Here's a little piece I wrote some year or so ago, it was the first piece of creative writing I attempted as an adult, before "Nome". It depicts Joel and Faye on an average day (well the start of one) it's unfinished obviously but acts as a stepping stone between help wanted and bedlam.
Anyway, enjoy. In many ways I prefer this over my attempts at writing bedlam, it was a bit more murky and depressing, which is great.
Joel rolled onto his stomach, coughing loudly without restraint. The previous night was a blur of wretched sights and disgusting odours but then again, he thought the same of work and his apartment so business as usual there. Lifting his head to peer out of the window across the room, he glimpsed the bomb, Bedlam’s largest structure and monument to the isolation of the town, through the haphazard slats of the blinds. Grasping wildly with the hand not pinned beneath his torso he found his cell phone, squinting painfully at its face, feeling annoyed that it showed so much life so early in the morning.
The new girl had started at the coffee shop a few days previous and had wasted no time in making him feel unwelcome there, not through hostility or distance, but by turning his shift into a half-decent experience which made him shiver. Working was the bane of his existence and the thought of looking forward to it turned him to the drink he was desperately trying to keep down. Tumbling from his single mattress he slid into the adjoining bathroom, knocking miscellaneous objects aside with his bloody feet. Aside from the familiar cracks and crunches a desperate squeak filled the air about his shuffling gait, signalling that the mice had come back. Joel didn’t mind the mice, they were company after all and anything they ate was something less to bundle into trash bags come the end of the week.
He wondered what day it was, but couldn’t bring himself to check his mobile. Its cheerful obedience reminded him too much of her so he fell into the shower and lit one of the many cigarettes he kept littered about the space he occupied. Leaning heavily against the cold tiles he closed his eyes, trying to remember what he had said to the new girl that sparked the drinking binge he was trying to desperately ignore. It was no use, he had become accustomed to shutting things out whenever things became too much, and besides, his head was making a spirited attempt at punishing him for his addictions. Slapping the walls with bandaged palms he found the faucet and turned it. It didn’t make much difference which he used as hot water was a luxury he didn’t have.
With a pathetic hiss his cigarette went limp. Allowing it to drop, he set about the arduous job of washing himself, noticing he hadn’t removed his clothes at any point. Pulling the drenched contents of his pockets out and placing them on the nearby cistern he proceeded to clumsily unbuttoning his shirt, hurling it at the pile of clothes lined up nervously in the corner of the bathroom. They smelled of mildew and Joel was sure something was living in them but evicting them seemed hypocritical to someone who didn’t belong in this god-forsaken town to begin with.
The walk to work was hell, not only did he feel like shit, he hated himself for walking faster when he thought of her waiting, panic-stricken at the door for him to let her in. She was always on time and insisted that they would get in trouble with the manager if they didn’t work hard. He remembered snorting at this remark as, knowing the manager, the place could burn down and attract more customers. Either way, she had set about “organizing” the place which meant he had nowhere to sleep as the stock room was now filled with boxes and chemicals instead of the trash bags of clothes he would prop himself up against.
He rounded the corner to the store, shielding his eyes from the sun now cresting over the bomb, a fake sunrise that was so brilliant as to overshadow its first attempt four hours previous. Painfully peering through outstretched fingers he saw her in front of the store, pacing and furiously mashing her phone. After a few steps the shrill sound of his own device filled the empty street, causing her to look up from her fervour and exclaim, half excited, half anxious that he was over half an hour late and that she wasn’t sure he was coming.
That sparked something in Joel’s mind but before he could chase it up she had closed on him and was grasping at his bandaged hands in a mothering way, muttering about the state he was in. His jaw half-opened he said nothing, staring blankly at her purple hair partially covering her face. Shaking himself mentally he was about to tell her to ignore it when they met eyes, causing his voice to shrivel and his stomach to drop. Swallowing, he brushed her aside and thrust both hands into his pockets, busying himself with finding the keys to the grille covering the service window of Bucks Coffee shop. She coyly pulled at his sleeve but he determinedly told her to get the machines ready, tossing her the keys and pulling a bent cigarette from a sadly squashed packet.
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