I just start typing not knowing where to begin, thinking about my day and so forth. And then all of a sudden the opening line of a story will just come to me. I have no idea what the story will be but there it is. So below you can see my babbling rant that I started with, and after that I short story starting to form.
I noticed the other day that my partner sounded very much like an author that I have been reading. it is strange how there are so many doublegangers there are in this world, I was working in a bar interstate a few years back, and I man drinking at the bar reminded me so much of a friend I once had in high school.
My hair feels gross, it is all oily and yuck and it just doesn’t have the life that I wish it had, it seems to require so much effort to maintain. In the next six months I would like to be more organised maybe even learn how to type with more than three fingers. and then i will be able to get down my thoughts a lot faster but that will take some practice.
I sat in the armchair facing the window. Learning to touch type. everything written here is from touch typing. and this is the way it always was once aponnn what that is not a word this rambling is giving me a head ache. and so it was here i was sitting in the bug, big arm chair.
I sat in the armchair, king lord of the under dogs. He the young dog was king amoungst the leaves. It felt good to be here and this is the only path to true doghood. He was a small dog with a butt the size of a normal dog, but for some reason it was in the way and kicked more often then most dogs. one day the dog accidently sat down on a hot waffle iron that had been made to take the shape of god. the waffle iron had been on at the time and with that the dog was burnt, branded with the face of god on his arse. Yelping in pain the dog ran around the house with pain burning into his butt, and the breeze against his burnt skin hurting even more, if this pooch could cry it would.
Fast forward to two weeks later. Jeff Manningham, was a young reporter, and was asked by his supervisior to report on “a dogs arse that looks like god out in bush” I – Jeff- had been given a small sum to travel with, a camera from down in loans and a stack of pens paper and recording info. Before I set out to find the dogs arse. It had taken 4 hours driving to get to the loaction. An old town, that had not seen its hay day in years. The house was clean and neat. I was greated by four dogs, who faced me and looked like they were smiling. There was no barking just the wagging of tails. I yeld out to the house and a small man appeared from the front door. “hello hello, you must be the reporter” the man said smiling, I spoke to your boss and who was keen to send someone out here. I thought not enough to send any of the big shot reporters, as they had sent me, I had only been working in the city for the past four years. I was out of the newbie phase, I knew what i was doing and new how to get things done. But I had a long way to go. every now and then something would catch me of gard.
The man who lived here was nice and he offered tea. we sat a drunk, he was so happy to have a reporter from the city. It wasn’t too long before he bought out “Jenny” his small, plump corgie. who smiled up at me and at her master. “isn;t she lovely” the man said. And it wasn;t until Jenny had turned to go and was walking back down the hall way that I saw the image. The face of god, branded on the dogs arse. This was so bizzar. how did this happen? what?
I was not a religious type, but I knew about the circuse there is in finding a face of a religious figuer in toast, on a window and other things. But on a dogs arse? I feel like this would not be taken to too kindly. maybe people would find it to be an insulting joke, making fun of their fath. But there it was, wagging happily as jenny made her way back up the hallway. I could here the headlines in my head now: Dog backwards is god!
the cold air filled the void and as I grasp what little strands of happyness I had left in me I felt the cold void rise up and swallow me. not in a good way. I smoked my last ciggirette on the porch and headed inside, the wirer