1:37pm: An Excellent Time
by Morgan Giles (firedancer)
Disclaimer: They're not mine. If they were, they would hate me, just like dear old mom and dad. At any rate, don't sue me. I have no money; all you'd end up with is too many guitar picks and some CDs you wouldn't like.
"Today's the day. No more excuses. I'm going to tell Mark I love him." Roger paused in his thoughts. "At 1:37pm, exactly. Just like in Empire Records." He nodded resolutely to himself, then glanced over at his alarm clock. 12:32pm. Damn the man.
He laid back on his bed. An hour wasn't much time to figure up a way to confess your adoration. Roger grabbed a notebook from underneath his pillow and began to write. His hand flew over the paper, spilling out his innermost thoughts in black ink. Ten minutes later, he was done. Taking a breath, he reread the letter carefully. Perfect.
"Well, that wasn't so hard," Roger sighed, smiling. He grabbed an envelope from his bedside table and neatly wrote 'Mark' on the front side. The musician ripped the letter out of his notebook and folded it neatly and evenly. (Author's note: You should correctly assume that Roger doing something neatly is the same as Roger doing something normally, or even messily. It's doesn't make a difference on your word choice. Saying he did something 'neatly' makes him feel special. ::pets rock star's hair::) Roger neatly stuffed the sheets of paper into the envelope. He brought it up to his tongue to seal.
As the envelope approached eye level Roger realized that the blank part of one sheet was sticking out. He neatly ripped it off, and smiled, satisfied and proud of himself. That is, until he realized that it had not been a corner of paper but rather the adhesive flap of the envelope. Roger looked wildly around the room for a way to fix it. Box of new envelopes -too easy and obvious. It's not masculine to do the easy and obvious thing, and Roger is, above all things, masculine. Lump of chewing gum on the floor -nothing says lovin' like already chewed gum! Right. He shook his head and continued to look. A moldy orange -not that this would have any adhesive power, but it should be mentioned. Just in case you had ever, say, wanted to visit the loft or have Roger's children. Finally, his gaze rested on a roll of duct tape. Perfect! Duct tape is masculine, and yet it still manages to say, "I cared enough to fix this for you." Roger grabbed the thick grey tape. Ten minutes later, the flimsy white envelope was encased in five layers of duct tape, and the roll was conciderably thinner. The guitarist nodded, satisfied. For his final touch, he opened a bottle of White Out and neatly painted 'Mark' on the front side.
Roger looked at his work and smiled. He was done with that part of the process, with half an hour to spare. "Now for the hard part: Mimi," he thought. Roger tucked the thick envelope in the back pocket of his plaid pants. He walked out of his room and to the loft door. Out the door and down a flight of stairs lived Mimi, the whirlwind also known as his girlfriend. He only hoped that she wouldn't scream too loud.
Author's note: I blame this on watching too many videos on the Underground Railroad in history class. The first one- fine. After that, I was using my yellow legal pad for not-so-educational purposes, like this. There are at least two more slightly-humorous chapters after this. I welcome ideas, inspirations, and criticisms.
by Morgan Giles (firedancer)
Disclaimer: They're not mine. If they were, they would hate me, just like dear old mom and dad. At any rate, don't sue me. I have no money; all you'd end up with is too many guitar picks and some CDs you wouldn't like.
"Today's the day. No more excuses. I'm going to tell Mark I love him." Roger paused in his thoughts. "At 1:37pm, exactly. Just like in Empire Records." He nodded resolutely to himself, then glanced over at his alarm clock. 12:32pm. Damn the man.
He laid back on his bed. An hour wasn't much time to figure up a way to confess your adoration. Roger grabbed a notebook from underneath his pillow and began to write. His hand flew over the paper, spilling out his innermost thoughts in black ink. Ten minutes later, he was done. Taking a breath, he reread the letter carefully. Perfect.
"Well, that wasn't so hard," Roger sighed, smiling. He grabbed an envelope from his bedside table and neatly wrote 'Mark' on the front side. The musician ripped the letter out of his notebook and folded it neatly and evenly. (Author's note: You should correctly assume that Roger doing something neatly is the same as Roger doing something normally, or even messily. It's doesn't make a difference on your word choice. Saying he did something 'neatly' makes him feel special. ::pets rock star's hair::) Roger neatly stuffed the sheets of paper into the envelope. He brought it up to his tongue to seal.
As the envelope approached eye level Roger realized that the blank part of one sheet was sticking out. He neatly ripped it off, and smiled, satisfied and proud of himself. That is, until he realized that it had not been a corner of paper but rather the adhesive flap of the envelope. Roger looked wildly around the room for a way to fix it. Box of new envelopes -too easy and obvious. It's not masculine to do the easy and obvious thing, and Roger is, above all things, masculine. Lump of chewing gum on the floor -nothing says lovin' like already chewed gum! Right. He shook his head and continued to look. A moldy orange -not that this would have any adhesive power, but it should be mentioned. Just in case you had ever, say, wanted to visit the loft or have Roger's children. Finally, his gaze rested on a roll of duct tape. Perfect! Duct tape is masculine, and yet it still manages to say, "I cared enough to fix this for you." Roger grabbed the thick grey tape. Ten minutes later, the flimsy white envelope was encased in five layers of duct tape, and the roll was conciderably thinner. The guitarist nodded, satisfied. For his final touch, he opened a bottle of White Out and neatly painted 'Mark' on the front side.
Roger looked at his work and smiled. He was done with that part of the process, with half an hour to spare. "Now for the hard part: Mimi," he thought. Roger tucked the thick envelope in the back pocket of his plaid pants. He walked out of his room and to the loft door. Out the door and down a flight of stairs lived Mimi, the whirlwind also known as his girlfriend. He only hoped that she wouldn't scream too loud.
Author's note: I blame this on watching too many videos on the Underground Railroad in history class. The first one- fine. After that, I was using my yellow legal pad for not-so-educational purposes, like this. There are at least two more slightly-humorous chapters after this. I welcome ideas, inspirations, and criticisms.