The Day in Prose

On the face of it, the average day of the American worker-bee seems fairly mundane. However, when one scratches the surface and explores in depth, using the proper scribe as a guide of course, the routines of the day are given color and nuance. In this feature, we allow our contributors to guide us through the experiences of their typical day, from sun up to sun down using their own words. Witness how the the PaperSoup treatment can turn the pedestrian into something much more interesting.
Enjoy!

Morning
The animals are always the first to know, and this morning was no exception. Some scientists think that they can sense the subtle changes in the Earth's magnetic field that foreshadow the more fearful forces of nature, but that's just a guess. Whatever it is they sense, it was going haywire today; birds were silent, squirrels were curled tightly in their tree knots and the dog was occupying the far corner beneath the bed.

Suddenly it struck, a low menacing rumble followed by a violent upward explosion of noxious, super-heated gas. The Earth seemed to stand still and some old timer in Blanton, Missouri -1,500 miles away- swore he heard the church bells ring.

My morning fart completed, I could start a new day.

Midday
I was glad I had the power, six cylinders of solid American cast-iron and 165 horses worth. It waited patiently beneath my hood, ready to be let loose should the situation deem it necessary. I stared into the greasy face of the man behind the wheel of the Country Squire station wagon with the Wisconsin tags and the sullen wife and the two noisy kids. There were so many things I wanted to say to him, but I figured I would let the stare do the talking. It had a way of cutting to the chase.

"This is my state," it said. "This is my state, and 495 is my road, and you better let me merge into your lane so I can take the Old Georgetown Road exit or I'll be forced to show you what this Oldsmobile can really do."

There was no malice in the stare, no contempt; just hard truth

He stared back at me for a while, the only noise to be heard coming from the tick-tick-tick of my turn indicator as it complacently flashed away.

The brake lights of the Country Squire suddenly came on and the station wagon slowly slid behind as I proceeded with my lane change. I gave the Squire one last glance in my rearview mirror.

I guess he got the message.



Dinner
My senses grew keener; every little noise around me picked up by my suddenly hypersensitive ears. Motions of others, while in reality unchanged, seemed to me like a crawl. My eyes narrowed into slits as I bore down on my prey. This bucket of extra crispy would be finished before it even knew what hit it. It may be harsh, but one life must be sacrificed to feed another….on the plains of Kentucky.



Bedtime
My subconscious could hear the banging even if my body could not.

"Wham! Wham! WHAM!!" went the door.

"Get up," insisted the small voice within me, but my body was not listening, still insisting on lounging half asleep on the bed, as if impersonating some pale waif in a French romance movie.

"He's coming to get you!" shouted the voice.

At this subtle reminder my muscles, as if acting as an autonomous being, contracted and instantly propelled me into the defensive and highly maneuverable Praying Mantis position. I stared at the door and prayed one of the three other men in the world who knows this position wasn't standing on the other side.

"Wham! Wham!! WHAM!!!" boomed the door.

It was a good door - solid oak and thick - and it bought me just enough time to give my long flowing mullet one last defiant shake before all that fine oak disappeared into splinters from the force of a tremendous roundhouse kick.

Through the frame of my former door loomed a silhouette; powerfully built and unmistakable even in the faint light of the waning moon.

"Walker, Texas Ranger," I hissed through my clenched teeth. "We always knew it would come to this……brother."