Metonymy story

So, back again. I'm hoping people will read this, so going to update with some newer stuff.
This is a story from Writer's Craft. We had to make an item an extended metaphor.
I also re-edited this for my culminating activity. I'll be posting that next.

She sat at the computer table and spun her chair. Yes, she should be doing something productive, but she just didn’t…just didn’t feel like it.

After he had left, ever since he had left she didn’t much feel like doing anything.

She turned to look at the rug sitting across the room. It stared back at her, the faces, the shapes that had until recently graced his chest.

She shook her head, and spun back to face the computer.

She was done with him, and done with the rug. They both had to go.

“1 offer”

She pounced, clicking the button. $40, and a promise to abuse the rug. Good enough.

She accepted it, and spun around to look at that rug again. As a tear rolled down her cheek she cursed him silently.

The man put the rug into the back of his car and smiled at the woman. She took his money, and walked back into the house without a second glance.

That made him sad. She had been so beautiful. He could not tell why her fiance had dumped her, but he had hoped to at least talk to her.

He sighed and shook his head.

Oh well. Time to take the rug and use it as requested. He was always game to help someone get back at their ex. Ever since that day at the coffeeshop…

Nah, not important. Not an important thought, so he shut it up, and ignored it.

The car clicked as it accelerated, and he drove home.

She sat there and spun her chair again.

Even though she’d sold that rug…

He was still there. And she kinda wanted him back.

And she wanted that rug back as well. Maybe it had been a mistake to sell it. Because if she still had it, then he’d come back, at least once more.

But no. That was not a thought that made any sense. She didn’t want him.

Zeke turned the car into his driveway and put it into park.

He sat there for another minute, and then his head slowly sunk into his hand.

He didn’t want to go back in there. He really didn’t. Not today.

Still he found himself opening the door, getting out of the car and tucking the rug under his arm. His keys spun around his finger as he stepped to the door.

The click-clack of the tumblers turning, of him once more locking himself into the tiny prison of his life, shocked a fake smile onto his face.

“I’m back!”

He locked the door behind him and dropped the rug in one corner.

“Did you buy that rug you wanted?”

“I did. Well worth the drive”

His girlfriend leaned out of the door into the kitchen and frowned at him.

“Well, thats good, but I’ve been busy all day. I could have used your help before, and I can certainly use it now. Don’t just stand there, there’s a list of stuff to be done”

Zeke sighed and hung his coat on a hook.

Leslie sat at her desk, and typed out another few lines of her book. It was coming along ok at least. She didn’t like it, but her editor said that it was just what they needed.

So she was content to churn out another steamy romance, even though she herself no longer had any reason to want one, no fuel, nothing to inspire her.

And she could tell that her writing was suffering.

She needed a boyfriend for this to work.

She pushed herself away from the desk and let the momentum carry her chair into the center of the room. She began to spin again, twirling around and around as she thought.

That guy who had picked up the rug had been pretty nice looking…

But she cut the thought off before it could go anywhere. She didn’t need someone else who was going through an ugly and angry break-up.

Zeke sighed as he finished caulking the bathroom sink. He was so done here.

Because, honestly, Delilah wasn’t doing it for him anymore. There was no spark, nothing left to their romance.

He had to get out.

He placed the caulking gun down gently, then stood and walked out.

A breath of fresh air would do him good.

Leslie stood up. She was done here. She wasn’t getting anything done.

She needed fresh air.

She shrugged on a jacket, and walked outside.

Zeke was walking along, hands in his pockets when he bumped into her.

“Oh, sorry-”

“My fault, don’t worry about it-”

They both looked up and took a small step back in surprise.

Leslie spoke first.

“Its you”

“Yah”

“How are you liking the rug?”

“I’ve had it for about two hours”

“Right”

There was an awkward pause and then Zeke moved to walk by.

“Wait! Uhh” Leslie stood for a second, trying to figure out just what to do “Do you want to go out for coffee instead?”

Zeke looked at her, at his watch, then back at her.

“Sure”

Zeke unlocked the door, whistling. He had been seeing Leslie for about two weeks now, and life was not feeling as bad, not as much of a burden.

Wiping his feet on the rug, he smiled as he flipped his keys around, and hung his coat on the hook.

“Zeke!”

His smile died and his keys fell limp at Delilah’s cry.

This part of his life was still not all that good.

“Zeke!” She came around the corner and frowned at

him “We’re living together, and that means we do equal shares, yah?”

Zeke looked at Delilah and made a decision.

“Actually, I think that we need to talk”

Leslie sat there at the coffee shop. Zeke had left a few minutes ago, but she was still sitting there. She had invited him over a few times, but she had never seen his place.

She was going to go surprise him, and put her fears to rest.

She got up, paid the bill for her extra coffee, and walked out.

“You’ve been seeing someone else?” Delilah’s voice was half shriek “That’s how you’re going to tell me you’ve been cheating on me? In that stupid calm tone, that stupid infuriating look?”

“...Yah”

“Then get out! You seem to hate it here so much that you can get out for an hour or so! While I figure out what to do, get out!”

A knock on the door interrupted the shouting.

Delilah looked at Zeke angrily “Is that her now?”

She ran to the door, and pulled it open.

Leslie saw an angry woman standing on the rug that Zeke had bought.

“Hi, does Zeke live here?”

“Oh, are you his whore then?”

“What?”

“Oh, don’t play innocent, you slut. You’ve been sleeping with my boyfriend for how long now, and you’re going to say that you didn’t know he was cheating on me?”

“Yah, I am! He never told me!”

Zeke could hear the shouts getting louder and louder. He risked a look around the corner to see his two girlfriends standing on the rug, alternating between yelling abuse at each other and at abuse about him.

“It all started when he got this damn rug!”

“Thats the rug he bought from me!”

“Well, it ruined us! Its all your fault!”

Zeke shook his head and began to pack his bags. He had a feeling that he would not be welcome with either of them from now on.

Madame Mate; Voleuse!

Bonjour mes amies.

Mais quelle mauvaises nouvelles! La célébré professeure d’anglais à Danforth CTI a été arrêté!

J’espère que tous les étudiants vont lui visiter en la prison de sécurité maximale.

Mais quel crime avait-elle commis? Qu’est-ce qui se passe pour mettrait-elle en la prison?

C’est un crime d’un esprit supérieur, c’est toute bien planifie, c’est un plan quelques années dans la fabrication.

ELLE AVAIT VOULU TOUT LES FOURNITURES SCOLAIRES!

C’est fou, oui, mais c’est brillant! Ne personne va le prévoir.

J’ai entendu dire qu’il serait un succès, mais un étudiant avait fouiné autours de l’école, et qu’il l’avait vu.

Quelques moments plus tard, les policiers avaient arrivé en force avec beaucoup des forces spéciales.

Ma source m’a dit que Madame Mate avait essayé d’échapper, mais que les policiers lui avaient attrapé quand elle avait essayé de sauter le cordon de police.

Qu’est-ce qui se passe avec la professeure? Qu’est-ce qui se passe avec les étudiants? Qui peut répondre à mes questions?

Au revoir;

Le Kreen.

French Assignment.

Street corner poetry

Main and Danforth

By Kees Schuller

As I squint against the glare,

Of sun off the shining river of cars,

The flow of people moving slows

To nothing more

Than a

Trickle

And stops.

As the light changes. A brief respite between

Go and Go and Go, signs for speed, action.

By contrast to the rushing roar of life,

This afternoon the church is deserted, lifeless.

Empty of movement, life, its dark and closed.

Gods words fall only on empty pews.

Instead the blind, those who wish to see the truth,

They hurry by, across the street in a rush.

Eyes stare down at them from walls, the roof as

They open the door, trade paper and polymer

For new eyes, for clarity

Of vision.

A horn honks as a car is slow to leap ahead.

It breaks the moment, everyone looks,

At the car too slow to start

After the passing of a bus.

The delay, the jolt at the honk,

Lets several more buses, streetcars, slip by, towards, or away

From the station that is their purpose, destination,

Or from that center of action, the hub,

Out to find more food for the beast, hand to mouth.

As people run to catch the bus, or slowly march

Across the street. Linger on the street corner,

Unsure of where to go, as they sniff,

Unappetizing smell of shawarma wafting from next

To the drug mart, that nobody enters.

But though they linger, nobody looks.

Nobody stops, peruses.

Everybody rushes for the bus, the subway, the streetcar,

Or for vision, for food, or just rushing past this place.

To the bank maybe, or the condo, or the anywhere else.

They ignore the plaza with its pigeons and straight lined trees,

That are now curly confused and different.

Nobody stops at the house of God,

And even those who bought new sight don’t stop to marvel

At how they can see the lines, the day, world, anew.

Why should they?

It has become

Something that

Is normal

Repetitive

And lacking wonder.

Bill boards, buses, busy people.

Condos, drug store, and ennui.

This bustling intersection,

So colourful near the sky, but on the ground, gray

Is by far the least important

Part of their day.

Nobody stops here unless the sign is red,

Or they see their bus slowing at the superfluous stop

Nobody reads the billboards, so why are they there?

To add colour to a sky,

That has its own palette?

The house of the dead tells of dignity;

Does this place even have any?

At the end, it must. A hub of people,

Of transit, steel beasts,

One whole corner devoted to housing,

Under the loud signs, the bright people,

The gleaming buses and rushing sun

Its a place that is so important.

Home, hub, place of God, of new vision,

With people everywhere.

It has dignity, has meaning, after all.

But when they look at this place,

Do they see it?

Main and Gerrard

Its funny.

How little meaning a place can have,

When you pass through it twice daily.

Like this place with no particular meaning.

Behind me is the ice rink;

Behind both geographically, and in time.

White sign, white roof, beige walls.

White is faded, dim, and dirty.

Beige splotched with otherness.

Trees flank the entrance, but not too close.

And the flagpole without a flag

Makes some kind of statement

But of what, I do not know.

Melting slush can be seen around the corner

Near where children play in the field.

Do they live in the field of brick mirrors,

At the edge of that field of grass?

Row upon row of sameness. But homes, nonetheless.

They draw my eye, away,

From the grimy delicatessen,

Which has no appearance of being delicate,

Or of ever eating something.

Signs that say stop change my path to signs that say go,

And I cross, past the median, dividing line attended

By those impatient transit takers,

As my feet carry me towards the “Now Open” sign.

How long until that sign reads “Now Closed”?

Fish and chips became a doctor for

Fish and chipper animals.

The grinding of a streetcar pulls my head around with

A whistle, a screech of metal shrieking, as it turns.

Breaks, takes, my thoughts in a flash.

The impatients have their patience rewarded.

The noise gone, the thoughts resume, and notice

The flow of cars outweighs the flow of pedestrians

A thousand to one.

Not a place to stand, to walk?

But no, there, a boy walks into the ice rink.

Somebody walks here after all.

The smell of gasoline dances past my wrinkled nostrils as

I walk from dark, to light, to dark and cold.

Wind whips past the glass shelter as I hurry

On past the dispensary.

Then I’m past this place for the second time today.

And its funny.

It still has no particular meaning.

The Dark Spiral: 1

Jor stood at the window and looked out over the field below. One hand clasped the other at the small of his back. A breeze from outside ruffled his hair. It was getting longer now, long enough that a breeze could do that.

It felt good to have it long, after having had it shaved all those years with Callion. And Naci liked it, so there was that bonus as well.

Jor shook his head in mild bemusement. Naci. She had taken him back in. After those years apart, after knowing who and what he was.

He didn’t understand it, didn’t know why, didn’t really care. Because he was happy now. Happier than he had ever been, even happier than during their time on Mars.

He figures that that was because he was finally free. Free of Callion, free of his past, free of his own darkness.

He supposed that he had the Butcher to thank for that, but he would never thank the Butcher for anything.

Where he had once respected killing found it to be an art form, a worthwhile deed, but to be done with care and precision, the Butcher had just killed wantonly, not caring who she hurt.

If he was honest with himself, he hadn’t much cared either. He had enjoyed killing just as much as the Butcher.

But he was past that now. That was done. He was free.

Free to enjoy the air on his face, the breeze in his hair, the scene of beauty on the Martian field below.

The feeling of Naci’s warmth as she wrapped her arms around him from behind.

“Hello dear”

“Why so formal?”

“I don’t know. I’m just in a bit of an introspective mood”

“Jor…”

“I know, I know, I’m not supposed to think about the times before”

“Thats right. It makes you all melancholy and moody, and I do not like that. So don’t”

“Ok Naci, I won’t”

She turned him to face her and smacked him very lightly on the cheek.

“Thats for lying to me”

“I didn’t-”

“Yes you did. I know you Jor. You’re going to keep thinking about the past time and time again. For as long as you live you are going to keep thinking about it. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t tell you to stop every time I catch you”

She smiled as she looked at him again.

He smiled back, as always amazed at the warmth within her, how she could care so much for him despite what he had put her through. The best he could do was pay her back by being happy, by letting go of the past for the moment.

“Ok, I’ll stop for now. No promises about later”

“Better”

“So, what did you want me for?”

“Do I need to have a reason to stand beside the man I love and appreciate a fine spring morning?”

“I guess not”

“So then be quiet, and let me enjoy this breeze Jor”

He smiled again as he looked back out the window over the field. It was going to be a good day. He could tell.

The Dark Spiral: Explanation

So...yah.
This has a funny story behind it. I sat down at the computer every day for the past three days, opened the file folder where I store my writing, opened a blank word document, and then stared at the screen.
I'd toss out a few words, maybe half a paragraph or two. If I was lucky I'd get a page.
Then I'd alt-tab to another window and start watching an anime or something. Which, if you have ever been hooked on a show, it is hard to blame me for doing. Or I dunno, maybe its not.
Point is, I could not write anything. At all. I would get something out, then get tired. I needed an idea, I needed a character that I liked, and I needed something that I could really get behind.
But what?
I've spent the last little while putting most of my writing output into Hunting. And, I really got behind those characters.
But I kinda killed those characters off and ended the story... yah. Not my brightest idea.
Then, in the middle of a coughing fit this morning (I know, weirdest place to get inspiration huh?) I got inspiration.
So, this is The Dark Spiral. It's going to start out with one story, then jump to another for, as far as I can foresee, quite some time.
And then its going to join up with the first story again. I hope you like it!