Wednesday, June 29, 2011

WW: The 12 Minute Note

Hi! Just swinging by to leave you with a little short story I wrote for my Fiction Writing class last year. Each class, our teacher would give us writing prompts. We had 12 minutes to write as much as we could from that prompt. I forget what the exact prompt for this one was, but this is what I wrote in 12 minutes. Enjoy :)

The Note

I dropped my keys on the kitchen table. I glanced at the clock—it was almost six o’clock, the traffic had been bad coming home from work. It was then I noticed the white envelope propped up against the salt and pepper shakers. Curious, I picked it up and removed the white sheet of paper.    
            “Dear Chelsea,” it read. “I am sorry, but I am leaving.”
            I paused. Was my roommate deserting me? How could I pay the rent without her? Beginning to panic, I continued to read.
            “I can no longer live with your lack of concern for me. You spilled hot chocolate on me last week, a fact I rather resent—especially since you didn’t clean me up. The week before that, you invited your friends over and they all ignored me, staring at the television. Is the television that much more interesting than I? I can’t take it anymore, I’m sorry. I’m going to have to find another person to live with. Please don’t come looking for me. It will be fruitless, you will never find me. Thanks for the few good memories I have.
            Your couch.”
            I stared in disbelief at the last line of the letter. Until that point, I had thought it was really from my roommate. I had spilled hot chocolate on her, and the couch, last week when I tripped over one of her textbooks. She had insisted on cleaning herself and the couch up because I tripped over her book. The rest of the letter had made sense—at least to be coming from her.
            Marisa, my roommate chose that moment to walk into the room. “What’s the matter, Chels? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost!” she laughed at her own joke, but stopped abruptly when I didn’t join her. “Chels?”
            “Hey, Marisa. I just got this letter.” I held it out to her, still trying to process the fact that my couch had written me a letter.
            She scanned the page quickly and screamed when she read the last line. “Your couch wrote this!”
            “Apparently,” I murmured.  “How is that possible?”
            Marisa stared at the letter. “Let’s try to find this couch. Did you check the living room, just in case someone is just messing with you?”
            “No, I just finished reading it before you walked in.”
            “Well, let’s go!” Red-headed Marisa marched into the living room. Then she yelled. “It’s not here!”
            I peeked around her at the half empty room. “I half-expected as much. What on earth do I do now?”
            Marisa bit her lower lip as she tried to think. Suddenly, she grinned mischievously. “Buy a new couch. And make sure it isn’t alive. How hard can that be?”

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