Inspiration
Geoff kicked the front door closed, tossed his jacket and duffel bag somewhere near the coat rack and narrowly avoided stepping on his dog, Rover, as he skidded into the apartment. wiping his brow, he composed himself, grinning as he glanced out the window at the empty lamp-lit street below. He had a good feeling about this, like today was finally going to be the day. He spun his wheelie chair out from under the desk and hastily opened the laptop, drumming the counter as it occurred to him to actually sit down on the wheelie chair. Doing so, Geoff patted Rover on the head and tussled the floppy hair above his eyes and ears as he waited for the screen to load.
Rover was named ironically, though not many people seemed to get that. Geoff had pretty much given up on trying to explain it to people; he’d just sigh and tell them that they wouldn’t understand. It was the same with Geoff’s name. The girl at Starbucks had smiled vacantly as he’d tried to explain that it was spelt with a G and two Fs. He could tell she’d at least half listened when he’d collected the black americano, “Jeff G” scrawled on the side. Geoff scratched Rover under his chin. Rover was probably Geoff’s best friend in the world. Geoff didn’t mind that, he didn’t like people enough to want to be friends with them. Rover was probably smarter than most humans (and that’s counting the times he’ll run off chasing a stick that’s still in his owner’s hand). Yes, thought Geoff, I’d rather be friends with Rover, who accepts that he’s less intelligent than me, than endure primitive dolts who expect me to treat them as equals. He was better than them and they should be made aware of it. It was really only fair to them, he decided. Why let people believe they’re something they’re not? Surely it’s-
Geoff was shaken from his narcissistic train of thought by the welcome tune on his laptop. He eagerly opened word, his fingers poised over the keypad like eight hungry vipers ready to strike. Geoff shook his head, frowning. That was a bad comparison, they were more like...like...he groaned. Every time, he thought. The blank screen sat there, it’s ethereally white glow just waiting, patiently, for him to work his linguistic wizardry and transform it into art. The little flickering cursor in the top left corner, however, said
“C’mon, what’re you waiting for?! You have a million stories locked up in that big brain of yours, let ‘em rip! Can’t be that hard, Stephenie Meyer did it and just look at what she turned out”
The problem is they’re locked up, thought Geoff. He really disliked that little vertical line, so condescending. When he ruled the world he would have it removed. Painfully, if possible.
He looked once again to the blinking line on the blank screen, trying to remember all of the literary gold he’d thought up in the car ride to his apartment. It’d been difficult with all those sirens but there had definitely been some good stuff. Maybe not pulitzer good, but pretty darn good nonetheless. He squinted his eyes and strained to remember but no particularly earth shattering revelations came to mind, other than “You should make a sandwich”. He rolled his eyes at this petty desire but his stomach, growling in approval, compelled him to briefly abandon his work and snack.
He took a slight detour from his usual route to the kitchen to collect his jacket and duffel bag from beside the coat rack, spreading them out on the kitchen table. The contents of the duffel bag spilled out, like the guts of a freshly slain dragon, and Geoff inspected the stacks of bills as he wiped down his pistol with a warm flannel. He tutted under his breath, patting rover on the head. He had followed him, of course, another admirable trait that most people failed to learn.
“The problem with bank robbery, Rover,” Geoff mused, “is that it is far too easy. You cut the phone lines, hack the security system and stroll in with a gun; they give the stuff away. Not in great condition, may I add. Honestly, a little bit of order never killed anyone. If you’re given a job you do it right; whether or not you’re being held at gunpoint is totally irrelevant”
Geoff sighed as he opened his journal and put a big black line through “Bank Robbery”, joining the terms “Credit Card Fraud”, “Pickpocketing” and “Hacking Government Databases” in the realm of rejection. The government databases had been the most disappointing, Geoff speculated, only the more mundane conspiracy theories had turned out to be true (the entire Dáil is part of an underground cult that worships a giant green tiger in the sky, praying that one day it shall return in all it’s glory, to restore true believers to their former majesty and fill all the rivers and lakes with Guinness) Not only that but he hadn’t actually been caught until he’d changed the part of the constitution regarding gay rights to read “Let them do what they want, like I care”. He’d changed it back but they’d never caught him; Geoff was fairly sure they’d pinned it on the guy who made wikileaks.
Geoff bit into his sandwich. He’d really thought this job was the kind of kick he needed. The police had even chased him for a bit. A totally futile endeavour, of course, but at least they tried. He perused the list once more, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the next term. Lots of room for creativity, he liked that.
“I think this might be the one, Rover,” he announced, spraying crumbs across the tabletop, “A quick, clean, motiveless murder is just what I need to demolish this writer’s block” He smiled and fed the last of his sandwich to his loyal companion. He chuckled as he flipped to the next page of his journal, sketching out some rough plans and ideas. Oh, the things we do for inspiration, he thought.
The End
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