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A Grave Mistake; theme: gravity
Topic Started: Sep 16 2006, 03:23 PM (169 Views)
Deirdre_the_Sorrowful
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Summoner
[ *  *  * ]
note: I'm not sure if it's completely obvious - I wrote this for people already familiar with him - but this character is blind. In this story he is eight years old.





“One.”

He is running, darting, dashing down the alleys, over low walls and around dumpsters, dodging street signs and hobos, fleeing for his life. He: his mind. His body does not so easily follow suit. Something the other, older boys know very well. This is one of their favorite games. They’re even counting to ten to give him a head start. He, their quarry, can do nothing but play along, scurrying as best he can to get out of sight before the pack of hounds comes pounding on his heels.

“Two.”

He remembers hearing, once, that there is a variation of Hide and Seek in which there is only one seeker, and the only penalty for being discovered is to take on the role of finding during the next round. He thinks he might have even played it a few times, before things started getting really bad. It doesn’t sound very fun, but right now he’d play it a thousand times if it meant he’d never have to sprint into the forever-unknown, trying to keep a balance between the fear of his pursuers and the fear of running into something unexpected.

“Three.”

It’s harder to gauge distances at a quick speed; he can never quite determine how much bigger his strides are. They’ve “played” this game here before, however. He knows roughly how long it will take him to round the corner and reach the dumpster at the far end of the alley, or how difficult it is to squeeze into an even smaller passageway that branches off to the left a little further on. He also knows that both of these strategies fail miserably. Today, he’s going to try the fire exit of the apartment building only half a block away, the one whose ladder has been in contact with the ground for as long as he can remember, against regulations. It’s far too close, but the extra time might just be enough for him to pull the ladder back up behind him. If he’s lucky, they’ll just insult him, or maybe storm up through the building, giving him a chance to slip back down and away before they reach him. If not…

“Four.”

Scrambling from where they’d thrown him casually on the ground, Kaname tries not to think about what will happen if his enemies split up and trap him. Getting the crap beat out of him is bad enough on the ground. In a dumpster or against a wall is worse. On a rickety metal surface several feet above the ground? Might mean death. Don’t think about it. His hand catches the rusty side of the ladder. He swings around, grabbing the rungs.

“Five.”

Come on, come on! He scurries up the ladder, grasping desperately for each rung, trying to keep shaking legs and arms from slipping. The rust bites into his hands or flakes off, forcing him to grab hold again. He waits for his hand to hit nothing but air and hopes it doesn’t throw him too off balance when it does.

“Six.”

There. There is the floor. Around him. Hard cold warped dirty metal. He heaves himself up and tenuously stands, unwilling to test the extent of the landing by moving further in any direction. Immediately, he turns and feels for the top rung of the ladder. He yanks upward.

“Seven.”

Stuck. It’s stuck. Too rusty, too old, too bent out of shape. He pulls, twists, jiggles, jerks until he thinks his arms are going to pop out of their sockets; his hands are getting scraped raw but all he’s accomplished is a few squealing, squeaking inches that are undone the moment he gives up and lets go, frantically feeling for the steps. Too late to go back down now.

“Eight!”

He can hear laughter and jeers among the chorus as he scrambles on his hands and knees to the next landing, and the next, afraid to stop and try to find a door, afraid also to go too quickly across the straighter sections for fear of flying off altogether. He isn’t about to trust the railings on this thing. His heart is about to burst and he wishes-

“Nine!”

A new wave of panic hits the boy; he lurches at the surge of even more adrenaline pumping through his body. His lips feel plastered to his gums. The rapid shallow breaths are making him dizzy. He needs to find an exit. His flailing arms finally strike a doorknob. He tugs. No luck. He gropes for another.

“TEN!”

No no no no no no no no no. The denial loops continuously in his head as he continues stumbling up the fire escape, turns getting more and more reckless. The structure shakes, throwing him off balance even more. He grinds his teeth, trying to suppress the urge to sprint just a little faster, praying that the current distance between him and the demons is enough. He has no idea how close he is to the top, or what kind of support he will find if he continued running forward when he gets there. Three more flights. The shaking is getting worse. How many of them are there?

“Where ya goin’ li’l mole? Shouldn’ ya be diggin’ a tunnel or sommat?
“Whatcha planin’ ta do, worm-eater? Tryin’ ta fly?”
“We’ll help ya fly, sure! Just wait ‘til we catch ya!”

The ceaseless rain of taunts doesn’t bother Kaname nearly as much as the fact that they are getting clearer, louder. He is losing ground. He surges onward. One, two, three more sets of stairs then…nothing. No more steps. Just a precarious bar of metal between him and freefall. Wildly he feels for a door or a window or something – any means of escape from being cornered in the worst place imaginable. His fingers close on another rusty ladder that shivers upon contact. The clamor of boots on metal is almost deafening. No time no time no time. Kaname tries his best to frantically climb up the ladder, but it’s so unstable that he has no choice but to move more delicately. The shouts are right below him now; they can’t be more than a flight or two away. How much further?

Fingers brush the bottom of his shoes. He almost screams. The ladder convulses even more wildly. This time, a cry does manage to escape his lips. The boys below him laugh, even as Kaname reaches the last rung. He grasps the curved top of the ladder like a drowning man would a plank of wood, hugging the roof’s edge to himself as he heaves himself over to the blessedly solid surface. The relief is harder to take than the fear. It can’t last, this safety. They’ll follow him. They always do. And now he’s whimpering, trembling, begging them to give up and leave him alone; whatever he did to deserve this, he won’t do it anymore, he’ll do whatever they want forever just not today no just leave him alone, let him sit there, paranoid and shivering and lost, let him sit there all night if they want, just let him stay there curled up and sobbing please please please just say the game is over and go home go home and forget about him just for tonight…

They don’t listen, of course. They seem to feed on his pain, thrive on it, savor it as if he were throwing down candy. Their laugher rings with an extra measure of satisfaction, then dies down as they turn to each other. There is some jostling below as they bicker about who should go up after him, torn between sure victory and the dubious nature of the ladder in front of them. Finally, someone starts ascending, though much more slowly than Kaname had. The rattling jolts his nerves; hypertense, he quivers, still crouched right in front of the ladder, unsure about where to go. Unable to see his surroundings, he’s got no chance of outracing the other kid without breaking his neck. The metallic cacophony grows ominously quiet. A triumphant chuckle erupts right above Kaname’s paralyzed form.

“No hole to crawl in now, l’il mole.” Sinister hoots and laughter float up from the hell below, winding around the harsh, reedy voice of the twelve-year-old only an arm’s length away from ensnaring Kaname for good. It’s a strident symphony, chaotic and all-too-familiar. A quick punch hits the younger boy’s back, weaker than it should be because the aggressor has yet to actually climb over the edge of the roof to a better position.

The blow doesn’t hurt, really, but it does make Kaname angry. Furious, even. Why do they have to treat him this way? Haven’t they already had enough “fun” for today? Why, why do they insist on taking things so far, to point that has driven both him and them to climb a completely unreliable fire escape to a rooftop of a building none of them live anywhere near? Don’t they care that they are killing him; killing themselves? It’s insane. Absolutely and completely irrational. Like everything else in his life. He is sick of it. Why can’t the world ever make sense?

Rage fueling him, adrenaline twitching his limbs into action, Kaname springs up, runs a few steps away, then turns around and rams himself straight into his opponent, screaming. The other boy, who had hurried to scramble over, thinking his victim was running way, is caught completely off-balance, one leg only partially over the side. His foot struggles unsuccessfully to hold onto the low wall as he falls backward almost in slow motion. The rabble below is silenced for once, disbelief freezing them in place as they watch their comrade fall toward them. The platform quakes as the boy, finally over his shock enough to start screaming, hits the platform and one of the guardrails before falling through, unable to regain balance or check his momentum.

Kaname pinwheels in front of the ladder, afraid he will plummet to the ground along with his enemy, before catching himself shakily on part of the top of the ladder. Terrified at what he’s just done, he sinks onto his knees, sobbing. The shrieking is cut off almost before it’s begun, dying abruptly to a choked gurgle as the earth presses the body close to herself. The hounds below gasp, then give a collective sigh, each one glad it hadn’t been him, each telling himself that that guy was a wuss, anyway. They didn’t need him.

The accusations and death threats start flying up at him a second later. Kaname shudders in disgust and confusion. They didn’t care about their comrade, did they? They hadn’t even tried to save him. He couldn’t have been pushed that far from the ladder; he’d actually landed partially on the landing there they all had been standing…and all they felt like doing was blame him. It would have…it didn’t have to…they should have known it was going to end like this. They should have been aware of what they were doing when they went to such extremes…

Eventually, the pack grows uneasy about being found near a dead body – what if someone called the cops? They practically race down the fire escape after that, wanting to get out of sight and down onto the ground as soon as possible. With a last few half-hearted shouts at their target-turned-menace, they disappear. Dispersed into the cracks and crevices of the city like the cockroaches they are.

Kaname remains on the roof, afraid to move, and even more afraid of the glimmers of pride and relief that lurk under his despair. If this – violence, aggression, revenge - is what makes the world go round, he wants a ticket to the moon. Until then, he just might have to play by the rules.
Posted Image



The road to glory is unnecessary for those with wings.
 
Holocollector
Christmas is Coming
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
I know that you use a very specific style. Some people will like it, some people don't. And I dont know how to describe it. I dont know a better word to describe it. Obviously the story has a charm because you make sound like a child story on purpose like a caretaker talking (im picturing a caretaker talking as the narrator which I dont know if this is what I should picture). But the caretaker language seems too strong, some of the words I really dont like. And I know for a fact that the sentences could be smoother. (this is a strong word here but it sounds "pretentious," like it doesnt flow well and the lines aren't sophisticated enough, sounds too much like a caretaker).

IMO we could have got the idea if you stopped at 5. If you wrote it a bit better, but even then we got the idea you want. The readers have the ideas you wanted imo at least from what I could gather.

The ending though always seems to be your forte when you write short stories, at least I think.

I got last time that your style was very different from my own when I commented on garabage man. In my opinion you need to make more compromises for your audience. I didn't like how it since it sounded, it sounded as if from your childhood. Your psychology approach is good to developing the charcaters is good, but I am lacking a feeling once we reach that end. (the charcaters imo are incognito and not known enough). They are not that well developed. It's like when you try reaching for a climax, you build up until then. I didnt get the effect you wanted. If I read it standalone I would get a different reaction. Ok so take it as it is, imo you could get some of my experience on writting stories if you dont agree or dont like what I wrote (though im not posting what I often, just to make a better point). And I dont think I am a better writer than you. I can't point that to anyone yet.
Note: My english writing skills need work so don´t even think of asking me to change it entirely or relearn my english (the impossible). I don´t like the signature, I willl eventually add a picture.
 
Deirdre_the_Sorrowful
Member Avatar
Summoner
[ *  *  * ]
you...confuse me. quite a bit. but i'm going to hope i understood most of your comments.

by stopping at five i'm guessing just with the counting? continuing to say each individual number was a choice i made to make the reader feel as anxious and frustrated as the character about how little progress he's making.

what's all this about a caretaker? this is written in close third person for the most part. meaning it's practically in the boy's head, with a change in point of view a couple of times in the end.

I wrote this as a flashback, a memory from a key point in his life, for a character I have somewhere else. I wanted to see what people who don't have the advantage of knowing who he turns into would think, as it seemed to me a good enough piece to stand alone. because it's a memory, context and setup of character introduction would not benefit this story.

and yes, the end i had more trouble with than the rest; it got wordy and a little awkward. but in a way it fits in that he's already shutting down his emotions and replacing them with logic and reasoning. but i suppose that's one of the effects that's lost on those who don't know that that will happen.

the mob, however, isn't supposed to be made of distinct individuals. they're just a mentailty, a plague, a negative force in his life, a catalyst. he doesn't know them. he can't even see them. and it doesn't matter. the comparison to cockroaches, i think, explains this.

Posted Image



The road to glory is unnecessary for those with wings.
 
Holocollector
Christmas is Coming
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
Ok now I know I am wrong. But couldnt read it well, was very tired and couldn't get it. If anything imagine you did something wrong. That this is going to show you what a novice would do wrong. Not what I do wrong. I bet I can spot it somewhere else. I got problems I read it then later I get something else. I am going to quote what I was going to post.

Quote:
 
I know, grammar has always been a problem for me. And that got you confused.

The caretaker is what I pictured, doesnt matter if that was your intent. Though I dont know if anyone else is thinking what I am thinking Deirdre. If they do them I am more right. If they don't them I am guessing im probably wrong. But you get the idea.

I am going to explain the hardest comment I can think of. The "pretentious" comment. This meant to me that the words you used made it very hard it very hard to follow. The word choices, doesn't matter if a caretaker. Some of them sounded like something I pictured I didn't like. You can label it "caretaker" anything (just made me think of it that way). But you see that made it more distarcting and very hard to follow. IMO this is a good example (very good). And I dont want to sound like a elite person. Nor making this a hars
 
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