The seventh episode of the serialized short story features a quick exchange between Steve and Laura, a peek at Steve’s writing process, and then he needs to fill out form A-27.
Click here to start at the beginning (Part One: Hello)
Serialized Short Story about Writer Named Steve – Episode 17:
The Wooden Floorboards
“Did you like it?”
Laura glanced at the last line of the story once more before shifting her dark green eyes into Steve’s unkempt face. “It was creepy.”
He smiled. “It’s supposed to be.”
She tossed the stack of papers on the coffee table in front of them and cracked open her beer. “So what you want to do tonight?”
*
When Floors Stop Creaking
Steve’s shadowy eyes opened underneath a greasy mess of tangled hair. He looked around his bedroom, fixating on the old, creaky floorboards. The posters meant nothing to him anymore.
He drank some more as he made a grilled cheese sandwich. And then drank even more after eating it, now wandering around his living quarters aimlessly.
Soon he started mumbling this to himself like “I need a cat…” or “What happened to my old baseball glove?”
But when the floors stopped creaking, the typewriter started clicking.
Steve had terrible posture, hunched over his work as he typed.
Hundred of trees must’ve given their lives to this man’s writing habit.
And to think…
It probably only took one tree to build that goddamn floor.
Form A-27
“What does that mean?”
“It means you didn’t complete form A-27. I see you did the rest of the packet, but without that form, it doesn’t mean a thing. We can’t file it properly and it will get lost in the system.”
Steve took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Okay…” He brought his hand to the polished wooden counter. “Do you have a copy of that form? I must not have gotten one.”
The lady shook her head and then focused back on her computer screen. Steve’s stare had gravitated to a strand of gray hair on her blouse as she typed with frantic force. “So the deadline for the packet is in about a week,” she said, still hammering the keys.
“Yeah.”
“Well then you have plenty of time to run down to the county office and grab that A-27 form so you can fill it out and bring it back here before the deadline next week.” The lady’s polished teeth glimmered in her faux, cheery smile.
“And you… really don’t have a form here I could fill out real quick?”
“No, sir, we are all out. You’ll have to go to our county office.” She quieted her hands and turned her head to create eye contact, inviting the customer into a trusting, comfortable environment. “Would you like directions?”
To be continued…
© USA 2009, 2026
This was the 17th part of a cross-genre short story composed in 2009 at the College of Santa Fe.