Gene sits on the couch with a notepad on his lap and a pen in his left hand. Francesca sits across the room in a large leather chair, laptop on lap, hands on the keyboard.
Gene is lackadaisically sitting, arguably laying, on the couch one leg propped perpendicularly upon the other. Forming an equilateral triangle where he can balance his notebook.
Francesca, or Franny, though she hates to be called Franny, sits very poised. The chair she's in seems to beckon her. It calls out, "I'm so squishy. And comfy. Lean back, rest your weary soul." Yet there she sits, ram-rod straight.
Both Gene and Franny look at the clock. See, in setting the scene earlier, this narrator forgot to mention there was a clock. Sorry about that, it won't happen again. Because, now I've mentioned the clock. Or will it always happen again, every time you read the story? Or did it never happen, because it's memory has been penned in this very spot? Anyways, I digress. The frivolity of musing about time in writing is not lost on a narrator who never existed in the real existence sense of the word, but always exists in these words on paper sense of the idea.
Ahem. Again, sorry for the digression.
Right, back at it. Gene and Franny are staring at an analog clock on the wall. The small hand points at 11:59. The long hand, the minute hand, though how can a long hand be minute?(pronounced my-newt in the second go-round there.) The long hand is ticking towards that same position.
It points at 11:35.
"Oh Franny? Could you get me some water?" Gene casually asks. Franny doesn't let his instigatory nature get to her. "Of course I can." she replies with a smile. A savvy narrator would point out that though she said she could, she meant it only as a physical capability. She in fact stayed rooted in her chair. I do hope I remember to point that detail out.
It points at 11:41.
"Gene, dear, will you literally take your feet off the coffee table?" Francesca asks.
"Of course I ca..." Gene realized too late that she thought ahead. His only option was to comply. "I will." he said, and pulled his feet off the table. But then, a smirk crept into his mind. He looked back and forth. His legs, seemingly with a mind of their own, which just so happened to be aligned with his mind, flew back up onto the table.
"Took them off the coffee table honey." Gene said. Nearly snickering himself to death.
It points at 11:44.
But he really, nearly snickered himself to death. His laugh and mischievous nature paired up and something in his throat just got caught. It threw him into a coughing and rolling fit. He was unable to snap out of it. He kept lolling, squirming, and gasping, as if to say, "Please, come help, I'm dying here."
It points at 11:59
"Genie, quit the theatrics it's ti..." Franny said. Gene always acted hurt and offended when she called him by that feminine name, but secretly, he always sort of liked it. Maybe one day he'd try calling her Frank. I don't know, I'm not omniscient. I just call it like I see it okay? Pointing out what's there to point out.
It points at midnight.
Suddenly, all their effort, all their distraction, all their everything quieted down and focused on the writing device in front of them. Their attention wholly consumed by the task at hand. Gene placed his pen on page 1 out of 70 in a college ruled notebook. Francesca's digits hovered over the QWERTY format keyboard.
Gene scratched his head with his pen.
Franny hit backspace 13 times.
Gene snuck a look at Francesca's chair. His look encompassed Franny too, if we're being thorough in our descriptions.
Franny looked pointedly at the ground. Her hands gripped the edges of her laptop.
Gene started to lean forward.
*Whizz* Franny's laptop flew from her hands across the room into the space which Gene's head, moments ago, had been happily occupying.
"Yeesh!" he screamed. As he rolled to the left, fell onto the floor and his his head on the coffee table.
"Good writing session" he said cradling his head.
"Better than ever!" Francesca agreed.
It pointed at 12:32.
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