A Glow in the Dark

Night Shift Storytime

Given: "glow in the dark" (phrase/object) by Justin Cloyd

The snow was falling heavier than usual. It fell everyday this high up on the slopes of the mountain, but tonight, a storm was brewing. The wind began to whistle and rise in ferocity. Snow was billowing back and forth, covering the face of a young man trudging upward. He was bundled up heavily from head to toe and was carrying a large pack on his back.

"Pete!" called a voice from behind. He stopped and turned around.

"Eddie! Are you alright?" he called.

"My foot's caught!"

The storm was making it difficult to see and move, but Pete slowly made his way back towards his companion. It was quite the chore, as the wind had been to his back on the way up. After what seemed to be an eternity to the poor fellow with his foot caught, Pete finally reached him.

"I told you to say behind, Eddie. Over and over again, I told you."

"I know, I know. Just get me unstuck."

Pete bent down and removed the fresh powder from Eddie's boot. There were two large rocks with a small crevice between them that the foot of a man should not be able to fit through, yet, Eddie's managed to wedge itself in.

"How did you do this?" Pete called out.

"I don't know. Just help me out of it, will ya?"

"Be patient. This won't be easy. Can you feel your toes?"

"I can't feel anything in this cold."

"Ok. Hold on."

Pete reached back in his pack and pulled out a large old trowel. Getting on his hands and knees, he cleared more snow from around the rocks and found the edges. He tried to dig into the ground, but the frozen earth would not give. After a few more failed attempts, he resorted to pushing, pulling, and kicking, but the rocks also wouldn't budge. Not even the boot would show signs of movement, as Pete had attempted to wiggle it out.

As minutes passed, the storm grew more fierce, as if the mountain itself developed a dark determination  to expel or bury its invaders. Night was also approaching, making the atmosphere even darker and colder amidst the treacherous wind chill. Pete was beginning to lose hope in removing the boot from its prison; he was also losing his own ability to physically feel anything. 

"You're not going to like this," Pete said, "but we need to try to pull out your foot and leave the boot behind. It's either that, or we freeze out here."

Eddie was getting cold to the point where he could hardly speak, but slowly nodded. This was his first time up in the mountains. Pete untied the boot and carefully put both hands around the calf of the  wedged foot. Gently pulling, the foot slowly came out. It was surprisingly easy, as the foot itself was also covered in layers. Regardless, he knew that they needed heat quick. He looked over and noticed Eddie's face starting to turn blue.

"Ok, you need to trust me now. I've been here before and there are some caves scattered around here. Do you think you can walk?"

Eddie could barely make a sound.

"Hold on, bud," said Pete, "We'll get out of this. Here."

He took off his scarf and wrapped it around the mouth and nose of his companion. The icy wind bit his neck. Pete then lifted Eddie into his arms and proceeded forward. Luckily, the wind had mostly returned to his backside, providing some relief to their faces, along with a slight speed boost. The storm was also letting up just enough to allow Pete a little more visibility in the failing light. This did not last long though and the blowing snow increased again, reducing his vision. However, in those moments of relief, he saw in the short distance a dark shape, like a darker spot in the grey air.

"That's a cave opening," he thought. With the strength he had left, he journeyed forward without stopping towards the supposed opening. It was farther than it had initially seemed, but he finally made it, and entered the cave, for indeed it was, still carrying Eddie in his arms. After walking a short distance into the cave and away from the storm, he carefully set Eddie on the hard ground and let out a heavy sigh of relief. The cave was pitch black, but the relief from the storm was so overwhelming that Pete nearly collapsed in a comforted weariness. He quickly snapped out of it.

"I need to start a fire," he said to himself. Pete set down his pack and began to blindly rummage through what he had. Fortunately, there was enough experience in him to plan ahead for fire-less scenarios. He pulled out what he had for fire making, and in a manner of minutes, a small fire was going steady. Small though it was, Pete's spirits rose as the minuscule rays of light bounced off the icy rock walls of their shelter. He checked on Eddie, whose skin color had started slowly returning to normal. It also appeared that he had drifted off to sleep. Pete sat down next to him and thought of home. A warm fire in the fireplace; an apple pie in the oven; mother sewing in her rocking chair; father in the study, smoking his pipe - this was the first time he had been homesick in years.

"Tomorrow, we'll head for home," he spoke softly. He then took out a couple of small blankets wrapped in his pack. He unwrapped one and placed it on Eddie, but left the other unwrapped as he laid his head down on it. Pete rolled over and looked at the sleeping body next to him. "Good night, brother," he said, and closed his eyes.

Meanwhile, further down in the dark tunnel of the cave, two large eyes opened. The looked this way and that. A large mass stirred. It was awake, and it was hungry. Its attention was caught by something in the distance. There was a glow in the dark.

Night Shift Storytime

As you may or may not know, I am currently working a night shift custodial position at Bowling Green State University. For one who appreciates daylight, it has been somewhat of a struggle getting used to becoming a full-time night-dweller. It's always dark, there's nobody around, and the only sounds I hear come from the hum of heating units and vending machines (that is, if I'm not listening to music). One of the things that is helping me through all of this is my appreciation for silence. I'm usually ok with turning off my iPod and simply working in the quiet of the shift. I may be thinking about a variety of different things that I need to do the next day (or afternoon, as I sleep through the morning after the shift), or how efficiently I'm working that night (it varies), or I may not be thinking about anything at all - just listening.

One of the things I've wanted to develop since graduating from Spring Arbor last May is my relationship with writing. Unfortunately, not until very recently, I have not written anything since creating my monologue in April, which was used in my senior recital. I miss it. I never thought I would have ever said anything like that a few years ago. I miss creating stories and sharing them.

While working this past week, I had an idea, which I shared with Caris (my soon-to-be wife, as you may or may not know). I asked her to give me a small piece of information in which I could create a story out of. It had to follow one of these criteria: it had to be a title, or a character name, or an opening line. She gladly did so, and during the last couple days of work, I have used my designated break times to write a short story using the tiny bit that she gave me (she actually gave me more than I asked for, but oh well). It's not very long, but here's what I came up with:

Given: "The Clock" (title), and "O'Ryan" (character)

The Clock

"O'Ryan, Benjamin. Age 27. Reported to be seen at the incident. You're on the clock, sir."

There was silence in the room.

"Am I supposed to say something?" asked O'Ryan, rather sheepishly.

"Just tell me about the incident."

"The whole thing?"

"The whole thing."

"And I'm being timed?"

"Pardon?"

"You said that I'm on the clock."

"Yes."

"Is this being recorded for quality purposes?"

"Archives. Now, from the beginning if you please."

"Well, that could be anywhere. It's quite a long story."

"From the beginning of the incident."

"Oh, ok. Now you're making more sense. From the beginning..."

O'Ryan sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. After a minute or two, he noticed a rip in the leather on the arm of his chair. It wasn't a large rip by any means, but large enough to reveal the chair's inner material. He wondered how old the chair was. He didn't see any other rips or holes,  but the leather seemed quite worn. 

This chair business soon became boring, and O'Ryan closed his eyes. He thought of the sunshine and began wishing for it over the dimly lit, musty smelling room that he was in.

"Mr. O'Ryan, remember that you're on the clock."

"So I am being timed!" exclaimed O'Ryan.

"No, it's just -"

"Just what?" he interrupted.

"Why are you so concerned about the clock?"

"No, why are YOU so concerned about the clock?"

"Mr. O'Ryan, clock or no clock, we are here to discuss what you can recall about yesterday's incident. And we are not leaving until you tell me what you know."

O'Ryan leaned over and stared at his interrogator.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"What?"

"I don't think I'm the one on the clock here."

"Excuse me?"

"You know what? I'm not gonna tell you anything." 

And with that, O'Ryan reclined in his chair, put his hands up behind his head, threw his feet up on the table in front of him, and closed his eyes.

"Nothing?" asked his interrogator.

"Nothing."

"Alright. I think I'll just punch out then."

The interrogator stood and put on his jacket, which has hanging on the back of his seat. He checked his watch and turned toward the door. Without saying a word, he opened it, turned out the lights, closed the door behind him, and locked it.

The End

One of the ideas that I shared with Caris is how I wanted to open this up to anybody who would want to contribute. I have this vision of working the night shift and constantly developing and sharing stories, one after another, all based off of tiny morsels of the creativity of others. And I am inviting you to take part in it.

Come up with something. Anything. Whatever comes into your head. Be creative. Have fun coming up with this small bit of information. You can choose from one of these criteria:

• A title for the story
• The name of a character in the story
• The opening line of the story
• An object that is used or may have significance in the story

When you come up with something, let me know (by commenting below or by some other means) and I'll add it to my list of story ideas (start with one idea at a time). I'll write one story at a time (first come, first serve), and post it when it is completed. At a minimum, I'll be posting one story a week. The stories could cover any genre, and could be about anything. It just depends on how your idea strikes my brain. Some will be better than others, but I hope to just keep writing. If you see your idea posted as a story, send me another idea. 

This is all an attempt to bolster creativity and the sharing of it, so I would love for you to be involved in it. This may be a long shot, but hopefully, you'll take part in it.