Firebird - Chapter 1

Introduction: Before you start reading, I just want to say something brief. Lately, I've been stuck in an extra long period of poetry writer's block, and I can't seem to get out of it. So, seeing as I have the need and desire to write, I'm starting to work on a story called "Firebird", which was inspired by several things: a song of the same name by a band called White Noise, and an old, crappy poem of mine, which, although bad, had some good ideas.

Anyways, this first chapter is a bit of an introduction to the main character and a little bit of the setting. I'm trying to add some more detail than I usually do, and trying to add more explanation as well. Hopefully, this story will appeal somewhat to you.

And yes, since the story is called "Firebird", there will be a Firebird. She'll appear very, very soon. Say...next chapter? ^_^

Anyways, onto the story:

Chapter 1 - It Starts With a Clash of Thunder

Jason sat idly in front of his computer, deep in thought. The words just aren't coming to me...damn this writer's block. He sighed and rested his forehead on the computer screen. The cool glass of the screen felt surprisingly refreshing.

He turned his head slightly and looked at the papers sitting on the desk. There were so many reports he had to work on for his boss.Amazingly boring, yet completely necessary to his job. Unfortunately,he had trouble getting to work. The more reports piled up, the more he was tempted to work on his poetry. Although, on this particular day, he was suffering from writer's block. He closed his eyes and
wished that those papers would disappear. He opened them again.

Nope. Still there. I guess I should start on them, seeing as I'm getting nowhere right now with my poetry. Shutting down Word, he picked up his pen and sat down in front of the reports. He let out another heavy sigh and took a paper from the
pile. He glanced over it, and began to write.

“Now, carrying the dividend...”

2 Hours Later

“Gah, finally.” muttered Jason. He put down the pen and massaged his hand, which had a major cramp in it from 2 continuous hours of writing. He took a minute or two to organize all of the papers in order of importance, which was something his boss had always asked him to do. Stacking them neatly, he stood up, carrying the small
stack in his arms.

Leaving his cubicle, he turned to the left, heading down the hallway to his boss' office. He knew he was late again with his reports, but he was pretty sure things would be okay. He came to a stop in front of his boss' office. Here we go, into the lion's den, he thought. He reached out to knock on the door, but was abruptly cut
short. The door swung open and hit him square in the face. The stack of papers flew out of his hands as he fell backwards onto the floor.

“Owww...that....hurt.” he said under his breath.

“Oh my goodness! Jason, are you alright?” His boss, Heather, reached out a hand. He grabbed it and she pulled him up.

“Ow. Yeah, I'm fine. Never better.” he replied. He looked around and saw all the papers on the floor. He leaned down and began to gather them together. “I had just finished my reports and was bringing them to you.”

“Well, I was just on my way to find them. You're rather late again.”

“I know, I know. I'm sorry. But, I got them all finished. I did organize them in order of importance, as you requested, but now...I'm afraid they're all mixed up.” Jason stood up and handed her the stack.

“It is good that you got them done, Jason. That I am glad of. Unfortunately, there's something else I need to talk to you about...” she trailed off.

“Uh...what is it?” Jason asked nervously. He ran his hand through his hair. Whenever his boss was like this, he knew something serious was about to happen. Oh no, please do not let it be anything bad.

Today, however, did not seem to be his day.

“Well, it does have to do with your performance, Jason.” Heather began.

Uh oh...

“The results are always very good, your reports are always very thorough and well done. But that's not the problem. It's how long it takes for you to get them done. I don't know whether you are daydreaming or procrastinating, but either way, it's not good. Here at Griffin Industries, we always need to work quickly and efficiently, seeing as we are a company that is swiftly on the rise. Although I wish it could be differently Jason, the higher-ups have told me that we must let you go.”

“But...but...” Jason stammered.

“Don't worry, Jason. We've got a very generous severance package, and we'll also give you a letter of reference to help you in looking for another job...” Jason was not listening, however. As soon as he had heard the words “let you go”, it seemed as if time had stopped. Heather's words were like strange, meaningless sounds; they did not seem to form into anything when he heard them. Heather continued to talk, but Jason just turned away and began walking to his cubicle, his head hanging low.

Sitting down in his cubicle, Jason looked gloomily at the interior. There was an empty box beneath the desk that had once contained several packages of printer paper. Picking up the box, he began to put whatever personal belongings he had at the office. He saved his poetry files to his USB stick and put it in his pocket.

Leaving his cubicle, he headed down the hallway again, only this time not stopping at the office. He was on his way out of there. He didn't want to talk to anyone else. He just wanted to get home. Besides, they could always send him his severance pay through the mail.

Yet again...I've lost another job...

* * *

The sounds of the city were long gone. Jason drove out to the 9^th concession, where his house was. Jason lived in the country, and would never live in the city if he could help it. Sure, he didn't mind being in the city, and he had to go there for work and for his groceries, but he wasn't too stuck on living there. At the end of the
day, he liked the quiet that afforded him opportunities for quiet reflection.

Turning onto the 9^th concession, he saw the familiar sights, which were quite comforting: quaint little houses, fields of grain waving in the wind, a farmer on
his tractor. These were things that brought him a measure of silent contentment. Eventually he came to his driveway. Just beyond the short gravel driveway was a small, red-brick house. It stood probably no more than one and a half stories high. On the front of the house there were bright, white shutters on either side of the windows, and the same was likewise for the other windows on the house. On the
right side of the house was a white trellis, and it was mostly obscured by the climbing ivy that grew along the brickwork. The roof was a sloping, steel roof, which had been added a few years back as part of the renovation and improvement on this century home. Out front were several hedges, which were kept neat by Jason himself. There was also a small patch of peonies that he had planted out front
as well. All in all, the house was very rustic and, in a sense, quite cozy.

Turning the engine off, he opened the door and stepped out. He reached back inside the car and grabbed the box, and then locked the car. He turned toward the house.

“It's good to see you, house. Unfortunately, I've got some bad news.” he said. Most people thought that Jason was a rather odd person, seeing as he often spoke to inanimate objects. He did this because he often found an emotional attachment to certain things, and therefore he felt moved to communicate with them. In this case, this was his Home Sweet Home, his humble abode, where he dwelt quite peacefully and comfortably. How could he not greet his house?

He walked up to the door, the gravel path crunching underneath his feet. He ran his fingers over the hedges. He felt as if he was in a dream. There he stood, in front of the dark, red door. Reaching into his pocket (and subsequently rummaging around in it), he pulled out his house key. Unlocking the door, he stepped into the house and
embraced the sheer silence that greeted him. This was what Jason needed after a stressful day.

He stepped into the kitchen and put the box down on the counter. He was hungry, and he was about to prepare dinner for himself. First things first, Jason, he thought to himself. He picked up the phone from it's base and pressed Speed Dial #2. The phone rang several times, and then a voice was heard on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom. How are you?”

“Oh, Jason! It's good to hear from you. I'm fine, thanks. And yourself?”

"Well...”

“Oh spit it out, my boy. Did something bad happen?”

“I got laid off today.”

“That's terrible! You're a good worker, Jason, and you've been at that Griffin Industries place for a while! Why would they do that?”

“Oh, well, I guess I must have slowed down somewhat.”

“Well, it looks like you are going to have to go job hunting again.”

“Yeah, so it seems.”

“You know, you should try and find something you'd like to do, dear. Office work is terribly boring stuff. I know this because I was a secretary once when I was younger.”

“Hmm...something I like to do?”

“Yes, son. Find something that appeals to your interests. You may not make as much money as you would at that Griffin place, but you'd certainly be much happier, I can tell you. You know, I've seen the way you are with birds, how you love them so much. Maybe you should try to get a job working with birds?”

“I...I never thought of that. That sounds pretty good, Mom. Thanks for the idea.”

“Oh, no problem at all. Now, when are you going to come over for dinner
one of these days?”

“Soon, Mom, soon. We'll just have to plan a time.”

“Alright. Well, I guess I'll talk to you later, son. Have a good evening.”

“I will. You too. Love you, Mom.”

* * *

Jason stood in front of his bedroom window. Outside, a wicked storm had brewed. The wind shook the trees violently in the fast-pouring rain. Flashes of lightning and claps of thunder turned the sky into a battleground.

Jason turned away from the window and climbed into his bed, burrowing himself deep under the covers, getting himself all cozy and warm. He stared up at the ceiling. The white-ceiling, now rendered black in the dark of night, stared right back at him. Man...I've got to go get another job again...it's always annoying to go job-hunting. Hmm...maybe Mom is right. Maybe I shouldn't focus solely on money; I need to find something that appeals to me. He turned and looked out the window once more. As if sensing his unease, the storm seemed to quiet a bit.

Sighing, Jason turned over and fell into a deep sleep. Well, for a few minutes
anyway.

Kyaaaryaaa!

Jason sprang from his slumber. What was that he heard? Well, he could've sworn he heard it. But...he didn't hear it with his ears...it seemed to sound in his mind and his whole body. His heart was racing, and he felt so sad all of a sudden, even more so than earlier.

Jason got up and went to the window again, looking out through the rain, which fell at an exaggerated angle due to the high wind. The visibility was poor, and there didn't seem to be much happening out there, besides the storm. Still unsettled, he returned to his bed. He tried to go to sleep, but it seemed whatever he had heard, it had really affected him. He was no longer all that sleepy. He was just sad...he tried to shake off the feeling, but it wouldn't go away. True, he wasn't happy about losing his job, but it hadn't been that much of a disappointment to him, he never liked that job much anyway. But now, he began to weep, wetting his pillow with tears.

Kyaa....

Ooh, interesting character you've got here. The whole talking to his house thing was slightly weird, but I want to see where you'll take this.

The more reports piled up, the morehe was tempted to work on his poetry.

Keep writing!

abuzzbuzz92 wrote:Ooh, interesting character you've got here. The whole talking to his house thing was slightly weird, but I want to see where you'll take this.

The more reports piled up, the morehe was tempted to work on his poetry.

Keep writing!

Damnit, that error was because of the formatting. When I posted it, the formatting went all weird and I had to fix it, and I guess in the course of doing that those two words got mashed together.

How is him talking to his house weird? Heck, I talk to inanimate objects all the time. I'm pretty sure everybody does it in one way or another.

e.g. "Damn computer! Why are you being so slow!?"

XD

I'm working on Chapter 2 now. I can't wait to introduce the Firebird.

P.S. By the way, if you hadn't already guessed, Jason is just a representation of myself.

Yeah, I figured about the character.

I don't know, I guess I didn't realize most people talk to inanimate objects. He seemed so casual when he was talking to his house..

Anyway, I'm looking forward to the next part.

abuzzbuzz92 wrote:Yeah, I figured about the character.

I don't know, I guess I didn't realize most people talk to inanimate objects. He seemed so casual when he was talking to his house..

Anyway, I'm looking forward to the next part.

Lol it did seem a tad odd when he did it, as if it was a natural thing too do. I bet he wished it responded also, right?

Dude, if his house had responded...that'd be odd. He'd be tripping on LSD.

LYSERGIC :p