‘Cuz the sun is pretty high in the sky


So this guy is lying in bed and he wakes up because the sun is getting pretty high in the sky and it’s shining through his window blinds, past these trees outside his window. He gets up and puts his uniform on, because he doesn’t know what else there is to do but go to school. He doesn’t want to stay in bed. It’s been too long he’s been there, he thinks. He doesn’t worry about coming in late because there is an emergency situation in the town. “I bet noone else will even be there.” And it’s true, only a few students show up.

He walks up the dusty street, grimey, home-y houses settled into little alcoves in a sea of trees, they’re part of the wave of trees that now find themselves slowly crashing upon that dusty road. Those trees are big. They all compete with the roofs of the houses in height. The road winds back and forth up the bottom of a mountain. The town is surrounded by mountains, a cozy little place. The author hasn’t yet decided why people built a town there, or even what the basic geography of the place is. All he knows is the feel. Big trees, isolated roads, dusty streets, cool afternoons, orange sunsets. Almost sepia-toned, with the dust floating through the air. Before he heads out, he jaunts down the stairs, kinda loose-like. Let’s his body swing with his weight, stopping abruptly whenever his straightened leg hit the next step. None of the lights are on, obviously. The sun is shining through the blinds again. I mean, here too. It makes the room almost sepia-toned, dust floating through the rays of sunlight. Almost seems like sunset, shade of the light coming in and all. He probably wonders if it’s sunset, just for a second, then realizes that the house wouldn’t be so empty at any time but the morning. It’s usually quite lively. Probably remembers, as well, that the sun shines through the back of the house, not the front, in the afternoon. So it must be morning. Or at least, closer to morning than to evening. This may cause continuity issues later on.

How do small towns handle their garbage disposal? Are the starter systems of motor vehicles at all affected by strong EMPs?
He walks past a lady carrying out garbage, dumping slumped bags of it into a little compartment on the outside of her fence. It ain’t garbage day, so it can’t be anything that’ll rot in the summer sun. Must be that the lady was doing some cleaning, perhaps because TVs or anything weren’t on because of last night’s events. She looked fat, like a couch potato. It was a good inference to make.
And that’s all I got for now. I don’t know this guy’s name yet. I don’t really know what he’s like. I don’t know what his family is like. I can’t focus on one story at a time, so I guess they all suffer. What will it take to anchor me in one place? What kind of story will really capture my attention, make me want to take it to the end?

So far, my characters have been pretty flat. At least, the ones I end up writing about, which aren’t much. Maybe I just need to get things out like this. Maybe it’ll all fall into place some day, however long it takes.

I feel kinda tired. Just a little bit aggravated by writing this and realizing what kinds of things I make up. I don’t know what it takes. The world is just a bit confusing. I don’t really know which way to go and I don’t think many people can tell me.



Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s