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Post by J.O.N ((Dragonwing)) on Jan 23, 2013 1:39:59 GMT -5
Entry One "What's that from?" Dreamily she ran her fingertips over a scar on his chest, carefully caressing the little white line with her soft fingers. A silly grin smothers her face, her head resting on his shoulder and legs wrapped around and within his. More recently she'd taken to playing with his chest, ruffling the curly hairs that grow there. Occasionally her fingers would run up across his shoulders and neckline.
The man lifted his head from the pillow to have a look at where she pointed. The sweat that covered his brow finally gathered and ran off in one drop. His breath was still catching up. The sweat was damp on his torso but the girl didn't seem to care, as she pushed herself closer against it. "I'd like to say old battle or war but that'd be lyin'..."
***
The gray-bearded man's teeth were stained yellow. "Don't give me that bullshit, Clara, he's a boy. What kinda boy ain't got any interest in girls? Huh, Clara? Go on, tell me how that works. Well, go on then."
The woman scrubbed at dishes with unnecessary levels of ferocity. "He's young, Garth. He's just still young is all."
"Bullshit, woman. When I was his age I was sneaking over Carrie Cline's house every other night. Bull shit. Dammit."
The woman dipped another dish into a vat of opaque, sudsy water. "I don't see what the big deal--"
"-- oh, you're just fine with having a faggot for a son. That's just fucking fine to you, isn't it, Clara? Let him go join the goddamn hoopie parade and dance around in his fucking underwear and wave around a flag, then." His yellowed teeth snarled behind his lips. He threw back a clenched fist against the table -- the silverwear jumping with a rustle and clang.
"Don't call him that, Garth," she said. He voice was mellowed and timid, the words barely escaping the confines of the sink.
The man paused. His expression went empty. A hand reached out for her arm, pulling tight the soft white sleeve. "You don't talk back to me like that."
The color flushed from her face and rinsed down the drain. She didn't say a word. Through the two inches of drywall and a few copper pipes, a boy sat huddled against the thin metal frame of a washing machine. His hands were wrapped taught around his knees and his head sunk into the cavity they formed, where everything went dark, even with open eyes. His imagination danced before his eyes in the empty and in the darkness.
He remembered once, climbing through the long, plastic tunnels of a Chuck E. Cheese. It was Tim Cataldo's birthday party and the place was packed wall-to-wall with kids. A pair of siblings through hollow plastic balls at each other in a wide, colorful pit. A fat girl got her leg caught in the rope ladder, forcing her mother to attempt to crawl into the opening gate and pull her out, head-first. Another kid sat beneath the pinball machine, firing an invisible rifle at passersby whilst his father slammed the buttons and lit up a flashing, "EXTRA BALL" light.
The boy liked the way the light shone through the plastic walls of the tunnels. He liked the way the voices of the crowds and the games all faded down the long, narrow corridors and how if you found just the right corner, there was nobody at all in sight. From time to time, another kid would crawl through and glance down through the circular passageway. Their eyes would catch and they'd keep going, calling after friends. The boy would sit in a nice, bulbous corner under the strange, faded orange lighting of the tunnel walls. He would admire the metal bolts that held the framework together and run his fingernails along the hard plastic. He would sit very still and listen and forget.
Tim Cataldo crawled through an adjacent, light blue tunnel. When he passed the opening to the one in which the boy sat, he stared down it for a moment. He looked at the boy and smiled -- smiled so big he almost laughed. The boy smiled back. Tim vanished -- two girls behind him, poking his butt as he crawled along.
The boy thought Tim had the best smile he had ever seen before.
*pound, pound, pound*
The boy's head raised up from his lap and the memories vanished down invisible tunnels. "Yeah?"
"Open the goddamn door." The knob rustled obnoxiously.
He propped himself onto his legs, wobbly and numb, and twisted the doorknob backward to unlock it.
Garth stepped in with a serious, stern expression -- which faded into something less defined. "...the fuck're you doing in here?" He glanced around at the unplugged stereo and the black television screen.
"Nothing."
Garth's neck craned. "That's all you ever do is nothing! You sit in your room all goddamned day and don't do a fuckin' thing. What're your friends doing? Aren't they out doing shit on Saturdays? Aren't they out being kids? Having fun? Chasing girls? All you do is sit in this room all fucking day, Christ. You're missing the best damn years of your life."
The boy was quiet, his eyes focused on the texture of the carpet.
"Well? What're your friends doing? Hello? Look at me when I'm talking to you, boy."
The boy looked at the man's shirt, then his nose.
"...Well?"
"I don't know," the boy said.
"What do you mean you don't know? Call them. See what they're doing. Go out. Go fucking do something."
"I don't want to."
Garth scoffed. "How the hell would you know what you want to do? This is all you do. You don't have a fucking clue what it would be like to go see friends. To go hang out with girls. How the hell would you know?"
"I don't want to do that."
"What's the fucking matter? Are you scared or something?"
"No," the boy said.
Clara stepped into the hallway behind Garth. "Hon, come on, leave him--"
"-- dammit, Clara, this is why he's like this. 'Cause you're just okay with it. You don't give a shit if he has friends. You don't give a shit if he's a fucking homo. You'd have him live in this room, doin' nothing, never gettin' married, never havin' a job, just sittin' in this fucking room all day eating the food I pay for and living under my fucking roof. Dammit, Clara."
The boy's eyes traced patterns in the carpet like constellations of stars. Faces and trees in the way the fibers curled.
***
"Ohmygod. Did you hear what Megan did to Jake?"
The boy shook his head.
"Ohmygodokay. So you know how Jake cheated on Megan with that girl from Northside?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, so Megan got a bottle of mustard and write the word 'SLUT' all over that girl's car." He face lit up with a devilish grin. "Turns out she didn't even have the car that day, it was her mom's, so her parents had to clean it off the car!" The last few words squeaked out with a high-pitched excitement.
The boy's eyes went wide, "Wow."
"Right?" she smiled. "But don't tell Megan I told you that. Apparently the girl's dad called the cops or whatever so mum's the word, yeah?"
The boy nodded firmly. "Yeah, of course."
She smiled again. "Ohmygosh, I'm so glad I met you. I always thought you were such a weirdo but now we're, like, BFF's -- I mean, no offense or anything, but you know what I mean, right? Haha!"
His smile was faint but sincere. "You're okay. No worries."
She smiled and her eyebrows raised and she wrapped two tight, tan arms around him. "I gotta' go see Hannah before lunch though, okay? Talk with you later, love you, bye!" And she was gone down a hallway, almost immediately.
The boy took the post-lunch books from his locker and dropped them into his backpack. He pulled the zipper taught and swung it around his shoulder and across his back -- wham.
In less than a second, the boy's weight shifted dramatically backward, his backpack pulling him down. The momentum shoved him straight into the bottom corner of his locker door. The metal frame was sharp and stiff -- it seemed to burn his chest as his body slid against it -- then collapsed against the floor. His head smacked the ceramic tiling with a heavy 'thwack!' that shook his brain and flushed his vision with an emptiness that was black and hollow and familiar, in which danced, for the briefest moment, a memory that had been neglected for years. And then consciousness poured out through a four-inch slice, staining his t-shirt and sparking the abrupt and sudden departure of a large boy in a star-laden varsity jacket.
The next thing the boy saw was Tim Cataldo's smile. It hadn't changed much. Not really. Something about the way it pulled at his eyes.
"I thought you were dead. Oh my god. What happened?"
The boy's vision was emptily caught on Tim's mouth.
"Kate just went to get the nurse. What happened to you? Did you remember anything? Are you okay?" Tim's eyes turned down to the cut.
The boy felt cold and heavy, like a wet stone. His brain seemed to pulsate with his heartbeat. The nurse's heals came clattering down the hallway in a hurry.
***
"What's that from?" Dreamily she ran her fingertips over a scar on his chest, carefully caressing the little white line with her soft fingers. A silly grin smothers her face, her head resting on his shoulder and legs wrapped around and within his. More recently she'd taken to playing with his chest, ruffling the curly hairs that grow there. Occasionally her fingers would run up across his shoulders and neckline.
The man lifted his head from the pillow to have a look at where she pointed. The sweat that covered his brow finally gathered and ran off in one drop. His breath was still catching up. The sweat was damp on his torso but the girl didn't seem to care, as she pushed herself closer against it. "I'd like to say old battle or war but that'd be lyin'."
She ran her fingers through his hair. "It's okay if you don't want to talk about it."
His head collapsed back onto the pillow, his eyes locked on the patterns of paint on the ceiling. The way it seemed to form faces. Smiles. "It's from a long time ago. It wasn't a big thing."
She planted her lips firmly on his cheek. "Maybe another time, then."
The man didn't say anything. |
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Post by J.O.N ((Dragonwing)) on Jan 23, 2013 1:42:12 GMT -5
Entry Two “What's that from?” Dreamily she ran her fingertips over a scar on his chest, carefully caressing the little white line with her soft fingers. A silly grin smothers her face, her head resting on his shoulder and legs wrapped around and within his. More recently she'd taken to playing with his chest, ruffling the curly hairs that grow there. Occasionally her fingers would run up across his shoulders and neckline.
The man lifted his head from the pillow to have a look at where she pointed. The sweat that covered his brow finally gathered and ran off in one drop. His breath was still catching up. The sweat was damp on his torso but the girl didn't seem to care, as she pushed herself closer against it. “I'd like to say old battle or war but that'd be lyin'…”
Kara looked up at him with a frown. “That doesn’t sound very exciting.”
“Not every story has to be exciting.” He leaned back against the pillow and stroked her hair.
After a few moments of silence, she squirmed restlessly. “Alan?”
He blinked. “Sorry. Was just remembering. Ain’t a happy memory.”
“You don’t have to tell...”
Despite himself, Alan smiled. “If I didn’t, you’d just drop hints until I eventually did.” He blew out a breath and ran a hand through his sweat-stickied hair.
“It was a couple years back. I was still in the military, hanging ‘round base with a few buddies up in France. Leave was comin’ up and I was roped into one last drink with the guys ‘fore I left. One buddy of mine was real keen on offerin’ me a round. Name was Sam Staton. Poor guy had lost his wife to cancer while he was operating in Afghanistan. His leave was scheduled the same time as mine.”
Alan felt a sympathetic squeeze on his arm. “Must have taken it hard.”
“Yeah... yeah, he did,” he replied. “He’d gone in knowing there’d be a chance, but his wife convinced him that it’d be better helpin’ others than sitting by her side, watching her waste away. I remember when he got the news, soon as he got back from his tour. He just sat down on his bunk for hours, letter in hand. Had a face like stone. Eyes were just dead.”
Kara shifted next to him and laid her hand across his chest. It felt cold against his heated skin and he reached up to cover it with his own. Alan sighed.
“Anyway, that last night, he almost seemed like himself. Had a haunted look on his face, but I could tell he was trying to work past it. He told me he’d been thinking about her death for awhile, that he’d come to terms with it. But to get out of Afghanistan and find out through a letter? I can’t even imagine.”
“He didn’t get a call?”
Alan shook his head. “Nah, both their parents had passed pretty young. His wife had a brother, but they never kept in contact.”
“She must have been lonely, then.”
“I think that might be why he took it so hard,” Alan said. “She was there, all alone at the end.”
Kara’s hair tickled his cheek when she nodded. “So what happened?”
“We went drinking. Sam bought me a round, even smiled. Told me how lucky I was to have people back home. I told him he could take his leave with me. Shook his head, drained the last of his drink and left the bar. I watched him go. Should have followed him, but he just went and sat in the corner of the building. I kept an eye on him, case he decided to leave. Tried not to drink as much, either. Should have tried harder.”
Alan drew in a deep breath and stared at the ceiling. “Eventually, we all left. Sam never went off by himself the whole time we were there. I figured he was as okay as he could be, but I was drunk. Lost sight of him when we got to the room. Didn’t even realize he’d left until I lay down in the bunk and turned to look at his bed.”
“You don’t have to keep going.” Kara’s voice was almost a whisper.
“I know,” Alan said. He patted her hand. “I left the room, telling everyone else I was goin’ for a piss. Wandered through the halls, lookin’ for him. Didn’t find him, of course. He was gone, but I knew him. Maybe not as much as some, but I knew where to look for him. Sam was always a quiet guy. Liked silence, didn’t talk much. There was a park nearby he often went.”
“You find him?”
Alan swallowed, wetting his lips. “Yeah. I did. Found him sitting against a tree. Almost missed him. It was dark and he’d gone away from the lights. Only the click made me look.”
He fell silent again. The texture on the ceiling mesmerized him, distracted him. The rhythm of Kara’s breathing sounded in time with the feel of her breath on his chest. A fan buzzed in the corner of the room, barely audible.
“He had a frag in his hand.” Alan’s pulse quickened. “Held it up to his forehead, already had the pin pulled. Just sitting there, next to the tree, with a grenade pressed to his head. I remember a cold block of ice in my stomach at that. I called out to him.”
Alan closed his eyes and laid a hand on his forehead. He tried to control his breathing, forcing down the slight edge of panic. “He looked at me. I remember staring into his eyes. Same, dead eyes. How could I see ‘em? Weren’t any lights. Just him in the dark. But I saw those eyes. No hope there.”
Kara propped herself up on her elbow and pressed her hand against his chest. “Alan—”
“I ran toward him,” Alan continued, barely hearing her. “He panicked. I panicked. I was drunk, but that’s no excuse. He dropped the frag. Saw horror on his face. He knew I was within range now and getting closer. I didn’t care. All I saw was a friend about to off himself. I couldn’t just... I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Alan, calm down.” Kara’s eyes bored into his. He suddenly felt her hand against his chest, still so cold, just like the feeling in his gut. She raised it to his cheek. “Calm down.”
He gritted his teeth. “He jumped on that grenade, Kara. Just covered it with his body. I was right next to him, so close, almost close enough to kick it away, pick it up and throw it. Something! Fuck! God dammit!”
Alan let his breath blow out in short bursts. The guilt and the anger at himself fell away slowly, but they were both there, boiling in his chest. Kara’s hand steadied him.
“He died, Kara. Died protecting me. It wasn’t suicide, not then. But it was my fault then, not his. He saved me, but a piece of shrapnel hit me, right in the chest. An inch and a half long. Doctor said it was metal. Another one helped me through the guilt. Wasn’t my fault, they said. Clinical depression made people do crazy things. Told me even if I hadn’t been drunk...”
He sighed in frustration. “Not even the worst thing I’ve seen. They delayed my leave. Don’t even know what they thought with me passing out on the sidewalk. Police came to investigate. Almost caused an incident.”
Kara laid herself across the side of his chest and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m sorry.”
“Some stories need to be shared.” Alan held her. “Sorry I ruined the mood, darlin’.”
“Under the circumstances...” she replied hesitantly.
Alan kissed her on the forehead. “I love you, you know that?”
“I love you, too.” |
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Post by J.O.N ((Dragonwing)) on Jan 27, 2013 3:19:15 GMT -5
Reviews Entry One:I don't think you used the topic well. That's my main complaint, but it's a pretty damn big one. It was all put together just fine, but there wasn't really a story there. The explanation of the scar itself was basically an afterthought, and even the other plot you created around it didn't really go anywhere. I mean, the main character did literally nothing; I suppose maybe that was intended, because you listed it as his defining character trait, but then ... why do we care about him? His dad is an ass, and he's probably gay, but he ends up dating women anyway, and somewhere along the line he got a scar on his chest by falling onto a flat surface. That is your story in its entirety. It's just sloppy. Literally everyone on AWR can do better than this, I know for a fact. Whoever wrote this totally phoned it in. I don't think it was even edited, based on the several obvious typos (through instead of threw; heals instead of heels). Try harder next time. ... The beginning dialogue in this story is nice, organic feeling. The character spouting it, too, feels real. Actually, all of the dialogue reads nicely, so kudos there. But I'm sort of lost on the story and how the scar even factors in on anything. It felt like a story more about something else than the scar, which made the repeated mention of it at the beginning and end strange, as if it was supposed to be significant. I didn't feel there was enough significance to the event to warrent it, myself. The only character I didn't like was the main character. He didn't feel very interesting, which while that may have been the point, he wasn't interesting in an interesting way, if you get my point. You also mispelled 'heels' at the end as 'heals'. Overall, I'd say well-built prose without a real story behind it. ... It's "Throw" and not "Through" but an easy mistake. Also, "Heels" and not "Heals". There were a few mistakes that really should have been caught with an easy once reread through. On the whole though it was a very enjoyable read and definitely something I got involved with. I liked the confusion to begin with and the realness of the story and how it was turning out. It's a very thoughtful piece and would be perfect if it didn't have the small blemishes where the wrong word was used or a letter missed off. Entry Two:You got the accent perfect and me roped from the get-go. “Alan, calm down.” Kara’s eyes bored into his. < I'm not sure bored was the right word there? I feel you could have used a better description and one less jarring. "Bored" just carries negative connotations and makes me think of the "Bored" as in "I have nothing to do and have gone off the current conversation" type. It ruined the flow. Enjoyed the story and what you did with the beginning. It felt very natural and easy to enjoy. Tough match! Wish you both could win! ... This was solid. It didn't exactly do anything ground-breaking, but it was solid, and it even gave me a little "aww" moment during the "I love you"s at the end. If it had been much longer, or if the flow had been less smooth, I wouldn't have liked it, but luckily that wasn't an issue. It was quick and slick; a nice little lozenge of emotion and narrative. I didn't pick up on any spelling or grammar problems, but the folksy language (actually typing comin' instead of coming) seemed a little hacky. No major complaints other than that, although I still think you probably could have come up with something a bit more interesting if you tried. |
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Post by Deleted on Feb 14, 2013 10:17:33 GMT -5
Entry Two is mine. Meh.
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Post by Matteo ((Taed)) on Feb 14, 2013 10:18:53 GMT -5
I voted for it.
EDIT: It's funny that the other reviewer thought the accent was "perfect," and I thought it was "hacky." To each their own.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 14, 2013 11:37:57 GMT -5
I voted for it. EDIT: It's funny that the other reviewer thought the accent was "perfect," and I thought it was "hacky." To each their own. I'm pretty sure the other reviewer was Reffy. But I just used the accent because it was used in the beginning. I try to keep everything consistent. I don't see why it could be "hacky", though. I've never understood that criticism. |
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Post by Matteo ((Taed)) on Feb 14, 2013 12:20:56 GMT -5
Oh hey, I didn't even notice that it was in the intro. Complaint withdrawn.
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Post by Kaez on Feb 14, 2013 14:31:10 GMT -5
Entry one was mine. Very meh.
Still preferred it over two, to be frank, but -barely-.
Absolutely, absolutely, absolutely -hated- this intro. Not my thing.
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Post by Deleted on Feb 14, 2013 14:46:23 GMT -5
Yours was pretty prose, but it lacked a point or story that I could see. It didn't really mesh well, imo.
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Post by Kaez on Feb 14, 2013 14:47:46 GMT -5
Yours was pretty prose, but it lacked a point or story that I could see. It didn't really mesh well, imo. That seems like a pretty fair critique. A plot that involves two people lovingly cuddled up is not a plot I have any interest in. |
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Post by Deleted on Feb 14, 2013 15:16:57 GMT -5
Yours was pretty prose, but it lacked a point or story that I could see. It didn't really mesh well, imo. That seems like a pretty fair critique. A plot that involves two people lovingly cuddled up is not a plot I have any interest in. It was indeed a difficult beginning. |
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Post by Jenny (Reffy) on Feb 14, 2013 15:19:43 GMT -5
I voted for it. EDIT: It's funny that the other reviewer thought the accent was "perfect," and I thought it was "hacky." To each their own. I'm pretty sure the other reviewer was Reffy. But I just used the accent because it was used in the beginning. I try to keep everything consistent. I don't see why it could be "hacky", though. I've never understood that criticism. That review was me and yes I'd used the accent in the intro. It was a difficult intro :] |
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Post by Matteo ((Taed)) on Feb 14, 2013 16:05:14 GMT -5
Entry one was mine. Very meh. Still preferred it over two, to be frank, but -barely-. Absolutely, absolutely, absolutely -hated- this intro. Not my thing. That surprises me. Don't take this the wrong way, but that is by far the worst thing you've ever written. Like, I would not have pegged it as yours in a million years. |
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Post by Kaez on Feb 14, 2013 18:39:37 GMT -5
Entry one was mine. Very meh. Still preferred it over two, to be frank, but -barely-. Absolutely, absolutely, absolutely -hated- this intro. Not my thing. That surprises me. Don't take this the wrong way, but that is by far the worst thing you've ever written. Like, I would not have pegged it as yours in a million years. Yeah, no, no offense taken. Had -all- intentions on dropping out, but when the deadline was extended a day, I basically decided to write something that met a single criteria: >it was something written I just didn't want to drop out. I didn't write it knowing where it was going, what tone it was supposed to have, or how anything was going to connect. It's not good. |
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