kupo

Hello, this is a very short story about a gentleman in a supermarket. There's no real point to it and I understand it lacks what's commonly referred to as a plot. Or does it? Tell me what you think. Thanks.
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Ding.
Slide.
Ding.
Slide.

He moved his hands rhythmically with the sliding of the door.

I have to get it just right.

Ding.

He dashed in behind a gust of wind and finally, the fresh sterility enveloped him. His immediate sense of accomplishment was replaced by panic. Beads of sweat began to form. Air took its path in and out of his lungs much more quickly than usual.

Not again.

His legs were the first to cooperate under the brutal reign of panic. He hit the floor hard and it hit him back harder. Every shopping cart within the vicinity came to a screeching halt; concerned bystanders paused their grocery decision-making to gawk and stare.

"Vinyl," he chuckled.
"From up there, I swear it looks like linoleum. Man, I bet this floor cleans up real nice with an industrial buffer."

Cell phone cameras clicked as he leapt to his feet and brushed himself off.

"I'm a floor salesman. It's my business; my job. My job."

Shopping carts resumed their squeaking. Breakfast cereals had to be decided on and there was no time for the antics of a floor salesman. He patted the small of his back. The hail mary was still there. He pointed at the high florescent ceiling and thanked God that a handgun hadn't been introduced to the situation. He was thankful that none of his buddies had seen him collapse next to the Wonder Bread. He crept towards the shopping carts and took one for his own. Gracie was its name. He started to remember the creed.

This is my shopping cart. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My shopping cart is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life. My shopping cart, without me, is useless. Without my shopping cart, I am useless.

He couldn't recall the rest. But it wasn't the creed that was important; it was the cart itself. Him and the cart. Him and the cart.

There were rules to play by; conventions to follow. Produce was first, then dairy, then meat. Or was it meat, and then produce? Does a white flag mean surrender or does it mean open fire? Keep the finger off the trigger until you're fired upon. There were so many things to remember. They were all important by themselves but in his mind they had melted together into confusion.

He was back in his body and found himself staring at his own white knuckles, holding Gracie in a death grip. He looked up at the brightly lit aisles and they began to fall away from him, stretching out endlessly and compressing into a single point in the horizon. He was going to faint. Gracie escaped his grip and rolled aimlessly down the baked goods aisle. He breezed towards the exit and didn't wait for the door this time. It opened for him.

Sliding out into the sunlight, he glanced up at the incandescent sky and an unfamiliar expression came across his face. It might have been a smile. He sprinted across the street and into the nearest restaurant.

snorrie

Well, as vague as it was, I found the writing to be captivating. It had a cleaness to it. I'm not sure about the plot, maybe an ex-marine gone crazy, back from the war. I like your writing style. I'd like to see something more in depth, if you could turn this into something cohernet. I've had urges to write a piece similar to this. Not the same subject matter, but just sort of create a random scene with no real plot, but keeps the reader involved. Good stuff, for whatever it is. Koodos

Sigg

What you've got here is a well written introduction to a very interesting character. It didn't give me any kind of satisfaction in terms of a story, but it definitely made me want to read more about this person you've created. Maybe write a sequel? I'd like to read it anyway.

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Drivin' in my Cadillac Rock Box

Fossy

God forbid, it's an excellent prologue or better still first chapter to a full novel. Very enjoyable read. I too love your style.

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Originally posted by Sam Winchester.
Fossy's good too. She gives good advice.

Joelle

It seemed more like a snapshot or a character sketch than a story. It sort of left me thinking "...what?" and that the guy's just a nutcase. Maybe that was your intention. But if not, try reworking it...maybe use this character for another story. If you don't know what you're trying to say with a piece, you're probably not saying anything. I would read about this character again, though, because I liked your style and the basic idea.

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When he was with her, the music never stopped.

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joelle-writing

The Backward OX

Umm....this has been done to death in other threads, but your to me extremely poignant story put me totally in mind of a sufferer from Asperger's Syndrome.

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biggles

I love this, it's very funny and completely drew me in. I think it's got a magnificent plot.

Elysia19

okay, i think im probably really not the right person to read this. But anyways, at the end i was left with nothing...just "huh" and a lot of confusion.

Nice writing style though...i just wish it made sense...:S

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Sevenx

I loved this, I found myself laughing almost immediately, and then stopped as I became more intertwined within the story. I'd really like to see where you go with this.

I have to say though, I was hoping when he dropped to the floor, the story would be about some oddball man, and a very strong potential character. When there was some hint on military background I was slightly dissapointed.