The Fifteen Minute Novel is a novel written fifteen minutes at a time with each week day’s section starting with the sentence from the previous day. At least it is attempting to be a novel. For now I am just aiming at one continuous story, worked on for fifteen minutes each day. Started Friday January 1st, 2021 (in case you want to search for the beginning. I can’t wait to see where it ends up. It could be good, or it could be a mess. We’ll have to see. For now, here is today’s fifteen minutes.
Day 13: “Tomorrow we start fresh,” he promised himself.
“Tomorrow we start fresh,” he promised himself.
James found himself drifting off into a surprisingly deep sleep. He felt as though he hadn’t slept in months. For once he didn’t dream of the old man.
James woke slowly. He tilted his head and saw that he had a fill twelve minutes before his alarm went off. He lay there and stretched in the bed. After one night’s use they were losing the out of the box crispness, even though they still smelled more like the factory than him.
“Maybe that’s why the dreams,” he mused as he stared up at the still night dark ceiling. The sheets may not smell like him, may not smell like home, but they didn’t smell like the safe houses wither. All of those sheets smelled stale. They smelled as though it was a world in a holding pattern, boxed up and kept from moving forward. He had the same feeling in the safe houses. He knew he was required to repeat his story to anyone that needed to hear the official version. He knew he had to be questioned about it. It made him feel stale, as though he was stuck reliving the same day.
“Not anymore,” he said.
In fact officially, he was told not to talk about that day any more until he was brought back. He was to box that day up in his mind and shove it into the darkest recesses of his brain. He was to be someone else until and unless he was called in to repeat the story. As he lay there, James wondered what was in store for him on the first day of his new life.
They expected him to get a job. It was an odd thought for him. While he worked since the age of twelve, he was always told what job he was to have. He was a part time messenger after school. He was assigned to the mail room. He was told to scrub toilets. He was required to attend meetings. He went to the university that he was told to apply to and his course through school was plotted out. After college he worked for the company in the position he was assigned and was told when he earned a better one. None of his working life was chosen by him. He wondered if the agent was to have an assigned place for him or if he was to be left on his own to figure it out. The concept was somewhat daunting.
“Carson,” James reminded himself.
This agent had a name. He had been deemed worthy enough to hear it and James decided he might as well get used to using it. After all Carson was the only person James Ferris actually knew.
The alarm sounded and James pressed the button to turn it off. He slid out of bed and despite the clean sheets, he felt gummy for not having had a shower the night before. He wanted the last of the safe house washed from him. Still in his shorts, James stepped into the hall and walked to the washer and dryer hidden in the closet. Thinking his meeting with Carlson would not be a formal affair, he pulled a pair of jeans, some clean shorts and a t-shirt from the dryer. He added socks and took his assembled outfit to the bathroom.
James places the clothing on the counter and realized the one towel in the apartment was still in the bedroom. He turned on the shower to let the spray heat up and retrieved the towel from the other room. Without a shower curtain a fine mist of droplets permeated the air around the bath/shower combo.
Ten til Midnight 