Why Would I Write

Author: goodnewsgeorge

  • Pizza

    It was just another evening in Negra Arroyo Lane, Albuquerque. I had just completed my exhausting journey through rush hour traffic and parked in my driveway when I saw that my neighbors, the Whites had done the same thing as well. Mr White, head of the family, got out of his car, walked around to the back to get stuff from the trunk – a red sports bag and a pizza box. From the back of his car, emerged their son, who hobbled with his crutches towards the entrance of their house.

    I called out “good evening” and waved, but they didn’t seem to have noticed me. It’s okay, they must have had a long day, I told myself. The Whites were usually cheery enough to reciprocate, just not today. I walked out to the sidewalk and lit up a cigarette, watching the kid entering the house, while his parents stood at the doorway talking.

    I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it looked like Mrs White didn’t want Mr White to enter their home. She took the sports bag from him but refused him entry. She didn’t seem to want the pizza either. Mr White’s face turned from one of elation into one of defeat. Ouch.

    I stamped out my cigarette and walked to my front door. As I unlocked it, I turned to look at the Whites again. This time I saw Mr White stomp angrily towards his car, pause, and threw the box of pizza onto his roof! What happened next was magical – and I kid you not – the pizza flew out of the box and landed on the roof, while the box fell onto the ground. The pizza, uneaten and a perfect circle, lay there, as though it was meant to be there all along. I quickly went into my house, not wanting to appear nosy and peeked out through my windows. Mr White had started up his car and sped off. Something must be going on between the Whites!

    Writing Prompt from Reddit: [WP] When you die, you end up in the universe of your favorite TV show as a background character. You see the events of your show unfold from your point of view.

  • 3478*

    3478*

    I punched the number into the payphone after the job was complete, just like I was instructed to. Goddamit, pick up the phone. Why isn’t she picking up?? The dial tone continued ringing. I looked around anxiously, outside it was pitch black. The only source of light for miles was from within the phone booth I was standing in. It was quite a trek, but I had selected this place for a reason. Nobody would pass by at this hour, let alone this season – it had been snowing for days.

    I stayed on the phone, waiting for someone to pick up. doo doo… doo doo… still no answer. I checked the time on my watch: four a.m. What the fuck do I do now? Why didn’t we come up with a plan B? Holy fuck. Frustrated, I hung up the receiver. This was no time to panic. What was my next step?

    I looked out of the phone booth again to make sure that nobody had followed me, I was alone. I stepped out into the snow, walked around to the side to shield myself from the win, and sat down, back against the wall. What did I get myself into?

    The calm that I felt faded away and was now replaced by fear and anxiety of the crime I had committed half an hour ago. Well, the crime I had looked like I committed.

    I was told by Miss Chicanery (a fake name, I’m sure) I’d be paid double the reward of turning her in by donning a wig and dressing up like I had just killed someone in cold blood. I only had to walk past some security cameras to lead the authorities astray, while she (who would have done the deed), exited the same building in the opposite direction.

    I had to make sure that I wasn’t followed, call her up to check in, and meet her somewhere else to collect my reward. Because she wasn’t answering, and I had no idea what to do next. I pulled out a cigarette and lit it up, I needed something to calm down my racing heart.

    Now’s not the time to panic.

    I finished my smoke and headed back into the phone booth, I tried the number one more time.

    “What took you so long?” said the voice on the other end.

    “Me?? I called you about five minutes ago and nobody picked up!”

    “You must have dialled the wrong number, I’ve been waiting for you to call all night and my phone didn’t even ring once!”

    “Forget about it, now that we’re talking – where do we go next?”

    “You sure nobody is on your tail?”

    “I’m pretty-“

    There was the sound of a gunshot on the other end, followed by the thud of the cellphone dropping to the ground. What the fuck just happened over there? The sound of footsteps crept towards the phone. A man cleared his throat and spoke.

    “Miss Chicanery?”

    I remained silent. Do they think she is me??

    “I know you’re listening. Nice decoy, but you’re not going to get away this time. I’ll be seeing you soon.”

    He hung up. I placed the receiver back in its place and collapsed against the wall. Holy fuck. What did I get myself into?

    Image Prompt from Reddit: Phonebooth

  • You Used to Call Me on My Cellphone

    “Wow, still getting texts from my boss even when I’m dead, can you believe it?” I said, going through the notifications on my phone. Once I was done with all the tags to tributes and photos on Facebook, there weren’t many to go through. People tend to stop reaching out when they know you’re gone.

    My new friend who seemed lost in thought a moment ago noticed I had a phone with me. “What the hell – how did you get that in?? I thought they confiscated that shit at customs?”

    “Beats me, they must have missed it. Besides, there’s not much charge left anyway, it’s going to die – like I did.”

    “That’s very funny, can I use your phone for a bit before it dies? I haven’t been connected to the internet in ages.”

    “Dude, you came in right after me!”

    “I know! It’s been half-an-hour.”

    “And..?”

    “That’s an eternity without being online!”

    I shrugged and handed him the phone, “sure. If you get caught, don’t say it was from me.”

    I didn’t bother logging out of my apps or deleting my messages – it didn’t matter anyway, we were in the afterlife, what would people do with information about my past life? I continued walking down the street, leaving my friend, who found a bench to sit on, behind while I explored this new world.

    The afterlife isn’t so different from life. If I took a photograph of the two worlds, you would have trouble discerning the differences. I didn’t feel like I was dead. It was just like living but in another country.

    A couple of weeks had passed since the day I arrived – I had settled into a new routine in this life. I had completely forgotten about the friend I made when I saw his face on the front page of the daily paper.

    Suicide Bomber Stopped From Setting Off Phone Bomb – Terrorist is now in custody, and police are currently investigating the phone used in the crime.

    I spit my coffee out.

    Writing Prompt from Reddit: “You die with your cell phone in your hands, and the afterlife customs agents miss it when letting you in. You find that it still works, and you can connect to the internet and contact people in the living world.”