Midnight Moment: 2.Laughter
Manic laughter. Tender giggles. Triumphant guffaws. I had written them all.
However, no one has ever notices if the author themselves are having fun when writing these scenes. Trust me, it's never fun. Neither did our protagonist, Mr. M.
Mr. M was what people often call emotionally detached. Whether it was inborn or he had went through some former traumatic history, no one knew. Perhaps he just had a very melancholic view on his own life, which certainly didn't affect his wife, or at least from what everyone could see. She always had a sunny disposition to mirror her husband's demeanour.
I guessed it was just the way the world liked it's humour.
Either way, Mr. M was lying in bed and wondering what would happen if he didn't go to work tomorrow. Well, he ponedered, no one is going to fire me anyway.
The thing is, Mr. M worked as an author. Or used to work as an author.
After publishing his second novel to great literary fanfare, this seemingly innocuous man had been devoid of his pleasures. It seemed the sudden explosion of interest from public had given him such a fright he stuck himself within his shell and left it.
It wasn't always like this. Not when he and I worked together. Not when we decided that it was going to be fun taking on the world.
Getting up from bed, Mr. M did his morning routine of washing up, having breakfast, and promptly trying his best to write. At the end of the day it would be same as yesterday, where he would have lunch and then proceeded to go out into the world to take in the sights. The fact was, even through his fame as an author, people did rarely recognise him on the streets, which made him feel comfortable enough to step out on the streets. He would sit at the local mall at times, or the coffee shop, or the pizzaria. Mr. M had a penchant for good pizza and the ones they made there sure hit his requirements.
So today, he had found his wife waiting for him at the door with her shopping list. "Since you're heading out, do you mind getting me some things, dear?" He took the list and went out with a nod. Off he went to the supermarket at the mall.
At the mall, it wasn't too crowded. It was before the school had let the kids off for the day, so there was still calm. It was a windy day too so most of the other people had taken their walking outside, thought there weren't many as most of them were at work anyway. Mr. M went downstairs and he pushed his trolley around the aisles looking for things listed. In went the mustard, in went the potatoes, in went the onions. Seems like it was going to be a soup night with the amount of onions.
As he trailed around the spices section for ginger powder, he noticed a bag left right on the opposite end of the aisle. Mr. M took a glance left and hoped to see someone working there. There was not. He looked at the bag and slowly walked over.
Let's hope it's nothing weird in there.
For some reason, when he saw shoes in there, he gave a laugh.
Someone had lost his shoes. Talk about a metaphor.
However, no one has ever notices if the author themselves are having fun when writing these scenes. Trust me, it's never fun. Neither did our protagonist, Mr. M.
Mr. M was what people often call emotionally detached. Whether it was inborn or he had went through some former traumatic history, no one knew. Perhaps he just had a very melancholic view on his own life, which certainly didn't affect his wife, or at least from what everyone could see. She always had a sunny disposition to mirror her husband's demeanour.
I guessed it was just the way the world liked it's humour.
Either way, Mr. M was lying in bed and wondering what would happen if he didn't go to work tomorrow. Well, he ponedered, no one is going to fire me anyway.
The thing is, Mr. M worked as an author. Or used to work as an author.
After publishing his second novel to great literary fanfare, this seemingly innocuous man had been devoid of his pleasures. It seemed the sudden explosion of interest from public had given him such a fright he stuck himself within his shell and left it.
It wasn't always like this. Not when he and I worked together. Not when we decided that it was going to be fun taking on the world.
Getting up from bed, Mr. M did his morning routine of washing up, having breakfast, and promptly trying his best to write. At the end of the day it would be same as yesterday, where he would have lunch and then proceeded to go out into the world to take in the sights. The fact was, even through his fame as an author, people did rarely recognise him on the streets, which made him feel comfortable enough to step out on the streets. He would sit at the local mall at times, or the coffee shop, or the pizzaria. Mr. M had a penchant for good pizza and the ones they made there sure hit his requirements.
So today, he had found his wife waiting for him at the door with her shopping list. "Since you're heading out, do you mind getting me some things, dear?" He took the list and went out with a nod. Off he went to the supermarket at the mall.
At the mall, it wasn't too crowded. It was before the school had let the kids off for the day, so there was still calm. It was a windy day too so most of the other people had taken their walking outside, thought there weren't many as most of them were at work anyway. Mr. M went downstairs and he pushed his trolley around the aisles looking for things listed. In went the mustard, in went the potatoes, in went the onions. Seems like it was going to be a soup night with the amount of onions.
As he trailed around the spices section for ginger powder, he noticed a bag left right on the opposite end of the aisle. Mr. M took a glance left and hoped to see someone working there. There was not. He looked at the bag and slowly walked over.
Let's hope it's nothing weird in there.
For some reason, when he saw shoes in there, he gave a laugh.
Someone had lost his shoes. Talk about a metaphor.
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