Here We Go Again

Kat's in the Bag

Kat’s in the Bag

Forget being in the ‘dog house’ as far as June’s challenge went. I feel like Kat, cornered in the creases of the bag. (Granted, she came out of the bag at the sight of a crumpled library receipt, but that’s another story)

I failed SoCNoC miserably! In fact the word count this June was so low, I don’t think it would have been a worthy word-war total against any of the fellow NaNo-RhiNo’s in the SnoValley Writes! group!

The last time I saw a total count this low was during my first Script Frenzy, where a supposed script morphed into a novella-turned-trilogy, but I digress.

I have great cabin-mates for this month’s CampNaNo! Five fellow writers flying high on their first day/night totals – I’m motivated to try and catch up. While I didn’t have a definitive plan last month (a quasi-one turned quirky that later got stuck in the quagmire), this time, I’ve a general gist of a guide.

Yes, this month’s story is the same as last month’s (Sights on the Storm). Yes, the target word count is the same (50K, oy vey!). This time, however, I have a list of song titles – storm and weather related – to guide me through, along with various verses, poems and classics. Whether or not I can keep on a linear path remains the question – again.

Today’s start, 500 words.

Vincent Russell

Vincent Russell

“I can see clearly now…”
Dorinda Russell grabbed the windbreakers and camera case with one hand while tucking a pack of cigarettes into her backpack with the other. “The rain is gone, Dad.” She suspected he had to be close enough to see her, or hoped so. There was no way she was putting everything down to repeat what she said, let alone get caught smoking again.

The floorboards didn’t creak behind her. Mumbling a curse, she moved her hands, sneaking in a few choice words without thinking. “The rain-.”

“-is gone,” Vincent signed before grabbing the camera case from her. “Watch your language; I’m not blind yet.”

Dorinda threw her head back, aware of her neck popping, her shoulders aching and a new leak in the ceiling. Her father waved his hand over her eyes. “No home repairs,” he told her. “Your brothers’ job.”

“You can hire professionals,” she told him. “Less headache; no trip to the emergency room.”

He smirked, “Your mother’s decision.”

Dorinda snorted. “Who came home drunk?”

“Besides you? Let’s go. I saw a rainbow.” He stepped out the door, tripod in hand before she could offer a proper comeback.

Vincent adjusted the controls of his Kodak Retina before setting the sightlines on his daughter, who still struggled with her digital camera. He snuck a few shots in before aiming the lens towards the sunset.

He could have been nice, handing the empty disc tucked inside the book of matches – the small item dropped onto the kitchen floor just in front of the coffee maker. It wasn’t like Dorinda to be forgetful – about the empty pot, the unlocked door, the open burner glowing red.

It would only be a matter of time for whatever it was that he couldn’t see to come into focus. It was times such as these that he lamented her moving out of the house.

It wasn’t too bad – with Adele and her husband across the street, the boys across town, granted opposite sides of each other, and Dorinda closer to work. The vacated room became the upstairs library, the downstairs room returned to Vincent’s parents. The only question that remained was whether it was worth it to change the locks, keeping Heloise out.

Vincent sighed, worried about the path his only daughter was on; one that drove her back to drinking and smoking – his sister’s vices; Dorinda’s pet peeves. Unwilling to see her suffer in frustration any longer, he held up the book of matches, aware of the colorful metaphors escaping her lips.

“Don’t tell me you already finished a roll of film,” she said, shoving the matches in her pocket. He held up two fingers. “Well, mine will be developed faster.”

He shook his head. Was it worth admitting to her now that the last time she turned the printer on, the ink light came on? Add to that, the fact that his father had used the last of the premium photo paper she splurged on?

Vincent decided no.

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