I’m feeling creative AND I have to deal with writer’s block. Talk about dichotomies… As I’ve learned that there aren’t two identical stories even if the plot is the plot is the same (given that whole subjectivity thing), I decided to share what I’m working on.


Joanna lay on her bed, one hand beneath her head, the other resting on a book set aside on her right. Her fingers caressed the hardcover, the engraved picture that was supposed to represent the title character. Her eyes fixed on the ceiling; she had no thoughts for a few moments, something she could never do voluntarily. She glanced back at her alarm clock. Two more minutes before it would go off, telling her she has to start her day. Tuesday. She didn’t like Tuesdays, too far off from the weekend, but with all the Monday rush gone. 

Forty-two minutes later, she finished with her make-up, rearranged her jacket, then went out the door, closing her eyes and imagining the moment in which she’ll be back, leaving the day behind. Maybe if she’d wish hard enough, time would just fly by, stopping only when she’s enjoying herself.


The crowded streets, the crowded metro, the city coming alive. She loved mornings, early spring mornings when the air was still fresh and people were rushing to start their lives again. Moms with children, telling them about the world, elderly people probably rushing to doctors’ appointments, people were headphones, others reading, nervous conversations on the phone, laughs, teenage gossip, a dog barking, business men, artists, lost souls, liars, cheaters, happy people, a homeless man, a perfect little girl with golden hair smiling sheepishly at Joanna, holding on to her mother’s hand for dear life. Everyday faces; completely oblivious.

She pushed the button, patiently waiting for the elevator in the lobby of the building she was working in, trapped in her own thoughts, not noticing the passionate conversation two women on her right were engaged in. Too many ‘Oh, my God’s, too many questions, she could swear she heard ‘conspiracy theory’, too, so she shut herself off.

On her floor, her co-workers divided in groups; some, by the window, were curiously looking up the sky, like there was something there they’ve never seen. Others, gathered around one who was looking up something on the Internet, then reading the findings of a search. Some laughing, others panicked, very few actually working.

Pouring herself a cup of coffee, she approached one of the groups, trying to distinguish what they were so frantically searching for.

“You didn’t hear?!”, Beth, one of her co-workers, asked Joanna a little too enthusiastic. “The Earth stopped moving last night!”

Joanna took a sip of coffee, batted her eyelashes, smiling wryly. She was still waiting for the punchline.

“Seriously. Like…it just stopped. Maybe this is the Apocalypse everyone was talking about”, Beth raised her shoulders, amused, not really believing so herself.

“I’m sure the Earth didn’t just stop moving…”, Joanna smiled ironically. “It was dark when I got up this morning, now it’s broad daylight. If the Earth was to stop…rotating…”

“You didn’t hear the news, anything? It’s everywhere, CNBC brought over some scientists from NASA, no one can explain it. The thing is, it really stopped moving around the Sun. Apparently, it still rotates around its own orbit, which still gives us the whole day-night thing! The revolution around the Sun is just…gone!”

Joanna put down her coffee, not fully understanding the implications. She moved closer to a window, trying to see something in the sky, but everything was just like yesterday. She tried to see if she was feeling something odd, but she wasn’t. Her body was behaving the very same way. She looked up again, touched the window, the coolness of the glass calming the emotions building up inside of her.

“So no revolution means…”

“No more years! I think time just stopped!” Beth let out, with a mix of fear and enthusiasm.”


One comment

  1. Pingback: Revolution III « My life turned glossy

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