The typewriter stares me in the face. A smirk rips at my lips ever so subtly. Every key is slightly out of place. No words are spoken between us. No thinking. No typing. No clicking. No clacking. Only silence as the fading memories burn away…page…by page…by page. Inhale. Inhale my carcinogenic addiction that leaves me always wanting more, craving to let the pen bleed: a classic tradition. Tasting last night’s meal with my best friend. His name was Jack, and I killed him. Exhale. Exhale a white wisp of smoke to cloud my vision, my mind. Hide behind it, so I can forget yesterday. Reeking of last night’s sex with that cheap hooker. I long for the touch of the one I can't call again - the one that got away. The typewriter sits, still staring me in the face. The words wish to be written.
typewriter?
I liked this short piece.
I don't know if hooker was the right word, as one usually doesn't call them again. ( or do they?) If it is meant to be someone cheap that was not paid for sex, I think tramp or slut or something may be better. Except the more i think about it, hooker works too. Not a major point anyway. Good short prose.
How is a typewriter key "out
I don't really like this all that much. It has a lot of different words, but none of them are really interesting. None of the thoughts within grab me as "true." Essentially, I don't believe the narrator.
I think the main problem here is a lack of detail. There are a bunch of statements of fact, but little in the way of exploration or illumination.
just so you all know...
"Rips at my lips ever so
"Reeking of last night’s sex with that cheap hooker." This statement is so matter-of-fact it actually seems kind of laughable. You might refer to it more obliquely.
"The words wish to be written" sounds more like a penultimate statement than an actual conclusion. Maybe that's what you're going for, but that's how it comes off to me.
This is better than the last version, but it could still use some work.