The Poetry Question

Discovering the Relevance of Words

The Daily Prompt- April 4th

Rules:

1. Use the prompt in the way it’s intended (starting a sentence, the title of the piece, theme, etc)

2. You may write in any format you see fit (fiction, non-fiction, poem, song, script, etc.)

3. Post your piece of writing in the comments section of the website to be considered for the ‘Best Of’ section.

 

The Prompt- Spoken Words

Write a piece that consists completely of dialogue.

About Doran Simmons

I'm a writer and a camper and a keeper of fish. I was trained as a flight instructor and work day jobs and write nonsense for public consumption (hopefully).

One comment on “The Daily Prompt- April 4th

  1. Mr. Atheist
    April 4, 2014

    “Name, age, occupation?”

    “Howard Young. 72. Retired.”

    “What did you do before retiring?”

    “I was a dreamer. I chased down dreams. I had a hard time with jobs and titles.”

    “Sir, I need to fill this box in. Please pick an occupation.”

    “Dreamer.”

    “Something other than Dreamer. How about construction worker?”

    “I wasn’t very good with my hands.”

    “Chef?”

    “I would only cook for her.”

    A blank stare from the other side of the desk and Howard knew it was over.

    “Bank Teller. I was a Bank Teller.”

    “That’s better.” Scribble on a piece of paper. That paper gets put into a file and that file gets rolled up and put into a pneumatic tube that sits on the desk.

    “I wasn’t a Bank Teller. I attempted to be one once, but I couldn’t type very well. This was back when you had to type “live” checks. Now, you just type into a computer and poof! there is your check.”

    “Where were you born?”

    “Huh?”

    “Place of birth?”

    “Are you kidding me? Don’t you have all of this information already?”

    “We are very busy here. It is hard to reconcile at the time of death. We sort it all out later.”

    “Figures.”

    “Excuse me?”

    “I said it figures. Bureaucracy even after death.”

    More blank stares.

    Howard looks around. It looks like the international arrivals at LAX. Long, winding, serpentine lines. Yellow tape on the shiny marble. Weird. All lines lead to desks. Howard doesn’t remember dying. He only remembers that he was in that line and then he wasn’t. He was now sitting down talking to this person. Is it a person?

    “How long have I been dead?”

    “You lose that. You will never know. It doesn’t matter really, does it? You are dead and that is all that matters.”

    “You have some nice bedside manners.”

    “Thanks. I spent some time at the red line and the blue line. I like working the yellow line.”

    Howard stares blankly back.

    “How did I go?”

    “The yellow-liners all go in their sleep.”

    “That’s peaceful.”

    “For some.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “Some died sleeping while driving. Others died when a wall collapsed on top of them. Plane crashes… you get my point. It’s not all sleepville.”

    “Oh. Never considered that.”

    “Your end wasn’t violent. You were sleeping in a bed. In a hotel in Florence.”

    “Perfect.”

    “There are worse ways of going, that’s for sure.”

    “I can hear the bells. I can still hear the bells.”

    “They will end when this interview is concluded. Those were the last things your subconscious recorded. Only you hear them. You just noticed them?”

    “I guess after a while you don’t notice things. They become the white noise.”

    “You won’t hear them again after this meeting. Ever.”

    “What do others hear?”

    “Screaming. The voice of another person. Tires screeching. On an endless loop.”

    That was when Howard looked at the other desks and the other people that were being interviewed. Some looked happy. Others sad. Some needing restraining. The last noise was just too much. Too much in one direction. The revelation that this is the last thing they will hear is more than some can bear. Coming to terms with their own death is hard on some. It wasn’t for Howard. She died long ago. Even now, when he is about to lose all memories, her image lingers there.

    He remembers when he first saw her. He remembers when he last saw her.

    “Enjoy that. Most, if not all, memories are removed when I close this folder and send it to the reconciliation department.”

    The screaming next door stops abruptly. It had become white noise. Howard only realized it was gone once it was gone.

    “Like that?”

    “Exactly.”

    “Ask me more questions. Please.”

    The pre-reconciliation agent pulled out some files and loose sheets of paper.

    Howard knew right away.

    “Take your time. We have forever.”

    *********************************************

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