Short Story / Warner
“Ah, Miranda, how wonderful to see you again,” Camilla walked over and enveloped me in a gossamer haze of musky perfume.
I held my breath, smiled and leaned in for the obligatory air-kisses. Her lips sounded wet so close to my ears and for one irrational moment, I thought of turning my head to kiss her.
Camilla slid a hand across my waist and steered my deeper into the house. ”I’m so glad you finally came to a party,” she whispered as she nodded to another guest and smiled, “I’ve been dying to show you off to my friends.”
Camilla’s friends were, without a doubt, some of the strangest people I’d ever met. She introduced me first to a man who’d been an artist in the twenties and thirties but had gouged his own eyes out when, on his 40th birthday, Damien Hurst won the Turner Prize. I was quickly shuffled off, however, to meet Rosalie, who was currently switching careers from stripping in cheap, asphalt gritty clubs to fetish model for a photographer with an electrocution fetish. Raymond – the Catholic Priest with a penchant for self harm – came by and offered me a drink. After a smile and a hug that lasted just that one moment too long I asked if priests were meant to be celibate.
Raymond leaned in and brushed his lips against my cheek, “Only the ones in denial.”
I was stumbling my way through a conversation about quantum physics with an autistic hand model when Camilla slipped her arms around me and pulled me away with a smile.
“You simply must meet Warner.”
She manoeuvred me through the wide, oak-floored living and dining rooms and into the back sanctum of her personal library. There, a much smaller party was happening – one I knew I would enjoy even before I met anyone. I noticed a man in the corner gluing dry macaroni noodles to the wall and a midget on a tricycle scampered in front of me, waving a tray of drinks with one hand while he steered with the other.
Camilla smiled at a woman licking the outside of a full champagne glass and moved me into the room. “He’s over by the window,” he nodded with her head.
“Warner,” Camilla’s voice was vanilla and warm brandy.
The small, crouching thing near the window spun around on its clickety legs.
I thought for a moment that she’d slipped me a hit of acid as I’d walked in the door.
But Warner nodded toward me and cleared his thorax.
“Pleased to meet you,” he extended a spindly arm with no discernible hand.
I blinked, reminded myself to smile and finally shook his … well, the end of his arm.
Warner seemed accustomed to slightly startled responses and he smiled broadly, giving me a moment to take it all in.
“Oh, Warner, have you tried these?” Camilla slid a small plate in front of him.
He accepted a few and I watched as he began eating, vomited, then continued eating.
That broke the ice and I finally smiled. I accepted one as well and ate it slowly, watching Warner vomit repeatedly. When he finally finished I handed him a pressed handkerchief and leaned in, whispering, “I don’t suppose your last name is Samsa.”
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Ok.. I didn’t get the ending. But it took a little internet refresher to remind me of Kafka. Ok… how is this a story? There is no conflict, no resolution, no plot, no real characters… so what makes this a story?
It is a twisted political/metaphysical look on things… but what is the point of it? What do each of the characters represent? What is it you are trying to say other than the obvious?
I think this needs more meat to it. More on the narrator and her point of view. Give us more on why she is motivated as such to attend such a party and find the second party more to her liking.
She is interesting.. use that to make this shine.
Good Luck!
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This is so strange and funny, that I don’t even care if it has a point or means anything.
I know a man who claims to have been astrally transported to a planet where the dominant race is comprised of intelligent giant-sized cockroaches. They taught him some arcane wisdom, of course, during his visit.
Anyhow, thanks for the pleasure of reading this.
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i thought this was interesting and creative, and it made me want to read more! the only thing that stuck out to me was this stanza, “Camilla’s friends were…..were meant to be celibate.”
I thought that it felt like one big run on sentence, and a little scattered. Scattered isnt always a bad thing, but i had to keep re-reading lines to fully comprehend them. When the reader needs to re-read to many lines, they lose interest. There were a lot of great things about this though. Good luck!
I think you should take this further.
I’m not sure what you’re getting at. Homage to Kafka?
Since the universe of this ‘story’ collapses within 549 words, there’s not many words to convey a story. Not much happens, except for the vomiting.
Did Camilla slip her some acid?
Good luck.
That was crazy, I loved the surprise at meeting warner. even after all that surrealism leading up to him, he was still a surprise. I don’t get the samsa reference, but i bet i can look it up. Good one.
Really short and simple but I love the story itself.The sort of out of placeness you put on is what really got me.Overall nice work.
Andrew
I was able to follow this closely until the final attempt at humor. That may mean that the joke is a little too inside- assuming I actually have a clue as to what humor is.
She has a friend with a friend that’s an oversized talking insect… so what? and I want to know the answer to this within the confines of the story. Not telling us why Camilla knows how much you will like this friend is keeping a fact from the reader that the reader deserves to know. Otherwise, you rob the reader of the point. This could be illustrated as easily as showing a love for creatures with six legs on the way in. Maybe you stop someone from maliciously smashing a cockroach. Maybe it is a sort of drug trip and you meticulously collect the bugs that crawl on the party guests as you pass by them. Whatever the reason is does not matter as much as us knowing the reason. And knowing that reason will make this story a winner.
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