Every week or so, Writer’s Digest published a random set of circumstances that writers use to craft a short story around. It helps to take a break and just flex some creative muscles. I’ve been getting into these lately and thought I would share with everyone. Enjoy.
The Writer’s Digest prompt was: Pretend that there is a small man/woman operating the control system of your brain. Write about your day from his/her perspective. How does he/she feel about you? http://forum.writersdigest.com/forums/thread-view.asp?tid=33944&posts=1&start=1
My short story:
Squealing monstrosities raged against the wood door that separated the subconscious dreamscape from the conscious brain. Had the brain gnome not wedged a chair against the knob and braced its back against the door, it surely would have busted open. It was 4:58 am before the horrors settled down.
The gnome rubbed the bags under its eyes and sloshed through the thick slime of confusion and stress that coated every square inch of the cranial hovel. Tossing off its pointy hat, it sighed as the hat missed the rack and stuck to the slimy wall. The gnome shimmied out of its hip waders and snuffed out the earwax candle. As tiny drops of slime dripped onto its forehead, it groaned and pulled the ratty quilt over its face.
The shrill beeping of an alarm clock made it sit straight up, hands balled into fists. The gnome sighed as the clock beeped its maniacal laugh. It was 5:00 am. Time to get ready for the gym.
Lighting another candle, it slipped on the hip waders and peeled its hat off the wall. It shuffled around the maze of wilted cardboard boxes containing 33 years worth of random trivia that would never be used in any sort of practical manner. The gnome couldn’t remember the last time it’d showered as it punched the autopilot #1 button, sending Brad through a series of preprogrammed activities while the gnome went about feeding the quinine pig that powered the operation.
The gnome leaned against an old stack of memories, its heavy eyelids fluttering shut for a moment. Suddenly, it snorted itself awake and ran to the control panel. Brad was on his second cycle of autopilot as everything was reset, leaving the human wondering why he was brushing his teeth again.
It was a silly thing anyhow, the gnome thought. The gnome did not want to work out; it wanted to go back to sleep, but the strict schedule of the soldier it was in charge of stood out on the corkboard in almost mocking fashion. The gnome sneered at it and snatched up a copy of the appointment list for the day and smeared it through the slime, then placed it neatly back in the brain’s day planner with a smile on its impish lips.
It was 9:00 am and the gnome was already exhausted. It was all it could do to get through the work out, get Brad breakfast and throw a uniform on him. The only upside to the Soldier thing was the fact that no thought went into what to wear for the day, a button labeled autopilot #2, then back to the sticky control panel to pull the levers and the twist knobs that demanded coffee.
The inspiration alarm went off at about 3:00 pm. Much to the gnome’s chagrin, Brad had found a couple of minutes to work on his manuscript and needed some top notch drivel. With ‘World’s Greatest Gnome’ coffee mug in hand, it shuffled in a daze to the dreamscape door where the beasties were snoring loudly, and banged on it until they were roaring again.
7:00 pm rolled around and the slime of confusion and stress was almost to the gnome’s knees. Apparently, the fun idea the gnome had with the day planner had backfired, thus causing the slime nodes to work overtime. The gnome had to ratchet its seat up to the highest level at the control panel, which was killing its wrists as it tried to get Brad through a witty conversation. Seeing the slime had reached the corner of the quilt on his formerly dry bed, it jumped down and kicked the slime, slipped, and splashed backward.
9:00 pm and the gnome was still picking slime out of its beard. Work needed to be done, but the restless dreamscape monsters were still roaring with inspiration, thus giving the gnome a headache and distracting it. The worst part was that the monsters would probably fall asleep again when Brad sat down to do some writing after business hours.
11:00 pm and Brad was staring at the ceiling, eyes slowly starting to shut. The screen on the panel registered sleep mode. The gnome plopped down on the bed and rubbed its eyes, but before it could even take its pointy hat off, the dreamscape door started to slam and crack as the nightmare shift started. With a sigh, it wedged the chair under the knob and braced its back against the door again.