Dirty Vegas: Writing Sample
Oct. 16th, 2015 06:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
masanosukeAs the newly displaced citizen of Vegas, he tries to make himself useful by helping out with random chores in the hotel. Masanosuke tells himself that this is but a transition and that he won't be mopping floors or dusting foot rugs forever. He has no idea what it takes to really survive in this place, but he'll do what he can. It's a simple equation after all; a bit of work means he doesn't go hungry. This is how he sugarcoats the situation.
In reality, he spends most of his hours trying to swallow his pride and telling himself that none of this is beneath him. That he's not a samurai here and no one from his past is going to jump out from the sand and mock him for this hopeless dive into shame. Masanosuke tries not to live in the past, because he knows that his past is not even as glorious as he wants it to be. He tells himself that it isn't worth losing what little he has now.
Only he doesn't really believe that.
His past may not be all that glorious but it was more than bearable. Those days he woke up anticipating where the day would take him. Those days he could smile because he was once told that smiling shouldn't be hard to do. In Vegas, there was no gentle current urging him forward, no inspiration that diluted the harder facts of life. In Vegas, he truly feels alone.
One of the door opens and Masanosuke immediately looks up before going back to his cleaning. A co-worker of his chuckles and tells him that he'd make a good guard dog, always on the look-out, watching whoever goes through the door. He does not find this funny and he shows it by mopping the floors harder so that the metal bars scrape intensely against the marble.
"Who you waitin' for man?" his co-worker's accent is hard to work out but Masanosuke gets it anyway.
"No one.' His answer is soft but direct.
"Really? Because that's what it looks to me. That you waitin' for someone or something to walk through that door. You keep doin' that since day one."
"I'm not. I'll continue cleaning over there." Masanosuke ends the conversation by bending slightly and pushing the mobile janitor and takes it to the other side of the hall. No doors there, no blind corners, just a lot of surface to clean and a dead end to lean on when he's tired.
In reality, he spends most of his hours trying to swallow his pride and telling himself that none of this is beneath him. That he's not a samurai here and no one from his past is going to jump out from the sand and mock him for this hopeless dive into shame. Masanosuke tries not to live in the past, because he knows that his past is not even as glorious as he wants it to be. He tells himself that it isn't worth losing what little he has now.
Only he doesn't really believe that.
His past may not be all that glorious but it was more than bearable. Those days he woke up anticipating where the day would take him. Those days he could smile because he was once told that smiling shouldn't be hard to do. In Vegas, there was no gentle current urging him forward, no inspiration that diluted the harder facts of life. In Vegas, he truly feels alone.
One of the door opens and Masanosuke immediately looks up before going back to his cleaning. A co-worker of his chuckles and tells him that he'd make a good guard dog, always on the look-out, watching whoever goes through the door. He does not find this funny and he shows it by mopping the floors harder so that the metal bars scrape intensely against the marble.
"Who you waitin' for man?" his co-worker's accent is hard to work out but Masanosuke gets it anyway.
"No one.' His answer is soft but direct.
"Really? Because that's what it looks to me. That you waitin' for someone or something to walk through that door. You keep doin' that since day one."
"I'm not. I'll continue cleaning over there." Masanosuke ends the conversation by bending slightly and pushing the mobile janitor and takes it to the other side of the hall. No doors there, no blind corners, just a lot of surface to clean and a dead end to lean on when he's tired.
