(no subject)

[adiva_calandia]

Also in a writing theme: I'm cleaning my room, mainly my desk, and I came across some folded up paper.

Turns out it was the original copy of one my all-time favorites pieces of my own writing, written a few years ago at a summer camp. I don't think I've posted it before. I'm pretty sure there's a novel in this, but it hasn't come out yet.

---

Time to bite the bullet. Face the music. Take a stand.

John sighed and shoved the babble out of his brain. Still, he'd been standing outside this diner -- the diner Belle frequented -- for the last ten minutes, and it was time to do something. He sighed again and put a hand on the door-handle.

And stopped, again, indecisive. This was ridiculous. I don't have time for this. He pulled, and the electric bell binnnng-bonged. Belle was in a booth, her usual booth, with her back to him. She was bent over something, so all he could see was the cloud of light-brown hair that she never bothered to style. He bit his lip and approached.

"Hey."

She looked up from what she was working on -- the independent paper's crossword. "Hey."

John rubbed his neck -- a gesture Belle recognized as nervous -- and asked, "Mind if I join you?"

"Go ahead." She pulled her paper towards her to clear some table space, and almost snapped, "If you want food, you'll have to pay for it yourself. I'm almost broke."

"Yeah, uh, I, uh, know," he muttered as he sat, and Belle felt a twist of guilt, quickly squashed.

The waitress came by again, and John ordered tea. Belle raised an eyebrow. "Tea? In a diner?"

"'S just water and leave," he remarked. "Not like they can, uh, screw it up."

"Coffee's just water and grounds," she pointed out, taking a sip of her own, "and they can ruin that. Sometimes I think they make a science out of it."

He chuckled without much humour, and they fell quiet. Belle went back to work on the crossword.

"So, uh, how, uh, how are you?" he stammered.

"Fine." She didn't look up.

"Good. That's, uh, good. Um." When she showed no indication of returning the question, he added, "I'm doing okay myself."

"Good for you."

He sighed. His tea came. The first sip was bitter.

Just water and leaves. How could they screw that up?

Comments

[buongiornodaisy.livejournal.com]

That's a pretty visual piece of writing, and I think it could make a fairly interesting screenplay, if you were willing.