MORAN PRESS
  • HOME
  • MORAN PRESS
  • SHOP
  • HOME
  • MORAN PRESS
  • SHOP
Search
Picture

NEW #Fiction - #Quarantine, No Chill - An Ella Thomas Serial Installment

5/24/2020

0 Comments

 
Picture
​

Image by Lothar Dieterich from Pixabay 

Quarantine, No Chill
An Ella Thomas Serial Installment


​
I fled the kitchen for the quiet confines of my car before the whole sick crew could ruin my solitude. With the seat pushed back as far as the lever will allow, I sit with notebook on my lap waiting for the muse to strike. Nervous energy flows from my fingertips down the pen and onto the page. I swear my readers will be able to feel my irritable anxiety when this story posts to the website.
           
But where is my muse. I feel abandoned in this hellscape time. Trapped in my car in search of enough peace and quiet to pull anomie from my soul and spray paint the morning sky with scathing words. Oh, but what good would it do. Write for the base reason of nothing better to occupy time and space and the void of quarantine, dodging landmines both real and perceived…
           
A sharp rapping on the driver’s side window startles me, my flailing arm spilling hot coffee on my feet. I scream in pain and face my untimely visitor.
           
It’s the FBI.
           
This morning can get fucked.
           
The agent raps on the window again with the same urgency despite our eyes being locked. He motions for me to roll down my window.
           
"Haven’t you heard of social distancing? Are you going to arrest me for not wearing my face mask?”
           
Marcus sighs and holds up a coffee. “Are you going to unlock the door so I can get in or not?”
           
I take a deep breath and count. One, two, three…ten. I won’t kill Mr. FBI agent. I won’t kill Mr. FBI agent.
           
I press the button unlocking the doors and another lowering the window. “Get in before you make a scene. I swear men are fucking toddlers. Even FBI agents.”
           
Marcus circles to the passenger’s side after passing me a coffee. Unscrewing the cap, I take a sip. It tastes glorious. I must admit. He’s an intolerable shit so much of the time, but the man brings the best coffee. It’s the least he can do after making me spill mine.
           
“What do you want today, Marcus? You know I’m trying to write. This better be good. Can’t I get just ten fucking minutes alone? Who knew being trapped at home means you won’t get ten seconds to pee without someone wanting some damn fucking thing.”
           
Marcus removes a pack of cigarettes from a blazer pocket and smacks it against his shoulder several times. Letting out a low whistle, he unwraps the package and tosses the cellophane on the floor. He flicks open a butane lighter and puts a blow torch level of power forth to light the cigarette.
           
“Man, I love this fucking lighter.” He takes a drag and smiles in satisfaction.
           
“Jesus Christ men are such toddlers. Shouldn’t you wait to light a celebratory cigarette until after we fuck?”
           
He coughs on the smoke and hacks for several moments while trying to restrain a fit of laughter.
           
“You’ll always have that blunt sweet talk to seduce me. Never fails. But I’m afraid not today. That’s why I’m here…”
           
He’s interrupted by a siren and suddenly the day explodes with lights and horns and the calm voice of the police dispatcher giving orders to the town cop approaching Ella’s car.
           
“What now, Marcus. Be quick.”
           
The patrolman, whom I do not know, approaches my drivers’ side window. He calmly knocks three times and waits for me to roll down the window.
           
“Marcus…” I whisper. “Hurry the fuck up.”
           
The patrolman knocks again and points at his watch. I must act. Closing my eyes, I try to recapture the story I’d been working on before it flutters into the ethos, but I can’t go back. It’s too late. The patrolman raps on the window again. This time harder.
           
“This is Uxbridge Police. We have a warrant for an object that was delivered to this address yesterday morning. Please cut the engine and exit with vehicle with your hands in the air.”

Stay tuned for the next episode...coming next Sunday night to Moran Press. 
​

READ THE FIRST INSTALLMENT
THE MORNING ROUTINE, PANDEMIC EDITION

Picture

PURCHASE THE BOOKS OF
THE ELLA THOMAS COLLECTION

0 Comments



Leave a Reply.

    NEW RELEASES

    HAND SEWN HARDCOVER BLANK BOOKS

    $35.00

    Only a few left!

    Shop

    CUSTOM HAND SEWN SOFTCOVER JOURNAL

    $15.00

    Only a few left!

    A hand sewn softcover single signature blank journal with parchment interior.


    4x5 inch pocket sized book.

    48 pages.


    Select from 6 COVER PATTERNS (SEE Photos)


    Select from 3 Parchment color options for the interior


    Blue

    Gold

    Ivory


    Get a hand made book just how you want it. No two alike.

    Shop

    RSS Feed

    WELCOME TO MORAN PRESS

    Archives

    August 2023
    March 2023
    February 2023
    January 2023
    December 2022
    November 2022
    December 2021
    September 2021
    January 2021
    December 2020
    November 2020
    October 2020
    June 2020
    May 2020
    April 2020
    February 2020
    January 2020
    November 2019
    September 2019
    August 2019
    July 2019
    June 2019
    May 2019
    April 2019
    March 2019
    February 2019
    January 2019
    November 2018
    October 2018
    September 2018
    August 2018
    July 2018
    June 2018
    May 2018
    April 2018
    March 2018
    February 2018
    January 2018
    November 2017
    October 2017
    August 2017
    July 2017
    June 2017
    May 2017
    April 2017
    March 2017
    February 2017
    January 2017
    December 2016
    November 2016
    October 2016
    September 2016
    August 2016
    July 2016
    June 2016

    Categories

    All

    RSS Feed

Proudly powered by Weebly
  • HOME
  • MORAN PRESS
  • SHOP