[stylist] Quick bit/Re: Changes writing prompt
Brad Dunsé
lists at braddunsemusic.com
Fri Jan 13 15:47:47 UTC 2012
Barbara,
Thanks, I appreciate that very much. Yes it is a
strange little piece, Not my usual type of
writing, but that is what is nice about letting
the imagination wander a little, you explore
views you might not otherwise explore. I suspect
the recent King novel gave me that weird little sci fi thought.
Brad
On 1/12/2012 10:16 PM Barbara Hammel said...
>You have such a wonderful way of writing that
>draws the reader into whatever you write
>. That's a strange piece, but I like it.
>Barbara A man who wants to lead the orchestra
>must turn his back on the crowd. -- Max Lucado
>-----Original Message----- From: BradDunsé
>Sent: Thursday, January 12, 2012 9:59 PM To:
>Writer's Division Mailing List Subject:
>[stylist] Quick bit/Re: Changes writing prompt
>Very off cuff draft. Sort of "sentence to
>sentence where do I go from this one" kind of
>thing. haha . More of an idea flush than proper
>grammar and etc. as there were some format/font
>issues I ran into. Pete Wilkerson, a
>middle-aged, slightly graying, business cut,
>Robin-egg blue collar worker, stood at the early
>morning gas pump with stiffened arms plunged
>into the pockets of his black Columbia ski
>jacket zipped to the neck. The near zero
>temperatures on this frigid January morning left
>his freshly groomed mustache and beard fair game
>for the tiny droplets of moisture bursting from
>his mouth to attach themselves, adding a little
>extra touch of salt to his peppered whiskers,
>temporary as it might be. The frigid gas pump
>churned out a labored noise sounding a bit like
>negach
Negach
Negach
Negach
Negach
>Negach âNegach â¦. He daydreamed how the pump
>almost sounded like it was chanting to him in a
>frigid rhythmic pain of complaint as it creaked
>gas from its belly into his truck. Peteâs job
>for the last ten years was working as an
>electrician at the local campus in Superior,
>Wisconsin. Graduating as an Electrical Engineer
>after attending night classes for the past
>8-years at the local university, he finally felt
>like he was coming into his own now working as a
>part-timer at the local power plant. Thatâs
>why he considered himself as Robin-egg blue
>collar. A little bit engineer, a little bit
>electrician
not quite white, not quitte blue.
>With shoulders hunched as much as he could to
>cover the bare skin of his neck, blowing into
>his cupped hands, giving a slight palm to
>back-of-hand circular rub, like you do when
>washing your hands, he began to bounce up and
>down on his toes trying to work up just a little
>heat while his thirsty super-cab Ford pick-up
>drank in dual tanks of go-go juice and the pump
>continued its complaint, Negach
Negach
>Negach
Negach
Negach âgach ⦠Negach
.
>Hanging up the nozzle, snatching his crredit
>card out of the pump, and pushing the receipt
>button gave an Out of paper message. âYeah
>right,â he muttered under his breath, âlike
>I believe you guys actually put paper inn those
>things in this weather. And the little extra
>crap people buy once they get in your store
>looking for their receipt doesnât hurt either
>does it fellas?â Flipping the tank-fill door
>shut on his truck he headed for the store to get
>his receipt. Jumping up onto the pump island on
>his way inside, he stopped with a shiver, but
>not from the cold weather this time. He
>couldnât help but feel that same feeling
>heâs had on-and-off all week. Almost like he
>was being watched. Taking a quick look over his
>shoulders walking as he continued hesitantly ,
>and yet another quick scan around the parking
>lot as he reached for the door, proved nothing
>abnormal. Still, he couldnât help but feel
>something was off. Sometimes the feeling was
>quite strong, and other times just an inkling of
>a feeling. Sort of like when youâre camping
>out doors and you find a spider on the sleeve of
>your sweat-shirt, you flick it off in a reflex
>and shudder your shoulders creepily, and a
>minute later you swore you felt one under your
>shirt just a little trickle down the skin of
>your shoulder blade, but a shoulder wince and
>shirt adjustment, you realize itâs just a
>wrinkle in your sweat-shirt. Thatâs how it was
>with this feeling of being watched, or whatever
>it was well, he wasnât sure exactly what it
>was he felt for sure. Standing in line a few
>minutes, somewhat troubled by this feeling, he
>suddenly chuckled to himself as he stared at his
>hands. A king size Snicker bar in one hand and a
>five-dollar bill in the other. Smiling to
>himself he thought, âOk boys, you got me
>this time.â Paying for his stick of chocollate
>bliss, he refused the bag, dropped the bar in
>his chest pocket, shoved two dollar bills, the
>gas receipt, and some coin into his left Levi
>pocket, and headed for the truck. Reaching for
>the handle of his pick-up door, he stopped for a
>moment. Again, something seemed off, He could
>hear one of the pumps on the island with its
>Negach ⦠Negach
Negach
Negach
Negach
>Negach
,gach â¦, but as he glanced over, he
>realized there was no one at the pumps; he was
>all alone at the island. Turning his broad
>shoulders towards the rear of the truck with his
>head slightly cocked forward to take a better
>listen. He got half way to the tank fill of his
>truck and the noise stopped with a clunk. He
>stood there a moment listening but the pump held
>its silence. Turning back for the driverâs
>door he took a quick squint towards the station
>and realized the attendant had been staring at
>him. He stood there a second looking at the
>20-something man, âboy reallyâ he thought,
>âjust passed his last crop of zits,â and the
>man began to smile. But not like an âOh did
>you drop your keys back there and you found
>themâ kind of smile, it was more like a,
>âyou canât see me but I know something about
>youâ smile. Still staring at Pete with an odd
>grin, the attendant picked up the phone next to
>him, never taking his eyes off Pete, lifted the
>phone to his ear, and with a trance-like beam
>into Peteâs eyes from 30-feet away. started
>talking to the caller. Pete smiled back as if a
>âhey, itâs all good dude,â kind of smile
>and headed for his truck. Now he really felt
>like he was being watched. âLittle creep,â
>he muttered as he hopped in his truck. Turning
>the key, the trucks idiot lights and radio came
>on; you know the multiple red warning lights
>that come on when hitting the ignition? But the
>truck didnât turn over. Holding the key all
>the way over for a full ten-seconds, suddenly
>the truck gave a, buzz sound, a quick little
>clunk, and then it fired over. âI know Hun,â
>he said, âI hate this cold weather tooâ. He
>dropped the shift into drive and headed towards
>the street. In the frozen exhaust from Peteâs
>truck, pump #2 began its Negach
Negach
>Negach
NegacNegach
Negach
Negach
As he
>drove off. After putr putting in a half day at
>campus and the other half at the power plant
>office, Pete pulled in the garage, hit the
>automatic door opener to shut the overhead door,
>and walked into the house where he was greeted
>with a gush of pleasant warm air and the smell
>of fresh cheese-garlic bread in the oven next to
>a pan of lasagna. His wife Trudy was at the
>kitchen counter fixing smoothie desserts as he
>leaned over and dove his cold face in the nape
>of her neck. âOh, youâre cold,â she
>whimpered lifting her shoulders to lock him
>out. Kissing her quick on the cheek and tossing
>his keys on the counter top as he walked taking
>off his jacket, he asked her âSo, how was your
>day?â she began to tell him âOh, Mackenzie
>was up to her old tricks again, getting
>everyone a good bout of the grumps, but
>sheâll
â she stopped when she realized he
>wasnât even in the room now. Realizing she
>stopped talking, Pete yelled, Oh. Sorry Hun,
>Iâll be right there.â Pete hung up his
>jacket in his office closet. Their kids Amber
>and Michael were out on their own now and their
>bedrooms now became his and her offices. Pete
>reached in his front left pocket of his jeans,
>taking out the money to put in his glass jar,
>his vacation stash he called it, and stopped to
>remove a sheet metal screw he knew was in with
>the coin. He began to get that damned feeling
>again, like something was watching him or well
>he just couldnât say what the feeling was like
>something was unsettled. As he fingered through
>the coin for the sheet metal screw, he noticed
>one of the quarters heâd gotten from the gas
>station attendant that morning. Pete looked at
>it with a peculiar interest. He flipped it over
>and back again and all seemed right, but then he
>noticed the date. Staring at it he wasnât sure
>what to think of it. The date on the coin was
>2014, but today was only January 13, Friday
>actually, January 13, 2012. A whole two years
>before any 2014 coin would be circulated and
>6-months at least before theyâd even start to
>bee minted. But it was real, the markings, the
>president, the tails and knurling on its edge
>were all normal. He palmed that one in his right
>hand and fingered the other coins. He stood open
>mouthed. All the coin in his pocket were dated
>2014. The two bills heâd gotten though, they
>were dated 2001 and 2005. He wasnât sure what
>that meant so tossed them aside. He set the coin
>down on the corner of his desk, grabbed the huge
>glass jug that held an inch of various coin
>since just before Christmas when he cashed in
>the previous yearâs loot. Pouring out a few
>coins he nearly dropped the jug. Every single
>coin he poured out was dated 2014. But the
>dollars that were stuffed in there, they were
>all various odd dates, all past dates he noted.
>Only the coin was dated two years from this
>year. He recalled the smug smirk on that pimply
>attendantâs face this morning at the gas
>station before he got in his truck. And that
>pump with its Negach
Negach
Negach
Negach
>gach
Negach
Negach
. When just before he
>saw the athe attendant staring at him through
>the window. That pump, with that almost chant.
>It sounded like it was saying Negach
, he
>thought to himself. He heard his wife call out
>tthat it was almost time to eat. âIâll be
>right there Hun!â he yelled from his office.
>He stood there with a finger rubbing over the
>coin, images of that attendant, and the pump
>with its complaint of cold, Or was it a chant of
>cold? He thought to himself, âWas it actually
>saying Negach
? over and over and over? What is
>a Negaach
and what is up with these coins and
>their date. Whhy 2014?â He set the coin down,
>pulled up his office chair, sat down with a pen
>and paper and wrote out phonetically what sound
>or word or chant he thought the pump had sounded
>out. Negach
Spelling It out he was perpllexed,
>and yet something seemed oddly familiar about
>it. Staring at it he got an idea; he grabbed his
>pen and began writing more. Stopping his pen,
>his cheeks nearly to the corners of his mouth in
>disbelief, he looked at his paper, looked over
>at the coin lying on his desk, all dated 2014.
>His face turned fish-belly white. Writers note:
>*I had to use that one Donna. big laugh* He
>looked to the coin
and back to the paper, then
>back to the coin,, or more appropriately, the
>change. Thatâs what we call loose coin isnât
>it? he asked himself. He stared down at his
>paper that had the below words on it: Negach
>Enach Angech Chenga Change Is that what the pump
>at the gas station was chanting? Change
change
>
chachange
change? And all these coins, all
>this change dateed 2014, what does that mean? Is
>something going to happen to me in 2014? Brad
>Dunsé "The key to change is to let go of fear."
>--Roseanne Cash http://www.braddunsemusic.com
>http://www.facebook.com/braddunse
>http://www.twitter.com/braddunse
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Brad Dunsé
http://www.braddunsemusic.com
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