Untitled Project (Help?)

Untitled Project (Help?)

A Story by Nicholas Duboe
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Trying to see where this should go. Any ideas? Let me know if you like this intro. Thank you.

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It doesn't take a genius to realize I disappointed my wife again. Truth be told, I clocked out about twenty minutes ago. The office I work at is in a small L-shaped complex made of dark red brick and tinted glass doors and windows. Each door had a little logo on it about whatever business rented out the space. 


Between some fifty year old lady’s yoga studio and a government aid office was a call center. That’s where I spent a third of my day most days but at the lower end of the L was a little place called Tornado. A hole in the wall bar that people would swing by and gossip in after work. Either that or the place people would slam a few shots in during their lunch break. Not me though, sometimes I just like to be quiet in a place where I don’t need to be or do anything for a little while.


...and that’s exactly what I am doing again tonight.


The thing about Tornado is it’s basically the perfect place to fade into the background. The dim lighting, dark wood walls, loud music, mounted televisions broadcasting sports, it’s just one of those places where so much is going on that it can almost feel private. I think if I didn’t need to be anywhere I’d probably sit at the bar for hours. 


Don’t get me wrong. I’m not here to get shitfaced or anything. I’m not going to show up at my house around three AM smelling like a bottle of jack and cigarette smoke. I’m just here to unwind and a little vodka cranberry is just the thing I like to treat myself with at the end of a long day of exactly the same bullshit every other long day is made out of. 


After sipping from my glass and watching two teams I don’t know playing basketball for awhile, I check my phone.


That’s pretty much my cue to leave I guess.  I slide a ten dollar bill under my glass, stand up and grab my jacket off the back of the barstool. As I swing my jacket around and slip my arms in I give the bartender a slight nod and he does the same. We don’t really talk outside of him asking me what I want, me telling him and our casual exchanges of nods. 


Pushing open the tinted glass door with a Tornado logo on it, I click the unlock button on my car keys and head outside. It’s December in Texas and the sky is black-ish blue. Street lamps illuminate with orange halos in the distance and my breath visibly floats in the air until it disappears like smoke. 


I take a deep breath as I open my car door and the cool winter air fills my lungs. As I crash into my car seat I exhale quickly like the act of sitting down was strenuous. It takes me a moment to decide to put my key in the ignition but I do. I back my car out and drive away hitting the same bump I hit every day between where they paved the road and where they paved the parking lot.



As I drove down the road my mind just wandered. I was thinking about how I was bored in my cubicle today and I was scrolling the internet between phone calls. Somehow, I came across this article while I was Googling car crashes about a social media hashtag called #EndTheStreakTX, made up by the DOT. 


Apparently, every day for over twenty years there has been a fatal car accident somewhere on a road in Texas. The article included stories of victims and random statistics about driving and just as quickly as I clicked on that article, I was clicking on another article about a shooting in Dallas. 


Some guy killed his roommate in their apartment but the police still don’t have a motive yet. They arrested the guy a little while after because he was hiding out at a friend’s house and the friend was actually the one that called the cops on him. 


I just realized my radio is off and the only sound in my car right now is the heater. As I turn on the radio to cut the silence I twist the knob back and forth skimming through the stations trying to find something that isn’t an ad. Looking down I see the numbers land on 102.1 which during this time of year is now a twenty-four-seven holiday station. 


As I look up, my eyes lock with the black beady eyes of a deer in my headlights. Time seems to bend in slow motion as I swing the steering wheel to the right. My stomach drops like I just went over the first hill of the world’s scariest roller coaster. As my tires skid and drift across the icy road with a rubbery screech, I shut my eyes in terror just as my headlights reflect off the steel streetlamp.


The front of the car crumples like paper as the windshield cracks from the hood jamming into the glass. Airbags explode like a gunshot as cool nylon smashes into my face. My head whips back against the headrest. I can taste iron. Everything is black but I can hear a song slowly fading away with my consciousness.  


“♫It's the most wonderful time,

Yes the most wonderful time,

Oh the most wonderful time,

Of the year.♫”

© 2021 Nicholas Duboe


Author's Note

Nicholas Duboe
Let me know what you think! I am not sure where I really want to go with this so any ideas are welcome

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Added on January 15, 2021
Last Updated on January 15, 2021
Tags: book, story, idea, help

Author

Nicholas Duboe
Nicholas Duboe

Denton, TX



About
Hello there, my name is Nicholas and I am currently 25 years old. I am a husband, a father and a son. I am also a poet and attempting novelist. I began writing years ago using Booksie, posting many po.. more..

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