Sketches and Sterf: 4

W&C exerpt

hullo again here's the first few pages of that thing I've been writing w those two characters, Winifred and Charlie. Still needs major editing but I'm proud of it?? Feedback and ideas grandly appreciated !!

A child sat down with a fresh notebook and pen, ready to write down anything which immediately came to mind. She could feel part of her bursting with ideas but alas the other, not to mention tired, half prevailed and she slumped back into her chair. "Nothing to do, nothing to do," she muttered to herself, gnawing on the half-eaten pen. "I'm going crazy, there's no doubt," she whined in frustration.
    A woman chuckled and leaned against a doorframe opposite her irritable daughter. "What's wrong now?" she smiled lightly.
    "Everything, everything's wrong. I'm blank, idea-less, i'm gonna go crazy, mom," she fussed.
    "Hun, you're also eight, give it a break, you'll get something someday. You just gotta find something you love to do," the mother reassured the girl.
    "But I love everything. I wanna do everything and go everywhere—all at once!" she grabbed a pillow and squeezed it until stuffing popped from the seams.
    Her mother chuckled taking the pillow from her arms and walked away, leaving the girl to her frantic thoughts and seemingly blank mind.

It's been awhile since Winifred thought about the first time she was a at a creative loss for what to do with herself, although now it seems to be a regularly occurring issue. Albeit the graveyard shift at tech support seemed like a laid back job, answering simple questions, sitting a cubicle chatting with your fellow sleep-deprived idiots, it was anything but to dear Winifred for most of her problems consisted within her own mind.
    The phone rang, again. "Hello, tech support speaking," the phrase rolled out somewhat automatically now. "Yes ma'am, have you tried turning it off and back on? Yes of course you did, let me connect you to the next line."
    Winifred leaned back to face her half-asleep co-worker and flicked his shoulder. "Charlie, got a call for you," she picked up his line and placed it in his hand.
    Really? he mouthed before grumbling and answering with a particularly delighted voice.
    Winifred wheeled back to her cubicle with a sigh, she was getting bored of being bored, becoming dull by being dull. The most interesting thing to happen to her in the past month was nearly getting hit by a bus and that wasn't exactly one for the books.
    She grabbed a pen and plan sheet of paper, staring at it and waiting for ideas to formulate, just like the good old days. Though seconds became a minute and nothing particularly riveting came to mind, she jotted down some words. Nothing fanciful, simply oddballs; quintessential, plethora, ingenuity. ephemeral, dalliance, pretentious, fleeting. However, for what seemed no reason in particular, all the words that formerly gave her a sense of stability and ground in her messy mind seemed incredibly boring. Her brain resorted to folding up the paper in the shape of bird and placing it on a small shelf along with many others. Winifred stuck a pen in her mouth—a bad habit, mind you—heaved a sigh and stood up to stretch. In a few minutes the shift would be over and she could leave. "Yes, I can leave just to come back again and answer the same old questions to the same astonishingly stupid people, fantastic," she thought to herself, rolling the words around her tongue as if loose change.
    She walked, feeling the thick silence of the office—keys clicking, mugs rattling, overworked yawns. You grew tired of it to a certain extent before it became repulsive second nature, and for Winifred it seemed to be one she simply couldn't escape, but sure, at least they had good coffee.
    The machine began beeping loudly, the cup didn't seem worth it. "This is getting old quick," she complained, taking the half empty cup, quick to stop the noise. It took her aback when she turned to face a grey shirt and the ugliest plaid tie she'd ever see.
    "Charlie, move, I'm internally grumbling I need space."
    He stepped back. She took her chance and started to walk away. "Listen, Winnie, you look like you wanna kill someone," he paused, "like more than you usually do. What's up?"
    "Um, nothing, I just—uh—nothing I'm fine, it's good, I'll get over it," she stuttered.
    A calloused hand touched her shoulder. "Winifred you—."
    "Winnie," she scoffed.
    "Winifred," he countered, "there's something up with you."
    "Theres always something up with me, I'm me," huffed Winnie, taking a chug of coffee and ducking around him. She reached for the break room's doorknob, paused, and turned around sharply. "Why do you care anyway, all you've ever cared about was this dead-end job and its 'future benefits.' My apologies but I don't see a plaque with my name in fancy writing as a grand benefit."
    "Listen, I don't know whats up with you whether its, um," he coughed, "girl things, or if you're having a quarter-life crisis or what, but stop it, please. Our shift's almost up and we have work to—," Winifred's watch chimed, "do," he finished, irritated.
    "Not anymore, in fact I—," her mind ran back and forth running scenarios and possibilities before she reached a spontaneous conclusion. "I quit," she announced. Charlie choked on his coffee and she threw her keycard on the floor and chucked her coffee cup in a bin with a thud.