Title: A Day in the Life of David.
Author: [email protected]
Rating: G, I guess.
Notes: Lately, I've been eager to write again (I mean, a good story. Not trash). I can't seem to get into the serious mode, since I've been leeched of the real story writing thrill (thank you, english studies :O! ) . I decided to scribble down a few pointless, goofy skits to get warmed up. The beginning scene decided to worm its way into my mind at 1 am in the morning, and from that point, I decided to have my fun. Yeah, I know its not an action-packed, detailed survival horror fic with drama, violence, and some insane twists, but I'll get to that in another fic....
So far, I've written 3 pieces so far...Tell me if you like them, and I'll be sure to post ASAP.
Damn't, I want to write something great like everyone else! Looks like I struck out again. *snaps pencil and tosses it into trash *
(Also, I apologize if the formatting is crap – I've always hated fanfiction.net's system)
---
It was the beginning of bad day.
"Ma'am," David rumbled in his rich voice. It was nine in the morning, and already David had wondered why he had chosen his profession – for the eigth time that hour. He stood in surroundings which were far too familiar to him, from the medicine cabinetes mounted on the floral pattern walls, to the hot and cold taps mounted on the sink. It was the porcoline bowl which he was equipped to do battle with, holding a rubber plunger in a gloved hand and a small box in the other. It was the cardboard packaging both he – and his client – eyed with embarassed interest. "Do you see the word 'flushable' anywhere on this box?"
He addressed the middle-aged woman standing, arms crossed self-consciously around her hot-pink clad bossom. Nearly 5'4", Sheila Armstrong had fair hair which danced around her plump face in wild curls. Her painted-on makeup, which was as vibrant as her Walmart clothing, failed to conceil her burning red flush. Instead of speaking, she simply stepped forward and with a quick hand, snatched the box of Kotex Tampons from Davids grasp.
"Can you fix it?" She asked, staring warely at David.
"I can fix anything." He answered simply.
"Then get to work, Hun. Would you like me to fix you up a little somethin' while you work?"
David stared at the backed-up toilet, one hand on his forehead. "I'll pass."
It took David nearly fifteen minutes to dislodge the troublesome clog. During that time David had unzipped the top portion of his working suit, shrugging it off to rest at his hips as the heat became nearly unbearable in the small apartment Wearing only a tight-fitting tanktop on his chest, the persperation beading on his face, neck, and arms cooled his skin. Black locks of damp hairs - too short to be pulled back - clung to his forehead which he continually brushed away with the back of his wrist. He was uncomfortable, frustrated, and cursing the toilet in every language he knew. Sheila, on the other hand, sat and watched his ordeal with dialated, longing eyes.
"It must take a lot of muscle to be a plumber." Sheila said, watching David jerk the plunger up and down. With an inward shudder, David could only contemplate what was on the womans mind. He was sure it wasn't a plunger he was jerking in her dreams.
"Nah," He said, and grunted as he pulled the plunger free with an audible pop, nearly toppling over from the action. Stabilizing himself, he threw aside the tool aside and removed his hands from his sweat-dampened gloves. He was more than eager to scrub his hands and rushed over to the sink to do so. Meanwhile, Sheila bent down to inspect his work.
"You're right, you can fix anything." She giggled, glancing at the resting plumber. "Can I test it?"
"Go ahead. Be sure to remove ..well, you know, before you flush it. We wouldn't want it clogging again." David said, speaking only for himself, he was sure. He didn't doubt that Sheila would mind a little more show for her money. Shuddering, he glanced at the clock mounted on the wall. "Would you happen to have a phone I could borrow? I need to call the workplace-"
"You don't have to explain yourself, Hun! Go ahead, there's one in the kitchen. Take all the time you need." Of course, David didn't care to spend anymore time in her company than required. Thanking her, he hurried to the other room.
"Racoon City Plumbing Co. Your clog is our business! What can we do for you?"
"Hey Rick, it's David."
"Oh, hey Dave. How's the job?"
"..."
Ricks laughter filtered through the earpiece of David's cellphone.
"Shove it. That woman creeps me out." He kept his voice low.
"Which one?" Rick asked, still chuckling.
"The Lovesick Lady."
"Oh, that one. Haha, poor Dave. Isn't her name Sheila, or something?"
"You know her?"
"We've met and had a few terrifying encounters."
"Oh. Well, she's nice enough to let me use her phone."
"She's nicer than that."
David raised an eyebrow, watching his client lift her bossom higher than her push-up bra would allow, posing in her bathroom mirror. Shuddering, he averted his eyes. "I don't want to know."
"What you should know, Dave, is to never accept a tip from her."
"Why?" The ponytailed man asked.
"You don't want to know," answered Rick.
Author: [email protected]
Rating: G, I guess.
Notes: Lately, I've been eager to write again (I mean, a good story. Not trash). I can't seem to get into the serious mode, since I've been leeched of the real story writing thrill (thank you, english studies :O! ) . I decided to scribble down a few pointless, goofy skits to get warmed up. The beginning scene decided to worm its way into my mind at 1 am in the morning, and from that point, I decided to have my fun. Yeah, I know its not an action-packed, detailed survival horror fic with drama, violence, and some insane twists, but I'll get to that in another fic....
So far, I've written 3 pieces so far...Tell me if you like them, and I'll be sure to post ASAP.
Damn't, I want to write something great like everyone else! Looks like I struck out again. *snaps pencil and tosses it into trash *
(Also, I apologize if the formatting is crap – I've always hated fanfiction.net's system)
---
It was the beginning of bad day.
"Ma'am," David rumbled in his rich voice. It was nine in the morning, and already David had wondered why he had chosen his profession – for the eigth time that hour. He stood in surroundings which were far too familiar to him, from the medicine cabinetes mounted on the floral pattern walls, to the hot and cold taps mounted on the sink. It was the porcoline bowl which he was equipped to do battle with, holding a rubber plunger in a gloved hand and a small box in the other. It was the cardboard packaging both he – and his client – eyed with embarassed interest. "Do you see the word 'flushable' anywhere on this box?"
He addressed the middle-aged woman standing, arms crossed self-consciously around her hot-pink clad bossom. Nearly 5'4", Sheila Armstrong had fair hair which danced around her plump face in wild curls. Her painted-on makeup, which was as vibrant as her Walmart clothing, failed to conceil her burning red flush. Instead of speaking, she simply stepped forward and with a quick hand, snatched the box of Kotex Tampons from Davids grasp.
"Can you fix it?" She asked, staring warely at David.
"I can fix anything." He answered simply.
"Then get to work, Hun. Would you like me to fix you up a little somethin' while you work?"
David stared at the backed-up toilet, one hand on his forehead. "I'll pass."
It took David nearly fifteen minutes to dislodge the troublesome clog. During that time David had unzipped the top portion of his working suit, shrugging it off to rest at his hips as the heat became nearly unbearable in the small apartment Wearing only a tight-fitting tanktop on his chest, the persperation beading on his face, neck, and arms cooled his skin. Black locks of damp hairs - too short to be pulled back - clung to his forehead which he continually brushed away with the back of his wrist. He was uncomfortable, frustrated, and cursing the toilet in every language he knew. Sheila, on the other hand, sat and watched his ordeal with dialated, longing eyes.
"It must take a lot of muscle to be a plumber." Sheila said, watching David jerk the plunger up and down. With an inward shudder, David could only contemplate what was on the womans mind. He was sure it wasn't a plunger he was jerking in her dreams.
"Nah," He said, and grunted as he pulled the plunger free with an audible pop, nearly toppling over from the action. Stabilizing himself, he threw aside the tool aside and removed his hands from his sweat-dampened gloves. He was more than eager to scrub his hands and rushed over to the sink to do so. Meanwhile, Sheila bent down to inspect his work.
"You're right, you can fix anything." She giggled, glancing at the resting plumber. "Can I test it?"
"Go ahead. Be sure to remove ..well, you know, before you flush it. We wouldn't want it clogging again." David said, speaking only for himself, he was sure. He didn't doubt that Sheila would mind a little more show for her money. Shuddering, he glanced at the clock mounted on the wall. "Would you happen to have a phone I could borrow? I need to call the workplace-"
"You don't have to explain yourself, Hun! Go ahead, there's one in the kitchen. Take all the time you need." Of course, David didn't care to spend anymore time in her company than required. Thanking her, he hurried to the other room.
"Racoon City Plumbing Co. Your clog is our business! What can we do for you?"
"Hey Rick, it's David."
"Oh, hey Dave. How's the job?"
"..."
Ricks laughter filtered through the earpiece of David's cellphone.
"Shove it. That woman creeps me out." He kept his voice low.
"Which one?" Rick asked, still chuckling.
"The Lovesick Lady."
"Oh, that one. Haha, poor Dave. Isn't her name Sheila, or something?"
"You know her?"
"We've met and had a few terrifying encounters."
"Oh. Well, she's nice enough to let me use her phone."
"She's nicer than that."
David raised an eyebrow, watching his client lift her bossom higher than her push-up bra would allow, posing in her bathroom mirror. Shuddering, he averted his eyes. "I don't want to know."
"What you should know, Dave, is to never accept a tip from her."
"Why?" The ponytailed man asked.
"You don't want to know," answered Rick.