TEN MINUTES

Her supper cooked and ready to eat, she sat in front of her computer and checked her messages on the author website. Ah, yes! One of her favorite writers on the site was making his latest effort, an entry into one of the contests, available for…oh, my. Ten minutes, he said. Well, she was a fast reader and was sure she could get through it in time.

Getting comfortable and taking the first mouthful of delicious stew, she clicked on the link and the book opened before her eager eyes. The opening pages promised a great read, giving a quote that hinted at the main contents. Page 5. Yes, yes, marvellous….page 6….

What insight this man had! And how cleverly he incorporated his points into a story line that illustrated his observations about love and the human condition. Fascinating stuff, she thought, continuing to read, her scoops of food reaching her mouth with less frequency. Page 10….

Oh, dear, is this what I think it is? she asked herself, catching on to the poignant heartbeat motivating the tale. Several more pages….yes. Oh, my. Yes, indeed. Well, now all that remained was to see how the writer was going to tie everything together and bring it to what she was certain would be an absolutely brilliant conclusion. She took a quick sip of her soda and leaned closer to the screen.

Interesting – good analogies. Click for the next page….

Blank screen.

She stared at it for several moments, expecting that momentarily it would resolve into the next page. It did not. Blank. White. A wall of silence mocking her.

She choked down what had been her final spoonful of the stew and sat straighter, her outrage growing. How could he – yes, yes, he’d said only ten minutes, hadn’t he? She’d been properly warned. But…memories flooded back of her youth, of her mother invariably demanding that the television be switched off two or three minutes before the climactic conclusion. Why? Because supper was ready, or the table needed to be set, or whatever. Either way, this unfair demand effectively deprived the girl of the conclusion of her show every time. She’d dealt with the mounting rage this had engendered over the years, finally finding solace when direct-streaming access to all the old television shows became available on her computer several decades later.

But this – this was a repeat of that same kind of torture. What if he decided not to post his book in the contest? What if instead, he chose to put it up for sale as an e-book? She didn’t own an e-book reader, was flat broke, and it could be ages, if ever, before she finally got to read the ending.

The savory aftertaste of her supper turned bitter in her mouth. Angry enough to want to cry, she shut down the computer and threw herself into bed. Later, her husband Mike joined her, and it was a testament to the strength of their marriage that he neither confronted nor divorced her after spending the night hearing her mutter furiously in her sleep, over and over, “Damn you, Barry! Damn you! That hurts! Oh, God! Barry, please!....”

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 13.03.2012

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