Post by Andrew on Feb 12, 2009 11:15:14 GMT
I'm taking a creative writing class this semester and our goal is to have a short story written by the end of the semester. We're learning different techniques about dialogue, dialect, place, and other related items, all of which need to be pulled together into one collective work.
I started writing my story a few days ago. It's based around a true event (the apartment fire), though the majority of the story is pure fiction. I'm making things up as I go, though sticking with the truth surrounding the apartment fire. I'd like to know what people think of it thus far.
Edited February 26: I actually just finished the story. Here is the final product. I have been thinking about writing part III over, but I'm not too sure yet what direction I want to take it in. I'd really love some constructive feedback on this story.
TALK TO ME
By Andrew Workman
TALK TO ME
By Andrew Workman
I
A bright sun shines down on the sleepy town one Sunday afternoon, the citizens enjoying every second of the hot summer day. A young boy, 16 perhaps, slowly walked out of the yellow apartment building in the middle of the trailer park, his wavy blond hair hanging over his face. Pushing his hair away from his eyes he hopped on his bike and pedaled out of the park and down the road, his hair trailing out behind him.
An older woman is standing in her kitchen washing dishes, her aged eyes looking out at the boy as he rides away from the park. A faint smell of gasoline fills her nostrils, slightly alarming her, causing her to check her stove. Everything is clear.
The sun beats down from above.
The boy walks out of the diner a few hours later, his friends flanking him. Their bikes lay haphazardly across the sidewalk, causing other pedestrians to detour and flash the boys a dirty look. Grabbing their bikes in unison they ride up the street, gasoline in their noses.
The sun beats down from above and the town smells of gas.
Cool air comes out of the refrigerator as the older woman puts away the remains from dinner. An expression of disgust lines her face as she smell grows stronger. She’s smelled it all day and called the gas company. They said there weren’t any problems.
A small brown dog barked up at the blond boy as he laid his bike in front of the apartment. A strange odor, one that resembled gasoline, filled the building. With a shrug hanging from his shoulders he opened the door to his apartment, immediately interrogating his mom. “Ya smell that?”
“It’s been here all day,” she replied, turning from the kitchen to face him. “Don’t worry about it. Dinner’s almost done,” she continued, her right side motioning towards the kitchen. “Fifteen minutes I’d say.”
The blond flashed her a short smile, waved, and left the apartment. Grabbing his bike, a small popping noise made him turn back around. His face met a brilliant flash of red light and an intense wave of heat. His ears popped, a loud banging vibrating off of his eardrums. He was thrown back several hundred feet, his face charred and his shirt on fire. His singed hair hung over his face, no longer the soft blond color it had been moments ago.
Heat filled the cool Sunday night. Sirens filled the air as the fire grew more and more intense, the charcoal-colored smoke lining the air as the surrounding buildings glowed in the fire. The boy, unable to move from shock, watched as fire consumed what was left of his home, his life…and his mother.
II
One never realizes how much life can change until it is actually given the opportunity to. The lives of so many people changed after the fire. For weeks newspapers had a field day over the explosion and the teenage boy who survived. He gained a celebrity status across town. He hated them all for it.
The months following the fire were hard for the boy. He ended up living with his aunt who lived nearby in the trailer park. His mother was dead – he was reminded of this every time he went to look at the burnt remains of the building. His first few months of recovery he was home schooled, set to return to school when his burns healed.
He was better off staying at home.
The boy returned to school, his eyes downcast as he avoided the stares of his peers. He knew that they were looking at his deformed face. The fire had left him scarred with short hair, a drastic change from a few months ago.
Alcohol became his best friend. Depression took over and he took himself away from society. He became an outcast and a drunk, all before 17.
The boy’s aunt, worried for him, got several opinions before setting up a series of therapy appointments for him. She thought they would help him with his depression and set him on the right track. How wrong she was.
“Jayden,” she said softly one day, sitting next to the boy on the dilapidated living room sofa. “Jayden,” she repeated, causing the boy to look over at her. “I’m worried about you. The last couple months have been hard for you…I don’t think you’ve found an appropriate way to cope with it. Since it’s summer now and all, I’ve signed you up for some therapy sessions. I think you need to talk with someone and you don’t seem to like talking to me…”
Jayden shifted, turning to look at his aunt. He had a look on his face she had never seen before. It irked her – she didn’t know how to read his features. Not even giving her a response he rose from the sofa and stormed to his room. A single tear slid down the aunt’s cheek as she sank back into the sofa, utterly confused with life.
* * * * *
The office was small, but the welcoming shade of tan on the wall sent a warm feeling through the body. The plush chairs, complimented by the crème color of the carpet, comforted the body as the session went on. With the lights dimmed, one could almost feel at home here. Almost.
“Jayden, nothing here is going to work unless you talk to me.” Dr. Bradley, a short man with a lean build, leaned back in his chair, his bright blue eyes penetrating the boy. “It’s out third session and you haven’t said much to me.”
Jayden looked up at the man. “How old are you Dr. Bradley?”
“Twenty-four.”
“Put yourself in my shoes, then. I’m 17 now. I watched my mother die. My home is gone. My life…gone.” Jayden paused, a sigh escaping his chapped lips. “Look at my face! How can such a person live like this? I wake up every day crying, wishing I had somebody there. Who do I have to talk to? What do I have to say?”
Dr. Bradley, his smooth face a mix of emotions, just looked at the boy. His face wasn’t too bad…in the eyes of the doctor, anyway. Scars covered most of his left cheek and chin, but the rest of the boy’s face was absolutely flawless. The ice blue eyes complimented the tan of his skin, and the blond hair, now long, topped the look off. He really was an attractive boy.
“I admit to you it is hard for me to comprehend your unique situation,” Dr. Bradley said, repositioning himself. “But you need an outlet. Talk to me, talk to your aunt. Write down your feelings if you aren’t comfortable talking to us. Write down your thoughts.” The doctor leaned forward and placed his hand on the boy’s right knee. Gently rubbing it, he said, “You are a good looking young man. You have a bright future ahead of you!”
The situation was quickly turning for Jayden. The boy watched as the doctor’s hand crept further and further up his leg. He didn’t know what to say, though. He knew this was wrong, that a doctor shouldn’t be touching him like this, but…the contact was warming. It had been months since Jayden had felt a hand on him like this. Now two hands, moving up his side. The doctor was closer now, leaning into the young boy.
“Jayden, let me help you,” he whispered in the boy’s ear.
“Doctor…”
“Let me help you…”
This had to stop. Jayden rose up quickly, pushing the man onto the floor. “What the fuck are you doing?” Jayden screamed down at him, his eyes full of rage. “What the fuck gives you the right to touch me like that ya queer?” Before the doctor could get up Jayden kicked him in the stomach, the “thumph” of the kick and the “umph” of the doctor filling the room.
Jayden walked out, tears falling down his face.
* * * * *
An unmarked enveloped contained the following letter dated June 6…the day before it happened.
The world is a cruel place. Yellow sunshine comes down upon the village…the living hell that has been created just for me. As I fight with my own demons I realize that I have become a demon myself. I am my own worst enemy, my own worst nightmare.
The horror of that day still haunts me. The popping, the heat…the building engulfed in a red flame, the smoke rising from my skin. I can hear the screaming, the pleading. They didn’t even have time to get out! Young, old…men, women. They are all gone in a literal flash.
There is no God here. I doubt there ever was. How can somebody…something so powerful allow for all this suffering? How could it let me continue my own physical life when everything I held dear to my heart perished in an instant?
There is no God here.
Scars line my face and when I looked into the mirror I cringe. I look like I have visited the deepest depths of Hell and have lived to tell the tale. I am an outcast, a loner. I am a person people stay away from…one they fear.
I will give them a reason to fear…
I will give them a reason to run…
They will scream…they will bleed…
We will die.
III
The end of the school year is supposed to be a happy time for everybody. Students are ready to get away from learning and have some fun while the teachers are looking forward to some much needed rest.
At one particular school, however, that was not the case.
The second-to-last day of school saw high temperatures and clear skies, adding to the frustration of the people inside the public high school. One person, however, was perfectly content. Jayden Fullerton, the one nobody expected to be wearing a smile, walked into the school with hands in his pockets and a smile on his face. A little weird for a kid who watched his mother die.
People let his unusual behavior slide, though. Many, by now, just thought he was crazy and this just added to it.
How right they were.
In between classes the hallways are silent. People usually are in class. As Jayden walked through the hallway, at peace with the silence, his hand fingered at something in his right pocket. He reached an open locker and gave it a tap causing the surprised person on the other side to jump.
“Jayden, you scared me!” the girl shrieked as she shut the locker door. “What are you doing out here?”
Jayden smirked. “I’m playing a game,” he said, “and you’re the first player.”
The confusion lining her face turned to terror as the gun came out of Jayden’s pocket. She didn’t even have time to call for help before the trigger was pulled. The deafening sound echoed through the hallway, and as Jayden stood there, whipping the blood off of his face, he smiled. The smile of a maniac.
The gun, cold in his hand, continued to fire as more and more people scurried out of the classrooms to see what was happening. They all met the same fate. Moments later Jayden could hear, “Code Red! Code Red!” playing over the loud speaker, though it was now drowned out by screams. The boy laughed as he continued shooting and reloading, no longer focusing on people. He shot at the lockers, windows, doors, and ceiling just because he could. Laughing as he stepped over lifeless bodies, he turned around, glancing at the pooled blood, before turning down the hallway and starting over.
“The devil is here,” he whispered over and over again to himself, laughing every time he fired a bullet. “You made me do this!” he screamed a moment later, falling heavily to his knees, the gun slightly resting on the floor. Tears streamed down his face now, stained red from the blood of his victims.
“Put the gun down!” a voice yelled from behind him.
Jayden turned his attention to the gun. His eyes wondered over the smooth metal, now stained with blood. Silently pointing it up at himself, he said with a smile, “Gladly,” and pulled the trigger.
END
I started writing my story a few days ago. It's based around a true event (the apartment fire), though the majority of the story is pure fiction. I'm making things up as I go, though sticking with the truth surrounding the apartment fire. I'd like to know what people think of it thus far.
Edited February 26: I actually just finished the story. Here is the final product. I have been thinking about writing part III over, but I'm not too sure yet what direction I want to take it in. I'd really love some constructive feedback on this story.
TALK TO ME
By Andrew Workman
TALK TO ME
By Andrew Workman
I
A bright sun shines down on the sleepy town one Sunday afternoon, the citizens enjoying every second of the hot summer day. A young boy, 16 perhaps, slowly walked out of the yellow apartment building in the middle of the trailer park, his wavy blond hair hanging over his face. Pushing his hair away from his eyes he hopped on his bike and pedaled out of the park and down the road, his hair trailing out behind him.
An older woman is standing in her kitchen washing dishes, her aged eyes looking out at the boy as he rides away from the park. A faint smell of gasoline fills her nostrils, slightly alarming her, causing her to check her stove. Everything is clear.
The sun beats down from above.
The boy walks out of the diner a few hours later, his friends flanking him. Their bikes lay haphazardly across the sidewalk, causing other pedestrians to detour and flash the boys a dirty look. Grabbing their bikes in unison they ride up the street, gasoline in their noses.
The sun beats down from above and the town smells of gas.
Cool air comes out of the refrigerator as the older woman puts away the remains from dinner. An expression of disgust lines her face as she smell grows stronger. She’s smelled it all day and called the gas company. They said there weren’t any problems.
A small brown dog barked up at the blond boy as he laid his bike in front of the apartment. A strange odor, one that resembled gasoline, filled the building. With a shrug hanging from his shoulders he opened the door to his apartment, immediately interrogating his mom. “Ya smell that?”
“It’s been here all day,” she replied, turning from the kitchen to face him. “Don’t worry about it. Dinner’s almost done,” she continued, her right side motioning towards the kitchen. “Fifteen minutes I’d say.”
The blond flashed her a short smile, waved, and left the apartment. Grabbing his bike, a small popping noise made him turn back around. His face met a brilliant flash of red light and an intense wave of heat. His ears popped, a loud banging vibrating off of his eardrums. He was thrown back several hundred feet, his face charred and his shirt on fire. His singed hair hung over his face, no longer the soft blond color it had been moments ago.
Heat filled the cool Sunday night. Sirens filled the air as the fire grew more and more intense, the charcoal-colored smoke lining the air as the surrounding buildings glowed in the fire. The boy, unable to move from shock, watched as fire consumed what was left of his home, his life…and his mother.
II
One never realizes how much life can change until it is actually given the opportunity to. The lives of so many people changed after the fire. For weeks newspapers had a field day over the explosion and the teenage boy who survived. He gained a celebrity status across town. He hated them all for it.
The months following the fire were hard for the boy. He ended up living with his aunt who lived nearby in the trailer park. His mother was dead – he was reminded of this every time he went to look at the burnt remains of the building. His first few months of recovery he was home schooled, set to return to school when his burns healed.
He was better off staying at home.
The boy returned to school, his eyes downcast as he avoided the stares of his peers. He knew that they were looking at his deformed face. The fire had left him scarred with short hair, a drastic change from a few months ago.
Alcohol became his best friend. Depression took over and he took himself away from society. He became an outcast and a drunk, all before 17.
The boy’s aunt, worried for him, got several opinions before setting up a series of therapy appointments for him. She thought they would help him with his depression and set him on the right track. How wrong she was.
“Jayden,” she said softly one day, sitting next to the boy on the dilapidated living room sofa. “Jayden,” she repeated, causing the boy to look over at her. “I’m worried about you. The last couple months have been hard for you…I don’t think you’ve found an appropriate way to cope with it. Since it’s summer now and all, I’ve signed you up for some therapy sessions. I think you need to talk with someone and you don’t seem to like talking to me…”
Jayden shifted, turning to look at his aunt. He had a look on his face she had never seen before. It irked her – she didn’t know how to read his features. Not even giving her a response he rose from the sofa and stormed to his room. A single tear slid down the aunt’s cheek as she sank back into the sofa, utterly confused with life.
* * * * *
The office was small, but the welcoming shade of tan on the wall sent a warm feeling through the body. The plush chairs, complimented by the crème color of the carpet, comforted the body as the session went on. With the lights dimmed, one could almost feel at home here. Almost.
“Jayden, nothing here is going to work unless you talk to me.” Dr. Bradley, a short man with a lean build, leaned back in his chair, his bright blue eyes penetrating the boy. “It’s out third session and you haven’t said much to me.”
Jayden looked up at the man. “How old are you Dr. Bradley?”
“Twenty-four.”
“Put yourself in my shoes, then. I’m 17 now. I watched my mother die. My home is gone. My life…gone.” Jayden paused, a sigh escaping his chapped lips. “Look at my face! How can such a person live like this? I wake up every day crying, wishing I had somebody there. Who do I have to talk to? What do I have to say?”
Dr. Bradley, his smooth face a mix of emotions, just looked at the boy. His face wasn’t too bad…in the eyes of the doctor, anyway. Scars covered most of his left cheek and chin, but the rest of the boy’s face was absolutely flawless. The ice blue eyes complimented the tan of his skin, and the blond hair, now long, topped the look off. He really was an attractive boy.
“I admit to you it is hard for me to comprehend your unique situation,” Dr. Bradley said, repositioning himself. “But you need an outlet. Talk to me, talk to your aunt. Write down your feelings if you aren’t comfortable talking to us. Write down your thoughts.” The doctor leaned forward and placed his hand on the boy’s right knee. Gently rubbing it, he said, “You are a good looking young man. You have a bright future ahead of you!”
The situation was quickly turning for Jayden. The boy watched as the doctor’s hand crept further and further up his leg. He didn’t know what to say, though. He knew this was wrong, that a doctor shouldn’t be touching him like this, but…the contact was warming. It had been months since Jayden had felt a hand on him like this. Now two hands, moving up his side. The doctor was closer now, leaning into the young boy.
“Jayden, let me help you,” he whispered in the boy’s ear.
“Doctor…”
“Let me help you…”
This had to stop. Jayden rose up quickly, pushing the man onto the floor. “What the fuck are you doing?” Jayden screamed down at him, his eyes full of rage. “What the fuck gives you the right to touch me like that ya queer?” Before the doctor could get up Jayden kicked him in the stomach, the “thumph” of the kick and the “umph” of the doctor filling the room.
Jayden walked out, tears falling down his face.
* * * * *
An unmarked enveloped contained the following letter dated June 6…the day before it happened.
The world is a cruel place. Yellow sunshine comes down upon the village…the living hell that has been created just for me. As I fight with my own demons I realize that I have become a demon myself. I am my own worst enemy, my own worst nightmare.
The horror of that day still haunts me. The popping, the heat…the building engulfed in a red flame, the smoke rising from my skin. I can hear the screaming, the pleading. They didn’t even have time to get out! Young, old…men, women. They are all gone in a literal flash.
There is no God here. I doubt there ever was. How can somebody…something so powerful allow for all this suffering? How could it let me continue my own physical life when everything I held dear to my heart perished in an instant?
There is no God here.
Scars line my face and when I looked into the mirror I cringe. I look like I have visited the deepest depths of Hell and have lived to tell the tale. I am an outcast, a loner. I am a person people stay away from…one they fear.
I will give them a reason to fear…
I will give them a reason to run…
They will scream…they will bleed…
We will die.
III
The end of the school year is supposed to be a happy time for everybody. Students are ready to get away from learning and have some fun while the teachers are looking forward to some much needed rest.
At one particular school, however, that was not the case.
The second-to-last day of school saw high temperatures and clear skies, adding to the frustration of the people inside the public high school. One person, however, was perfectly content. Jayden Fullerton, the one nobody expected to be wearing a smile, walked into the school with hands in his pockets and a smile on his face. A little weird for a kid who watched his mother die.
People let his unusual behavior slide, though. Many, by now, just thought he was crazy and this just added to it.
How right they were.
In between classes the hallways are silent. People usually are in class. As Jayden walked through the hallway, at peace with the silence, his hand fingered at something in his right pocket. He reached an open locker and gave it a tap causing the surprised person on the other side to jump.
“Jayden, you scared me!” the girl shrieked as she shut the locker door. “What are you doing out here?”
Jayden smirked. “I’m playing a game,” he said, “and you’re the first player.”
The confusion lining her face turned to terror as the gun came out of Jayden’s pocket. She didn’t even have time to call for help before the trigger was pulled. The deafening sound echoed through the hallway, and as Jayden stood there, whipping the blood off of his face, he smiled. The smile of a maniac.
The gun, cold in his hand, continued to fire as more and more people scurried out of the classrooms to see what was happening. They all met the same fate. Moments later Jayden could hear, “Code Red! Code Red!” playing over the loud speaker, though it was now drowned out by screams. The boy laughed as he continued shooting and reloading, no longer focusing on people. He shot at the lockers, windows, doors, and ceiling just because he could. Laughing as he stepped over lifeless bodies, he turned around, glancing at the pooled blood, before turning down the hallway and starting over.
“The devil is here,” he whispered over and over again to himself, laughing every time he fired a bullet. “You made me do this!” he screamed a moment later, falling heavily to his knees, the gun slightly resting on the floor. Tears streamed down his face now, stained red from the blood of his victims.
“Put the gun down!” a voice yelled from behind him.
Jayden turned his attention to the gun. His eyes wondered over the smooth metal, now stained with blood. Silently pointing it up at himself, he said with a smile, “Gladly,” and pulled the trigger.
END
