Instead, my plan is to rip a page from a novel I have never written nor plan to ever truly write, with different situations and different characters. The pages may begin abruptly and end abruptly as well, as would be expected if you opened a novel to any page and began reading. They may not always make total sense, of course. They may be from somewhere near the beginning of a great novel, the middle, or the end. They may be in different tenses, in different perspectives.
This is sort of a post-modern project, I guess. Not intentionally though, mostly because I am just lazy enough to not want to commit to full stories, but still too creatively insane that I feel like I need to write something, and do it more often.
I am going to try to keep this project going every day. We'll see. If not, then every other day will have to suffice.
and looked away. I was standing on the great cusp of an enormous basin, as dry as the Mojave Desert and with a persistent heat that radiated from it's bowels and milked the sweat from my skin. I leaned down for a moment and looked over at Molly. She was writing something in the dirt. It looked nearly unintelligible. I decided to let her do her thing, I didn't want to get her started on one of her fits.
I put my backpack down and rifled through an outer pocket, staring over at Molly in the dirt. Her hair was plastered to her forehead and her brow was furrowed in intense concentration. I felt another one of those brief moments where I hated her intensely for locking me out. Maybe it was the heat, mostly.
We had one full bottle of water left between us and the other half I assumed was still sitting in Molly's backpack among the relics she brought with her. I squinted my eyes and stared out over the great basin and the land beyond. Dust and then beyond that more dust. Heat radiation blurred the distance.
At least the sky was blue. Such a vibrant blue and as enormous as the sky back in Wyoming. Not a cloud in sight, though. The sun was just getting high and I knew that we were going to need to find shade somewhere soon and sit out the burning part of the day when the birds are silenced and the air becomes a dreaded weight on your whole body, pulling you towards the earth.
I figured we'd have to do some climbing first. I knew that getting Molly to keep moving would be the biggest challenge. She had finished scrawling and was just squatted over, her legs akimbo. Her skirt was already covered in the red dirt that surrounded us. She stared intensely at the ground.
"Molly." I said, quietly. This was going to be a situation regardless of my tone. She was gone. Far away, on some distant planet where the world didn't make it's demands upon her so insistently, where she got on a train of her own thoughts and rode it in great wide arcing circles forever. Maybe there were trees and mountains and even rivers.
I got back up, slinging my backpack over a shoulder. I walked a few feet over to where Molly sat and squatted with her. I slowly put my hand to her forehead and carefully brushed a few overhanging hairs, pushing them back into place. Molly's gaze didn't break. Her eyes shone dully like copper in the sunlight.
"Molly, we need to keep moving." I told her, and gingerly placed my hand against hers.
As expected, she gave no reaction. Well, she was reacting I guess. She was moaning a little, in her weird howler monkey way. I sat with my hand on hers and waited. Her moaning started to gain in frequency and tone.
I sighed deeply as though expressing my grievances to the sky, or to the wide expanse beyond us. The thought of the absurdity of it made me smile a little.
"Ha ha." I let out a laugh. Admittedly a rather forced one.
Molly stopped moaning then.
"Ha ha." She said to the air, "Ha ha."
"Ha ha." "Ha HA." HA HA."
"HA HA. HA HA. HA HA. HA HA. HA. HA." She continued like this and it frustrated me.
"HA HA." I barked back at her, "HA HA. HA HA. HA HA."
Soon were both lost in it, in the rhythmic noise of our own belligerent scoffing.
I started to really laugh at some point, just really let it all out. I was laughing hysterically while Molly kept going, "HA HA. HA HA. HA HA."
I felt tears in my eyes, I was laughing so hard. Or maybe I was crying at some point. Nothing was really funny, but it felt good and when the tears really did start to stream it felt cool against my face. I was crying and still laughing and I wondered if I was really feeling anything or if I just wanted to feel the cool wetness of those tears, the way I knew they were leaving streaks across my face like drawing transparent figures in the window of a dusty old car.
All right, I'm tapped out. Until next time, with a completely new portion of a non-existent novel.