Down the Ballot

Thursday, September 12, 2013

Creative Writing: Close Quarters

The big city promises big dreams and even bigger disappointments for fools of all fortunes. This is just one of the thousands of stories from within the city limits....


Water hitting the pavement again. Peter rolled over in his bed to look at his alarm clock. three in the morning, three the damn morning he thought to himself. Tossing himself face up; he began to stare at the ceiling. The sound of the water grew louder and louder until he forced himself to get out of bed. Lumbering towards the bedroom window he exerted what little strength he had left in him to open it to the outside world. Leaning against the windowsill; he started taking in all that he saw. The few faint stars, the cityscape and then the eyesore before him; the big city water truck.

"I say; do you mind not running that aquatic monstrosity this early in the morning? Some of us are just getting into bed at this time" he attempted to yell over the sound of the water shooting from the pressure washer.

No response.



Attempting to get the workers attention, he tried a little louder. "EXCUSE ME! EXCUSE ME!!".

One of the two workers cocked their heads and stopped momentarily, but then went back to pressure washing.

Peter leaned back inside his bedroom, and in a fit of rage looked around him, and picked up a small dying potted plant.The next thing he knew; he was hurling it out his window towards the truck. It struck and broke sending small pieces of ceramic pot and soil in all directions. He had done it. He finally got the attention of the workers.

"HEY! Are you crazy? Don't litter!" yelled up one of the workers. "I'm gonna have to wash that again".

Peter was in disbelief. "Don't litter?! You wake me up now for five nights in a row at three in the morning and you tell me not to LITTER? Why the hell are you out doing this at such an ungodly hour? The rest of the city is in bed and you're out washing away perfectly clean sidewalks! Why don't you go back to whatever realm of hellish city works department you come from" he responded.

As Peter was screaming with the workers, more lights in the neighborhood began to flick on and a window across the street opened.

"Hey, people are trying to sleep on this block! Keep the noise down" a frustrated citizen yelled in Peter's direction.

"That's exactly what I'm trying to explain to these water logged drones in the street!" Peter yelled back.

"I'm not upset with them, you're the one making all the noise loud mouth!" the man responded. 

Another neighbor, a woman, opened her window.  "Do you mind? I've got three kids here trying to sleep. Why is it you men are always causing such a ruckus?" the woman bemoaned.

One of the workers walked around the truck to retrieve a second hose. While the man across the street responded to the woman in the window.

"I could care less about how much sleep those brats get. I know they're the ones putting that stuff in my mail slot" the man yelled back at the woman.

Peter couldn't believe what was happening. Instead of trying to get some peace back to his street he had started an all out war amongst his neighbors. He directed his attention back at the workers.

"See what you've done! You've gotten the whole block involved. Now, would you kindly just leave!" he pleaded.

The two workers discussed for a moment and then responded by giving the 'O.K.' signal to Peter. Rolling his eyes in amazement that they could relay a message silently, he began to sigh when two large streams of water hit him up on his perch. Taken off guard, he contorted himself like Reed Richards in order to avoid getting soaked. The workers with huge grins on their faces held steady and followed his every move.

"You bastards! What are you doing?! Stop it! Stop it I say" Peter attempted to scream without getting water in his mouth.

Across the street his other neighbors forget their current argument and unite in laughter at his plight. He is finally able to close his window. The workers turn off the hoses and head back to the truck feeling justified in giving a snooty resident a good soaking. Peter stands in his bedroom drenched in water. He moves his feet and hears the squish of a wet carpet. Slowly turning around he begins to mumble something incoherent. Tossing his wet clothing on the soaked carpet; he sits down on his waterlogged bedding. 
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