Fumbling The Bag Meaning 소설 & 이야기

Antoine continued his useless attempt for several minutes but he was clearly failing to free himself. “You must have lot of energy” Brian said from the corner of room. Brian had been watching Antoine all that time and he was amazed by his failed tries over and over again. Antoine was not ready to accept defeat and that amazed Brian. Antoine looked up to see Brian. He tried to mumble something but the sound came out was meaning rubbish. Antoine was making meaningless sound and Brian was finding it funny. He bent on his knees to sat in front of Antoine and then said,

Her fingers traced the words slowly while her brows furrowed in concentration. She stumbled over a particularly tricky word and her voice started faltering. "P-prosperous," she muttered, trying again with a bit more confidence. "The kingdom was... prosperous and... flour—" She paused, biting her lip as she struggled with the unfamiliar word. "Flour-ish-ing."

He demonstrates how to punch the bag because it movies when you hit it. Finally we are allowed to hit the bags, and they are heavier than they look. While Riley is talking to Ash I try to kick it but I completely miss I steal a glance at them to see if they notice but I don’t think they did. When Riley starts to watch me I see a sense of approval in his facial expressions. I must be doing something right, so I decide to test my luck and try to kick it again but my foot doesn’t want to kick the bag it wants to make me feel like an idiot because it decides to miss. My face flushes bright red and I look at the floor debating about hitting the bag again but I can’t decide because I don’t want to

THREE The zipper of my duffel bag whined as I dragged it across the teeth, securing the sparse contents of what I could call mine. My hands shuffled through the drawer one last time, searching for a cloth that didn't scream neglect or poverty—a task akin to finding a diamond in a coal mine. All I found were tattered jeans and faded shirts, each holding the scent of despair like a stubborn stain. I let out a frustrated sigh.

Something else was taking over her…some kind of inner demon that she had created. “In the bag, were they still in the bag?” She clutches for my arms as I help her up off her knees, that were red from where she has been roughly dropping to the floor. “I…” Her question makes no sense until she moves past me, leaning down the toilet as she places her hand into the toilet bowel…trying to reach through to the pipe, to the u-bend. “Sometimes things get stuck, especially if you kept them in a bag.” “No, Libery, I flushed them away..”

I muttered under my breath, tossing the bag carelessly onto the floor. A second later, my stomach let out a loud, betraying growl, shattering every ounce of pride I had left. I stared down at myself in disbelief. "Seriously?" My stomach answered with another shameless growl. "Traitor," I muttered, crossing my arms and glaring at the bag on the floor. For nearly a full minute, neither of us moved. Then my stomach growled again, even louder, and I let out a defeated groan. "Fine."

I replied. She laughed. “Definitely.” Then she walked away, waving once before disappearing into the crowd. I stood there for a second. “That was… strange,” I muttered quietly. After a moment, I turned and started walking again. I decided to take a cab. I raised my hand and one slowed down near the curb. I stepped toward it, and suddenly my bag slipped from my shoulder. Everything fell. “Shit,” I muttered immediately, crouching down. Papers. My phone.

Falling flat on my face, I let out an involuntary groan. As I tried to get back on my feet, I slipped on something slick and lost my balance. Instead of just falling again, I started tumbling down a hill. During the tumble, I lost my bag. I did my best not to make any noise, even as I rolled into a tree, keeping me from rolling further.

I fumbled with the strap of my bag, my palm damp with sweat. I forced my legs to move. But the words ‘you’re so fucked’ echoed, louder and louder, long after the door shut behind me.

As we hurried out, the bag slipped down my arm, my hands slick with nervous sweat. I caught it just in time, readjusting the strap and holding onto it, refusing to let anyone see me fumble as if nothing had just started a war behind us.