Game Over

Nothing makes a writer happier than a blank screen and a few moments alone. Unfortunately, this writer doesn't have the luxury. But some relative peace and quiet will suffice.

My cat stares at me from her favorite perch--a beat up, gray sofa hugging a wall in my living room. She doesn't blink. It makes me wonder.

On the other side of the room, my brother talks to himself while playing a video game. He lets out a long, vibrating belch--the kind that warps wood and sends small animals scurrying (but not the cat).

I take it back. The cat runs away, meowing in disgust. She runs across my computer desk to chase whatever it is cats feel the need to chase.

"I ripped his soul right out of his chest...yum yum."

I glance over to my brother, reveling in the satisfaction of having defeated another enemy in his pursuit of (saving the princess, killing the king, whatever the outcome of this particular game may be). I hear lots of clicking and pressing of buttons, as well as the usual pow, biff, bang emanating from the TV.

"I'm gonna remove your carcass, bitch! I'm not just any vampire. I eat your souls."

He had a ham sandwich a few minutes ago. No matter; this story's not about him anyway. It's supposed to be about me, enjoying a few quiet moments alone with my drink in my hand, invoking the greats as I type.

"NOOOOO..."

"What did you do?"

"I forgot to save. Dude, can I grub a stogue?"

"Sure." He takes my lit cigarette from the ashtray and inhales. I'm just getting over bronchitis, by the way.

"Son of a bitch..."

He repeats those four words every ten seconds, almost like a mantra. I can set my watch to it now.

I look down at the ashtray to see my cigarette back where I'd left it a few moments earlier. I hear footsteps coming up the stairs. It's my girlfriend, home from an exhausting day of shopping.

"Wanna see what I bought?"

"Son of a bitch."

She holds up an odd green flowered pattern. "This is gonna be the new bathroom curtain. Isn't it pretty?"

"It's beautiful," I say.

"Son of a bitch."

She pulls my brother aside to ask his opinion. He likes the pattern. He then complains to her about the video game, with the customary son of a bitch coming at the precise time.

And all the while, I sit here, trying to write The Great American Novel. While he plays the video game. While the cat runs across the room again. While my girl produces some chick flick she just rented, and requests that my brother cease and desist. While...

Aw, hell. Game over.

459 words