Cold Alphabet Soup

It was a gloomy and cold day. Snow-covered the ground creating a winter wonderland. Such a beautiful but deadly sight. The man gazed out of the windshield, making his way slowly down the road. Due to poor road conditions, his employer closed up shop early to allow everyone to safely make it home. It was such a kind gesture and an excellent start to the weekend.

Driving past the empty and frozen park, he notices that the pond resembles that of a mirror. It hides an icy casket beneath for those who dare to cross its glimmering surface. The cold steel of the playground equipment reminds him of lost summer days and fills him with sadness at the loss of his carefree childhood.

Such a tragic upbringing he had being raised by his uncle. The trauma of losing his parents in that fiery crash one cold evening as their car skidded across a patch of black ice. It was lucky he was not with them on that eve but at his best friend’s house for the night.

This loss opened up an unending flood of creativity and anguish within his soul. Words that weren’t there before seemed to flow like a fountain. Dreams and nightmares began to plague him consistently as he slept. Some were pleasant others became vivid and uncomfortable. His world had changed, but until now, he had not managed to harness that creativity. He had a reason to centralize that energy now.

Focusing again on the snowy asphalt ahead, Matt feels the joy of inspiration begin to fill his being. The small novel he has been steadily constructing moves to the forefront of his thoughts. He has an idea! Inspiration! His hands tingle and itch to touch his keyboard or even just to have a pen and paper.

“Yes!” He exclaims, pushing his car to move faster. “I have to get to my computer. I cannot lose this spark.”

He revs the engine and soon arrives home eager to begin working. “This newfound energy has to be harnessed as soon as it comes into fruition,” He thought.

*****

“Tap, tap, tap,” the sound of the small keyboard fills the air as the young man furiously types. He pauses momentarily to wipe the sweat from his brow as the fire burns in the hearth behind him. The heat has become sweltering since he first sat down to work on his manuscript early in the evening. His goal was to only type for an hour, but the storyline, begging to be released, consumed him as he lost himself.

His small silver laptop balances on his lap as he continues to type for a moment longer. An empty black mug rests on the table in front of him. The smell of stale coffee lingers in the air mixed with the scent of tacos from dinner.

Ten minutes later, the man places his laptop on the coffee table in front of him. With a sigh, he runs his hands through his long black hair and leans back into the brown leather sofa. He stares at the ceiling with his chocolate brown eyes. With a sense of finality, he says, “It is done. My first ever novel is complete. Unbelievable! I did it!”

The man jumps from the sofa and begins to dance in a circle. He throws his arms up in the air pretending to raise the roof and shakes his hips left to right. Laughter fills the room as he grooves with excitement. After a few minutes of ridiculous dancing, he returns to sitting at the edge of the sofa. He rests his elbows on his knees while his breathing and heart rate return to normal.

With everything back to normal, he returns his gaze to the laptop on the table. “What now?” he asks aloud.  

“Well, now you start proofreading.” A woman with long brown hair and green eyes says from across the room. She is seated in a recliner with a small book in her hands. The cover features a beautiful woman with red hair and green eyes standing next to a vicious white wolf. She has a warm yet teasing smile on her face.

“Yes, thanks dear, I know that, but I mean, do I send it to a publisher or self-publish? What do you think?”

“I think you should choose whichever suits you best. From my understanding, they both have challenges.” She flicks her red hair over her shoulder, returning her gaze to her book.

“Do you think I should reach out to a few of my buddies who have published? I know Marv went with a traditional publisher, but Dan has been self-publishing since high school.” He leans back into the sofa again, crossing his legs, and bringing his hand to his chin in contemplation.

He stares into space a few moments before his wife responds. “Like I said, Matt, do your research. Ask them both and then go from there. I am going to disappear in my book now though, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Okay, Stella, I will start looking up some info. I think I am going to take a break before I start proofreading. That’s a lot of work to go over. I doubt I can get it all done tonight.” He stands from the sofa and moves toward the back of their small den. A soft “hmm” sounds from the opposite side of the room where Stella sits.

Leaving the carpeted room and entering the hall, he gasps aloud as his bare feet meet the cold tile. He recovers quickly and makes his way int the kitchen. Upon entering the brightly lit room, he steps over to the stainless-steel refrigerator to retrieve a red can of brown pop.

With a loud “pop,” he opens the drink and takes a huge gulp. Sighing loudly after that first taste, he returns to the den to begin proofing his book. With the bit of caffeine and the high of achieving his goal, he scrolls back to the first page of his manuscript.

“And so, the proofreading begins. Next comes an editor, and then we will see what is next.” He smiles and takes another drink of his pop. “Cheers to my dreams, now comes the nightmare!” He says before taking another sip and he starts to read.

As he focuses on the screen in front of him, he hears Stella set her book down on the side table with a thunk. She yawns loudly, and he looks up, watching as she crosses the room towards him. She smiles as she nears and leans down.

“I am proud of you, hubby. I am going to leave you to it and go to bed.” She says as she wraps her arms around him in a tight hug. Releasing him, she steps back bringing her arms down, and in the process, bumps the red can of pop resting next to the computer on the table. They both watch in horror as the brown liquid spills all over the keyboard and sparks erupt. As a few seconds of stunned silence go by, their faces pale as the screen turns black, never to brighten their lives again. Their faces match what is soon to be the outcome; All white, with no expression other than possible horror.

The End