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It’s late, and there would be nothing sweeter than the back of my eyelids, but the bed feels dirty when it’s this comfortable. It’s as though skin and sheets are weaving themselves together, and while I sleep comfortable, waking up feels shameful, each day acknowledging these poor habits of living. It’s been a few weeks, and a change is in order.

With a tug, the covers are strewn all over the floor, a jumbled mess of spreads and feet tangled together. I kick myself free, winding the sheets into a ball, and pry the elastic band of the bedspread from the underside of the corners. It snaps back, but after a willful tug, it snaps free, flying into my hand. The comforter is still where the sheets have covered, and though I’ve seen it countless times, in the moment it is unfamiliar. A shudder is given when realized exactly how long those spreads have been on there. Routine keeps the sight sound, but my laziness as of late has made me forgotten the bareness of that lone mattress. Countless pen and drool marks stain where my head has passed out, I note as I wrap it all up into a ball. There’s probably other filth in there as well, remembering some sweaty clothing that went missing a few days ago; I regard the pile cautiously as I carry it to the hamper down the hallway, clapping my hands clean as I ditch it in the basket.

Crisp, new sheets are under my arm as I walk back to my room, my bare arm feeling the cold of the closet they’ve sat in. With a toss, I watch them fall slowly onto the bed, a rejuvenated look to the bed as I tuck them into the mattress. A car passes the bedroom window, sounding for a second in the darkness, and I wait for a second, as the next sheet is unfolded. Soon enough the white covers replace the blue checkered pattern, and it looks almost tasteful above the cluttered floor. I pull the cover back and climb in, as tiredness over comes me. The sheets are cold, but I can already feel my body heat warming them up, and I feel better, a smile on my face as my eyes fade to the darkness.

***

I wake up the next morning, a new dawn shining into my window. My arms rub against the warmth in the bed, and I relax one minute longer before beginning the start of my day.

Maybe I’ll even make the bed.

**********

The only thing I could come up with. It was a good idea in my head, it just sounds realllllllly cliche here. Any thoughts?

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  • 2 weeks later...
:kaukau: I hate to confirm the negative thoughts an author has on their own works, but I have to admit that this was overly simple. "Cliche" isn't the word that comes to mind, so much as I would call it "bland". It's nothing more than a description of a person changing the sheets, which is the most mundane thing in the world. These aren't science fiction bedsheets that have some cool function, either. Given the length, I also knew that the story would be nothing but changing the sheets. As such, there wasn't any real story. Something's better than nothing, though. At least it shows that you have an interest in writing. I would suggest that you go with something less mundane next time, preferably something sentimental. I have nothing against short stories that are actually just scenes, but I like it when the scenes are things that speak to my real-life experiences that have a special meaning for me. High school sports, sneaking into a football game, a day where the cafeteria foot was particularly bad, a bad case of insomnia, and so forth, can all be particularly enjoyable, if only the author can instill why this particular scene is meaningful. Think of when you're telling a brief story of something from your personal experience, such as changing your sheets. What makes you want to share that story? Why does that story have some inherent value? Think of it that way, and I think that even something as mundane as changing sheets can have a certain magic to it without being forced. I know this because just yesterday I was telling someone about how I was doing the laundry, and it was an interesting thing to talk about in spite of how mundane it was because that mundane activity was put within the context of how it was helping me cope with depression, thus creating a vivid snapshot of life that the person I was talking to found he could relate to. It turned out that this led to an interesting discussion - he deals with life sometimes by washing dishes - and it all started from mention of a simple activity that has surprising meaning to it. I already mentioned issues with being mundane, and also the idea that this should create a special and meaningful portrait of life. On that second note, just think of paintings by Terry Reddlin (and if you haven't heard of him, look his art up on Google Image Search right now). My third point would be that this story would have actually sounded really good if you didn't write this from the perspective of a fictional character, but just wrote it from the perspective yourself. Talk about how you change your sheets, just as you would in real life, or in a random blog entry. People have very natural storytelling instincts in casual conversation, and for this type of scene, that would be absolutely perfect, and also more sincere, and the personal voice you bring to the story would be the main reason for reading it.

24601

Edited by Jean Valjean
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