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B.
Horror / Untitled-Chapt. Two (Analysis)
Chapter Two
Kathleen Monroe, starting to feel very pregnant, felt every step as she mounted the porch of her and her husband’s solid brick austere home. One could find so many like it in the southern U.S. where brick served as the unrivaled building material of choice. Inside most brick homes any average sized person could almost run through the dry-wall with a helmet on, but outside it would take a sledgehammer to get through. Only the windows and doors permitted any encroachment.
They, Kathleen and her husband Jackson, had purchased the place together, combining their incomes to afford their dream home. Not, that they got a “dream home,” but that they dreamed of owning a home. Kathleen always took an assured breath when she stepped inside, finally at ease, having made it to her place of solitude, and out of the random world beyond.
A feckless prowler shook that confidence only a couple months before when she came home to a burglary in progress. Bobby Venton the little punk down the street, who everyone knew took meth to assuage his banal needy teenage existence, had broken in to look for cash, or anything sellable. Fortunately for her, Kathleen did not like to keep a lot of valuables, especially with a child on the way; she could just see breakage in her future. The house, adorned mainly with cheap reliable furniture one might find at a mall or an outlet, bore no fruits for the young addict. Trembling with a craving for more of the substance he felt he could not do without, Bobby, out of his mind, simply said: “Give me your money.” When Kathleen, in fear for herself and her developing child, opened her wallet and pulled out the meager $4.57 left over from lunch; she held it out in her hand crying, head turned away in shame and trepidation. “That’s all I have. Now leave.” Those last two words seemed to ooze out of her mouth as if she had tried to stop them but they slipped past anyway. Now leave? Why did I say that? Now you’ve done it, she had thought at the time.
Bobby had walked up and looked at the money as if examining a precious stone for worth. “That’s it?” he said. Feeling affronted he slapped the money out of her hand. She winced as the coins bounced off the floor and ricocheted off the wall, every impact affecting her nerves like a nearby thunderclap. It seemed like minutes passed as each coin whirled and fell, bouncing unevenly on a staccato amplifier until they finally came to rest. The four dollar bills lay strewn at her feet. A part of her wanted to pick them up and stuff the money into his mouth screaming: “Take this you little shit!” Only, she could not, would not. It took too much courage and fortitude, both of which she did not possess in such vast degree. “It’s all I have, sorry,” she replied simply.
Bobby Venton’s eyes had suddenly widened, realizing what he had done and how miserably it had failed. Maybe the drugs had guided his actions before and started to wear off, but something deep down in his conscience took hold and he ran. He did not run home or to his friend’s house, but to his dealer. He had begged for one hit just to get him down the road. “I’ll pay you back!” He pleaded, but the dealer told him to get lost. The police picked him up hiding in the woods near a road out of town. With dark circles around his needy sharp eyes, he screamed as the officers pushed him down into the cruiser and hauled him away. He could have gotten off easier, but he would not tell the police where to find his dealer, who certainly would have exacted revenge sooner or later, so they let him have it. When prison finished with Bobby Venton he would never again resemble the cute little kid his mom remembered only such a short time ago. The system would chew him up and spit him out, a changed man forever.
**
Kathleen stepped inside with a defensive glance, earned from her Bobby Venton encounter. Everything seemed in order. Walking in, she put her purse and keys down, always in the same place, the stand by the door. Otherwise she would search later wondering what on earth she did with them. She had a “skip memory” as she called it. Her thoughts always jumped around from one thing to another making it difficult to finish one task without starting another. It would appear to an onlooker that she could achieve nothing in a day’s work, a lot of starts and few finishes. Only she never saw it that way. At the end she could wrap up a bunch of unfinished tasks in one finale. For this reason she had to operate as a creature of habit, otherwise she would remember nothing. She could even put off eating for hours upon hours if she did not have meals at the same times every day. As long as she kept to her schedule, it all worked out.
Under her arm she carried the day’s mail, which she generally had the opportunity of going through first. Kathleen always got her hopes up when she checked the mailbox, wanting something interesting to come through. A great package felt like an early Christmas. But her anticipation always plummeted at the sight of the first bill, followed by an offer for the greatest credit card on earth, which had miraculously pre-approved her; followed by another bill. Her enthusiastic expression slowly sank to boredom with the passing of each humdrum envelope. She removed the bills and threw the rest in the trash. What a disappointment. So going to her back up plan for some excitement in the day she picked up the remote and flicked on the T.V. Early on Kathleen’s friends and family labeled her as a “channel surfer.” In a split second she could tell if something looked interesting or not. Growing up everyone always chastised her for not stopping to look at a channel, wondering how she knew if it was any good after seeing only a brief glimpse. Sometimes to prove her skill she stopped on something that she would have skipped otherwise, to watch for a few seconds. When nothing immediately exciting happened she always said: “See! Told ya’ so. Boooring.” And she would resume surfing. It drove her husband, Jackson, crazy. He stole the remote from her any chance he got and watched what he wanted, because he already knew what he wanted: Discovery, History, National Geographic, sometimes Animal Planet, Boxing, or Football; with a few network T.V. shows thrown in for good measure. Kathleen on the other hand went all over the place. But, this time, for once in her life, except the terror attacks in New York, she did not even think about touching the channel button. Eyes riveted on the screen, she uncharacteristically set the remote down and watched.
A majority of the time cable news drove her up the wall. It always arrived live on the scene and started reporting before actually accumulating any real facts. “Re-facting” she called it. They just reported whatever came in. Let the chips fall where they may, and sort it out later. She would much rather see an organized news reel about finished events without speculation and opinions pouring in from every angle, just the facts. This time she forgave them, for there was a real sense of urgency, palpitating, with an ominous rush.
She saw that a meteor was headed towards earth. Some experts in the fields of astronomy and geology talked about how a meteor of this size, which undoubtedly broke off from another planet could impact earth in more than one way. The obvious destruction due to collision seemed imminent, and certainly dominated everyone’s thoughts. However, this man explained how if this mass from another planet contained life, still animated in its core it could impact the earth in far more fascinating and potentially devastating ways than the meteor itself. Alien microscopic life could alter the planet. Wanting to stick to the prospect of violent death and destruction the news anchor switched topics, saying: “I want to focus a little bit more on this impact crater you talked about.” They went on batting back and forth more and more violent scenarios for the most affected regions of the earth. Kathleen’s attention veered off as the sound of her favorite song filled the air, combined with a hum like an angry bee trapped in between two panes of glass. She walked over to her purse and answered her cell phone.
“Kathleen! Have you seen the news?” Her husband Jackson asked imperatively.
“Yes! Oh my god. What are we going to do? Everywhere there’s p…” Jackson cut her off before she could get going.
“Baby, listen to me. We have to take care of ourselves. When this thing hits and everything happens, even before that, things will get ugly turning into everybody for themselves. You hear me? every man for himself.” He added the last words emphatically, as if he could punch holes through a wall with them. “We have to board up the house, get provisions….prepare everything. And, we need guns.” After saying the word “guns” Jackson waited for his wife to protest, put her foot down, and adamantly insist that that would not happen, not in her house. But, much to his surprise it never came.
Her protest, which certainly would have sputtered forth vehemently at any other time, in any other crisis, began as thoughts normally do. It went through basic creation and processing, and nearly got shipped off to the mouth; but something cut it down just before delivery, something rational. An opinion Kathleen did not know lived inside her thought: That’s actually not a bad idea. Instead of saying: “What are you crazy? That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard! What’s wrong with you? Do you even know how to fire a gun?” Her response abruptly changed to one simple: “okay.”
Shocked, Jackson wondered for one fleeting second if he had actually just heard that uttered from his wife, but he decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. He moved on brainstorming about what they would need to survive the disaster.
Together they modified their list of necessary items over the coming days, especially after learning that starting with those who lived west of the Appalachian Mountains, chances of survivability would steeply rise. Jackson started stocking up on survival gear. The news could not, or would not, accurately report exactly where earthquakes would strike due to the large impact area. They did not want to speculate too much. Memphis would almost certainly perish, sitting practically on The New Madrid Fault Line. The shock waves, which could potentially reach Washington D.C. and the Carolinas on the east coast, would probably affect East Tennessee in manageable ways.
Kathleen and Jackson had no desire to combat the possibility of Tsunami’s crashing on the east coast if earthquakes occurred in the Atlantic Ocean. They figured that maybe they lived in a relatively risk free zone when new faces, cars, and recreational vehicles started showing up all over the place, having fled either east from earthquake zones, or west from the coast. Jackson reflected one day on his way out of the supermarket that he could not remember a time when he ever saw so many license plates from different states at one time. All the toilet paper and milk had disappeared off the shelves in a matter of hours. Apparently when the end of the world came, as long as people could wipe up and consume calcium then everything else would sort itself out.
Jackson sought out some guns. While everyone else stocked up on perishables and toiletries, he found protection. If things turned awful, truly dire, he needed the peace of mind only a weapon could bring when mortal danger felt close at hand. When Jackson entered the gun store some other people, who apparently had the same opinions as he, pertaining to guns anyway; all gave suspicious glances at each other, the pressure building, lists of necessary items growing daily, and stocks depleting rapidly. Nobody had gone crazy just yet, no frantic souls scampering through the streets screaming bloody Armageddon. But the look had started to develop. A look of desperation only conveyed through the eyes, and a tension in the face, like a granite visage. Nobody said it, but Jackson sensed that people, like himself, contemplated if they might have to kill those around them to survive. Would someone, without means or resources try to steal from me, or my family? Would they kill over some food, or a little shelter? How desperate would it get? Jackson found himself pondering these questions as he waited in line to get a gun. All of life’s little civil gestures seemed to slowly dissolve. What’s wrong with me? Is this the beginning of paranoid induced psychosis? Maybe if I’m wondering that I can’t really be crazy. Crazy people don’t consider their own sanity, right? Jackson thought all this to himself while standing in line waiting to buy a gun, with a bemused expression.
“Which guns would you like?” The store clerk asked brusquely, with a direct somnolent gaze, having worked tirelessly to keep selling weapons to the anxious masses. Briefly Jackson reflected on the offhanded query, thinking: which guns? Then he empathized with the clerk, taking in his countenance, the slight sheen on his skin, a merit from unremitting toil, a salesman’s wet dream and worst reverie all at once. Jackson scanned askew at the racks. He had not gotten as far as deciding which models to buy. He needed reliability and power. His eyes caught sight of an AK-47, the gun that beat America out of some of Southeast Asia’s most unforgiving terrains. He recollected stories of burying them in mud for weeks, or submerging them in water and having them still fire every time. He could not directly recall a more popular or recognizable gun in the world. Better get two, he thought. Kathleen will need one as well. An image of his pregnant wife firing an AK-47 at some thief in the night suddenly popped into his head. It did not fit. He wondered if anything would fit into this convenient world he now called home within a few days.
All told Jackson chose two survival knives, a pair of twelve gauge shot guns, two Glock pistols, the 17C series-which the clerk promised was probably the most trusted handgun in the world-all the ammo he could carry, two sets of body armor, three gas masks, one baby sized, and two machetes. He could not quite explain what came over him. He just suddenly felt he needed all the protection they could handle.
“Cash or credit?” The store clerk asked.
Will credit even exist in a few days? Probably not, he thought. “Credit,” replied Jackson.
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DC_Karma reviewed Version 1 -
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’...felt every step as she mounted…’ as a woman who has carried quite a load of a baby, I know that she felt it, it is implied with the giant parasitical bump in the abdominal area. IMPO, however, something like, ’...struggled to waddle up each step as she…’
‘They, Kathleen and her husband Jackson…’ I think you could lose the ‘they’ in this sentence, as I had to read a few times to understand who ‘they’ were, before it dawned on me that they; were the fols immediately mentioned thereafter.
‘Not, that they got a…’ lose the comma
You do a good job of giving us the feeling that their house is ‘home’; a place where Kathleen feels safe, secure and relaxed at.
‘Bobby Venton the little punk…’ comma after ‘Bobboy’
’...everyone knew took meth…’ I think ‘used’ would be more effective than ‘took’ in this instance
’...or anything sellable.’ ’anything of value’?
’...around his needy sharp eyes…’ comma after ‘needy’
‘Only she never saw it that way.’ Nice line;; effective for characterization
’...wanting something interesting to come through.’ waiting for somethin…?
You have done well in Kathleens characterization. She is cauious because of prior events (life experience); and her life is very mundane, It seems as though she is awaiting something exciting. (This is at approx. 50% through).
‘Alien microscopic life could alter the planet.’ IMPO, this fact has been made clear in the previous line. It is repetitive in a sense. I thin it could be omitted without effecting the flow or comprehension level at all.
At 70% of the way through, yoy have done a great job with building tension and the feeling of ‘impending doom’. Kathleen’s normal ‘anti-guns’ stance being diverted maked it especially effective.
’...would probably affect East Tennessee in…’ affect = effect
At 75% you mention what areas are likely to be effected by the Earthquakes caused by the meteor, but you fail to tell us where the MC and her husband are located. People are moving West to avoid the coast (which there is a coast on the east, a far cry closer to tenesse and the Carolina’s than the west coast) and moving west to avoid the Eastern ‘danger zones’. Where is this happy medium in which they live? If this has been answered in a previous installment, forgive me.
At approx. 90% through, you do a good job of entering Jackson’s mind and speculating his thoughts and what he assumes that all of the other fearful citizens are thinking as well.
‘Briefly Jackson reflected on the …’ comma after breifly
‘Will credit even exist in a few days? Probably not, he thought.’ Heh, nice bit of humor at the end of the chapter.
All in all I think characterization and suspense are well built. Th actions seem realistic and, basically, I am ready for the war!! ) Seriously; I hope to come across future installments of this!
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PenelopeMV reviewed Version 1 -
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This 167 word review has not been unlocked.
Russell_Parkway reviewed Version 1 -
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The idea isn’t bad. The Armageddon theme is not original, but if you present it a different way you will be onto something.
Throughout the chapter I think it would gather a lot more strength if there was more dialogue to move the story forward rather than depend on a long narrative. In the first part where you describe Kathleen I would have her engage in more conversation with her husband, find a creative way in which something in the house, or maybe something her husband does when she gets home would remind her of the burglary and have them talk about it.
The rest is alright.
hinton reviewed Version 1 -
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This is a really nice piece, filled with some spices of humor, mundane living, realistic marital fiction, and the age old fear of a rock falling out of the sky to crush our planet.
I think this story has more than enough to make it publishable, and not only that, it is memorable. It is a far step from the cliche little stories about what happens in situations such as this and the story is full of little scenes that paint a nice picture of the world Kathleen lives in.
Well done, I look forward to reading more of this. :)
-—---—-
chew him up and him out, a changed man forever. > ;
“okay.” > “Okay.”
eminemslove85 reviewed Version 1 -
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I read yor story…it wa very good. it kept my att. all the way threw, it felt like i was in the stor too.
Panda_Priest reviewed Version 1 -
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This is good!
Continuing well from the first chapter.
Interested to see if it’s better than the prologue when the “horror” comes around again
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