Untitled chapter
Isabel Falk about 10,000 words
23 Lawrence Ave
Leominster, MA 01453
(978)549-8826
Painting the Sky Manuscript written by Isabel Falk
Chapter-1-Paragraph
She threw the notebook on the ground in anger. Her ideas and thoughts scattered, the notion of her ADD overtaking the last glimpse of focus.
Sighing, she picks up the white capsule on her desk and dry swallows it.
I can’t be everything I want all the time.
New news, finally, the creative block dissolves into subconscious. She scribbles wildly, the thoughts pouring out of her head onto the paper for half of an hour. Stopping suddenly, she closes her eyes and dozes off.
Accomplishment.
Chapter-1-Body
The alarm goes off, its squeaking Blair grabs my attention. It reminds me of a mouse, huh, a mouse in an opera show; imagine that?
I shouldn’t have slept sitting at my desk, there’s a crink in my neck, owwwwa (excuse my ignorance.)
Lesson number one: don’t sleep at your desk in your clothes from the night before. I know I did that too. I don’t want to get up but I need to before-Darkness and the warmth of sleep and dreams; it’s a cold world out there. Stay with me longer.
Good morning to you too, depression. That’s it I’m getting up.
I get up slowly. It’s like peeling a fly off of sticky fly paper... Why did I sit on my legs? Each leg is dead weight on my body as it hits the floor. Now I’m up.
Come to bed with me darling. I’m waiting for you.
Wow, I’m surprised you didn’t call me- wait no, there are children reading and some forty-year-old men.
“Donatella!”
“Coming, I’m just stretching”
A white lie to start the day? Check.
Liar, cheater, sloth, lazy-Let’s go Jiminy depressing Cricket. I get up to go downstairs for breakfast, wait, time to check breath...yup flower wilter indeed. Let’s make a detour to the bathroom first, no second, I’m still wearing the same clothes from yesterday!
The bathroom floor is freezing, the kind that makes toes curl and goose bumps appear. Am I in the Arctic? Grabbing my toothbrush and shoving it in my mouth, I start to hum like Frank Sinatra.
“Mmmmmmahhhhh” Switching to brushing my tongue and done.
Look at me taking care of myself! A wonderful ballad by yours truly and only seven in the morning.
I make my way down to the kitchen, Dad has his fist out waiting for me. I obediently take the pills now in my hands. In addition to the pills, Dad has the works prepared: the milk and a bowl of cereal out for each of us.
“Wow, you really made quite the feast Dad.”
“I try.”
Let’s get this straight, my dad can cook, he just chooses not to most of the time, but what does it matter?
I stuff the food down my throat. It’s food and for all I care, I’m a hungry warthog in front of grubs.
It means no worries!...Alright done...For the rest of your- I SAID DONE, earworms, And I’m back.
“Dad are you ready?”
“Almost.”
It takes my dad forever to get out of the house in the morning, not that he has trouble staying awake from getting up. He wakes up at five in the morning then reads the news on his phone. Lumbering his way down the steps, my dad makes a procession to the car.
“Come on!”
It’s the first week of school. The. First. Week. This is the time where you prove to the teachers what kind of student you are; the lazy one at the back of the classroom, the know-it-all at the front, the silent genius in the second row and the human vegetables everywhere. Personally, I want to be the third option.
What?
In the front, I can see better but really, I’m just the know-it-all and the dollar store version at best.
The car-ride is swift, quiet, and uneventful. No one breaks the silence. I imagine this is what it is like to be in one of those yoga classes except no one is saying “Namaste.” The car radio is on the local news channel; this woman is telling how she was a starving artist making her way selling her cats’ urine and feces on a canvas. Wait, am I hearing that right? Yup, I wonder what her house smells like.mmph... I look over to my dad, he and I exchange looks of subtle horror for a few moments. He returns his face back to the peaceful and somber look as he drives down the road. My dad has two extremes when it comes to facial expressions: highly animated and the other minimal movement at all. He pulls up the road more and my school emerges.
Good morning Hell and good gravy.
