Here’s another Ficly about a woman locked up somewhere. I like how this one came out.
Grinning devilishly, she tipped the glass over and watched the water rush across the white table surface to the edge where it dripped unceremoniously into a small pool that swelled and splattered by the foot of her chair.
This was entertainment at its best. Two years of this, and if she kept it up, maybe another five. Home was a padded room on the top floor of an industrial building originally built as a cubical hell-hole, but which had been turned into a kind of forced-refuge for people the state of New York considered too guilty for freedom and too innocent for jail.
The water dripped. She knew that on the other side of the mirror there was a doctor or an attendant or at least someone in a blue security uniform. She knew that they’d be taking notes, and that the spilling water was only buying her more time in that room.
But she was so bored, and the only thing that looked interesting anymore was when the sun rays from the skylight in the room hit the pool of water and refracted into a million colors.
Today’s Ficly! My plan is to write a bunch, and then put them up on ficly all at once in a week or two in order to get some attention.
The snow outside was the heaviest I’d seen in a long while. It was still coming down when I’d finally cleared the driveway for the second time, and I was getting worried. I didn’t really have the steam to keep going out there and plowing away. For a few hours I sat inside and watched as my hard work disappeared under the white blanket.
At least the fire was nice, and I had wood stacked up in my shed just outside the back door.
It also occurred to me that I really didn’t have anywhere to put the snow if I did go back out to shovel; eight foot high piles lined the driveway. My daughter came in and crouched by the fire in her pajamas, staring into its burning heart. That was the solution.
In hindsight, running out in my underwear with an aerosol-can-and-zippo-lighter makeshift flame thrower while screaming and laughing as the flames licked the frozen crystals may have damaged my relationship with my neighbors more permanently than I had anticipated.