The Marvins

A story that writerscafe.org lost a few years ago when they lost everyon's stuff. NOW, I keep back ups. This one I had to rewrite from memory. Apologies for the format

Carl paces the kitchen floor, stops, and taps
 his foot on the rust colored linoleum. 
 He is listening in on the 5 Marvins. They are
 identical down to the tie pin, the money clip in
 their pockets and his thinning hair. They are his
 miniature and occupy the breakroom of his
 conscienceness. 
 A list is compiled of possible emotional
 consequences. The architecture of manipulation and
 subtle deceit are discussed. Calculations are made
 on a napkins. 
 Honesty is discussed but the odds are not favorable
 enough for the panal. 
 Carl considers the phone before him. It is one third
 his age and weighs one pound seven ounces; enough to
 shatter the window to his left with minimal
 velocity. The exact hue of the telephone has been
 the source of heated debate amongst the Marvins. It
 lies somewhere between tan and beige. The base rests
 on a brown paper bag which Carl frequently folds and
 places on the floor beneath his knee to view the
 receiver directly beneath the light. He has never
 left the kitchen without a final viewing. 
 It is the last thing he sees before returning to his
 well kempt living room. 
 But, for now, the 5 Marvins have a more important
 topic to resolve. 
  Within the right palm of Carl's hand is a slip of
 paper. A slip of paper Carl has inspected three
 hundred and twenty six times. 
 On this slip of paper is a number, a telephone
 number belonging to a small blonde woman employed at
 his grocery. 
 And Carl is sweating. 
 Though Carl has recited the number in his head
 enough to memorize it, the Marvins know if the ink
 runs and becomes illegible Carl will not utilize the
 digits. 
 Even if a motion is is made and carried and votes
 are tallied with the result being in favor of
 pressing the buttons on Carl's phone, if Carl can
 not read them he will see it as a bad omen and all
 bets are then off. 
 The Marvins are scribbling feverishly with identical
 pens. They are pushing their hair to the side and
 loosening their ties. 
 Carl leans against the counter and considers the
 perfectly round wooden bowl placed in the exact
 center of his kitchen table containing tangerines. 
 He lowers his head in exhaustion. 
 He had made her laugh as she stacked citrus. 
 She had hugged him for it 
And now, as he lowers his head he can smell her cheap perfume. 
 He drops the slip of paper to the floor and reaches
 for the receiver. 
 The Marvins are still. 
 
 Khaki. 

Author's Note

rewritten from memory after writerscafe lost all out work years ago.

Reviews

[nostal]

WOWOWOWOWOWOWOWOWOWOWOWOWOWO

[Clarisse Nanoit]

I apologize. I typoed below. haha (the irony)! It was The Great Delete of 2008. =P

[Clarisse Nanoit]

khaki! I love the final decision on the shade of the phone. =) I'm assuming? lol. I loved this just as much as I did back before The Great Delete of 2009. =) Very cool concept and your details were given in flawless order and timing. Just fun to read, something light and mundane. Great piece. There are a few typos, but nothing too crazy. You still rule, mister. =D
KH