I’ve been trying to write a story recently, and I just decided to start writing rather than continue planning and failing to actually do it. Here is the terrible rough draft:
The Empty Parking Space
Karl went to work. That’s what everyone thought he did, though he got angry about it and sometimes acted melodramatic over something so simple, so everyday. As he drove by the Chevron station he noticed the gas in his tank dangerously low. ‘fuck it, if I’m late for work what does it matter’ Karl thought. Taking himself far too seriously Karl filled his tank and drove to the warehouse. He looked at the clock. 5:03. Knowing he had 3 minutes left before he would have to deal with a supervisor in order to begin work he shut off the engine and looked in the mirror.
Dead eyes, dirty baseball cap, 3 chins. Karl didn’t recognize himself. Perhaps – he wondered, being the philosophical type – perhaps I’m not myself.
‘what doth it profit a man if he gaineth the whole world and yet lose his soul?’
At 5:07 Karl was not on the shop floor, he was gone. No one would notice for 10 more minutes. No one would worry for 20. No phone calls would be made for 30. But it didn’t matter. Karl was gone, and no one would’ve predicted where he was headed or why.
With the window down and his arm out catching the breeze he was free. Life and all it’s cramp pettiness and mundanity had prepared to make the killing blow, but something happened which Fate itself could not see. Karl had gotten up, he had survived. The empty parking space was the only difference it seemed, but how great the difference was for a man starting over again. It might’ve been an empty cell
(to be continued)