Creative Fiction: Janitor

Janitor

The halogen light bulb flickers; the populace spoke and school funds plummeted again last October during the sharp bite of autumn. He’s surprised he still has a job; it doesn’t seem like there’s much of a regard for cleanliness here – obscene images are plastered across the mirrors in the bathroom and graffiti art is sprayed across the brick exterior of the building. Nature is beginning to reclaim the earth here (an additional and unfortunate consequence of budget cuts), but again, there’s no regard for conformity or neatness here.

The shadows of night begin to gather outside, even though the hour hand of the clock points to the two–oh, of course. Budget cuts.

Slowly, he begins to move toward the janitor’s closet, pulling a set of rusted keys from his worn trousers. Etched in the blurry and crooked lines of old age, he is dressed in a gray that matches the overcast sky. The fat under his chin is a lateral pendulum while the calluses on his hands form a thick layer of skin on his palms. The curvature of his back reveals years of apathy and discontent, and crow’s feet wrinkles gather around his eyes, but the number on his driver’s license would surprise you. There is no bounce in his step or life in his eyes but he still comes. Like clockwork. Tick, tock, tick, tock. The hour hand always points at the two––always two, always on time.

Well that’s disgusting, but admittedly, I did succeed in my purpose–evoking this sense of boredom and lethargy and…slowness? I don’t know.

I’ve been trying this new exercise – I choose a random word and just sit and write anything sane. Partially sane, I mean. Lately I’ve been trying to improve my abilities to write about the mundane aspects of daily life, and I guess this is just an extension of that effort so…yeah.

Anyway, I’m sleepy.

Cheers,
Shouryaman

Creative Fiction: Raindrops

Dear Blog Buddies:

This is a tiny portion from a creative writing piece I’ve been working on that can also (kind of) function as a standalone piece, so here it is: Raindrops. Keep in mind, this is still a rough draft, so sorry if it’s not above par yet! Hope you enjoy and feel free to leave any comments!

P.S. in case you were wondering, the the grammatical mistakes and lowercase letters are there on purpose 😛

i think about raindrops sometimes.

i think about how they fall to an uncertain end, tripping and stumbling over each other, breaking their bones. how they cling to the warmth of fingertips pressed against windows, shivering and quivering and holding onto heaven with pathetic desperation, teeth chattering hands trembling legs bruising heart faltering tears falling. how they lose their grip and shatter on the pavement into a million little pieces. how they glide down the glass, falling apart like hearts until they are nothing, until they are dead. how no one celebrates their lives, remembers their deaths. how they hide the tears of faceless hopeless restless breathless lifeless women who choke on smoke and live in the haze, washing away their pain and fear and mascara like the pull of the ocean at high tide, sullying themselves during the feat. how they knock on doors with the broken hope that they will open like the wrinkled sky during a storm. how the clouds drop them like coins in the dark, just to watch them fall, hear them break.

I think about how I am rain.

Best Regards,
Shouryaman