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So, I realized I did just about nothing with this.
And decided to fix that?
Here, take a look at some of my homework for Writing Fiction - Please, do not steal anything. That's mean.
He was hungry, and after a moment spent stepping side to side, opening cupboards and checking boxes and bags by scent and touch, he resigned himself to cooking. It wasn't as if he didn't know his way about the kitchen, he rarely left the house and knew it rather well because of that. Perhaps he should do something about that, he mused, taking steps to reach the end of the cupboard row, then two backwards.
A turn to the left, one step further that way, crouch next to the refrigerator door and search for eggs and milk carton by touch. He didn't think he was too much of a pain, settling the pair of eggs on a groove between tiles up past his head. He didn't have a job, but he still had money from when he did and with that he helped his housemate with rent and utilities.
The milk was rested next to the eggs, a step back, and he twisted and crouched to feel among bags. Large potatoes, small potatoes, sprouting potatoes, soft onion, large onion, small onions; he picked one of the smaller of both and the soft one for disposal. Another turn to the left, two long and one short, cold sink under the fingers of the unoccupied hand and the soft onion left in the smaller side. A step to the left, tiles under that hand and then the worn wood of the knife block, no, peeling potatoes came first.
The problem would be finding the job, he thought, reaching into the drawer and retrieving the peeler, and then the cutting board after. While Jason had mentioned a teacher at the school where he worked spent very little of her class time speaking with students, much like he avoided speaking, there was still the fact he'd actually have to deal with people. A pan was located by crouching and turning a little to the left, and he set that aside while he found a proper knife. He listened to the knife move through the onion and potato, steadily pushing the layered food under the knife.
It had been years since he had to deal with a great many people at once, although a great many had really been thirty to forty- he froze and jerked the knife up, moving the hand that had been on the potato horizontally closer then up to his mouth. He remained still but for searching for the damage; he couldn't taste blood just – ah, there was the iron, he had cut himself. He waited a moment longer, then very carefully put the knife's edge to the cutting board again, his hand well out of the way, and shifted what was left to cut up against the edge to resume. The onion made him sneeze and he grimaced at the stinging, but set the knife aside and moved the slightly damp pieces into the pan. Above the pan was the cupboard with actual cups, taking one and then two more steps to the left brought him back to the eggs and milk. He carefully mixed the eggs and milk, avoiding shell pieces but not the pricks of their edges.
People. And not just the usually rather reasonable, if not at least logical, adult people, but teenagers, full of hormones and 'I know better than you' feelings. He found the ham when he returned the milk, and didn't bother cutting the slices but tore one to pieces and placed that in the pan as he put eggshells with the soft onion in the sink. But he missed, by the sounds, and grimaced, dropping to a crouch again to feel for the errant shell pieces and collect them. He didn't think he held enough shell in his hand for both eggs, but he hadn't caught how many hadn't fallen into the sink by the sound and so he deposited what he had gathered in the sink.
But that was the problem with any job, really. He'd have to deal with people. Of course, getting there would be a problem as well, he grimaced slightly as he rinsed his hands and replaced the ham despite the sting. A step to the right and reaching forward, his hands feeling along the metal and finding dials, so he turned one, and grimaced at the feel of a fraction of shell under his foot.
He would have to find something close, or at the school where Jason worked. Warmth under his fingers indicated he'd found the right spot on the stove so he replaced his hand with the pan, adding the egg mixed with milk to the ingredients already there. He'd just have to talk to Jason about it.
I have no idea why I even, just.. bored.
And decided to fix that?
Here, take a look at some of my homework for Writing Fiction - Please, do not steal anything. That's mean.
Navigate
He was hungry, and after a moment spent stepping side to side, opening cupboards and checking boxes and bags by scent and touch, he resigned himself to cooking. It wasn't as if he didn't know his way about the kitchen, he rarely left the house and knew it rather well because of that. Perhaps he should do something about that, he mused, taking steps to reach the end of the cupboard row, then two backwards.
A turn to the left, one step further that way, crouch next to the refrigerator door and search for eggs and milk carton by touch. He didn't think he was too much of a pain, settling the pair of eggs on a groove between tiles up past his head. He didn't have a job, but he still had money from when he did and with that he helped his housemate with rent and utilities.
The milk was rested next to the eggs, a step back, and he twisted and crouched to feel among bags. Large potatoes, small potatoes, sprouting potatoes, soft onion, large onion, small onions; he picked one of the smaller of both and the soft one for disposal. Another turn to the left, two long and one short, cold sink under the fingers of the unoccupied hand and the soft onion left in the smaller side. A step to the left, tiles under that hand and then the worn wood of the knife block, no, peeling potatoes came first.
The problem would be finding the job, he thought, reaching into the drawer and retrieving the peeler, and then the cutting board after. While Jason had mentioned a teacher at the school where he worked spent very little of her class time speaking with students, much like he avoided speaking, there was still the fact he'd actually have to deal with people. A pan was located by crouching and turning a little to the left, and he set that aside while he found a proper knife. He listened to the knife move through the onion and potato, steadily pushing the layered food under the knife.
It had been years since he had to deal with a great many people at once, although a great many had really been thirty to forty- he froze and jerked the knife up, moving the hand that had been on the potato horizontally closer then up to his mouth. He remained still but for searching for the damage; he couldn't taste blood just – ah, there was the iron, he had cut himself. He waited a moment longer, then very carefully put the knife's edge to the cutting board again, his hand well out of the way, and shifted what was left to cut up against the edge to resume. The onion made him sneeze and he grimaced at the stinging, but set the knife aside and moved the slightly damp pieces into the pan. Above the pan was the cupboard with actual cups, taking one and then two more steps to the left brought him back to the eggs and milk. He carefully mixed the eggs and milk, avoiding shell pieces but not the pricks of their edges.
People. And not just the usually rather reasonable, if not at least logical, adult people, but teenagers, full of hormones and 'I know better than you' feelings. He found the ham when he returned the milk, and didn't bother cutting the slices but tore one to pieces and placed that in the pan as he put eggshells with the soft onion in the sink. But he missed, by the sounds, and grimaced, dropping to a crouch again to feel for the errant shell pieces and collect them. He didn't think he held enough shell in his hand for both eggs, but he hadn't caught how many hadn't fallen into the sink by the sound and so he deposited what he had gathered in the sink.
But that was the problem with any job, really. He'd have to deal with people. Of course, getting there would be a problem as well, he grimaced slightly as he rinsed his hands and replaced the ham despite the sting. A step to the right and reaching forward, his hands feeling along the metal and finding dials, so he turned one, and grimaced at the feel of a fraction of shell under his foot.
He would have to find something close, or at the school where Jason worked. Warmth under his fingers indicated he'd found the right spot on the stove so he replaced his hand with the pan, adding the egg mixed with milk to the ingredients already there. He'd just have to talk to Jason about it.
