As you may know, November is the official National Novel Writer’s Month. It is a time to explore the crazy insanity that is a writer’s life. The goal is to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. Actually, it doesn’t even really have to be a novel as long as it’s 50,000 words. My point is, I will be doing that for the month of November. Yaay me!!!!
I haven’t decided how I’m going to work the 5-minute exercises on Mondays. I don’t know if I’m going to post the NaNo’s that I do on Monday’s or maybe even posting every day. I just don’t know yet. However, I do know that today, I am going to post the work I’ve done. 1,671 words and it only took me an hour and a half. Guess who’s proud of herself. If I keep that momentum going, I should be able to get to 50k before the month is over. (Prob not, but a girl can dream).
Anyway, here it is, posted in it’s entirety, my nano for today. Enjoy.
You wake up to find yourself alone in bed. Where is your wife, you wonder. You remember you were supposed to pick her up last night. But you didn’t. You forgot. Still, that doesn’t mean that she shouldn’t be home. You drag yourself out of bed and look around the house. You don’t smell any breakfast cooking, but that doesn’t really mean anything. She could simply be watching TV or in the kitchen trying to decide what to cook. Your search through your house yields no results. She’s not anywhere. You even checked the basement, just to be sure. You look at your clock. It’s getting late. You have to get ready for work.
Worried, but remaining calm, you jump in the shower and try to clear your head. Damn, where could she be? It’s too early for her to have gone into work. She works second shift. You always get to kiss her goodbye. Every day. Every single day. Oh, damn it. You didn’t check to see if the cars are still in the driveway. She must have gone to run errands. That thought making you feel a little better, you climb out of the shower and towel off. You take a deep breath of the soap-scented steam and realize that the heat is giving you a headache. Damn, your head is really starting to hurt. You have to get out of the bathroom and into cooler air.
You stumble across the plush tan carpet that you always hated into your bedroom. You plop down on the bed. God, your head is killing you. It hurts soo much. You don’t have a lot of time though because you have to get to work. Granted your job makes you feel like you’re working in the b-movie version of Office Space, but it pays the bills, enough of them anyway. Forcing yourself out of bed, you drag your ass to the kitchen to take some Aleve and have a glass of orange juice.
After you shoot back the little blue pill and down the orange juice, you happen to look out of the kitchen window. Down below the window are cars in the driveway. Two cars. Yours and your wife’s. Oh, what the hell? Now your heart starts racing. If her car is here, but she’s not here, then where the hell is she?
You rush to the phone to call your mother-in-law. As soon as she picks up, you wish you had called everyone else but her. You ask her if your wife is there. She says no then proceeds to berate you for losing her daughter. She goes on about you not knowing where her daughter is how irresponsible you are. It appears the matriarch was told by your wife that you were supposed to pick her up from work, but you didn’t. She had to get a ride from someone else. After fifteen minutes of your life that you will not be getting back anytime soon, you bid in-law a hasty adieu and hang up.
Shit! You try not to panic as you dial the police stations and hospitals. None of them have a woman in custody who matches her description. You call work and tell them you’re going to be late. You call everyone in your phone book. Nothing. You being to wonder when a good time to panic is. Should you wait until you’ve alerted everyone in the world that she’s missing, or would now be a good time?
Pacing the room, walking laps around the house, you decide composure is the way to go about this. You ignore the tick in your jaw and the twitching of your nerves. You open and close your palms, trying to think of a solution. There is always a solution. But first, you have to keep your mind from going into those dark places, those places that could drive you mad, could give you panic attacks. She’s not dead. She’s not. You know that. There have been no accidents. She wouldn’t just up and leave you without saying anything, so you’re not getting a divorce. In fact the last conversation you two had was about having kids and that fact that she’s ready and you need to stop stalling. Not a conversation she would have with you if she was planning on making a surprise escape the next day.
Okay, so with all bases checked, you try to think of other things you could be doing? What else should you be doing? You pick up the phone to call the police and ask them how to file a missing persons report. Before you can hit dial on the phone, you hear a knock at the door. Feeling relieved, even though you realize it’s premature, you rush to the door, happier than you’ve ever been in your entire life. God, you and she were going to have a nice long sit-down about this little disappearing act of hers. What the hell was she thinking, doing this?
With the words, “Oh, thank God,” at the tip of your tongue, you snatch the door open without so much as glancing at the peep hole. When you open the door, you are greeted by air. There is no one there. There is no one around. This has to be a joke, a bad dream. You run outside, off of the porch, to have a look around. Surely, whoever knocked couldn’t have gone that far. There are no cars on the street except for the neighbors. There is no one running down the street or hiding in the bushes. There is no one there. What hell is this? You proceed to run a little further down the neighborhood in your pj’s. Who was really going to care?
Conceding that there really is a phantom knocking on doors, you return home. Upon walking up the steps to the porch, you notice the mailbox and feel like a complete idiot. How could you not have even considered looking there? That would have the first place anyone with sense would have looked. You open the mailbox and find a folded piece of paper in the box. You unfold the paper and are hit with a ton of bricks as you read two words written block black letters. “YOU FAILED.”
Oh, dear God. Now, you decide, is the perfect time to panic. You reach for the door. You have to call the police. You have to show them this letter. You wife has been kidnapped. They look for her. The whole world needs to look for her. You imagine her in the clutches of some brutal, uncaring bastards and the things they’ll do to her before they kill her and mail you her some of her parts. You imagine her crying in a dirty closet of a cell, crying for you, begging for mercy that will only come to her in the form of a speeding bullet. You had to get to her. You had to help her.
You turn the doorknob, but you walk right into the door. The door didn’t open. The doorknob didn’t turn. No. no, no, no. you try again. Nothing. NO!!! Someone is in your house. It was a ploy. It was s trick to get you out. Who knows what they’re doing. You have no phone, you have no keys. You have to do something. Now! Now! Now! Thinking quicker than you ever have in your life, you throw a rock through the back driver’s side window on your car. You unlock the driver’s door and climb in.
Working on pure instinct and fear, you go into the glove box and grab the pliers you keep there for emergencies. You rip open the starter, and wire the car. You put the car in gear and drive straight into your living room. That’s going to suck to explain to the insurance companies. But hell, what else were you supposed to do? Ignoring the mess, you have to push against debris in order to open your door. When you do, you really wish you took your wife’s advice and wore slippers instead of running around barefoot everywhere. You step on nails, glass, splinters, and whatever else one could step on after having decimated his own living room. You don’t even want to know how many shots you’re going to need after this incident.
Stumbling over debris as best as you can, you have to find the intruder. After looking around the living room, and kind of hoping to find a body, you rush upstairs. You know the bastards have to still be here. They may have been able to predict you would be a fool about the stupid door knocking thing, but there is no way they would think you would drive your own car through your own house on purpose. Who would see that coming? They have to be here. They have to be here.
Forgetting that you have no plan if you do find the intruders, you rush through every bedroom in the house, all four of them. You check the bathroom. Nothing. How the hell could someone just disappear like that? It made no sense. After putting on some shoes, you rush back downstairs and climb over your car in the living room. You check the kitchen. Nothing.
You are frustrated to point of wanting to scream. You almost give up when you hear coughing coming from the living room. What the hell? You checked everywhere. Or so you thought. You move through the living room, trying to pinpoint where the coughing is coming from. The intruder coughs again. Behind the couch? You thought you checked there. Clearly, you are wrong. You stumble over the debris and climb over the couch. Lying on the floor, you find the intruder. You almost can’t believe what you see. Dressed in all black with a black hood covering his face and head, the guy looks like a ninja. Ninjas stole your wife? Really?