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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
February 24, 2012
Convenience, a moment in the life of Ducky Short, is a curious vignette by ~cemetarypolka.
Featured by ikazon
Literature Text
Ducky Short usually avoided using 'convenience' stores. The floors were always grimy, the lighting was too dim for his tired veiny eyes, and the cashiers never spoke more than five words of English. But the thing that irked him most was how every one of them put the Ho-Hos on the very bottom shelf, and every time he would have to find a way to maneuver his long body and old rusty joints into a crouch just so he could reach them.
He had been struck with a Ho-Ho craving as he was walking by, and since the only store nearby was a tiny convience store, he had no choice but to go in and claim his cakes. There was no controlling this sort of thing. 'Happy Ho Ho emergencies', his mother used to call them, God rest her soul.
But Ducky hadn't expected a different kind of emergency.
The bell on the door barely had time to jingle before it was drowned out by a frantic holler.
"Freeze, everybody! I've got a gun, so no messing around!"
Ducky's view of the front of the store was blocked by the Ho-Ho shelf he was crouching behind, and he suddenly found himself glad to be down low, despite his aching knees. He may have already lived six decades, but he was sure he had at least one or two left to go. He wasn't going to get shot now-- and here, of all places.
"Open the register...yeah, into here. You don't have to count it out, just dump it!"
Ducky imagined the robber wearing a ski mask like in the movies, nervously pointing his gun at the young female cashier, who was most likely a relative of the store owner. He'd probably never done this before.
"Hey, what're you doing?" The robber demanded.
Ducky heard the cashier mumble something.
"Stoppit! Don't move! I said don't move!"
A gunshot rang through the store, followed by a heavy thump. A few seconds of quiet swearing and frantic shuffling later, Ducky heard the bell jingle again as the robber let himself out.
Ducky didn't move for a while.
As soon as he was sure the robber wasn't coming back for a second round, he pocketed a few Ho Hos and slowly stretched his tired body into a standing position. He warily approached the empty counter and peeked over, spotting the cashier girl sprawled on the dirty tile, bloody but still breathing. Her eyes were starting to fade, but she clutched a cell phone in her hand with white knuckles.
"Excuse me Miss..." Ducky gestured at the phone. "Did you, eh, call the police?"
Her head wobbled to the side slightly. He took that as a no.
Going around the counter, he gently pried the phone from her fingers. In his large hands, the thing looked like a child's toy.
"Well, I'm going to call them, but you can talk, eh?" He entered the three digit number and quickly handed the phone back. The last thing he wanted to deal with on this excruciatingly long day was policemen and the questions they would snipe him with.
"They'll be here soon." He assured her. "They're usually very prompt."
She stared at him groggily.
"I would stay, but I need to be at work soon." He claimed, which wasn't that much of a lie.
Ducky pocketed a pack of cinnamon gum from the counter on his way out. He only had a 20 dollar bill in his wallet, and the poor girl had no change...he would just be a bother.
He had been struck with a Ho-Ho craving as he was walking by, and since the only store nearby was a tiny convience store, he had no choice but to go in and claim his cakes. There was no controlling this sort of thing. 'Happy Ho Ho emergencies', his mother used to call them, God rest her soul.
But Ducky hadn't expected a different kind of emergency.
The bell on the door barely had time to jingle before it was drowned out by a frantic holler.
"Freeze, everybody! I've got a gun, so no messing around!"
Ducky's view of the front of the store was blocked by the Ho-Ho shelf he was crouching behind, and he suddenly found himself glad to be down low, despite his aching knees. He may have already lived six decades, but he was sure he had at least one or two left to go. He wasn't going to get shot now-- and here, of all places.
"Open the register...yeah, into here. You don't have to count it out, just dump it!"
Ducky imagined the robber wearing a ski mask like in the movies, nervously pointing his gun at the young female cashier, who was most likely a relative of the store owner. He'd probably never done this before.
"Hey, what're you doing?" The robber demanded.
Ducky heard the cashier mumble something.
"Stoppit! Don't move! I said don't move!"
A gunshot rang through the store, followed by a heavy thump. A few seconds of quiet swearing and frantic shuffling later, Ducky heard the bell jingle again as the robber let himself out.
Ducky didn't move for a while.
As soon as he was sure the robber wasn't coming back for a second round, he pocketed a few Ho Hos and slowly stretched his tired body into a standing position. He warily approached the empty counter and peeked over, spotting the cashier girl sprawled on the dirty tile, bloody but still breathing. Her eyes were starting to fade, but she clutched a cell phone in her hand with white knuckles.
"Excuse me Miss..." Ducky gestured at the phone. "Did you, eh, call the police?"
Her head wobbled to the side slightly. He took that as a no.
Going around the counter, he gently pried the phone from her fingers. In his large hands, the thing looked like a child's toy.
"Well, I'm going to call them, but you can talk, eh?" He entered the three digit number and quickly handed the phone back. The last thing he wanted to deal with on this excruciatingly long day was policemen and the questions they would snipe him with.
"They'll be here soon." He assured her. "They're usually very prompt."
She stared at him groggily.
"I would stay, but I need to be at work soon." He claimed, which wasn't that much of a lie.
Ducky pocketed a pack of cinnamon gum from the counter on his way out. He only had a 20 dollar bill in his wallet, and the poor girl had no change...he would just be a bother.
Literature
Runner's Death
December twenty-fifth.
Christmas time.
In other words, the time of the year my parents put their everything's-alright smiles on and Anabelle fills the toilet with puke so that she can pretend to be filling her stomach with food when all our relatives come over--the time of the year we all pretend to be normal.
It's also the anniversary of Runner's death. But, like they always do, my family has covered the events of December twenty-fifth, one year ago, the same way they did the cracks in our living room wall--in a layer of brig
Literature
OCD
I count the cracks in between the blocks of cement beneath me as I walk. Two. Two. Four. Four. Always four sets of that. Always two, two, four, four. Four times each. Look up. Blink 8 times. Two sets of four. Then back down. Two, two, four, four.
Safe. Those numbers are safe. Even, not odd. Odd is bad. 'Odd' is what people call you when you're different. Bad. Wrong.
Two, two, four, four. I try to focus on something else, not on how many steps I'm taking, because there are people behind me. Person. One set of footsteps. Bad. Half of two. I think of it as two feet, and that's better. I feel better.
I round a corner, looking for my goal. Alwa
Literature
Snowstorm
The children misheard you.
They broke open the jar
looking for petals
and found only flours.
The dust is everywhere,
settling everywhere,
on the refrigerator and the stove,
on the startled mother cat
yowling her pawprints
through the snowy floor,
on her sharp-eared kittens
prancing in the clouds.
The three-year old is screaming.
He has cut his finger on the glass,
there are red streaks in the snow,
and his white-faced brother
stares up at you with a look
commonly reserved for
the confused and the betrayed.
Suggested Collections
So um...wow, I actually finished a piece of writing.
This is probably just a one shot, but I kinda like working with Ducky.
If you wanted to give some critique I would really appreciate it, but I'm just glad you bothered to read it. <3
I really need a title. >>
5 questions:
1. Do you have any ideas for a title?
2. Is there any language in this piece that seems clunky?
3. Are any parts confusing?
4. Does any of it seem rushed/should be elaborated on?
5. Is it interesting?
This is probably just a one shot, but I kinda like working with Ducky.
If you wanted to give some critique I would really appreciate it, but I'm just glad you bothered to read it. <3
I really need a title. >>
5 questions:
1. Do you have any ideas for a title?
2. Is there any language in this piece that seems clunky?
3. Are any parts confusing?
4. Does any of it seem rushed/should be elaborated on?
5. Is it interesting?
© 2011 - 2024 cemetarypolka
Comments62
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WARNING! Carry on reading! Or you will die, even if you only looked at the word warning!
Once there was a little girl called Clarissa, she was ten-years-old and she lived in a mental hospital, because she killed her mom and her dad. She got so bad she went to kill all the staff in the hospital so the More-government decided that best idea was to get rid of her so they set up a special room to kill her, as humane as possible but it went wrong the machine they were using went wrong. And she sat there in agony for hours until she died.
Now every week on the day of her death she returns to the person that reads this letter, on a monday night at 12:00a.m. She creeps into your room and kills you slowly, by cutting you and watching you bleed to death.
Now send this to ten other pictures on this one site, and she will haunt someone else who doesn't.
Once there was a little girl called Clarissa, she was ten-years-old and she lived in a mental hospital, because she killed her mom and her dad. She got so bad she went to kill all the staff in the hospital so the More-government decided that best idea was to get rid of her so they set up a special room to kill her, as humane as possible but it went wrong the machine they were using went wrong. And she sat there in agony for hours until she died.
Now every week on the day of her death she returns to the person that reads this letter, on a monday night at 12:00a.m. She creeps into your room and kills you slowly, by cutting you and watching you bleed to death.
Now send this to ten other pictures on this one site, and she will haunt someone else who doesn't.