I’ve been very into the idea of free writing in the mornings to clear the cobwebs out of my head. I’m trying to share more of my miscellaneous musings here as a direct result of joining a creative writing workshop again (glory be!), but also in an attempt to be a little less precious about my unedited work. Anyway, here’s an excerpt of my morning freewrite!
A voice cut through the rage fog in his head.
“Robinson, we just need your signature on the dotted line.” Chad slid a piece of crisp, white paper across the smooth walnut table towards him.
Robinson looked down at the paper. The dotted line was begging for a Pilot Custom 823 fountain pen with a 14kt gold nib and vacuum filler to ravage it with a sudden blossom of dark ink. Waves of nausea came fast and hard, and he lurched out of his chair.
“Robinson? Are you okay?” Chad asked. They were staring at him; a sea of pallid faces in gray suits, a pixel pattern of static.
That was a lie, but what was he supposed to say? One of them had taken his pen. He just had to figure out which one. The smug look on Nelson’s doughy face was enough to make him want to reach out and knock his wire-frame glasses off. Nelson wiped sweat off his pimpled forehead with the back of his hand. Robinson squinted at him noticing – not for the first time – that Nelson had a weak chin. His father used to say: never trust a man with a weak chin. He could feel tension tickling its way up his spine toward his shoulders.
“Did you take it?” He asked Nelson.
“Take what?” Nelson started to say but Robinson slapped the rest of the words out of his mouth. A red palm print flashed like a stoplight on Nelson’s cheek as he hissed and sputtered. His wire-frame glasses now sat diagonal.
“What the hell, Robinson? Have you lost your mind?” Chad stood up.
Chad always did like Nelson better than him.
“Would you gentlemen please excuse me?”
Robinson stumbled out of the conference room heading toward his office.