|Writing From Prompts #1
||[Jan. 13th, 2008|12:48 am]
Kelly J. Cooper
Per this post, where I asked ya'll for writing prompts, here is my first bit of writing.
metagnat provided three prompts (which I'm treating separately). The first:
Character: a 40-something accountant, whose friends are all having mid-life crises while he is not, who is not certain *why* he is not.
George drove the golf cart over the gentle rise and parked it near, but not too near, hole five. As usual, his friends chuckled at the care he took in parking what they liked to call his “go-cart.”
George left the cart to make his shot. The weather was cool and crisp. Autumn had just arrived and the leaves were more red, brown, and orange than green.
After the first shot, Harry called out, “Hey George, Marci wanted me to ask why, out of all of us, you’re the only one not having a mid-life crisis.”
Grinning, Roger chimed in. “Yeah, René asked me the same damn thing.”
Archie sighed then said, “Marlene just asks me,” he pitched his voice high, “‘Why can’t you be more like George?’”
The guys all laughed, but George wasn’t offended. He hadn’t really thought about it, but now he did and they were right. Harry had recently bought a cherry red convertible and christened it with the license plate ‘cliché.’ Roger hadn’t actually had an affair, but was well known around the clubhouse for convincing the prettiest women to have a drink with him. And Archie had just gone into a funk and stopped doing the regular upkeep of his house. Of all of them, Archie had the least money and couldn’t afford to hire someone to do it for him.
But George just kept doing what he’d always done. He performed well at his job, took care of his wife Annie, looked after their home, managed their assets, and drove the guys around the golf course.
“I dunno, boys,” he replied, taking Harry’s shot. “Maybe it’s genetic. I’m just programmed to stay a regular, boring guy.”
The guys laughed again.
There was a companionable silence while George set up for Roger’s shot. “Actually,” George continued, “I think it’s because I’m really focused on what I’m doing. I don’t really have the time or energy to have any sort of crisis. There’s just too much to do.” He took the shot and glanced over at his friends. They were clearly giving his answer some consideration.
Sounding almost hurt, Harry protested, “We’re busy too George. I’m not sure that’s a fair differentiation.”
George nodded and completed Archie’s shot. “It is unfair, I’ll give you that, but I am doing most of the work here, yes?”
There was a reluctant chorus of mumbling agreement.
George got back in the cart. No one was talking, but the silence felt tense. Almost on cue, Archie’s arm fell off. Archie refused to turn his head and look at it, clearly embarrassed.
“You see what I mean? I’m going to have to wire that back on, now, and we still have thirteen more holes to go. I don’t have time to play with women or cars.” With that, George got out of the cart, put Archie’s arm between the man’s legs, hand in the footwell, stump in his lap. George couldn’t have it interfering with his driving. He checked the wires on the others. Each was firmly fastened together and belted into his own seat. After circling the cart, George patted his rifle where it stuck out of his golf bag and got back into the cart.
Once he started driving again, the other men began apologizing in sheepish tones as he carefully drove the cart away from hole five, heading toward six, leaving behind four corpses outside the club’s fence, each with a hole neatly drilled through the center of his or her forehead. Those left standing continue to moan for release, but George was a busy man, and he was done here for the day.
Unedited first draft. Let me know what you think and feel free to be honest.