Maybe Carl & I Are Just Sneaky, Unethical Bastards.

Because Time Warner is officially the worst ever, this post is over a week late. Apparently, water from the roof has leaked into my internet cord, making it water-logged. No big deal or anything; just seconds from electrocution is all.

So here's my (unusually short) writing prompt fiction I promised, which for the record was pretty much finished, right before I almost got shocked to death.

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I come to you from the depths of studying hell, a place a never thought I'd revisit ever again. But alas, due to my infamous procrastination, I have yet to pass the MPRE for the state of New York. What is the MPRE, you ask? For purposes of this blog, let's just call it "the pointless exam created by a rare bunch of morally prudent attorneys to convince the legal world they are remedying the inevitable ethical breaches young attorneys find themselves in, like having sex with clients and reporting other attorneys for snorting a line of cocaine". You see how calling it the MPRE is much simpler?

After 2 hours of practice questions in preparation for tomorrow's exam, there are two thoughts lingering in my head: (1) why am I so damn unethical?, and (2) I need a break. Unlike most people who'd take a break to watch a little reality tv or surf the pinterest boards, I aim to engage my brain further. As per my post on Monday/Tuesday, I'm responding to the writing prompt I quoted there.

*As always, basically no editing has been done.

The middle drawer would barely open. Sure, Carl was snooping around her desk while she was on a coffee run, but still. Who stuff scotch tape dispensers and a full-size stapler in the smallest drawer of a desk, he thought as he forced the drawer shut, crushing the pens Amy crammed in before she left. Reaching towards the drawers on the left side of the desk, he looked up as a co-worker addressed him. "Amy will be back any minute to help you with whatever you're looking for," she said, raising a speculative eyebrow before walking on. But she wouldn't give me what I'm looking for. No way in hell. Carl paused with his fingers poised on the top drawer handle, and then, convinced he only has time to check one place, tugged open the very last one.

There's a mass of patterned scarves on top and as he lifts them, two golden hoops fall back into the drawer. Amy walked in with the purple one tied loosely around her shoulders this morning, but by noon, Carl noticed she wasn't wearing it anymore. That's how it always was with Amy. She bounced cheerfully into work clad in multiple accessories but by the time she was fully engrossed in some article or editorial piece, said items were nowhere to be found. This must be where bangles and pashminas go to die. In a stack on the left, amidst a few mini-snickers and at least a dozen little wrappers, were newspaper clippings. Carl wasn't surprised to see a few of Amy's articles in the pile, including her first feature in the Post in 2011 and her column on the shortcomings of the city irrigation system which garnered statewide attention. But, he was surprised to find his opinion piece on the mayor's controversial education platform, upon which Amy scribbled 'exactly!' near the concluding paragraph. Carl recalled her reluctancy to join in with the office gossips as they bashed it, claiming she had very little interest in educational matters. Attached to a Bronxville paper article announcing the many successes of their very own Amy Everett was a letter from Amy's sister, with the last line circled: Never forget that daddy always knew this would happen; no doubt that's he's telling everyone up there:) Carl smiled sadly at the emphasis placed on 'up there' and put the stack back into the drawer.

Bunched towards the back of the drawer was another scarf and Carl was sure he'd find what he was looking for beneath it. The scarf was saturated in something, which might have alarmed him had he forgotten her perfume accident yesterday. Pinching it between two fingers, Carl lifted the lavender and vanilla scented fabric to his nose before tossing it aside.  As he reached back into the drawer, his hand grazed the wood backing of a picture frame. Two smiling faces, a couple, looked back at Carl from the 5x7 photograph. It reminded him of how Amy would smile at the photo when it was upright on top of her desk, right by a framed family picture. Carl put the picture back as he found it and began feeling around the bottom of the drawer. His fingers fumbled over a mini-rubric cube, which Amy fiddled with during editor meeting on Mondays whenever she was bored (which was most of the time). His eyes widened as his fingers closed around something round, but all he pulled from the drawer was a mangled hair tie. He held it in front of him, examining the strands of chocolate brown hair dangling from it, mesmerized by how the tips glistened golden in the sunlight. When he heard Amy's distant voice down the hallway, he shoved his hand back into the drawer and and frantically swung it along the bottom until he heard the crunch of a piece of paper. Kicking the drawer shut, he hopped up and away from her cubicle with a ball of paper clutched at his side. When Amy walked into the room, her chair was still swaying from side to side.  

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I really like the guidance that writing prompts provide and plan on doing them more frequently. If you'd like to join in or have done so already, please comment below with a link to your post or any general thoughts!

Have a great weekend!