Jordan waited there every morning around the same time. It was about a quarter till seven am and the sun was rising. The sky was a beautiful mix of blood red and pink that captured the eerie beauty of that late summer morning. The bus stop was the third on the northbound side of Spring Street, right in front of the Subway restaurant chain.
There was roadwork being done across the street, in front of the Salvation Army, and the jackhammer going into the road sends vibrations all through his body as he stood and wait. The sound was like a thousand panes of glass shattering in a torrent of bullets. This sound was broken only by the few cars rolling down the street and the roar of the engines of bikers out for an early morning ride.
A street sweeper was coming down the street, tossing tiny rocks at the vacant people walking around or waiting for the bus, that is always five minutes late, like him. It also tossed up smells of old motor oil and gasoline when the stream of water hit the streets.
He noticed things he had never noticed before. The cement around the bus stop had little cracks from the years of wear. The cracks had little bursts of grass shooting out from them. The birds had a different sound. Their beautiful songs had an apathetic tinge to them.
As the bus finally rolled down the street, stopping at the other two stops before his, Jordan had a look of wonder and puzzlement on his face. What kind of reality was this?
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Survivor
Reading for technique is hard, but I did it unknowingly last summer when I read Survivor by Chuck Palahniuk. The story is told in a series of "flashbacks" that are actually the narrator telling his story from the end to the beginning to the black box on a airplane. Because of this, the chapters are numbered starting with the highest and ending with one. I thought this was genius and I didn't even catch on to this until I was like 10 chapters in. He is just able to build upon what he writes in the style that he writes each story in.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Event-Edited from my story.
That night she dropped me off in front of the old building. The reddish brown bricks looked as if someone took a chisel and attempted to chip away the façade. There was graffiti proclaiming love for a girl named Tina and that drugs are awesome. Anything that wasn’t brick was covered in an array of stickers from bands like Blind Melon, Senses Fail and UnderØath that had played here before. It was like a crude history book for the venue. A wooden sign on the slate-like roof painted fluorescent orange said The Cellar. There was a line wrapped around the building of people who looked like my clones, other kids looking for an escape. They all wore girl jeans, even if they were boys, that had seen better days with the amount of holes they had, and band tee-shirt combo. Most of them wore Chucks and Maybelline should have sponsored the event with the amount of eyeliner these boys and girls used. It was like a pool of androgyny. They were all talking to one another as if they had known each other for years, like they were all best friends.
The line started to file in. As I walked in, there was so much that caught my attention. I had never seen anything like the strange junkyard that was inside. The walls were painted black and covered with old street signs telling the concert goers to yield or children are at play. The seats at the bar were crafted out of old car seats that rested on stacks of old rims for tires. The bar itself was placed upon, or around, metal rods that used to be poles for street signs, and some still had the signs at the top of them. To my left was Park Avenue and to my right was where Court Street and Ocean Avenue met. The house lights were old traffic lights and the floors were wood. It smelled of an old men’s locker room and rotten cabbage. Fog crept above the heads of the kids, like they all had these clouds following them around. The stage was right in front of me, perpendicular to the bar, as I walked into the place and I just stopped and stared.
"Wow, this place is amazing," I said aloud. "I wish I could have seen this sooner."
Just then I heard a response from one of the clones. She was a pretty young girl who had short black hair with green stripes in it, the back was spiked up and the bangs served as a shield for her eyes. I wanted to be her friend. There was something about the look in her eyes. It was the same longing I had for the longest time. I wanted to talk to her, to hear her story.
"You have never been to a show before?" she said.
"No," I said.
"Well, let’s make this one the best. I’m Sam," she said.
"Tyler," I said.
She handed me shiny, silver bottle and told me to drink. The liquid burned my throat as I swallowed, but for some reason I wanted more. The woody flavor kept me intrigued; why did people drink this? It tasted so bad, but so good at the same time. I didn’t know whether to love it or hate it.
After that bottle was gone we didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t expecting to share and I didn’t want to anymore. I wanted, no I needed more. So Sam started to use her charm. She talked to a few guys at the bar, using her witty comments and crooked smile, to get more whisky. And I began to make friends, but these friends were a little different. Actually they just had something different. I could feel the sounds of people talking, I could hear whispers from feet away, my senses were overcome. People’s faces looked disfigured. The lights and signs were staring at me; judging me. I had to just sit down, so I sat on the floor.
Bass notes pumped from my toes to my ears, pulsing through my body, the flashing lights all around and the feeling that, for once, I belonged somewhere. The more I had this feeling the more I drank and the more I felt great. It was a never ending cycle that night. But it was a cycle I didn’t want to end. Nothing could stop us in those few hours that we spent together.
A lot of the rest of the night was in an alcohol induced blur of music and colors swirling around in my head. Sam kept trying to get me to stand up and enjoy the show, but that was physically impossible. I felt like I was stuck to the ground. My body was so heavy. The music was great though, even if I can’t remember the bands that played without looking at the ticket stub.
Then it happened. I tried something even newer to my senses. The night took a turn for the worse when that little pill hit my tongue. The room changed, walls seemed like they were going to crush me, the music was making me want to rip out my ear drums and my new friends were my worst enemies. The rest of the night has been erased from my memory, or maybe it was never even there. The next thing I remember was being half awake in the doorway.
The line started to file in. As I walked in, there was so much that caught my attention. I had never seen anything like the strange junkyard that was inside. The walls were painted black and covered with old street signs telling the concert goers to yield or children are at play. The seats at the bar were crafted out of old car seats that rested on stacks of old rims for tires. The bar itself was placed upon, or around, metal rods that used to be poles for street signs, and some still had the signs at the top of them. To my left was Park Avenue and to my right was where Court Street and Ocean Avenue met. The house lights were old traffic lights and the floors were wood. It smelled of an old men’s locker room and rotten cabbage. Fog crept above the heads of the kids, like they all had these clouds following them around. The stage was right in front of me, perpendicular to the bar, as I walked into the place and I just stopped and stared.
"Wow, this place is amazing," I said aloud. "I wish I could have seen this sooner."
Just then I heard a response from one of the clones. She was a pretty young girl who had short black hair with green stripes in it, the back was spiked up and the bangs served as a shield for her eyes. I wanted to be her friend. There was something about the look in her eyes. It was the same longing I had for the longest time. I wanted to talk to her, to hear her story.
"You have never been to a show before?" she said.
"No," I said.
"Well, let’s make this one the best. I’m Sam," she said.
"Tyler," I said.
She handed me shiny, silver bottle and told me to drink. The liquid burned my throat as I swallowed, but for some reason I wanted more. The woody flavor kept me intrigued; why did people drink this? It tasted so bad, but so good at the same time. I didn’t know whether to love it or hate it.
After that bottle was gone we didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t expecting to share and I didn’t want to anymore. I wanted, no I needed more. So Sam started to use her charm. She talked to a few guys at the bar, using her witty comments and crooked smile, to get more whisky. And I began to make friends, but these friends were a little different. Actually they just had something different. I could feel the sounds of people talking, I could hear whispers from feet away, my senses were overcome. People’s faces looked disfigured. The lights and signs were staring at me; judging me. I had to just sit down, so I sat on the floor.
Bass notes pumped from my toes to my ears, pulsing through my body, the flashing lights all around and the feeling that, for once, I belonged somewhere. The more I had this feeling the more I drank and the more I felt great. It was a never ending cycle that night. But it was a cycle I didn’t want to end. Nothing could stop us in those few hours that we spent together.
A lot of the rest of the night was in an alcohol induced blur of music and colors swirling around in my head. Sam kept trying to get me to stand up and enjoy the show, but that was physically impossible. I felt like I was stuck to the ground. My body was so heavy. The music was great though, even if I can’t remember the bands that played without looking at the ticket stub.
Then it happened. I tried something even newer to my senses. The night took a turn for the worse when that little pill hit my tongue. The room changed, walls seemed like they were going to crush me, the music was making me want to rip out my ear drums and my new friends were my worst enemies. The rest of the night has been erased from my memory, or maybe it was never even there. The next thing I remember was being half awake in the doorway.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Embarassing Moment
The summer after my senior year in high school started with a trip to camp. But this wasn’t just any camp, this was church camp, and not just any church camp, it was a work camp. For a week members of churches from all over the state were brought to Camp Aldersgate to bunk.
Every day we were sent to our specified houses to work on them, since the owners couldn’t afford professional help. My group, the only group of people over the age of 18, got stuck with the one thing I was scared of, the roof. But I braved the heights for the aid of this woman, who had two children ages seven and one.
The first day of work was spent tearing off old shingles and tar paper with crowbars and hammers. While we were doing this we tended to dance and sing to the Backstreet Boys albums and just have a lot of fun. There were dear running around the backyard so we would watch them, we also liked to joke around with our leaders that Matt, one of the group members, fell through the roof.
Because we were tearing the roof apart, there were a lot of nails sticking out and we had to make sure to get all of them so we could replace the rotten wood. I had a system going, of ripping off sections of shingles, nails and paper then moving to the next section.
As I moved to a new section my leaders announced that it was time for lunch and we had to get off the roof to eat. As I stood up I heard a loud ripping noise. I figured I had just caught the leg of my pants on a stray nail, but then I felt a breeze. I immediately felt my face grow warm and flushed. I had managed to rip my jeans all the way in half right on my butt. To make matters worse I was the first one down the ladder and the seven year old boy, who insisted on helping us, was holding the ladder for me.
They called me sweet cheeks the rest of the week.
Every day we were sent to our specified houses to work on them, since the owners couldn’t afford professional help. My group, the only group of people over the age of 18, got stuck with the one thing I was scared of, the roof. But I braved the heights for the aid of this woman, who had two children ages seven and one.
The first day of work was spent tearing off old shingles and tar paper with crowbars and hammers. While we were doing this we tended to dance and sing to the Backstreet Boys albums and just have a lot of fun. There were dear running around the backyard so we would watch them, we also liked to joke around with our leaders that Matt, one of the group members, fell through the roof.
Because we were tearing the roof apart, there were a lot of nails sticking out and we had to make sure to get all of them so we could replace the rotten wood. I had a system going, of ripping off sections of shingles, nails and paper then moving to the next section.
As I moved to a new section my leaders announced that it was time for lunch and we had to get off the roof to eat. As I stood up I heard a loud ripping noise. I figured I had just caught the leg of my pants on a stray nail, but then I felt a breeze. I immediately felt my face grow warm and flushed. I had managed to rip my jeans all the way in half right on my butt. To make matters worse I was the first one down the ladder and the seven year old boy, who insisted on helping us, was holding the ladder for me.
They called me sweet cheeks the rest of the week.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Town Description--trying to catch up
What seems to be a typical suburban neighborhood, where all the houses look the same, was my life for fifteen years. But this isn’t typical. All the houses happen to be Victorian houses from over a hundred years ago, but the only way to tell them apart was by looking at their backyards. The world beyond Pine Street felt infinite, but for the children of Pine Street all we had were the days we spent together running around in those very different backyards.
Mine had the big swing set and a field that we played kickball in. Next to me were the Slikers who had an above ground pool. Next to them were the Morgenthiens. One of them, Karline was my best friend since forever and they had the awesome in-ground pool that was heated and had a diving board. After that there was a four family apartment complex. Then across the street there was the Erhard Family. Next to them were the Vogts, who used to like where Kyle and Shannon did. And those were the people I spent every day in the summer with and all the snow days too.
On snow days we tended to go behind the houses to this pond that would freeze over and we could skate on it. This day, it wasn’t completely frozen and I fell into the water. I lost one of my Little Mermaid boots, and they were my favorite. Karline, being the best friend she was, crafted a fishing pole and got it out for me and left it on my front porch with a note.
Mine had the big swing set and a field that we played kickball in. Next to me were the Slikers who had an above ground pool. Next to them were the Morgenthiens. One of them, Karline was my best friend since forever and they had the awesome in-ground pool that was heated and had a diving board. After that there was a four family apartment complex. Then across the street there was the Erhard Family. Next to them were the Vogts, who used to like where Kyle and Shannon did. And those were the people I spent every day in the summer with and all the snow days too.
On snow days we tended to go behind the houses to this pond that would freeze over and we could skate on it. This day, it wasn’t completely frozen and I fell into the water. I lost one of my Little Mermaid boots, and they were my favorite. Karline, being the best friend she was, crafted a fishing pole and got it out for me and left it on my front porch with a note.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Someone wants something from Thelma
“Aunt Thelma why can’t I borrow your sewing machine?” asked Lucy, her niece that is visiting her from Cape Cod.
She is trying to find a way to cure her boredom. She has only been here for two days, and already she can’t find anything to do in the woods surrounding Lake Serenity. She was wandering around the little, two bedroom log cabin when she came across the sewing machine Thelma Dudley uses to sew dolls clothes that she sells at the Lake Serenity flea market every weekend. This is where most of Thelma’s livelihood comes from so there is some resistance to letting Lucy use the machine for God knows what.
They are pacing in the living room while Thelma cleans up the house and Lucy follows her continually asking to use the precious sewing machine.
“I said no. I mean no. It doesn’t matter why I said no, I just don’t want you using it.” Thelma said.
“But there is NOTHING to do here. I am going to be bored to death in about two more hours if I don’t find something to do. Teach me how to use it, please.” Lucy said.
The phone rings and Thelma answers it. On the other end of the line is her son, Chris’s school. He is going to have to move out immediately and would be expelled from the school. They wouldn’t explain to her why, so she would have to get that information from her son, but the whole time she was on the phone there was this nagging in the background.
“Please, please, please. Let me use it, or something, ANYTHING.” said Lucy.
“Not right now.” said Thelma getting increasingly angry. “I have other things I have to do that are a little more important than finding you something to do. You are a creative girl you can figure something out.”
“But I want to sew. You don’t get what it’s like to be stuck here all day with nothing to do.” said Lucy, almost on the verge of tears. “I wish I could go back home already.”
“Well you can’t, so for now just sit there and read a book or something. I have to make a phone call.” said Thelma.
Thelma walks through the dining room to get to the kitchen to call her son Chris. She is staring out the window looking at the trees covered in a glistening sheet of ice from the storm the night before. She can’t get a hold of Chris so she tries to call her other sons, Mark and Dan to see if they know why their brother will be coming home from school three years prior to graduating.
Lucy yells from the other room, “What are you doing in there that is so important? Just come teach me like two things and I will stop bothering you. It’s that simple.”
Thelma yells back, “Just hold on! My life is not dedicated to making sure that you are entertained. If you could just wait a few more minutes and stop bothering me I might just let you use it, but for now just SHUT UP!”
Angry at this, Lucy starts wandering around the house again. She goes into the boys’ room to see if there is anything interesting in there, but all she finds are the remnants of three lives that no longer exist in this house, like a few books, old Corvette models from when they were younger, and the typical half naked woman posters. Then she got the brilliant idea to go back to the sewing machine that is in the far corner of the living room. It is set in this nook that gives Thelma a space of her own to work in. George had built little shelves around it to hold all of her supplies and clothes that she already made.
So Lucy sits down and begins to tinker with the sewing machine. She thinks she got a hold of it, and tries to make something out of one of the many patterns that Thelma had. She gets about halfway through when Thelma walks back in.
“What do you think you are doing?” Thelma said.
“I am teaching myself to sew, since you wouldn’t teach me.” Lucy said back.
“Step away from the machine and pack your bags.” Thelma said.
“You are kicking me out because of this? How will my mother feel about this?” Lucy said.
“It’s not because of this, but you are lucky I don’t do something about this. You could have hurt yourself.” Thelma said.
It seemed unlikely to Lucy that she could hurt herself, but it is true. The machine is old and the stand isn’t very sturdy. Unless you know how to handle the moves that is makes, you could have the machine fall on you.
The phone rings again and Thelma runs to answer it. It’s Chris. Lucy doesn’t follow directions and continues to sew.
“You can hurt yourself.” Lucy said to herself, mocking her aunt. “Blah blah blah. Everything is more important than me.”
At that moment the machine begins to move and Lucy starts to panic. She moves away from it and sits on the couch. As Thelma is walking back unto the room, the sewing machine falls to the ground and shatters into as many pieces as it possibly could.
She is trying to find a way to cure her boredom. She has only been here for two days, and already she can’t find anything to do in the woods surrounding Lake Serenity. She was wandering around the little, two bedroom log cabin when she came across the sewing machine Thelma Dudley uses to sew dolls clothes that she sells at the Lake Serenity flea market every weekend. This is where most of Thelma’s livelihood comes from so there is some resistance to letting Lucy use the machine for God knows what.
They are pacing in the living room while Thelma cleans up the house and Lucy follows her continually asking to use the precious sewing machine.
“I said no. I mean no. It doesn’t matter why I said no, I just don’t want you using it.” Thelma said.
“But there is NOTHING to do here. I am going to be bored to death in about two more hours if I don’t find something to do. Teach me how to use it, please.” Lucy said.
The phone rings and Thelma answers it. On the other end of the line is her son, Chris’s school. He is going to have to move out immediately and would be expelled from the school. They wouldn’t explain to her why, so she would have to get that information from her son, but the whole time she was on the phone there was this nagging in the background.
“Please, please, please. Let me use it, or something, ANYTHING.” said Lucy.
“Not right now.” said Thelma getting increasingly angry. “I have other things I have to do that are a little more important than finding you something to do. You are a creative girl you can figure something out.”
“But I want to sew. You don’t get what it’s like to be stuck here all day with nothing to do.” said Lucy, almost on the verge of tears. “I wish I could go back home already.”
“Well you can’t, so for now just sit there and read a book or something. I have to make a phone call.” said Thelma.
Thelma walks through the dining room to get to the kitchen to call her son Chris. She is staring out the window looking at the trees covered in a glistening sheet of ice from the storm the night before. She can’t get a hold of Chris so she tries to call her other sons, Mark and Dan to see if they know why their brother will be coming home from school three years prior to graduating.
Lucy yells from the other room, “What are you doing in there that is so important? Just come teach me like two things and I will stop bothering you. It’s that simple.”
Thelma yells back, “Just hold on! My life is not dedicated to making sure that you are entertained. If you could just wait a few more minutes and stop bothering me I might just let you use it, but for now just SHUT UP!”
Angry at this, Lucy starts wandering around the house again. She goes into the boys’ room to see if there is anything interesting in there, but all she finds are the remnants of three lives that no longer exist in this house, like a few books, old Corvette models from when they were younger, and the typical half naked woman posters. Then she got the brilliant idea to go back to the sewing machine that is in the far corner of the living room. It is set in this nook that gives Thelma a space of her own to work in. George had built little shelves around it to hold all of her supplies and clothes that she already made.
So Lucy sits down and begins to tinker with the sewing machine. She thinks she got a hold of it, and tries to make something out of one of the many patterns that Thelma had. She gets about halfway through when Thelma walks back in.
“What do you think you are doing?” Thelma said.
“I am teaching myself to sew, since you wouldn’t teach me.” Lucy said back.
“Step away from the machine and pack your bags.” Thelma said.
“You are kicking me out because of this? How will my mother feel about this?” Lucy said.
“It’s not because of this, but you are lucky I don’t do something about this. You could have hurt yourself.” Thelma said.
It seemed unlikely to Lucy that she could hurt herself, but it is true. The machine is old and the stand isn’t very sturdy. Unless you know how to handle the moves that is makes, you could have the machine fall on you.
The phone rings again and Thelma runs to answer it. It’s Chris. Lucy doesn’t follow directions and continues to sew.
“You can hurt yourself.” Lucy said to herself, mocking her aunt. “Blah blah blah. Everything is more important than me.”
At that moment the machine begins to move and Lucy starts to panic. She moves away from it and sits on the couch. As Thelma is walking back unto the room, the sewing machine falls to the ground and shatters into as many pieces as it possibly could.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Thelma Dudley, through dialogue
Thelma hobbles on her crutches to answer the phone.
“Hello.” she says into the receiver.
“Hello Thelma. How are you doing now that you can’t move around very much?”
It was her older sister Beatrice. She is always trying to look after Thelma, even though she lives on Cape Cod and Thelma is stuck in the middle of the snowy woods of upstate New York, alone.
“Things have been ok.” Thelma said. “It gets kinda lonely out here now that George is out all the time and the kids are gone, but I am making due. I have been fixing up the house; changing it around. But that has been put on hold since I broke my ankle.”
“How are the boys doing?”
“Good, I think. I haven’t heard from them in a while, but I know they settled into college and are hopefully doing well.”
“Where are they going again?”
“Mark is at NYU, Dan is at Brown and Chris is at the University of Massachusetts. It’s so weird to know they aren’t together for once in their lives. But they do need to learn to be independent, so I guess this is a blessing.”
“Yes it is. Now you can spend your time doing things you enjoy with George.”
“When he is around. He has been out a lot lately. Working mostly. He has been fixing the houses since we’ve had this really bad winter.”
“That’s good. At least he is working. Maybe if he gets some time off you can take a trip out here and visit. The Cape is lovely this time of year. No tourists. Just calm and quiet.”
“I get calm and quiet here. But that might not be out of the question. And maybe you could come here one weekend. I’ve been dying to try out some new recipes for when the boys come home and you could go to the Lake Serenity flea market with George and I. We go almost every weekend. I sell my doll clothes and he looks around for old furniture to buy and restore. We really have become an old couple. Haven’t we?”
“Not really, but this happens when you age. Kids go away, loneliness sets in and you try to find excitement in your life. You will get used to it, I promise.”
“Sure, sure. I think I’m gonna go for a walk. It’s a beautiful day outside. It was nice talking to you. Bye.”
She hangs up the phone, grabs her crutches and hobbles outside. She starts to walk in the freshly fallen foot of snow.
“Hello.” she says into the receiver.
“Hello Thelma. How are you doing now that you can’t move around very much?”
It was her older sister Beatrice. She is always trying to look after Thelma, even though she lives on Cape Cod and Thelma is stuck in the middle of the snowy woods of upstate New York, alone.
“Things have been ok.” Thelma said. “It gets kinda lonely out here now that George is out all the time and the kids are gone, but I am making due. I have been fixing up the house; changing it around. But that has been put on hold since I broke my ankle.”
“How are the boys doing?”
“Good, I think. I haven’t heard from them in a while, but I know they settled into college and are hopefully doing well.”
“Where are they going again?”
“Mark is at NYU, Dan is at Brown and Chris is at the University of Massachusetts. It’s so weird to know they aren’t together for once in their lives. But they do need to learn to be independent, so I guess this is a blessing.”
“Yes it is. Now you can spend your time doing things you enjoy with George.”
“When he is around. He has been out a lot lately. Working mostly. He has been fixing the houses since we’ve had this really bad winter.”
“That’s good. At least he is working. Maybe if he gets some time off you can take a trip out here and visit. The Cape is lovely this time of year. No tourists. Just calm and quiet.”
“I get calm and quiet here. But that might not be out of the question. And maybe you could come here one weekend. I’ve been dying to try out some new recipes for when the boys come home and you could go to the Lake Serenity flea market with George and I. We go almost every weekend. I sell my doll clothes and he looks around for old furniture to buy and restore. We really have become an old couple. Haven’t we?”
“Not really, but this happens when you age. Kids go away, loneliness sets in and you try to find excitement in your life. You will get used to it, I promise.”
“Sure, sure. I think I’m gonna go for a walk. It’s a beautiful day outside. It was nice talking to you. Bye.”
She hangs up the phone, grabs her crutches and hobbles outside. She starts to walk in the freshly fallen foot of snow.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Thelma Dudley
I know this is coming a little late, but I wanted to post the changes I made to Thelma Dudley.
For years Thelma Dudley has lived in a small, two bedroom, long cabin on thirty acres of woods in upstate New York. From her kitchen she sees the surrounding mountains, trees and land that her husband, George, builds houses on. In her spare time, which is all the time, she sews doll clothes and sells them at the local flea market, about a mile away set on the banks of Lake Serenity. George and her love to make the trip to the flea market every weekend since it is really her only time to socialize with anyone other than the animals she may encounter in the woods. There are times that her children will stop by, but since they are in college it is very rare. She wonders how they are doing, since they are all separated for the first time to three different schools, NYU, Brown, and U Mass. Going from a house full of eighteen year old boys to just her and George is still hard on her. She is trying to adjust to making smaller meals, and a lot of time just resorts to TV dinners because it makes her sad to make the boys’ favorite meals: her famous chicken fettuccini, meatloaf and pork chops with apple sauce. She thinks that maybe she should join a club or group, maybe one at her church or something, but decides against it since she really enjoys her time at home. It also helps that at the moment she can’t really get around anywhere since she broke her ankle trying to rearrange the furniture in the living room; the twenty year old, olive green couch just didn’t want to move. George comes home periodically to check on her and make sure she isn’t trying to do anything out of the ordinary, like the other day when she tried to take a walk in the snow with her crutches.
For years Thelma Dudley has lived in a small, two bedroom, long cabin on thirty acres of woods in upstate New York. From her kitchen she sees the surrounding mountains, trees and land that her husband, George, builds houses on. In her spare time, which is all the time, she sews doll clothes and sells them at the local flea market, about a mile away set on the banks of Lake Serenity. George and her love to make the trip to the flea market every weekend since it is really her only time to socialize with anyone other than the animals she may encounter in the woods. There are times that her children will stop by, but since they are in college it is very rare. She wonders how they are doing, since they are all separated for the first time to three different schools, NYU, Brown, and U Mass. Going from a house full of eighteen year old boys to just her and George is still hard on her. She is trying to adjust to making smaller meals, and a lot of time just resorts to TV dinners because it makes her sad to make the boys’ favorite meals: her famous chicken fettuccini, meatloaf and pork chops with apple sauce. She thinks that maybe she should join a club or group, maybe one at her church or something, but decides against it since she really enjoys her time at home. It also helps that at the moment she can’t really get around anywhere since she broke her ankle trying to rearrange the furniture in the living room; the twenty year old, olive green couch just didn’t want to move. George comes home periodically to check on her and make sure she isn’t trying to do anything out of the ordinary, like the other day when she tried to take a walk in the snow with her crutches.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Whippoorwill
I enjoyed the story, but there are some issues I had with some parts of it. On the first page there is no explanation as to why the mention of a girlfriend is the "kiss of death". Also I wish it was clearer as to why the narrator was hitching back across the country and why he had gone across the country in the first place.
On the second page there is an issue I have with the section about Gabe "romancing" the narrator and the feeling of "intimacy". Is this something the narrator wants or does he just suspect it? What role does this really play in the story.
The last issue I have is on the fourth page when the discussion of drugs comes into play. What does this have to do with the story. It only seems like it is there to segway into a random back story about Gabe.
There were also things I like about this story. I thought it was really well written and a lot of the word choices were very unique. In the first paragraph there is the sentence that says, "as light and hope were draining from the day." This is such a different way to describe nightfall that really caught my attention.
Also on page five, the whole paragraph about the crooning is so out of character, but it fits in the story so well and describes Gabe in a different light than the reader has previously seen. It was a nice touch to the story.
On the second page there is an issue I have with the section about Gabe "romancing" the narrator and the feeling of "intimacy". Is this something the narrator wants or does he just suspect it? What role does this really play in the story.
The last issue I have is on the fourth page when the discussion of drugs comes into play. What does this have to do with the story. It only seems like it is there to segway into a random back story about Gabe.
There were also things I like about this story. I thought it was really well written and a lot of the word choices were very unique. In the first paragraph there is the sentence that says, "as light and hope were draining from the day." This is such a different way to describe nightfall that really caught my attention.
Also on page five, the whole paragraph about the crooning is so out of character, but it fits in the story so well and describes Gabe in a different light than the reader has previously seen. It was a nice touch to the story.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Bank Heist
I walked into the building, took one look around and knew what I had to do. There was no choice for me; I was behind on almost all my bills and there was no way I was going to give up my new car. I went into the bathroom and put a ski mask over my thick, black hair. All anyone would be able to see are my grey eyes.
I will walk up to the tellers of the bank, passing everyone in line, but no one will complain. They will know what is coming next. I will ask for all the money, threaten everyone with a gun, and try not to get caught. It is the perfect plan.
I begin to execute my plan after giving myself a little pep talk in the bathroom. “You can do this,” “It has been done before,” “Let’s get that money.” All of these began to run through my head as I bolted out of the door and began to yell at everyone to do as I say. There were women screaming, actually it was more like squealing, and trying to comfort crying children. The men wanted to protect the women, and the tellers were like sitting ducks.
It was one of those really personable banks, there wasn’t any plated glass and it had a very open atmosphere. It was one of those banks where everyone knew each other because it was in that kind of town.
I ran up to the tellers and demanded all the money they could give me. One girl was a tears the whole time she was trying to do as I said. The rest of them were surprisingly calm, and I was watching them like a hawk to see if they hit any alarm. Good thing they never thought this would happen to them and had never used it before and didn’t even think of it.
What a place! They don’t use their alarm system when they are being robbed, everyone complies with what I say; this is too easy. “There has to be some sort of catch,” I think to myself. But I can’t pinpoint it. I continue on my raid of the bank, then haul ass out of there. I jump into my brand new Mercedes and speed off, feeling like I had just gotten away with murder.
But on the road something is wrong. Everything looks distorted and it seems like everything is collapsing around me. I lose control because of the visions and my car is headed straight for a tree. When I impact, I wake up in a cold sweat. I look at my phone to check the time, because the sun isn’t even up yet, and can’t help to think how real that whole dream seemed. As I pick up my phone I see there is a message; a picture of me in the car with the ski mask.
It is way too early for blackmail.
I will walk up to the tellers of the bank, passing everyone in line, but no one will complain. They will know what is coming next. I will ask for all the money, threaten everyone with a gun, and try not to get caught. It is the perfect plan.
I begin to execute my plan after giving myself a little pep talk in the bathroom. “You can do this,” “It has been done before,” “Let’s get that money.” All of these began to run through my head as I bolted out of the door and began to yell at everyone to do as I say. There were women screaming, actually it was more like squealing, and trying to comfort crying children. The men wanted to protect the women, and the tellers were like sitting ducks.
It was one of those really personable banks, there wasn’t any plated glass and it had a very open atmosphere. It was one of those banks where everyone knew each other because it was in that kind of town.
I ran up to the tellers and demanded all the money they could give me. One girl was a tears the whole time she was trying to do as I said. The rest of them were surprisingly calm, and I was watching them like a hawk to see if they hit any alarm. Good thing they never thought this would happen to them and had never used it before and didn’t even think of it.
What a place! They don’t use their alarm system when they are being robbed, everyone complies with what I say; this is too easy. “There has to be some sort of catch,” I think to myself. But I can’t pinpoint it. I continue on my raid of the bank, then haul ass out of there. I jump into my brand new Mercedes and speed off, feeling like I had just gotten away with murder.
But on the road something is wrong. Everything looks distorted and it seems like everything is collapsing around me. I lose control because of the visions and my car is headed straight for a tree. When I impact, I wake up in a cold sweat. I look at my phone to check the time, because the sun isn’t even up yet, and can’t help to think how real that whole dream seemed. As I pick up my phone I see there is a message; a picture of me in the car with the ski mask.
It is way too early for blackmail.
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