Iron

I’ve always enjoyed writing stories and working on narratives, but I rarely actually write something intended for ‘words only’ so to speak, it’s always in service of a game or a comic or something. But just opening up an empty text file and writing for ten minutes can be a great way to exercise coming up with stories. To just start writing and see where it leads. I’ve been doing a bit more of it nowadays and maybe I want to compile some of them into an ebook of short stories. But for now, here is a snippet I just came across that I wrote a long time ago:

I look up from my laptop screen at the sound of a faint crackle. The iron resting on the end of the ironing board next to me hisses gently. It reminds me of a chubby contented cat, even though I’ve never owned one, and admittedly spent a far too small percentage of my life not being in the company of one.

The iron prattles some more and I wonder if I should unplug it. I finished ironing my laundry almost 15 minutes ago, it’s all been stowed away already, but somewhere on the way to put away the ironing board I veered slightly to the right and ended up by my laptop, which was spitting out semi-melancholical songs from people I feel like I know better than I actually do.

Maybe it was to check if that girl I like and have been talking to for two weeks now but have zero idea of how she feels and where things are going other than it’s fun right now and I like talking to her but I don’t want to push my luck is online and oh yeah she is but I won’t talk to her now maybe tomorrow.

Another fizz. I consider getting up to pull the plug out but I kind of enjoy the warm air it is pumping into the room.

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