A dingy white wicker chair sat in the middle of a small, otherwise empty yellow room lined with white baseboards. Her back against the largest wall, where her bed once layed, she swigged the backwash of her last beer and placed the bottle next to the others. The tiny symphony of several glass containers clinking together compounded the loneliness. Her chest glistened with sweat so she pulled up her black Pearl Jam t-shirt and wiped away the perspiration. She stretched out her legs, dressed in faded and ripped blue jeans, and placed her bare feet on the seat of the wicker chair.
Reaching to her right side, she grabbed an acoustic guitar and began to strum. She bent a few chords, and played a little harder as angry thoughts filled her blurry mind. Words stuttered and slurred from her drunken mouth.
“Who are you to tell me how to write
how to live, how to make love, how to fight
I drink too much, sometimes just enough
it’s something I need, to stay hard and stay tough
go find some girl that’ll stroke more than your ego
I’m laying in the bed i made, i know
it’s a floor, with damned yellow walls
but at least I’m me, when i leave these halls
She stopped playing and shook her head in disgust.
“That sucks!” she declared.
Several boxes, most of them filled with her clothes, neighbored the entrance to the room. One box caught her eye. It was yellowed by age and multiple moves from the different places she’d lived. She got up, walked over to the box overflowing with letters and notes. She began to pick out random envelopes and pieces of paper. Some were standard fan mail, but others were from the two people who wanted her out of the lonely yellow room. She read notes from both of them, written months earlier.
“Wow, you two really liked me at one time. Liars.”
She walked over the wall and assumed her previous position. Her legs stretched out, with her bare feet placed in the seat of the wicker chair. She read letters from both of them, him and her, then thought about the last words they said to her.
“We’re in love, just not with you.”
The reality of driving away her two best friends shot through her . The alcohol wasn’t numbing the pain. She picked up the guitar again and tried something else.
“I’m out of beer, out-of-place, and out of your lives
there’s nothing but lone in loneliness
I need to sober up, get right and recognize
I cheated on both of you with music
I ran around, ignored things, and damn I lied
I thought of you two always being here, I abused it
I’m selfish and I’m wrong and now I’m just drunk
I had everything I wanted and I took it for granted
I kicked it, I used it, I threw it away like junk
Now, I just have to live, live with myself, outside these yellow walls.”
She sighed and rolled her eyes.
“That sucks to but at least it’s honest.”
The guitar slid off her lap and landed on the floor. She tilted her head band, knocking her head on the wall. The tipsiness was taking over her brain. Choking back tears, she decided it was time to leave. Bottles were picked up and put into an empty box. She zipped up her guitar inside it’s sleek black case. The letters were put back, and the boxes were piled next to the door. She shook off her dizzy feeling and turned to face the yellow room lined with white baseboards with the lone wicker chair, one last time. She smirked and thought of one final act of rebellion. Pulling a black sharpie from the inside pocket on her guitar case, she marched to the large yellow wall, her bed once lined and her head just left. She pulled off the sharpie top and wrote four sentences. She smiled then snarled.
“Oh well, there went my deposit.”
Ten minutes later almost everything memorializing her was gone. She took away the boxes, the guitar case, the aging white wicker chair and the empty beer bottles.
The largest yellow wall showed something. In black marker, it read.
“She’s gone, she doesn’t live here anymore.
This used to be her room, this used to be her place.
She wouldn’t be tamed, she couldn’t be bored
Good luck sleeping with a memory that you can’t erase.”
This is my response For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Mighty Hunter challenged me with “Your story of 750-1500 words takes place in a yellow room trimmed in white. The only piece of furniture in this room is a wicker chair. Please: no recurring characters, continuing stories, or stories to be continued.” and I challenged Sir with “You or your character is seated on a plane next to celebrity you hate and/or have no respect for. “
This is my last time writing for Indie Ink. Hope they like it.
Today’s song is my interpretation of Yellow Ledbetter by Pearl Jam. The lyrics are non-sensical but it’s about a breakup of a friendship and Eddie Vedder’s level of regret. I kind of ran with that. Here’s PJ with Yellow Ledbetter.