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Post by Gil Alexander on Sept 14, 2006 20:25:09 GMT -5
This is my novella, written from the perspective a journal kept by a man in an insane asylum...in the future. o.O I wrote/posted this (on YWG1) a long time ago, but recently I reread it and now I'm trying to clean it up as best I can now. So here's the first entry.
***
Listen. I thought about it a really long time, I swear; if you’d seen me lying awake all those nights, you’d really know what I’m talking about. I talked to Betty, even to Dr. Zipratzi about it, and I figured I could use their opinions—heck, why not? So, I decided I’d tell you about Allie. It can’t hurt.
I wonder how I can explain this right. See, Allie isn’t my friend, really. You know what I mean? We don’t really get along too well. I don’t know if I should write in here about what happened last Tuesday. I’ll go check, just a minute.
All right, Dr. Zipratzi said it was O.K. So, last Tuesday me and my friend, Bill, we were sitting next to each other during lunch. You got to remember that Bill’s crazy. Loopy. He lost half his crackers eight years ago. Every day, he’s putting on a different act. Honestly, I don’t know why he does it. Anyway, on Tuesday, Bill was a shipmate, or some kind of mate, I don’t know. On Monday, he was the director of a circus, and he gave me a real crack when he tried whipping one of the nurses like she was a lion or something. Dark side of the moon, let me tell you. So anyway, on Tuesday, Bill kept calling me ‘Matey,’ (which got really annoying) and every now and then, especially when no one was paying attention, he’d whip out a pair of see-through binoculars and look across the waters of the Rec Tower for land. You see what I mean? Let me tell you.
First of all, I’m sorry that I keep getting sidetracked, but I like how I can write so much so quickly. I write so fast that I get down on paper every single little thought that goes through my head. When I told Dr. Zipratzi about it, he seemed pretty pleased. Maybe I should think of things like that more often because a lot of the time when he’s pleased with you, he’ll tell the food servers at dinner time to scoop an extra helping on your plate. And boy, boy! do I like those mashed potatoes!
So, I told Bill that he needed to stop calling me “matey.” What would you do? I mean, it was really getting on my nerves, so I told him to shut the hell up, else I’d sock him a good one. Before he answered, I saw Allie pull up a stool next to mine at the table. She didn’t have a lunch tray. She never seems to have anything besides the clothes she wore. She looks a bit like a human but I doubt she is because it’s like she’s everywhere at the same time, and her face has this kind of orangeish tint to it.
Allie was fine until she started making funny faces at Bill because she thought Bill was crazy too. I was about to laugh at the funny faces she was making but then I realized how rude she was being, especially to someone that would mind his own business most of the time. So I stood up and told Allie to stop making faces—like I said, it was rude. The thing is, she didn’t stop, I swear. So I pushed her off her stool and she fell through the floor like it was diluted quicksand or something. Right after that, though, I realized how mean I’d been to Allie; how rude I’d been! Dr. Zipratzi and some nurses came running over to me and gave me a couple shots about then, I think, because I was crying.
Look, there are two things you need to know about Allie. One thing is that I’m the only person that can see her. I think it has to do with her eyes, yeah. All I know is that whenever she pops up, nobody else besides me notices her screwing around. I mean, it’s like the only person she’s looked after by is me. It’s kind of sad, actually, when you think about it. I wonder where her dad is, you know. And her mom, too. I wonder if I can see her family, too. That would be pretty neat, to reunite Allie with her parents.
The second thing you need to know is that she’s a horrible person. If you ever see her on the streets, or in the hallways or something, (which I don’t ever expect you to) then you should try and steer clear of her. She’s nice to me sometimes, I admit; but she’s horrible to other people. She’ll make faces at you; she’ll yell at you; she’ll curse and scream at you. See, you take what happened on Tuesday. Like I said, Bill’s pretty decent most of the time, and Allie didn’t have to make no fun of him. If I could just get someone else to see her do all these bad things, maybe she’ll get locked up. That’ll teach her. I mean, you take somebody like Allie and you let them walk the streets of this city; it just isn’t going to work out.
Maybe she’s mean because she’s lonely. I mean, you’re invisible to everyone and everything around you, there’s got to be at least some damage done. Hell, I wouldn’t survive two minutes of it.
All right, Dr. Zipratzi just read what I wrote so far and he suggested that I write about myself. Why not? Oh, and he laughed when he read the part about the mashed potatoes.)
Me. Well, for starters, my name is Louis Ratford Jr. My mom was really rich, and my dad, I think, just married her for her money. My mom went on a safari in the Congo looking for a cure for some disease but she never came back. My dad and me lived pretty nicely for the rest of my childhood, though. He got me into the Wilbrook Academy. If you don’t know what Wilbrook Academy is, it’s a private school for rich boys about a half an hour from my house in Leaville. After Wilbrook Academy I went to a really nice college. I don’t remember what it’s called but I promise I’ll write you its name.
When I graduated from there, (I don’t know if I actually graduated but…) I went and sat around at home for a while. See, my dad had retired a while ago, and we chatted for a few months. Sometimes he’d get these phone calls, and he’d have to leave for a week or so. But otherwise it was pretty cool, and relaxing. You probably wouldn’t be surprised to know that I played lots of video games. But then my Aunt Ruth died (she’s my mom’s sister) but I really like to think of it like Aunt Ruth just joined Mom on the safari in the Congo. Hey, at least Mom isn’t alone in the Congo anymore. I bet it’s a devilish place to be, especially alone, the Congo.
It’s in Africa, right? Boy, that sure is a bad place to get lost in, especially nowadays, I mean with the whole war going on, you know? I hope if Mom’s still alive she won’t get hit by one of those new types of bombs, the real-powerful ones that don’t even need a rocket. But really, I’m not much about politics, never cared for it. See, it never was really interesting to me. I could never see or feel what politics did. You take a country like this and you really aren’t going to catch much of what politics is really about.
So that’s why I’m probably not going to write much about politics. It’s really pointless, when you think about it. No, I mean really think about it.
Well, the tone just sounded. That means it’s time for bed. I can hear Dr. Zipratzi’s low voice, and now the doorknob’s turning.
Got to go
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scarecrow
Rank 3 (Almost Not a Newbie)
Posts: 408
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Post by scarecrow on Sept 14, 2006 21:16:06 GMT -5
No spelling/grammatical errors, as far as I can see! Major plus in my book right there.
Overall Impression:
I am loving the tone of this thing! The way this guy writes, so honest and simple, occassionally random, it gives him a childlike feel, almost naive and carefree. Which would be cute, if he was a child, but as an adult it's pitiable (don't get me wrong; in this case it's a good thing, a very good thing). And yet underneath the simplicity of his thoughts an actions I sense the teeniest remnants of the awareness and the complexity of what was once an adult. For instance, the part where he talks of how his dad just married his mom for his money. It shows his immaturity, because it's a very awkward topic to write about, especially when he knows Dr. Zipratzi is going to read it, but it's also shows that he is keen enough to see that the signs that just because his parents are married doesn't mean they loved each other, and that his father probably loves his mother's money more than he loves her.
Another example of this is his analysis of Allie. "Maybe she’s mean because she’s lonely. I mean, you’re invisible to everyone and everything around you, there’s got to be at least some damage done. Hell, I wouldn’t survive two minutes of it." There's some real depth there, and it shows that even though he appears to be childlike he's aware that people have more to them than what's on the surface. This sentence, in fact, says much more about Louis himself than it does about Allie, and that goes doubly when you add it to the fact that Allie is very likely just a figment of his imagination.
You say this takes place in the future, but the only reference to time setting there is the rocketless bomb (from a mental patient; not the most reliable source), and also, though probably unintentional on your part, the Z's in the doctor's name (lol, personal qualm there, ignore that).
All in all, I was very engrossed in this story from the get-go. Louis is a joy to read, mostly because we really get to see him completely because it's HIS journal, and the way he has of just blatantly saying what he thinks and feels gives you an unedited look at just who he is, and there is something so deep about his naivete. The tone suits the subject matter perfectly, and the want to find out just what has made this man revert into this childlike shell is more than enough to keep me waiting on tenterhooks for the next chapters. Brilliant, slightly touching and endlessly beautiful. One of the most satisfying pieces I've ever reviewed, and the best of your works I have ever read.
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Post by Gil Alexander on Sept 14, 2006 21:20:50 GMT -5
Hey, wow, thanks so much for your review! You don't see anything wrong with it? Oh, and you'll find out more about the future as the story goes on. Anyway, I'll be posting his next entry soon.
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scarecrow
Rank 3 (Almost Not a Newbie)
Posts: 408
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Post by scarecrow on Sept 14, 2006 21:25:12 GMT -5
Ugh, I coulda sworn I wrote that I figured that it was because it was just the first entry that there was no future stuff. My mistake.
And no, I didn't see anything wrong with it, spelling and grammar wise. I did think it was a bit short, but that could be because it was an easy, fast read. Practically perfect.
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Post by Gil Alexander on Sept 14, 2006 21:31:33 GMT -5
Okay, thanks. The reason why I'm not posting this as one post is because people are turned off from reading it if it's too long. *shrugs* Second entry: One of the reasons Dr. Zipratzi told me to write in here was to write down what happened in my dreams, and I just woke up from one and I want to write it down before I forget it. That happens a lot, huh, forgetting your dreams. So anyway, in my dream, I’m sitting in the Rec Tower. Across from me was sitting a few of my friends, and one of them was Bill. I told you about Bill already, right? So we’re sitting there, and I look down and my hands are making some kind of sculpture, made out of those things, the Leg Os or whatever you see kids playing with nowadays. It seemed like I’d been working on that thing for my whole life, that sculpture. But Al knocked the thing over, and all of the little parts came apart. Even the blocks themselves seemed to shatter on the carpet. That really pissed me off, what Al did, I’ll tell you what. There was no reason for it, why would he do that—I mean, I’d worked on that Leg O sculpture for all my life! So what would you do? I bet you’d sock him a good one, huh. But that’s not what I did. I didn’t do anything mean or nasty like that. Allie didn’t even show up, and that’s the sort of time she would usually appear. All I did was go to the water cooler and got Al a little paper cup of water. And then I woke up. Weird, isn’t it? I guess you could say that most dreams you have are weird, but at the time all of the things that happen seem so logical and not-unheard-of. I guess maybe Dr. Zipratzi’s going to be interested in it, anyway. Seems like the type of guy, doesn’t he? He’s really nice, Dr. Zipratzi is. He’s got this short gray hair that goes all the way around his head so it looks like a mane, but I know that the bottom parts are really just a big beard and a moustache. He also wears eyeglasses. I think he has a lot of them because he wears different ones on different days. Strange guy, huh—but real nice. He wears this white shirt almost every day, too. When I just read the things I wrote here I remembered that I never finished writing about my life and all that. So I’d just finished telling you about how my Aunt Ruth died. Well, I don’t know if I ever told you that she was married, but she was. To a guy named Tim. After Aunt Ruth died, Uncle Tim I guess got pretty shaken up. I always thought him being shaken up was because of the way Aunt Ruth died, but the truth is that no one told me how she died. I guess I was just too scared to ask or say anything to my dad. Hell, if it shook Uncle Tim up that bad, maybe I didn’t even want to know. So my dad and I decided to leave Leaville to go live with him, because he was my dad’s brother in law and I guess that’s what brothers in law are for. We went up to Portland because that’s where my Uncle Tim lived. We each brought a big suitcase but not much more because my dad said we could always just buy new stuff when we got settled down in Portland. Uncle Tim’s house was pretty big, but not as big as my old house back in Leaville. I put my suitcase down to knock on the door, but there was no answer. Eventually, we ended up just going inside; the door was unlocked after all. “Uncle Tim?”, “Timmy?”, “Where are you?”, “Hello!”, we yelled in that big foyer against the whole house. But there still was no answer. Finally I turned to my dad and said, “Do you think he might not even be here?” He shrugged and scratched the skin behind his ear. He used to do that a lot, scratch his ear. “We told him we’d be coming, didn’t we?” Later on I said to myself that I should have considered that Uncle Tim might have been sleeping or something. Anyway, I think it was then that I saw Uncle Tim’s head pop over the foyer railing out of the corner of my eye. He didn’t look too well, let me tell you. He was pretty skinny, and his hair stood up at odd angles like a forest during Christmas time. I’m not even sure if he was wearing a shirt. “Hi, Tim,” my dad said. I’m not sure he knew exactly what to say in this type of situation; he really hadn’t prepared himself for this kind of thing I guess. But Uncle Tim didn’t answer my dad’s greeting; he didn’t even move or nothing. We dropped our suitcases and ran up the curving staircase to where my uncle leered over the railing. “Hey, Tim, are you OK?” my dad asked, touching his arm. My uncle’s mouth moved a little bit, and a croak escaped from between his lips. I think he was trying to say something but he didn’t have the strength to say or do much more than croak. It didn’t sound like the croak that you might hear from a frog though. It sounded like it had come from a frog that had just woken up from the dead. It sure was sad to hear. Dad picked him up like a big baby (Uncle Tim probably wasn’t too heavy; it didn’t look like he had eaten in a real long while) and brought him to a bed in the room closest, and Uncle Tim stayed there for a while. I wasn’t supposed to go in there at all, unless Dad made some soup or something for a Uncle to eat. For a while, Uncle Tim wouldn’t eat anything. I’d bring him some chicken noodles and a biscuit or two and they’d still be there on the bedside table when I went upstairs a couple hours later to get his dirty dishes to wash them. He didn’t even seem to want to live. I think he wanted to go visit the Congo, on that safari with Mom and Aunt Ruth; to be with them. He was like a zombie, I swear. A sort of living-living-dead. For a couple of months after, I dreamed over and over again about Uncle Tim’s ghoulish face I saw over the railing when we first arrived at his house. Like I said: pretty sad. But scary, too. He looked like a jack-o-lantern, actually. Especially around his eyes. So, we lived there for a while. Months passed, and I became twenty-four. Soon after I became twenty-four Uncle Tim started getting better. He could say full sentences, like “The soup felt good,” or “It’s quite dreary today.” Nothing much more than that. Sometimes when I brought him dinner, he’d be standing at the window, looking out at the rain. And then he was all better. He seemed to have energy, you know? My dad and I stayed with him for a couple of weeks after. I had a lot of free time then because I didn’t have to spend all my time caring for my sick uncle. Uncle Tim’s next door neighbors, they were pretty nice. One of them, the daughter, she was a couple of years younger than me, but she was real smart and we got along real well. Most of the time, me and Betty, we’d just sit out on her porch, or at her kitchen table when it rained, and we would tell each other stories. My stories, they were never much (most of them I repeated or didn’t even make up anyway!) but hers were great. It would seem like she was looking through some window to another dimension and only describing what she saw. I’ll tell you, those days were priceless. I’ll tell you. She had a brother, Betty did, and sometimes she’d tell stories about the battlefield. See, her brother (his name’s either Karl or Kurtis) was fighting in the war in Africa. That was back when the whole thing had just started. I think Betty started missing him a whole lot, kind of like how Uncle Tim missed Aunt Ruth, so she stopped telling stories about her brother, probably just so she could stop thinking about him. Yet, about all of her stories seemed to involve some war of some sort, may it be between the goblins and the vonplushes or the acrae and the elves. I guess all of that stuff about her brother just stayed in the back of her mind. Even though she didn’t know it, I bet Karl motivated almost every word and story that came out of Betty’s mouth. Then again, I’m still not too sure how Betty’s and Kurtis’s relationship had been, before the big war and all. Probably it had been a good one, judging by how she acted. So, a couple of weeks after Uncle Tim got better, my dad got me up real early and told me that we needed to leave quickly. “But what about Betty?” I asked him; “and Uncle Tim?” “Uncle Tim is better, come on, we’ve got to go,” my dad said. He seemed really shooken up, you know? and I figured I’d just play along for a while. If I’d know how things would turn out I might not’ve gone with him, you know, with what happened with Judge Moreland and at Atlanta and all. I guess just the look on his face made me want to go along with him. It was like Uncle Tim’s face, a bit. I can still see his face, too, in my head; all black like he hadn’t slept in a while. So I got out of bed and started to pack all of my clothes, but my dad stood watching me and said, “No, son, you can just leave all of that stuff here. Just take some underwear and a book or something.” He was really on edge I guess. “Where are we going, Dad?” I asked. All of a sudden, his kettle steamed. “I said get ready, and let’s go!” he said fiercely. When he saw my face turn dark red, he apologized and said he’d be waiting for me in the car. I wasn’t thinking, really, so I kind of forgot to say goodbye to Betty and her folks. And I didn’t really see her again, not for a long time. My dad and me drove out of Maine, that’s where Portland is, and we went south. We stopped at hotels and stuff, because we still had all that money, and I kept asking my dad questions but he wouldn’t answer any of them. He would always scratch behind his ear, and he’d say, “God d*mn it, you’re twenty four years old. Can’t you shut your mouth?” And I did. I was scared. When we entered Pennsylvania, I think, that was when we saw the first police car. My dad crossed or changed lanes and sped up. But soon he had to stop, because there were so many of them. I think he gave up. I was so scared I didn’t say anything until the cops got me alone and started asking me questions. They asked me all sorts of things. Like who I was, did I know what happened back in Portland a few days ago, and if I knew why or where my dad had been going. I said no to most of their questions, but I did tell them that I remembered my dad staying out late the night before we left Maine. They brought me and Dad to Atlanta, but we couldn’t see much of each other. It was really awful. I still had no idea what had happened back in Portland with my dad to make us leave so quick. I think one of the lawyers wanted to use me as a witness or something but they brought this guy with big glasses and a gray beard to talk with me and I guess I got out of it. Judge Moreland talked me, after that, and believe me: he’s a really mean man. I asked him what I could do to help my dad to not go to jail, but he told me I couldn’t do anything! How real do you think that statement was? I swear, he even chuckled while he was answering. Then he told me that because my dad was going to jail and that Uncle Tim was “relapsing,” I had to go to a new home. He told me it was a nice place and that there’d be a whole lot of other people there, like me. Like me? What was that supposed to mean? After that, they took me out and they brought me to this place. This room, actually, that I sit in right now. I only saw my dad once more, and that was a couple of weeks after they first brought me here. We had a really long talk. Maybe some day I’ll write here about the talk. So I’ve been writing all day. Six pages. I even ate lunch while writing. I think Dr. Zipratzi would be proud, you know, because I’ve been spending so much time writing in this notebook he gave me. Talk about mashed potatoes. I can see the rolling hills of white and the rushing, foaming rivers of cream and butter. The nurse brought dinner a few minutes ago, and I’ll finish so I can eat. I’ve been here for a really long time. You know, maybe a dozen years. Betty’s been coming and seeing me about once every couple of weeks. She’ll probably be coming pretty soon, like in the next couple of days. So yeah. I’m hungry. Just look at all of that food.
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scarecrow
Rank 3 (Almost Not a Newbie)
Posts: 408
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Post by scarecrow on Sept 15, 2006 10:25:02 GMT -5
I just love it when you read something that makes you get more questions than answers. I just now something totally shocking and awesome happened in Portland, I can feel it.
There's nothing much I can say here that I haven't already said. It continues in the same vein as the first entry, with that totally captivating tone and an ever-satisfying plot. Keep up the amazing job!
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Post by Gil Alexander on Sept 15, 2006 15:30:54 GMT -5
Kewl, thanks. Still nothing you can see to be improved upon? But yeah, 2 entries in one post this time, because the first one is super short. Guess what Bill was today? Guess. No, really. He was a Japanese samurai, I swear to God. It was actually pretty funny. When the nurses brought him his lunch and gave him his pills, he’d snap back at them in Oriental gibberish. He even jumped up, when the nurses didn’t back away from him, he jumped into a karate or something resting position, and kicked the lunch tray the nurse was holding right out of her hands. His soup went all over her blue outfit and his cupcake fell face up on the floor with a quiet plat. Hilarious, huh? He even tried fighting off the guards that came running in, you know, moving this way and that, ducking, punching. It really was some entertainment for me and the rest of us. Didn’t I tell you he was loopy? I’ll tell you what! He lost half his crackers eight years ago. He didn’t use to be this crazy. In fact, I knew him when he wasn’t. He wasn’t this crazy back then, kicking nurses and somersaulting across the carpet and all that. Oh, well. Time for bed. *** I have great news! Three things. The first thing is that today “Animal Friends” visited us. Have you ever heard of them? Well, see, it’s this organization or corporation or something that buys lots of really nice pet animals, like cats and dogs and lizards, and they go around to all of the hospitals and places like that, and I guess they’re supposed to make the patients feel good or something. They were all real nice, and the guy in the blue shirt and blue pants with that strange accent that seemed to own them was real nice, too. Bill got so excited, he started galloping around the Rec Tower with only his underwear on, barking and licking everybody. That time, it wasn’t really annoying, what Bill did. It was pretty funny. You know Bill can get to be a pretty cool guy, once you spend enough time with him. Even if he did accidentally knock the fish-tank over. They almost had to leave, all the animals, because of the mess Bill had made. I sure am glad they didn’t! But boy, what a mess that made. Anyway, I got pretty friendly with two of them. One was a dog. He was brown and you couldn’t even see his eyes his hair was so long. His name was Saigacy, or Stacy or something. And then there was the lizard. She’s an iguana, real green and bumpy, but she’s fun to cuddle with. I kept her, I put her in my pocket when nobody was looking, and the man with the blue clothes got a cell phone call so he had to leave pretty quickly, and he didn’t do a very thorough job. He forgot all about the lizard, and I’m glad he did. Her name’s Shelly. I haven’t showed her to anyone else yet. She’s actually in this desk drawer, because I’m afraid if I take her out people will see her and take her away from me. I’ll take her out before I go to bed and give her a quick kiss on the spine, real quick, and put her back, just as if I was putting away my pen or something. So don’t tell anybody. Well, anyway, here’s the second thing. Betty’s coming tomorrow! She called this afternoon and she’ll see me tomorrow. I just can’t wait. I don’t know if I told you much about her. But anyway she’s really good and nice. She works for a no profit organization I think called the International Children’s Welfare Board, and they help give kids around the world shelter or houses or food. She’s really proud of herself for that, I think. She’s also married, to a guy, I think named Harry or Henry or something. She hasn’t really told me too much about him. OK, this is the last thing. Tomorrow’s my birthday! I’m, that’s right, thirty-five years old tomorrow! Maybe Betty’ll sing my Happy Birthday or tell me a special story. Well, I sure am excited for tomorrow. Hopefully, after it all happens, I’ll tell you some more good news.
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Post by Gil Alexander on Sept 15, 2006 22:40:17 GMT -5
Sorry, I just can’t sleep. I keep waking up. I asked if I could go write in my journal and the night nurses said I could. They let me in. The sun hasn’t even come up yet. I’m just so excited; it’s like the night before Christmas. Well, this is the night before my birthday.
Anyway, I had another dream, just now before I woke up and came here to write it down. In my dream, I was standing at the top of the tallest building in the world, on the ledge. But it didn’t matter much to me, the height, I mean. Another person was with me though. I couldn’t tell was it was; I couldn’t see their face or if it was a man or woman or child. Its body was shimmering, like a light was reflecting off of aluminum or something. Where the head should have been, there was a great big leaf. See, what was really weird was that half of it was decaying, like autumn, and the other half was bright and green and healthy, like at the zenith of spring. The line between the decaying brown and the thriving green was ever moving. It was like I was looking through the figure and to another, greater, simpler thing. More basic. And we just stood there, and for some reason I got the impression it was talking but I couldn’t hear a word of what it was saying. Strange, huh? It’s like the last time I described a dream here, it all seemed so logical. Familiar. Like stuff like this happens all the time, and we don’t even know it. Huh, well, I’ll go try to go sleep again. Night.
***
Good morning! Happy thirty-fifth birthday to me, yahooray! It’s funny. Last night I was 34 and today I’m 35. I aged a whole year in just a night!
I don’t even remember writing that last night, nor what the heck I was trying to say. Anyway, I’m bringing a tape recorder to the talk this afternoon with Betty so I can write down here everything we say. Wish me luck for another great day!
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Post by Cy Skywalker on Sept 16, 2006 13:53:18 GMT -5
I havn't read all of this, but what I have is very good. Your narrator is very unique and some tecniques you use make it seem like it's real-time. Some excellent sentances.
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Post by Gil Alexander on Sept 17, 2006 12:20:30 GMT -5
Today sure has been a really long day; boy, you wouldn’t believe! Well, I’ll tell you. Betty came in around noon, and after I finished lunch we went and sat in the corner of the Rec Tower, on a floor where nobody usually goes besides the guards, and we went and sat on the couch. I took out my recorder and here’s the conversation. Oh, when it’s me talking I’ll put an L for Louis and when she is I’ll write B for Betty. OK, here it goes.
B – So are you having a nice day so far?
L – Yes, and it’s my birthday.
B- Yeah, no kidding! How has your day been so far? L – It’s gone pretty well, I guess. Dr. Zipratzi gave me a cupcake, and it had a little card with an inkblot on the front.
B – Was it good?
L – You bet!
B – I’ve got something for you, in fact.
L – Oh . . . (she gave me a figurine of a bird. It was green but had red patterns all over it, like tattoos.)
B – I found it at a store that imports things from all over the world. Do you like it?
L – (I don’t answer; I’m too busy marveling at the bird)
B – (she laughs) You have to be careful, Louis. It can break very easily. It’s fragile. (I hugged her then.) Listen, I have some news too. Good news and bad news. Which do you want to hear first?
L – Umm . . .
B – Come on, I’m going to tell you both whether you decide or not.
L – Uh, bad news first.
B – I—well, Henry, you know he’s my husband.
L – Yeah?
B – A few days after I last saw you, (pause) Henry went to the doctor’s office because he wasn’t feeling well.
L – Did he see Dr. Zipratzi?
B – What?
L – I said, was it Dr. Zipratzi that Harry went to? I might have seen him.
B – Oh, no. He saw a different sort of doctor.
L – So is he sick or something?
B – (she nodded I think. And after a long pause,) It’s cancer.
L – Oh. (silence)
B – Well, how about the good news.
L – Sure, about it?
B – Do you remember that I had a brother?
L – Yeah, I remember. His name was Karl, right? Or—
B – His name’s Kurtis. Guess what?
L – What?
B – He got discharged last month!
L – Kurtis? He was discharged? That’s great! (But I didn’t know what “discharged” meant.)
B – He hurt his leg. He’ll be in a wheel chair for a while. But at least he’s out of it!
L – Oh. Do you know how his leg got hurt? (I was trying to figure out what she meant when she said “discharged.” Apparently it was a good thing . . . and him hurting his leg having to do with it . . ?)
B – Um, I think it was a bullet. (I remember she had a real queer look on her face.)
L – (Now I understood! See, Karl was in the army, and when she said he was “discharged,” she meant that he got out of the war!) That’s great! (pause) I mean that’s terrible!
B – What? (she looked hurt.)
L – Um, sorry. I just remembered that Karl was in the war and I just figured out he’d been released.
B – Oh. So did you hear about the loss in Africa?
L – No, Dr. Zipratzi doesn’t let us listen to radios or tee vees.
B – Well, we got pushed back to Sudan.
L – That’s not very good news . . .
B – But the president said that he was about to make a big attack, a retaliation.
L – Really? (I didn’t really care much about the war. Seems like a big waste of time to me.)
B – It was a great speech, and I felt a whole lot better afterward. Everyone I talked to said it was a great speech. (she laughed) The kind of thing they’d quote in history textbooks fifty years from now.
L – Yeah, I bet.
B – The government’s paying lots of money. He’s going to live with Henry and me in Portland.
L – That’s great. How long was he in the war again? In Africa?
B – Close to twelve years. (pause.)
L – That’s a really long time.
B – Oh, I know. Believe me. That’s part of the reason the government paid him so much.
L – Oh.
B – (pause) So what’s going on around here?
L – Well, we’re having Movie Night on Friday. Course, only me and a few others are allowed to watch movies for some reason.
B – Neat. What movie, do you know?
L – No. I think it’s supposed to be a surprise.
B – Anything else?
L – Well—(I started to tell her about Shelly, my iguana, but I decided against it. Who knows who might’ve been listening?) Remember when we were younger, Betty?
B – Sure.
L – Remember, it rained a lot. We couldn’t play outside very much.
B – No, we couldn’t. It was a real shame.
L – Remember, when it rained, you used to tell me stories?
B – Oh, yeah. We had a wonderful time, didn’t we?
L – We sure did. Can you tell me a story now?
B – (pause) Well, sure, Louis, if that’s what you want. Bear with me, though. I haven’t—I haven’t told you a story in years.
L – Sure.
B – Okay. (sigh) Once there was a little elf.
L – What was his name? What was his name?
B – His name was Rucindorf. Rucindorf the Elf. He was a very young elf, and even though he lived years and years, he never seemed to get much older.
L – That must have been horrible.
B – And once in a while Luce—I mean Rucindorf would fall asleep right in the middle of doing something. He might have been walking down the street, he might have been eating his supper, he might have been riding his steed—but right in the middle of it, he would just fall asleep.
L – I bet it was pretty funny to see that.
B – No, it really wasn’t, it wasn’t funny at all. Because one day the elder elves, the mature, the all-growed-up boring elves got together, and said to each other, “That Lucindorf, he’s getting on our last nerves. He’s got to go! We can’t have him upsetting the balance.” And so Rucindorf the Elf, little, innocent Lucindorf was banished. He left all of his little elf friends and his small elf family and went to the mountains, where no one could see but a vague outline of his figure, and he could see nothing of his village—they were just little bugs; planets through a microscope. (a tear ran down her cheek) But his friends back in the village, the young and the innocent, they didn’t care about his immaturity, they just wanted him back in the village, instead of being up in the mountain alone; they just wanted him back: “Oh, Lucendorf,” they’d cry—
L – Are you all right?
B - (The door opened from the observation room and I saw Dr. Zipratzi through the doorway. Betty stood and walked out of the room. I could see Dr. Zipratzi shaking his head and talking to her very quietly. Gently, you know? Soon, Betty had stopped crying and she came back in and sat down where she had been sitting, on the couch next to me.) Okay.
L – So what happened to Rucen—Lucend—
B – I’m sorry, Louis. There is no ending. There was no way to bring him back home. The mountain, it was just so steep. The elders said that if Rucindorf ever tried to climb down, well, he just wouldn’t be able to because it’s just so steep.
L – Oh. I don’t like that story very much.
B – I bet.
L – (I started to say something)
B – Look, Louis, I need to leave. (she stood and the door opened to let her through, and it closed. I sat in the room, very alone, on that chair, very, very, confused, as you could imagine.
Hey, you can make whatever you like of the conversation. What worries me, really, is that Betty seemed so sad, so depressed, so worried herself. The story she told was just downright pessimistic. Dreary. A whole lot different from the stuff she used to tell me back when I lived in Portland with Uncle Tim. If you’d shown me two books, the first of the stories she told me back there and the second of the story she told today, I’d have thought they were written by two whole different authors altogether. Unsettling, it is, really. But they all, all the stories of new and old, they all came from one mouth, believe it or not.
Part of it probably had to do with her husband getting sick. Oh, I hope she wasn’t coming down with the same thing, because that would be horrible. Or maybe it’s got to do with her brother Kurtis. She said he’d been in the war for twelve years, right? That’s ridiculous. Now, I never was much good in school, especially back in Leaville, but even I know that you’ve got to be tough to survive even one year in a war, let alone a dozen of them. I bet Kurtis got real tough, and I mean really tough, because that happens sometimes to people that spend that kind of time in a war. What a guy. It’d be great to have somebody like that living near you, because he’d probably be a good protector, you know? And all that money, too. I bet Betty’ll feel a lot betterwhen he moves out to Portland to live with her and Henry.
All right. Since I’m talking about conversations, I think I’ll write here about another important conversation I’ve had. I remember a while ago I promised to write here about my conversation with my dad while he was in prisoned. It was two or three weeks after my talk with the mean old Judge Moreland, and I think I only went because I was acting all depressed and Allie kept popping up all over. So they let me see my dad. He was in prisoned and they made me talk to him in front of three or four guards, which was pretty annoying, to know while you’re talking and having a real meaningful chat, random people are standing, listening, watching your every move and your every word. Now, I didn’t ask for that!
So anyway, I wanted to talk alone with him, but there was a see-through wall separating us, and we could only talk using telephones. That was really annoying too. So I guess I wasn’t in too good of a mood when we started talking. My dad had a beard no him for some reason, and a big, rough, unkempt moustache. I thought they let you use razors when you’re in prisoned. But I didn’t ask him about that, because I was too happy to see him. He also had a couple of bruises on his forehead. But I didn’t ask him about that, either. What I did ask him, the first thing I said to him, was when he was going to get out of ‘prisoned so we could go back up to Portland to life with Uncle Tim. I didn’t want to stay here anymore, because I was new here and not many people liked me much besides Al and Bill, and I really wanted to get back to Portland.
Well, my dad didn’t answer my question for a while. He just sat there and stared at me, pressing the telephone against his ear. I wondered if our phones were disconnected or something, and he couldn’t hear what I had asked him. But finally he answered. He told me that it might not be for a long time, until we could return to Portland. After that, he told me that he’d really been missing me, and I told him I’d been missing him, too. I asked him why’d he have to go to ‘prisoned, and he said that he didn’t care. He mentioned something called the NAPFC, or the NAFCP or something, but he didn’t tell me what those letters stand for. He also told me he’d killed somebody, and when I asked him why, he didn’t look at me. He shook his head, staring at his furry hands, and didn’t say anything. After a while he looked up, wiped his cheeks and gave a small smile. I think that was all we said of that much importance. I did tell him that Uncle Tim hadn’t been feeling to well lately, not after we left him. I suggested to my dad that Uncle Tim go live with Betty’s family, but my dad said that he couldn’t do stuff like that. “I don’t know,” he kept saying, “I don’t care; I don’t know.”
I bet he was feeling pretty crummy right about then. I used to think that he felt guilty that he’d killed somebody, but later, as I thought more and more about it, he was just like Uncle Tim, you know? My dad lost his regular life, just as Uncle Tim lost his wife. I guess you could say that those two things could be related. Their effects, anyway.
Well, Dr. Zipratzi came in and I got to go. I’ve been writing for a couple of hours and I think he’s getting pretty interested. But he hasn’t read anything from here in a while. Oh, well. He won’t.
But I feel as if I’m forgetting something.
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Post by Gil Alexander on Sept 19, 2006 6:58:23 GMT -5
Look, I’m sorry I haven’t written in so long. It’s been almost a week since Betty’s visit. A lot has happened since then, you had better believe it. A lot. I guess I should start at the beginning. The day after I talked to Betty, I heard a few of the nurses whispering to each other about the war in Africa, and they seemed pretty scared. I heard them say to each other how they were disappointed in the President because he lied or something. One of them dropped Al’s cup of pills and water, and for some reason I think it had to do with the news about the war. She looked all shaken up. I felt all tense and nervous after that. I even shouted at Bill for hogging the red crayon. Guess who showed up, then? Yep, you guessed right: Allie. She hadn’t been around for a real long while, and I guess I was surprised to see her. This time she went absolutely crazy, galloping around the Rec Tower, making faces at everyone, yelling and shouting and throwing fake punches at everyone. But nobody saw her, and I chased her up and down the Tower telling her to shut the hell up. She was really getting on my nerves, you know, especially because of the news about the war. So I got pretty mad and I was really going to sock her a good one. You’ve got to really imagine what I felt; I was pretty worked up. I didn’t care that nobody could see her; I just didn’t care.
That’s the last thing I remember. The last thing clear, anyway I can remember glimpses of pictures, like giant red crayons marching up the stairs and other stuff. At one point I think I looked at Dr. Zipratzi and his eyes were sideways on his face. Then I don’t remember anything at all after that. No, nothing.
It’s happened before, you know. I always wake up a few days later and everything’s all wrecked and I can’t help but think that I had wrecked it all. I think this was part of the reason they wouldn’t let me be a witness at my dad’s court case.
Well, I don’t feel like writing about that a lot, so I guess I’ll tell you that Dr. Zipratzi keeps asking if he can read my journal, but I won’t let him. I won’t give in. A few days ago he almost lost his temper, I think. His face got red and he stood stiff and said, “Louis, I’m your doctor. You can tell me anything.” But I still refused. Stuff in here’s getting pretty personal and though he’s a nice guy and I’ve known him for such a long time I still don’t feel comfortable enough to share my journal with him. Even if it costs me a few extra scoops of mashed potatoes.
So, a few minutes after I talked to Dr. Zipratzi, I went to the desk and got you, and I hugged your pages to my chest and I haven’t lost sight of you since. Part of the reason why I haven’t written in so long is because it took me until now to get a pen, and only now can I actually write! So at least I’ve got you, and so far Allie hasn’t been around since that one day.
I talked to Bill a bit today. Guess what he said to me? He said, “Black mucus, white mucus. All together, running. One.” Really creepy. I swear nobody can understand that guy. Well, I guess that’s all I have to say. Dr. Zipratzi is staring at me, though a window; talking to one of the nurses. All right, night.
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Coli
Rank 2 (STILL a Newbie)
Yes, I'm a natural blue.
Posts: 104
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Post by Coli on Oct 5, 2006 3:00:23 GMT -5
Just read ur first entry have to say LOVING it, the style of writing is great becos it keeps u lockd on to the story, wanting to find out but being interuptd. Anyways off to read some more ;D
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Post by Gil Alexander on Oct 11, 2006 19:19:43 GMT -5
I’ve been thinking about the conversation I had with my Dad a lot lately, especially since Betty visited. I guess I was right; he just wanted to go to the Congo, like Uncle Tim, and Mom, and Aunt Ruth. I wonder if he’s gotten there yet. It’s been a real long time, like ten years, since we had that conversation; since I’ve even seen him.
Yesterday, I was building a car out of those, those Leg-os, and Al was talking to me. He was telling me something about this babe he’d scored a while ago, but I wasn’t listening to him. See, some of the nurses and Dr. Zipratzi were arguing in the corner near the hallway in the Rec Tower and I thought they were arguing about me because every once in a while they’d gesture my way. Dr. Zipratzi kept opening up a book and showing the nurses something, but the nurses wouldn’t back down. They seemed pretty distressed.
About an hour later, Dr. Zipratzi called me to the room where my desk was. He told me that Uncle Tim had passed away a couple of days ago. He told me I could ask him any questions I wanted to, and tell him anything, too. I didn’t, though. I wouldn’t.
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Post by Chris on Oct 23, 2006 17:11:53 GMT -5
I have read this in its entirety, but I will hold off on making a review until it's complete. I just wanted to give you some encouragement by letting you know that someone is reading.
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Post by Gil Alexander on Oct 24, 2006 6:44:26 GMT -5
Thank you, I had begun to wonder if anyone was. I will post some more tonight.
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