/lit/ - Literature

Here's the entirety of the first scene of my book.


This hotel lobby, it’s huge. I sit down in this big orange chair, big and orange the way you buy a cheap chair and choose the orange one because even when the cheap Scandinavian legs snap you still think it was a good chair because it was big, and it was orange. The big orange chair. I’m laying in it and letting my brain turn off, sinking into this big empty chair, and it feels nice. It feels good. And I’m the only one in this big empty lobby.
And then I hear it. The ringing. The screaming whisper of a tiny motor vibrating. I can feel the chair shaking. I’m so not looking forward to reaching into it.
I stand, and put my hand in between the cushions, and I can feel that little motor shaking this junk-old orange chair to pieces. My hand tears fibers as it reaches into the dusty orange depths of this piece of furniture. And then I feel it. My fingers grasp it. I pull out a cell phone. And I say: God-dammit.
Isaac is on the phone, and he tells me to stop being stupid. He hasn’t let me be alone all day.

ALL THIS HAPPENED, more or less. The war parts, anyway, are pretty much true. One guy I know really was shot in Dresden for taking a teapot that wasn't his. Another guy I knew really did threaten to have his personal enemies killed by hired gunmen after the war. And so on. I've changed the names.

If you don't know this by heart you need to gtfo.