Frosty-A-Go-Go. New Novel

Posted: December 18, 2011 in Frosty-A-Go-Go
Tags: , , ,

The experiences of this past weekend gave me a story idea.  Not one of the ones I get occasionally and scribble down in my phone.  This idea kept coming.  It gave me details in a smile, in a piercing, in the way the trees yawned above me.  Breaking the cold.  That’s the premise.  There’s a perpetual cold in Buffalo.  It stops us dead in our tracks.  It’s the sick bay, and even those passing through can catch it.  It’s insane.  I’m going to break it with a story.

Here’s an excerpt from what I’ve done so far.  Hope you enjoy it.  Be kind, I haven’t edited yet.

I was pacing like a caged animal on the street outside the apartment, smoking a cigarette and taking in the unnaturally warm December evening.  Cars and buses rambled up the road, men and women passing through for the second time that day so they could go home to their families.  Other than people coming to going to work, the town is usually quiet and devoid of traffic.  I felt ill.  The fact that I hadn’t made any progress since I finished Zombie Hot Mess had actually hit home.  I could have gone in and done my usual nightly ritual of music and Minecraft, but I didn’t even feel like doing that.  My stomach churned and yet I couldn’t consume anything but smoke and water.  I have never been able to understand how people get sucked into televisions like they do.  A job without possibility of advancement is somehow numbed by liberal doses of mindless inactivity.  It’s blunt, but I can’t think of any other way to describe it.

My feet carried me away, somehow breaking out of their usual pacing.  By the time I realized that forty degrees or not, it was still too cold for a jaunty stroll I was half way across the map and at the bridge that stands unsteadily over what’s supposed to be a river.  In reality it’s more of a very long puddle in the winter.  No real depth to it and nothing to float down it.  I tossed the smoldering butt of the smoke over the bridge and watched it twist and tumble down, caught by the light wind.  It became a tiny white spec on the bank of the snowless river and I sighed.

It was unnatural.  There was no ice and it was two weeks left until Christmas.  No white Christmas for the occupants of that small town, the lake effect seeming to have gone on holiday.  Buffalo always seemed white.  At least the most prominent memories of it were.  It was a city made of ice most of the year, and it was ruthless.  The thawing in the spring and the burst of colors in the summer didn’t seem to be able to unfreeze the people of the city though.  They were perpetually in the same place, going nowhere and doing nothing.  And I’d caught the curse.  I was gone from the city and yet I seemed to be in perpetual slow motion, if not at an absolute stand still.  Something about the ice and snow called to me.  It begged me to lie down for only a little while, I could get right back up if I wanted.  I knew that would never happen though.  If I were to lie down in the city, it would leave nothing but an ice sculpture of a young man perpetually spinning in circles.  My eyes would be fixed in a stare that would gaze out on all the others frozen there, our individual circles moving with such slow deliberation that you could time your watch by it.

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