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Parking Ticket Debacle Update & Exercise #187

If you want to catch up on the Parking Ticket Fiasco, go HERE.

That being said, there's not much on which I can update you. I wrote an expertly-written and politely worded letter to the Davidson County Traffic Warrant Division and dropped it off with one of the oh-so-happy-to-be-at-work front desk ladies. In that letter, I simply requested that they remove the fines from both parking tickets and void the 2nd ticket altogether and stated that I had no issue with paying the first $10 ticket. I have yet to hear back from them, but hopefully in the next little while I'll get a letter apologizing profusely for their grievous error, dried tears smudging some of the words because they were so overwrought as they printed out their response.

But I'll settle for a terse, "Fine. You don't have to pay it."

We shall see, my friends. Oh, we shall see...

But enough of that. It's time for today's writing exercise!

I present to you...  

Exercise #187: Off the Cliff

Describe an elegant hotel room from the point of view of a character who is having a psychotic breakdown.

1,2, 3........ Wait... Didn't I just do this?

Ok. I guess it is different. This person is in the throes of a psychotic breakdown whereas the other person from the previous exercise was heading towards having one. C.M. Mayo, thou art a crafty wench, and for that I respect and admire you.

It has been a while since I did exercise #185, but I had originally planned on treating this exercise as an extension of that one. I think I'm going to stick with that. I liked where the story was going, and I wanted to see where my character ends up.

So here we go!

1,2,3, GO!
The bathroom is the safest place. In the living area of the hotel, there are windows and doors: ways to escape. I have to confine myself - stay in the same place - so that he can find me when he comes to save me.

I crawl into the bathtub and hug my knees. Water drips lightly from the faucet, the tink, tink, tink of each drop thundering sonorously through the tiled room.

He's not coming. It has been too long.

16 hours. That's all it has been. 18? 18. Right? I don't know anymore. Focus. How long is a flight to Italy?

Too long.

No, not too long. 10 hours? 9? He'll take a flight out of New York, but when did his flight leave? He could still be in the US for all I know.

He's not coming.

Yes, he is! Just stop it. Don't listen to it. It's not real. When did I call him? That was yesterday sometime after 4pm. It's now ... 11:28pm. Surely he'll get here soon.

Not coming.

YES. I trust him. He'll come.

Prove it. Prove your trust.

I can't prove it. There's no way to prove it. Grasping the handicapped handle bolted across the wall, I hoist myself up and step out of the bathtub. Cold water will help me focus. I turn on the cold water in the sink, and it flows effortlessly, limited only by the stainless steel basin. For a moment, I am lost in its movement, in the way it goes down the drain counterclockwise. I'm sure there's some sort of law of physics that explains why it's always counterclockwise ... something to do with the Earth's gravitational pull ...

There's a razor right next to your left hand.

Yes, there is. How did that get there? I don't remember packing a razor. I've stayed away from those since...

Grab it.

No. Just a little longer. He's coming.

If he's coming, then it won't matter if you hold it.

Just a little longer.

Just one little finger...

Suddenly, my hand is on the handle of the razor. It's lightweight and cold, but it fits in my hand perfectly, as if crafted to lie in my hand only.

There's a knock at the door.

I look at the razor in my hand, hold it against my wrist.

Another knock. This time it's louder.

Everything goes black.


Ooooh! Hey there, cliffhanger!

Let me know what you think about the exercise. Did it help you in some way in your writing? Did it show you something you hadn't noticed in your current work-in-progress? Fill me in!



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