AUT Master of Creative Writing Thesis Exegesis - Scholarly ...

AUT Master of Creative Writing 2008
Shorty © Michael Botur 2009
Danny leaned forward and made Jyoti fish the Whitewash pen out of
her bag. As he clicked it brutally, his gritted teeth unclenched and his grip
relaxed. He stood up and patted himself and found his cigarettes in his
pocket. He came out from behind reception. There was a delicacy to his
steps – the leather of his Docs was reluctant to bend. He opened the front
door and held it for Jyoti, standing on the tips of his toes, wincing. Jyoti
was reluctant, and shivered in the morning outside, holding her bag
against her womb. A light wind had picked up droplets in the air and
broke them against Danny’s and Jyoti’s faces. Across the road, Prayag's
feet were collecting moisture, but he was wiped out and failed to wake up.
Danny pulled out a cigarette and tapped it on its box, cupped it, lit it and
grimaced.
‘My feet hurt,’ he said, shifting from side to side, ‘workin us like a dog,
man. Oi: do you take shares? We could always pay you guys shares. Coz
the more bling we save by cutting costs, the higher our share value. You
have shares where you’re from?’
Jyoti wasn't interested in shares. Danny decided that neither was he,
and started saying how the Institute's stock was based on slave labour.
He tiptoed about as he ranted. When he realised he was standing outside
the Manager’s window, the base dropped out of his voice and Jyoti had to
ask him to repeat himself. Danny pranced away from the window,
chucked his cigarette butt on the wheelchair ramp and went inside, where
the weather was predictable. He held the reception door open for a
confused Jyoti. She delayed a moment, and Danny said to her,
'You like it out here or something? Wind stings, D, it’s like chemicals
on your hands. Back inside.'
Danny came around the reception desk, sat his bum down on the
wheelie chair and returned his feet to the desktop. They proceeded with
their meeting when his feet were comfortable.
'How much are these pens? These are the shit.' His mood improved
with each click. He compressed and released the letters. Jyoti frowned
and squirmed.
'They are I am thinking... twelve dollars for the pen? Whitewash, they
charge for the giving us.'
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