"The desert bears only a scathing sun, and nothing more."
"What about mirages?"

Monday, September 6, 2010

Traffic Lights - Opening Scene.

It was a four way intersection. A major road. Cars were zipping past, so close he could almost reach out, almost touch them. Almost feel the relief he knew they'd bring. He watched the lights change from red to green, and the line of cars shifted, following the iridescent dance of traffic lights.

John didn't know. He didn't know what led him here. He supposed, in the end, he really didn't know anything. He was too busy living a 'non-existance'. That's what she'd told him. He shivered at the memory, missed the sweet tang of her lips.

But after missing her, all John felt was bitterness. He was bitter she'd left him, bitter she'd found someone else, bitter because he couldn't do the same.

The light swapped again and again the traffic shifted. He watched all the cars and thought they looked like ants; marching, never tiring, droning on and on and on.

What was he doing here, watching the unceasing sway of a four way intersection? What was he doing, waiting for this elusive perfect moment? Really, any car would do. Any one could cripple him, crush him, kill him. He guessed it really didn't matter.

And truly, the only thing that did matter was the giant semi-truck, plowing its way down the road.

He waited, his body tensed.

How did it come to this?

- - -

What, prose? The world must be imploding. :0 This is the opening scene an idea I thought would make a great novel. It goes a little like this:

Man writes novel. Novel gets big. Man makes lots of money. Man writes another novel. Novel sucks shit. Man writes another novel. Novel sucks even more than the last. Man stops writing and becomes a recluse. Man's wife leaves him. Man's wife finds someone else. Man goes out into real world. Man has unsuccessful relationships. Man writes novel. Novel is lame. Man jumps into oncoming traffic.

That's pretty much the basis of it all.

1 comment:

  1. interesting concept... hopefully that isn't how my writing carreer will go! great prose!


"Write with our backs to the wind and our faces to the hard, bleaching sun."