My Old Toyota Corolla
Chapter Two:
My name is Mort Rainey. A disturbed writer extraordinaire who sits on his ass all day thinking of crap to put in a book that people go out and waste their money on. It's a great outlook on things if you ask me, what else is better to do as to wasting time? Of course sleeping and eating corn were among my routines, both I turned out to be exceptionally great in doing. All though most of my time is spent on the couch, at this moment I thought it was a perfect time to answer the goddamn door that has been knocked on for who knows how long.
There in my thoughts I laid, swearing to myself that my life couldn't get any worse. Then it was time to get the door. I craned my neck to try and catch a glimpse of who was disturbing my ridiculous thoughts, and saw a girl standing there rather impatiently. My hand swung across my body, tapping the table in slight patterns, in some hopes to reach my glasses. Success! Flicking them open, I tried placing them on, and after a few times I managed to do just that thing. It's the tiredness remember? I threw my legs over to the side of my old couch, and stood up woozily. Then made my way to that god-forsaken door, not quickly might I add.
"May I help you?" I asked through the screen. I was telling myself that if this was a door-to-door salesperson hoping to sell me some useless item of some sort, I was ready to slam the front door in her face. But that wasn't what this stranger had come to my home to do.
"Yes, I was on my way to Tashmore Lake," My eyebrows raised automatically. Really now? I hope that you have a nice time, have you come to sell me a pine cone? Good for me she couldn't hear my sarcasm.
"And my old Toyota broke down down a ways, and I was possibly wondering if I could use a phone to call a tow truck to pick me and my car up." Defiantly not the answer I was thinking of to why someone would come up here. My hand raised to my head and rubbed my temple, while the other busily unlatched the lock to the door. It slowly creaked open. She stood there hesitantly as if debating to herself whether or not to take the invitation. Second thoughts obviously weren't on safety, who knows? I might just be a crazy killer who eats corn all day. Smirking to myself, I moved out of the way so that she could enter my humble abode.
She stared around the place, I was sure she wasn't forgetting the mess that was everywhere into her picture. What can I say, I haven't had a housekeeper in quite some time. Papers were thrown crumpled on the wood floors, some mashed to the side wall of the stairs, it was sad how many trees had to die for my sake of horrible writing, topping it all off were the crushed soda cans and Dorito chip bags. In summary it looked like a set off of an Ed Wood movie.
"Phones over here." I said more clearly in an awake state. Motioning her to where the phone sat on the covered table next to the couch. I walked over to the cord that addressed the floor and picked it up, quickly pulling on it to find the end. After jabbing it into the phone line, I turned around into the kitchen.
"You want anything to drink?" I yelled back, as I used my robe worn arm to push aside the used corn shucks, making space available for the future. Seconds passed, and I was sure that another presidential debate has entered her head.
"Sure, That'd be great." Came her soft reply. I tsk'd her in a shameful manner from behind the wall. My foot lifted itself from the ground and slipped underneath the refrigerator door, with an ounce of strength I had done a good deed in getting my refrigerator door open. Claps for Mort!
The contents inside weren't in a great selection. "Hmm, Mort, what should you and your guest have? Seeing as how there isn't a great variety I think we'll have to settle on Mountain Dews." I reached inside and pulled the cold beverages out, then pushed lightly against the fridges door that shut afterwards.
My body stood in the doorway looking at the girl whose name I had not heard. Her figure sat slumped over, while her face hovered close to the phone in her hand. I chuckled in my throat, did she die somehow when I wasn't looking?
"Need help?" I slowly glided over to the side of the couch and held out my sleeve covered hand. Her blonde head nodded as she shifted around, dropping the phone in her lap to grasp the cold can.
"Thank you Mister..." She faltered. I guess she didn't know who I was as well.
"Rainey, Mort Rainey. And you would be?" The beverage lifted to her mouth and seemed to rest on her lower lip before raising it upward for a refreshing slide of taste down her throat. As a response to the drink, her tongue slipped out and in one quick swipe, brushed over her lips.
"Parker Abbensail." The name triggered in my thoughts, possibly a use for a character in an upcoming story, of course the last name would change. But my eyes now were fixated on her appearance. She looked to be someone of a casual state. Her dirty blonde hair was in slight tangles, with every limb in her body striking the pose of a slouch on my rumpled couch. I stirred my own can, soon starting to watch the liquid inside dancing in fizzes, sometimes managing to slosh over the top if I wrangled it to hard.
During the next quiet minutes I spent my time on emptying my soda as quickly as possible. Often being alone in a house for quite some time, you need some fun, so there I was racing myself for no apparent reason. My arm flew up in an instant to wipe away the loose drips of soda on my chin.
"About that Towtruck?" I asked, now fiddling with the metal tab that broke off in a few twists back and forth.
"Oh, right." Sheepishly she looked at the phone sitting on her. "I have no clue to what number I should call for my situation...you know me being a newcomer and all?"
I nodded absentmindedly, while slowly getting up from my chair, heading to the stairs that lead to my open office. "Let me go see if I have a phone book." Her eyes narrowed, following me with every step I took up those messy steps. I was beginning to wonder if she actually thought I was going to come back down there with a weapon of some kind. Heck let's throw a shovel into Morts hands, have him run back down with a ridiculous hat thrown on his head and scare the bejezzus out of the now known Parker. I chuckled at the ridiculous thought, also rummaging through my desk files and drawers. Nothing had reached my mind about a phone book. Did the post office even mail those to my house any more? I scratched my bed headed hair. "Shit."
"Parker?" I yelled back down to her, while leaning over my desk which was filled with papers and a laptop computer continuously flashing a small line that showed I was ready to type something.
"Hmm?"
"Um, I don't know how to say this but I've seemed to misplace my phone book. Wither that or those bastard mailmans refuse to put one in my mailbox."
"Oh." I could hear her disappointment.
"How about I give you a ride?"
I could swear she went rigid in her seat. Now where's that damn shovel?
Thank you all so much! I love you all! This is my first S.W. fic, and all of the helpful comments that are made strive me to get the next chapter out quicker than before! Thank you Rebecca for telling me about his act being cleaned up. ^^; I overlooked that when my fingers started pounding senseless on the keyboard. I hope it doesn't ruin the story. :D Read and Review! *hands out Johnny Depp clones *
Chapter Two:
My name is Mort Rainey. A disturbed writer extraordinaire who sits on his ass all day thinking of crap to put in a book that people go out and waste their money on. It's a great outlook on things if you ask me, what else is better to do as to wasting time? Of course sleeping and eating corn were among my routines, both I turned out to be exceptionally great in doing. All though most of my time is spent on the couch, at this moment I thought it was a perfect time to answer the goddamn door that has been knocked on for who knows how long.
There in my thoughts I laid, swearing to myself that my life couldn't get any worse. Then it was time to get the door. I craned my neck to try and catch a glimpse of who was disturbing my ridiculous thoughts, and saw a girl standing there rather impatiently. My hand swung across my body, tapping the table in slight patterns, in some hopes to reach my glasses. Success! Flicking them open, I tried placing them on, and after a few times I managed to do just that thing. It's the tiredness remember? I threw my legs over to the side of my old couch, and stood up woozily. Then made my way to that god-forsaken door, not quickly might I add.
"May I help you?" I asked through the screen. I was telling myself that if this was a door-to-door salesperson hoping to sell me some useless item of some sort, I was ready to slam the front door in her face. But that wasn't what this stranger had come to my home to do.
"Yes, I was on my way to Tashmore Lake," My eyebrows raised automatically. Really now? I hope that you have a nice time, have you come to sell me a pine cone? Good for me she couldn't hear my sarcasm.
"And my old Toyota broke down down a ways, and I was possibly wondering if I could use a phone to call a tow truck to pick me and my car up." Defiantly not the answer I was thinking of to why someone would come up here. My hand raised to my head and rubbed my temple, while the other busily unlatched the lock to the door. It slowly creaked open. She stood there hesitantly as if debating to herself whether or not to take the invitation. Second thoughts obviously weren't on safety, who knows? I might just be a crazy killer who eats corn all day. Smirking to myself, I moved out of the way so that she could enter my humble abode.
She stared around the place, I was sure she wasn't forgetting the mess that was everywhere into her picture. What can I say, I haven't had a housekeeper in quite some time. Papers were thrown crumpled on the wood floors, some mashed to the side wall of the stairs, it was sad how many trees had to die for my sake of horrible writing, topping it all off were the crushed soda cans and Dorito chip bags. In summary it looked like a set off of an Ed Wood movie.
"Phones over here." I said more clearly in an awake state. Motioning her to where the phone sat on the covered table next to the couch. I walked over to the cord that addressed the floor and picked it up, quickly pulling on it to find the end. After jabbing it into the phone line, I turned around into the kitchen.
"You want anything to drink?" I yelled back, as I used my robe worn arm to push aside the used corn shucks, making space available for the future. Seconds passed, and I was sure that another presidential debate has entered her head.
"Sure, That'd be great." Came her soft reply. I tsk'd her in a shameful manner from behind the wall. My foot lifted itself from the ground and slipped underneath the refrigerator door, with an ounce of strength I had done a good deed in getting my refrigerator door open. Claps for Mort!
The contents inside weren't in a great selection. "Hmm, Mort, what should you and your guest have? Seeing as how there isn't a great variety I think we'll have to settle on Mountain Dews." I reached inside and pulled the cold beverages out, then pushed lightly against the fridges door that shut afterwards.
My body stood in the doorway looking at the girl whose name I had not heard. Her figure sat slumped over, while her face hovered close to the phone in her hand. I chuckled in my throat, did she die somehow when I wasn't looking?
"Need help?" I slowly glided over to the side of the couch and held out my sleeve covered hand. Her blonde head nodded as she shifted around, dropping the phone in her lap to grasp the cold can.
"Thank you Mister..." She faltered. I guess she didn't know who I was as well.
"Rainey, Mort Rainey. And you would be?" The beverage lifted to her mouth and seemed to rest on her lower lip before raising it upward for a refreshing slide of taste down her throat. As a response to the drink, her tongue slipped out and in one quick swipe, brushed over her lips.
"Parker Abbensail." The name triggered in my thoughts, possibly a use for a character in an upcoming story, of course the last name would change. But my eyes now were fixated on her appearance. She looked to be someone of a casual state. Her dirty blonde hair was in slight tangles, with every limb in her body striking the pose of a slouch on my rumpled couch. I stirred my own can, soon starting to watch the liquid inside dancing in fizzes, sometimes managing to slosh over the top if I wrangled it to hard.
During the next quiet minutes I spent my time on emptying my soda as quickly as possible. Often being alone in a house for quite some time, you need some fun, so there I was racing myself for no apparent reason. My arm flew up in an instant to wipe away the loose drips of soda on my chin.
"About that Towtruck?" I asked, now fiddling with the metal tab that broke off in a few twists back and forth.
"Oh, right." Sheepishly she looked at the phone sitting on her. "I have no clue to what number I should call for my situation...you know me being a newcomer and all?"
I nodded absentmindedly, while slowly getting up from my chair, heading to the stairs that lead to my open office. "Let me go see if I have a phone book." Her eyes narrowed, following me with every step I took up those messy steps. I was beginning to wonder if she actually thought I was going to come back down there with a weapon of some kind. Heck let's throw a shovel into Morts hands, have him run back down with a ridiculous hat thrown on his head and scare the bejezzus out of the now known Parker. I chuckled at the ridiculous thought, also rummaging through my desk files and drawers. Nothing had reached my mind about a phone book. Did the post office even mail those to my house any more? I scratched my bed headed hair. "Shit."
"Parker?" I yelled back down to her, while leaning over my desk which was filled with papers and a laptop computer continuously flashing a small line that showed I was ready to type something.
"Hmm?"
"Um, I don't know how to say this but I've seemed to misplace my phone book. Wither that or those bastard mailmans refuse to put one in my mailbox."
"Oh." I could hear her disappointment.
"How about I give you a ride?"
I could swear she went rigid in her seat. Now where's that damn shovel?
Thank you all so much! I love you all! This is my first S.W. fic, and all of the helpful comments that are made strive me to get the next chapter out quicker than before! Thank you Rebecca for telling me about his act being cleaned up. ^^; I overlooked that when my fingers started pounding senseless on the keyboard. I hope it doesn't ruin the story. :D Read and Review! *hands out Johnny Depp clones *