Again, I am sorry for my repeated absence. I've never been too good at getting blog posts up on time. Oh well. I'll keep trying.
I have a new one for you this week: a short story that I wrote. It was actually for an English assignment but I liked it so much that I thought I would share it with you. I is inspired by an Edward Hopper oil painting called A Room in New York that he made in 1940. Our teacher showed us the picture as an option for a prompt and I really liked the feel of it. Please feel free to give feedback, it might even get me a better grade!
I crouched on the balcony, trembling slightly. The October night was menacingly bitter, and in my hurry I hadn’t had the time to stop and put on my overcoat. Besides, there was little I could do to control my unease. My hands hadn’t yet stopped trembling, to the point that I had taken to sitting on them for a while in a futile attempt to keep them still. I had lost all feeling in my lower legs, and my breath curled before my face in a wispy cloud. Despite the late hour, there was still lots of chatter from the street three stories below. The air smelt brisk and refreshing, as it does only in Autumn. Peering over the lip of the windowsill, I watched them. They had hardly spoken at all in the last hour, evidently choosing instead to entertain themselves independently. The only sound from the living room was the occasional flutter of a crisp newspaper page being turned accompanied by the dissonant notes of Victoria’s musical frustrations. It appeared that they hardly spoke at all, ever, because in the past few nights I had heard them speak to each other only when strictly necessary. Returning home together at eight, they would sit quietly for half an hour, Victoria attempting to play the piano, Lawrence reading his newspaper. Then, at half past the hour, Victoria would go into the kitchen and start preparing dinner. Half an hour later they would eat together at the small dining table in the kitchen, afterwards returning to the living room for further leisure activities. At ten o’clock they went to bed. I couldn’t imagine a life so structured, so devoid of interest that I did exactly the same thing every day without even keeping up a lively conversation at the same time. It looked awful.
I shuffled my feet around, trying to regain circulation in my extremities without attracting any attention. It was almost ten o’clock, so they would be retiring for the evening soon. Hopefully soon anyway; I didn’t think that I could take any more of the cold. I rubbed my hands together, blowing at them to try and warm them up. Somehow, simultaneously, but without talking, they both put away their respective things and exited through the tall wooden door directly opposite me. Annoyingly, though, not forgetting to close the window. Finally, I let out a large sigh of relief. I waited there for almost another hour, just to be safe. It was time to put the plan into action. The windows of the apartment were so old and plagued with cracks that all it took was a bit of leverage with a screw driver and they sprung open. I climbed in cautiously, taking care not to disturb anything. The floorboards creaked back at me in protest as I crept across them. It had to be here by now. The package had been sent from Washington almost a week ago. We didn’t have any more time to spare.
Hands still trembling, I made quick work of searching all of the draws and cabinets. The varnished armoire, the coffee table and the side tables yielded nothing. Moving into the kitchen, I immediately noticed it. Carelessly placed upon the dining table: like she didn’t even know what was in it.