After seeing the high wordcount from my accumulated 2020 writing prompts I decided to see if i could harness the same fifteen minute writing technique to create one complete story. It will be a rough story and as I write it I will keep a notes section for things I need to research or later go back and add in during editing, but the point of the experiment is to see if I can create an entire story fifteen minutes at a time.
So each week day this year (or until the story is done, or until this idea falls apart at the seams due to lack of research and preparation) I will be working on The Fifteen Minute Novel. Each day will start with the last sentence from the day before. I posted Day 1 on January first, which was, as we all know, a Friday. The link will take you to the post if you want to check it out before reading this.
And now without further ado, Day 2.
Day 2: “We’ll be there soon,” he said. He offered James a reassuring smile.
“We’ll be there soon,” he said. He offered James a reassuring smile. James nodded, his mouth going suddenly dry. He wasn’t sure why this brought him fear. Throughout the past few months, the hiding, the testifying, the threats; he felt only numb. His life took on a sense of unreality. His life was put on pause, the only thing that mattered was the recounting of the shooting, the death of the old man who kindly let a stranded stranger use his phone to call for a tow on a cold and drizzly night.
James no longer went to the office. He no longer went to the gym or even ate his meals as he was accustomed to eating them. Food was brought to him from a series of takeout places that in the end all blurred together. Chinese fried rice, Mexican tacos, American hamburgers. After a time it all tasted the same. It was quick cheap food picked up by someone who couldn’t be tied to him and ferried to him in a way that couldn’t be traced. Whatever appeal it had was lost in transit and he consumed the food as fuel in the bland atmosphere of the safe house. It kept him going for his testimony.
But that was done now. Or at least partially so. Everyone official had his statement. He would need to be ferried away some place more permanent than the safe houses. Someplace where he could begin to leave the fog and reenter the real world. He would have to go back for the trial, but for now he was reentering the world…elsewhere. As someone else.
Perhaps that was why he now felt the bubble of fear rising up inside him. Everything from the shooting on had been a gap in reality. Nothing could touch him. He was moved around like a package and told when to speak. Then, speaking done, the tether was cut. His house was packed up. Everything that marked him as him was cut free and only the innocuous items were packed. The house was sold and his business ties cut. His family ties too were severed, but James had yet to think about that too deeply. For now, he let that thought go in the face of day to day reality.
‘Or the new day to day,’ he thought.
His body jolted as the plane touched down on to the tarmac. They weren’t at a major airport. James traveled enough to know that. There weren’t enough lights, machinery, people for that. He assumed it was for security reasons and wondered if the federal agencies kept their own air strips in the same manner as their drug dealer counterparts. The thought amused him slightly and he felt the edge of a smile tug momentarily at the corner of his mouth.
He jumped as a hand was placed on his shoulder. The plane was still rolling but his agent disregarded the motion and the fasten seatbelt sign.
“I know you’re tired,” he said. “But there is just a little more to go. We’ll get the most immediate of the paperwork done and then get you some sleep. We can cover the rest in the morning.”
James nodded because he knew that was what was expected. Even before the shooting, James was well practiced in meeting expectations. The agent gathered his belongs and as the plane rolled to a stop, James unfastened his seatbelt and retrieved the small bag he was allowed to pack. Most of it contained dirty clothes that smelled of stale safe house air. He would need to wash the items. He was wearing the suit he wore in his official capacity as the one who said what he saw. It was rumpled from sitting, both officially and in travel. As he stood and followed his agent off of the plane, James had to admit, mixed in with the fear, there was a slight bubble of excitement. He felt it rising inside him, the bubble of anticipation when starting something new. It had been a long time since he started something new. Lately, his world consisted mostly of a series of endings.
Ten til Midnight 