(Author’s note: So, for the first time in a long time, I missed Fictioneers last week. I was on an Amtrak crossing the Northwest quadrant of the US, to visit family in Minnesota. I am on the way back later this week, so I got time to write this week. I will have more about things coming up, but I figured today would be a good day for writing a fictioneers. Enjoy!)
Such was Paul Picard’s day. Ever since he woke up in the morning, he was hitting one snag after another. The piano lid’s anger towards him finally drove Paul to break his streak of non-cursing. He waved his hands around like a maniac and cursed until he was blue in the face.
The door slammed, and a figure popped their head around the parlor’s doorframe.
“Dude! I can hear you from the other side of town!”
Paul looked at his best friend, Mark Bieganek, as he lowered his voice to near nothing. He was still mouthing curses while waving his hands in anger and pain towards the piano.
“Yeah, I got it, Paul. But seriously, the pain’s not going to go away quickly no matter how much cursing you do.”
After another minute of trying to get the pain to go down, Paul swung his gaze straight towards Mark.
“If you knew the day I had, you’d probably be cursing, too. I have not done it for a year, and I know that I don’t have to do it, but there was no other option today.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, when I woke up, I reached for my alarm clock. The clock was too far away because my now ex-girlfriend moved it to the other side of the nightstand. So I ended up tumbling onto the floor with my face being planted into my smelly old sneakers, which I can say have now been sent to the recycling bin. Shall I go on?”
Mark looked at him, nodded his head, while mentally shaking it.
“Got to the shower, and lo and behold, it was all cold water, all the time! So I washed up and likely proceeded to get a cold starting tomorrow. But that’s not the worst of it.”
“Next, I pick up the mail and there’s a letter from the IRS. It tells me that they think I haven’t been taking out the right deductions, so I’m going to get audited next week. They want 7 years of returns, and all of them are back at my dad’s place in Poughkeepsie. And it gets better!”
Mark waved his hands in front of his face and shook his head.
“Man, just hold up a bit. For just a moment, take a listen to yourself. What do you hear?”
“I hear a man who is not happy with the way things are going today, and who just got his fingers injured by a piano that hates him severely.”
Mark smirked, as he bore his eyes deep into Paul’s.
“What I hear is someone who isn’t able to let go.”
Paul looked at him, and his eyes started to flare up.