Post by Chris on Nov 26, 2006 23:25:28 GMT -5
Something I was working on that didn't pan out creatively. It was meant to be a series of short stories about this place called Blue Creek. Still, I just wanted to get someone else to see it or whatever, so ...
A Chain of Broken Links: The Stories of Blue Creek
Story One
Frankly (Part One)
I think that I’m too frank when I’m writing. I have no tact. I just blurt out what I want to say however I want to say it. Don’t get me wrong, it’s cool to be up front about stuff, but when you’re writing . . . I dunno. There are some things, like this story for instance, that won’t work right if you don’t write them properly, with the nuance, subtlety and sensitivity they deserve.
Too bad I can’t do that.
Now, because I can’t take a gentler approach, I’m afraid I’m going to have to hit you with a metaphor.
I think of a chain as a group of objects that are connected together. Usually the word chain brings to mind that bunch of metal rings that pass through each other that you use to pull things or to bind them together. I think chains in that sense are neat, because if you think of it, each of those rings on the chain is a separate link that makes up something stronger and much more useful than it would have been on its own.
People are pretty much like chains that way. Well, not really, but it’s still nice to think of them like that anyway. Imagine that each person is meant to be a link on this huge chain, and each one would be connected through the other to give an overall strength and purpose. All for one, one for all, and all that jazz. I know its cliché, but I can’t help it; for all my bluntness, I’m still a pretty romantic guy. I just feel that that’s the way it should be.
However, despite my romantic ways, I can still be real, and the reality is that things don’t work that way, and they never will. People are just too different from each other: we all reach for different goals, we all live with different values and we all feel, think and act differently. Heck, we even look different. Being different isn’t actually the problem, because we just are. We can’t help but be different from each other, it’s natural. The real problem is that we let our contrasting goals, values, opinions and feelings get in the way of forming that chain. When we should come together as links to give us the strength necessary to find a way to co-exist peacefully, we break out alone and fight for our own interests the people who threaten them instead, and so the inevitable happens: our bonds dissolve, and we all end up on our own.
Like I said, I think this is just a part of human life, and for the most part, it can’t be helped. I’d bet that even if we tried to come together as a people, it wouldn’t work. We are simply too different. The expression goes that the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and it stands to reason that the very differences we’d try to resolve by coming together would rear their ugly heads and muck up the works, and we’d all be right back to where we started. I hate to say it, but sometimes the very things meant to bring us together just rip us apart.
There’s this guy who knows exactly what I mean. In fact, one of his favorite things to do is to sit on the roof of his house and just think about how it was that his family and friends drifted away from him and left him on his own. He’s the kind of guy who gets so frustrated that he’s all alone, but doesn’t realize that maybe he’s the one pushing the people who care about him away.
His name is … Frank.
I’ll say it again: I’m tactless.
* * * * * * * * * *
Blue Creek is a weird place. It developed when it was chosen as the replacement site of the former district capital on the coast that was devastated by a hurricane. Thanks to that, it looks and feels like a small town or large village, but it has the sensibilities and organization of a city. The plant life earns it the nickname of ‘The Green City’, as proudly advertised by the government-funded signs in choice locations. The many dirt roads, the quaint houses, and the tiny population (around 12,000, making it one of the smallest capitals in the world) shows that it does have some parts of small-town living. No skyscrapers, no stoplights, no shopping malls. Traffic is almost a non-issue, and you’ll be hard-pressed to find anywhere open after 10. Heck, the police station is practically a 9-to-5, and it even closes at midday on Sundays.
Most of the residents are the kids and grandkids of the city folk that left their old metropolis to find somewhere to start new though, so they aren’t the corn-fed, welcoming country-bumpkins you’d expect. It doesn’t have that close-knit community of a town. Doors are bolted and latched after the sun sets, and you’re a sucker if you don’t have burglar bars on your windows. If you like your bike, you’d better have a lock for it if you want to find it where you left it. And of course, there’s the materialism. Only geeks would be caught dead in public without name-brand gear and flashy bling. If your neighbor has a better car than you do, it’s time to trade up. And God forbid two girls show up somewhere wearing the same dress. Blue Creek might look like a nice little town on the outside, but sadly it’s a city at heart.
Frank isn’t much different in that respect. He’s fair looking: short, dark hair, clear skin, wiry build, dresses relaxed and comfortable, and there is an ease and slowness to his movements. Like Blue Creek, Frank is quite approachable if you just look at him, and he’s not bad to look at either.
If only we could do something about that personality.
Now I’m not saying that he’s ever truly cold or distant. Frank is good with his words, and he’s a great listener when the mood strikes him. His sarcasm, which is his favorite tack, is often funny. He’s smart, pensive and deep.
Still, there’s no getting around the fact that when you’re talking to him, you somehow know that he couldn’t care less. He’ll speak only when spoken to, and he’s always quiet in a sad sort of way. You look at his eyes, and they’ll tell you softly to ‘go away’, and though his sarcastic comments aren’t insulting, you always get the feeling that they were meant to be.
Worst of all, he is so passive. Everything about him moans passive, from his careful, sluggish movements, the way he’ll wait a few seconds too long before answering a question. He’ll smile but never laugh, and he’ll stare but never glare. There’s no passion in him either way. It gives him a moody aura that he wants you to think he’s trying to hold back, but it always shows through. Just being around him will drag you down and bum you out, and you won’t be able to wait until you edge away.
Frank’s family, however, can’t do that, and they have to put up his gloom on top of everything else that’s wrong with them (and trust me, there’s a lot of stuff wrong in that house). They don’t really put up with it directly, you understand. His older brother Chad is hardly ever home, out hanging with his friends and fooling around with girls (lots and lots of girls). His dad has a farm out of town, and he often stays there during the week, and his mom, the real breadwinner in the family, is constantly occupied with her job and is very socially active. Besides, he probably wouldn’t hang around with them even if they wanted to most of the time. That doesn’t make his presence any less felt when they are home for a change, and he’s up there loafing in his room. Something just seeps out of there and filters through the house in the air, and it’s so palpable you can almost choke on it as you’re breathing.
They’ve done everything they can do. They’ve talked to him, they’ve yelled at him, begged him, and punished him. He’s even seen a psychiatrist a couple of times. Nothing helps. The Bleu family had to grin and bear the constant (if somewhat inert) reminders that Frank is unhappy, that he is unhappy for a reason and that they know what the reason is. He unintentionally punishes them with his unhappiness, and they become unhappy too. They just got used to it, and like so much in their lives, they started to learn to live with it.
And so it was, until that one fateful day when Joy Grimm met her new neighbors.
A Chain of Broken Links: The Stories of Blue Creek
Story One
Frankly (Part One)
I think that I’m too frank when I’m writing. I have no tact. I just blurt out what I want to say however I want to say it. Don’t get me wrong, it’s cool to be up front about stuff, but when you’re writing . . . I dunno. There are some things, like this story for instance, that won’t work right if you don’t write them properly, with the nuance, subtlety and sensitivity they deserve.
Too bad I can’t do that.
Now, because I can’t take a gentler approach, I’m afraid I’m going to have to hit you with a metaphor.
I think of a chain as a group of objects that are connected together. Usually the word chain brings to mind that bunch of metal rings that pass through each other that you use to pull things or to bind them together. I think chains in that sense are neat, because if you think of it, each of those rings on the chain is a separate link that makes up something stronger and much more useful than it would have been on its own.
People are pretty much like chains that way. Well, not really, but it’s still nice to think of them like that anyway. Imagine that each person is meant to be a link on this huge chain, and each one would be connected through the other to give an overall strength and purpose. All for one, one for all, and all that jazz. I know its cliché, but I can’t help it; for all my bluntness, I’m still a pretty romantic guy. I just feel that that’s the way it should be.
However, despite my romantic ways, I can still be real, and the reality is that things don’t work that way, and they never will. People are just too different from each other: we all reach for different goals, we all live with different values and we all feel, think and act differently. Heck, we even look different. Being different isn’t actually the problem, because we just are. We can’t help but be different from each other, it’s natural. The real problem is that we let our contrasting goals, values, opinions and feelings get in the way of forming that chain. When we should come together as links to give us the strength necessary to find a way to co-exist peacefully, we break out alone and fight for our own interests the people who threaten them instead, and so the inevitable happens: our bonds dissolve, and we all end up on our own.
Like I said, I think this is just a part of human life, and for the most part, it can’t be helped. I’d bet that even if we tried to come together as a people, it wouldn’t work. We are simply too different. The expression goes that the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and it stands to reason that the very differences we’d try to resolve by coming together would rear their ugly heads and muck up the works, and we’d all be right back to where we started. I hate to say it, but sometimes the very things meant to bring us together just rip us apart.
There’s this guy who knows exactly what I mean. In fact, one of his favorite things to do is to sit on the roof of his house and just think about how it was that his family and friends drifted away from him and left him on his own. He’s the kind of guy who gets so frustrated that he’s all alone, but doesn’t realize that maybe he’s the one pushing the people who care about him away.
His name is … Frank.
I’ll say it again: I’m tactless.
* * * * * * * * * *
Blue Creek is a weird place. It developed when it was chosen as the replacement site of the former district capital on the coast that was devastated by a hurricane. Thanks to that, it looks and feels like a small town or large village, but it has the sensibilities and organization of a city. The plant life earns it the nickname of ‘The Green City’, as proudly advertised by the government-funded signs in choice locations. The many dirt roads, the quaint houses, and the tiny population (around 12,000, making it one of the smallest capitals in the world) shows that it does have some parts of small-town living. No skyscrapers, no stoplights, no shopping malls. Traffic is almost a non-issue, and you’ll be hard-pressed to find anywhere open after 10. Heck, the police station is practically a 9-to-5, and it even closes at midday on Sundays.
Most of the residents are the kids and grandkids of the city folk that left their old metropolis to find somewhere to start new though, so they aren’t the corn-fed, welcoming country-bumpkins you’d expect. It doesn’t have that close-knit community of a town. Doors are bolted and latched after the sun sets, and you’re a sucker if you don’t have burglar bars on your windows. If you like your bike, you’d better have a lock for it if you want to find it where you left it. And of course, there’s the materialism. Only geeks would be caught dead in public without name-brand gear and flashy bling. If your neighbor has a better car than you do, it’s time to trade up. And God forbid two girls show up somewhere wearing the same dress. Blue Creek might look like a nice little town on the outside, but sadly it’s a city at heart.
Frank isn’t much different in that respect. He’s fair looking: short, dark hair, clear skin, wiry build, dresses relaxed and comfortable, and there is an ease and slowness to his movements. Like Blue Creek, Frank is quite approachable if you just look at him, and he’s not bad to look at either.
If only we could do something about that personality.
Now I’m not saying that he’s ever truly cold or distant. Frank is good with his words, and he’s a great listener when the mood strikes him. His sarcasm, which is his favorite tack, is often funny. He’s smart, pensive and deep.
Still, there’s no getting around the fact that when you’re talking to him, you somehow know that he couldn’t care less. He’ll speak only when spoken to, and he’s always quiet in a sad sort of way. You look at his eyes, and they’ll tell you softly to ‘go away’, and though his sarcastic comments aren’t insulting, you always get the feeling that they were meant to be.
Worst of all, he is so passive. Everything about him moans passive, from his careful, sluggish movements, the way he’ll wait a few seconds too long before answering a question. He’ll smile but never laugh, and he’ll stare but never glare. There’s no passion in him either way. It gives him a moody aura that he wants you to think he’s trying to hold back, but it always shows through. Just being around him will drag you down and bum you out, and you won’t be able to wait until you edge away.
Frank’s family, however, can’t do that, and they have to put up his gloom on top of everything else that’s wrong with them (and trust me, there’s a lot of stuff wrong in that house). They don’t really put up with it directly, you understand. His older brother Chad is hardly ever home, out hanging with his friends and fooling around with girls (lots and lots of girls). His dad has a farm out of town, and he often stays there during the week, and his mom, the real breadwinner in the family, is constantly occupied with her job and is very socially active. Besides, he probably wouldn’t hang around with them even if they wanted to most of the time. That doesn’t make his presence any less felt when they are home for a change, and he’s up there loafing in his room. Something just seeps out of there and filters through the house in the air, and it’s so palpable you can almost choke on it as you’re breathing.
They’ve done everything they can do. They’ve talked to him, they’ve yelled at him, begged him, and punished him. He’s even seen a psychiatrist a couple of times. Nothing helps. The Bleu family had to grin and bear the constant (if somewhat inert) reminders that Frank is unhappy, that he is unhappy for a reason and that they know what the reason is. He unintentionally punishes them with his unhappiness, and they become unhappy too. They just got used to it, and like so much in their lives, they started to learn to live with it.
And so it was, until that one fateful day when Joy Grimm met her new neighbors.