This is a draft that I wrote yesterday at like 8 pm when I was feeling particularly inspired to write in 2nd person. So yeah, your Favorite Author ™ wrote this and I think it’s pretty okay.
But we are us.
You have no sense of self. You wake up and your head feels like you just slammed into a wall. But where were you before this? How did you get here? This definitely isn’t your normal green bedroom with the rainbow sheets and purple comforter. In fact, there aren’t any sheets here. There is simply a plastic lawn chair against the cold brick walls. You shiver in fear.
You’re not in Kansas anymore.
The man who is not short walks down the street. It is almost 10 o’clock at night and he can’t sleep well. He has a sinking feeling in his stomach. As if something unexpected might happen tonight. As though he’d be exposed to his wife about his affair with her best friend since middle school.The one with blonde hair and double D bra size. The one with three kids and three ex-husbands As though he’d be hit by a red car taking a right while crossing Lance street. The mini-van that was spending a strange in his neighborhood lately.As though he realized that his life isn’t really his own.
He stopped thinking about the past.
The girl wakes up with a start. She isn’t feeling well. In the silence of the farm, she can hear the crickets chirping. She throws up on purple shag rug on her floor. She tiptoes around the vomit and sits on her window ledge. Her room is on the second floor, she can see everything for miles in that direction. The city lights seem ominous tonight. The buildings stand tall and straight in comparison to her farm house. They remind her of soldiers, ready to strike at any moment.
She can’t see the stars tonight.
A woman who cannot see sits in a chair. She does not know what colour the chair is. She does not know what colour is a all. She thinks about what it’d be like if the entire world didn’t know what colour was. Her husband walks in the door shortly after this thought.From what he’s told her, there’s been an accident at work. His boss cut off his pinky toe when he dropped a knife in the middle of a culinary demonstration. The woman does not care, but listens intently anyway. She then stands up and walks to her room. She begins to cry silently.
She wonders what he looks like.
A little boy, no older than 4, looks at a picture of his mother. She is posed, ready to strike whatever is beyond the camera. He thinks about what a silly way to take a picture that is and what his father would say if he knew he was up this late. As the boy climbs into his blue bed, he begins to wonder about who his mother was, and why she left him alone with his father, a big, burly man who is struggling to make ends meet and provide for his kid. He remembers seeing him cry one night, and struggles to forget it.
As he drifts to sleep, he hears a car engine start on the street.
That night would change all of their lives.
That’s it. That’s the whole story. Yup.
This is me,