Jason pushed himself up on one
elbow, groaned, and fell back to the floor. He tried to get his bearings but
couldn’t think past the pounding in his head. He waited–maybe 15 seconds or
so—and tried again. The room didn’t spin quite as much this time, so he looked
around.
The sun was filtering its way
around the edges of the heavy black curtains that hung in front of the windows,
providing just enough light to counteract the epileptic effects of the two
overhead strobe lights, which were still on. Crushed beer cans and countless
red solo cups littered the worn out parquet floor and camouflage sheets, bamboo
sticks, and fake leaves hung from all four walls. The jungle juice sat
motionless in its giant bowl in the corner.
Jason stood up and pressed his knuckles into his temples. His vision had returned but his head was filled with a grating buzzing sound. Trying to ignore it, he pulled his jeans from underneath the couch and, hopping around trying to put them on, fell and crashed into one of the enormous floor-standing speakers. The noise stopped. Jason lay still on the ground for a second, pleased to learn that the buzzing had been from the speakers and not from his head but also in pain from crashing into the sound system. As he got to his feet again rubbing his elbow, he noticed numerous bruises on his forearms and a few more on his legs. Evidently his falling skills had not diminished overnight.
This wasn’t the worst hangover Jason had ever experienced. His body felt as if he had just lost a title fight, his lips were parched, and his stomach rumbled, but apart from the pounding in his head his mind felt clear. He reached into his pocket for his phone. Through the spider web of cracks in the screen was a notification for three missed calls and a voicemail. And it was 11:48am. Shit!
Jason bolted out the door and down the stairs of the house, his bare feet hardly registering a sound. His shoes he was sure were still in the room he had woken up in, either under the couch or in the piles of cans and cups, but he didn’t have time to look for them. He jumped the last four steps, grabbed his skateboard which thankfully was where he had left it, and kicked open the front door.
His mind was working to generate an adequate excuse as he kicked his way down Beacon Street. Unfortunately, he wasn’t certain an adequate excuse existed for a situation like this. In less than ten minutes he had reached the Prudential, the massive 52 floor downtown skyscraper. The offices of Robin, Blankstein, & Gray were on the 47th floor. Barefoot and skateboard underarm, Jason sprinted through the lobby and navigated around the Welcome Desk and an open-mouthed concierge. As he reached the elevator lobby his phone beeped.
Thnx for the awesome party last night. Congratulations again on your new job- 3 years of suffering thru law school and hard wrk and u’ve really earned it! Just don’t fuck up on your first day ;)
Way too late.
Jason stood up and pressed his knuckles into his temples. His vision had returned but his head was filled with a grating buzzing sound. Trying to ignore it, he pulled his jeans from underneath the couch and, hopping around trying to put them on, fell and crashed into one of the enormous floor-standing speakers. The noise stopped. Jason lay still on the ground for a second, pleased to learn that the buzzing had been from the speakers and not from his head but also in pain from crashing into the sound system. As he got to his feet again rubbing his elbow, he noticed numerous bruises on his forearms and a few more on his legs. Evidently his falling skills had not diminished overnight.
This wasn’t the worst hangover Jason had ever experienced. His body felt as if he had just lost a title fight, his lips were parched, and his stomach rumbled, but apart from the pounding in his head his mind felt clear. He reached into his pocket for his phone. Through the spider web of cracks in the screen was a notification for three missed calls and a voicemail. And it was 11:48am. Shit!
Jason bolted out the door and down the stairs of the house, his bare feet hardly registering a sound. His shoes he was sure were still in the room he had woken up in, either under the couch or in the piles of cans and cups, but he didn’t have time to look for them. He jumped the last four steps, grabbed his skateboard which thankfully was where he had left it, and kicked open the front door.
His mind was working to generate an adequate excuse as he kicked his way down Beacon Street. Unfortunately, he wasn’t certain an adequate excuse existed for a situation like this. In less than ten minutes he had reached the Prudential, the massive 52 floor downtown skyscraper. The offices of Robin, Blankstein, & Gray were on the 47th floor. Barefoot and skateboard underarm, Jason sprinted through the lobby and navigated around the Welcome Desk and an open-mouthed concierge. As he reached the elevator lobby his phone beeped.
Thnx for the awesome party last night. Congratulations again on your new job- 3 years of suffering thru law school and hard wrk and u’ve really earned it! Just don’t fuck up on your first day ;)
Way too late.
_________________________________________
This post was based off of the following writing prompt: http://writetodone.com/2012/08/04/scene-stealers-how-to-set-a-scene/
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