Ron typically turned back towards the screen and began typing yet again, with a new energy in pursuit to finish his work.
The banging and rattling became more and more violent, until the door’s bolt burst from its wooden hole and sent splinters throughout the room. A blinding light shown throughout the the previously dim room, an old man stepped into the room, showing no evidence of the aggression that was given towards the door moments ago. He stepped in, with his simple grey robe, which looked to be originally white, with a dingy look about it. A gentle expression lingered on
his face, perhaps a hint of pity as well.
Now stepping further into the room, he closed the space between him and Minoe, putting his hand upon his shoulder. Minoe bowed his head in what seemed to be guilt, then walked out of the room’s threshold, and disappeared into the light.
Thank you for reading this o'll thing, but it's not finished, and may never be.