thank you for those corrections, i will look it over. i dont know about the “show” and “tell” thing though. i want to write like this, and not in another way. i like stepping out of the backgroud and go off on a tangent about something that has nothing to do with anything. this is how i tell stories to my friends in real life when i talk to them and this is what i want this to sound like. like ME telling the story, not a smartass know it all godlike person with long, complicated words compacted tightly into every sentance. i apreciate your help though. :)
Short Story / Three Days
It was a cold evening and Brian was not dressed for the occasion. The chilly February wind that patrolled the empty streets of someone’s forgotten, old past and fated dreams, stung Brian’s ears, which were not properly protected by his baseball hat and kept sneaking under his windbreaker. Despite the fact that it was Valentine’s Day, there was no sense of love in the air (probably due to the wind chill factor).
It got so cold that a thin icy crust covered the brown brick walls of old urban six story buildings and crawled all over the windows in unique crystal designs that lonely, sad people stared at for hours on this sad day trying to describe them to their sad lonely journals or immortalize them in bad poetry. The city authority issued a warning and gave cops the right to throw homeless people into shelters to save them from the cold. Many felt safer on the cold streets of the city then they did at the shelter where extortions were the least of their troubles. Love, however, was not forced into a shelter, because as much as cops wanted to detain it, they didn’t know where to look for it, and as close as they came to finding it that evening was having hot coffee and donuts and sharing them with the homeless in the back of the warm police van, while love was probably drunk, lying on some dirty curb, with frostbite, reeking of urine.
Brian understood that he alone could not replenish the sense of love in the air but he figured he at least owes it to deliver whatever love was within him to a safe and warm haven and he was desperately trying to do so by picking up speed (and I don’t mean that he paged a guy named Mike (a.k.a. BUGZ) and arranged to meet him on the corner by the “Happy Fruit” grocery to pick up drugs on his way back from dinner, I was merely referring to him walking faster).
Walking along his side was his girlfriend Jenny. She was a pretty girl. Not Jennifer Connelly-kind of pretty, but more like Dominique Swain-kind of pretty (if you know what I mean). She was wearing a tight pair of jeans and a little black jacket that was long enough to cover her tooshie from view, thus rendering the tightness of her jeans useless.
Brian has been dating her for almost a year and now they were coming back from their Valentine’s Day dinner at the sushi restaurant where Brian just flushed fifty dollars (on top of the 150, which he spent on a present – a little golden bracelet with a heart pendant and a special rose). Jenny really liked the gift, the romantic dinner, and the rose, which somehow had Jenny’s name embroiled into one of its petals. On top of all that, it was after all Valentine’s Day, so Brian had a really good feeling about tonight.
“Finally, we made it! So as I was saying… I don’t think there is anything worse in reading a story and finding out in the end that the whole thing was just a damn dream! It makes the story meaningless!” said Brian holding the heavy, squeaking building door open for Jenny.
“There actually is something worse.” Answered Jenny. “Its when you find out the whole thing was just a dream… or was it?!”
“Oh, I HATE that…”
They walked in and he looked around the familiar hallway. The walls in the hall were colored a depressing, poisonous shade of green, which usually attacked the part of your brain that even slightly hinted, “It would be nice to remain here for a while,” killed it in a similar way Frankie was killed in “Casino”, and then raped its lifeless body. But today, Brian and Jenny were too happy to get out of the cold and into this very warm hall. Brian walked up to the steps that led to the mailroom and sat down on one; Jenny pushed the elevator button and sat on his lap.
“Thank you for the bracelet,” she said and kissed him on the cheek. “You want to come up?”
“Oh, that’s right… noone’s home. When are they coming back?”
“Not till tomorrow evening. You could spend the night if you want.”
“I can’t,” said Brian with bitter disappointment, realizing what kind of beautiful things he will be missing out on, “ Tomorrow is the 15th, I gotta go down to the DMV in the morning and I need to stop by my house to get the IDs and shit from the folders in my parents’ bedroom, since I lost my keys and noone’ll be home in the morning to ring me up. And now it’s too late to go into their room cause they are sleeping. I’d love to spend the night otherwise…” He would’ve.
“Who will let you in if they are asleep?”
“My bro.”
They waited for the elevator and when it came down, Jenny remembered that she hadn’t checked the mail today and asked Brian to hold the elevator while she did so. When Brian held the door open and peeked inside, he heard the ringing of Jenny’s keys from the mailroom and for a second the elevator reminded him of the inside of a giant Jack-in-the-box toy that was empty for some reason. “Maybe the clown stepped out to get some milk?” was one of the possible, logical scenarios explaining the absence of the clown that popped into Brian’s head among others, one of which included an ostrich and a five member boy band. “But that means that he will be coming home soon!” and he braced himself expecting a giant clown to pop out of the floor, even though the trap door is always at the top of the toy. Something told Brian that the clown would be clever and sneak in through the secret bottom door as not to be seen by the unsuspecting audience and to not spoil the surprise. Luckily this was just the reactivated (by the immense heat of the hall) sakè buzz talking.
Jenny came back with a few envelopes and holding the rose with her teeth like a dame from some Hispanic dancing flick, danced right into the elevator. Totally ignorant of the clown’s imminent return, she hit the fifth floor button. Brian let go of the door and jumped in, thinking, “ Now that we’re standing inside the elevator, the clown is trapped! Unless of course, he’s a very large and powerful clown…” without even considering a possibility that the door might open out, not in, in which case they would of course fly out of the elevator when the clown would be opening it and fall through a dark shaft to their death.
The color of paint inside the elevator was less poisonous than that in the hall but it still wasn’t warm or inviting. In fact, the only inviting thing about this building was Jenny.
“I understand why they colored the hall that way.” Said Brian suddenly, “It’s cause they don’t want people hanging around there… you know: loitering, soliciting…”
“Yeah, you didn’t know?” replied Jenny after taking the rose out of her mouth, “The super of the building is some kind of an artist and he knows about paints, and colors, and perceptions and stuff, so he messes around with people. I heard that one old man that purchased a painting of his was found dead of a heart attack, lying right in front of it. Some people say it was the color pattern that killed him… or maybe he was just old and it was a coincidence. This one time, though, he painted some kind of a design that was nothing more then a collage of various multi-angled shaped on the wall by the steps between the second and the third floor and three people rolled down the flight of stairs. Nobody could prove that it was the design that made them fall, but he painted over it anyway.”
“Anyone fall since then?”
“No.”
“That’s some freaky shit.” Remarked Brian, put his hands on Jenny’s hips and kissed her. She kissed back, leaning against the wall and locking her hands with mail and the rose behind his back.
The elevator stopped on the third floor and Jenny quickly pushed Brian away as the doors opened revealing an old lady with a little terrier on a leash.
“Oh hello Jenny!” orated the old lady as if she just saw the granddaughter that never comes to visit her anymore.
“How are you Miss Shwinkel?”
“Alright, thank you for asking,” she answered as she walked into the elevator.
“Actually, we are going up, Miss Shwinkel,” Said Jenny.
“Well that’s quite alright, I’ll take a little trip with you… And besides it always drives me up the wall when people decide to wait till the elevator comes down again, because it’s a waste of time. You see, this way, it doesn’t have to stop on the third floor again, and I’ll go straight down.” She stood in between Brian and Jenny, dressed in what looked like a very warm, brown overcoat. The little terrier of the same color as the overcoat started munching on Brian’s black jeans and his shoelaces. According to Miss Shwinkel this little dog’s nerves were shut because when she was a pup, the owner used to abuse her, before she and her siblings were taken away from him and put into a shelter, so now she spent every day howling like a mad wolf and eating valerian root being fed to her by Miss Shwinkel. “So how are your parents? Did your father buy that new car?”
“They are good… Yea, he drove my mom out to Pennsylvania in it.” Replied Jenny.
“That’s good… and who is this young gentleman?” asked Miss Shwinkel and turned to look at Brian who was violently jerking his leg, trying to shake the dog, which now started growling, loose. For a second it seemed to Brian that Seven of Nine’s face looked up at him, holding one of the jean legs in her teeth, mumbling, “Resistance is futile!”
“I’m Brian, nice to meet you,” he said.
“Nice to meet you too, Brian. Well looks like its your floor, I will talk to you later Jenny. Bye-bye Brian.”
“Have a good evening Miss Shwinkel,” said Jenny and rushed out of the elevator. Brian, however, had some trouble getting out because the dog still wouldn’t let go of his jeans.
“Aw, she just likes you Brian.” Said Miss Shwinkel as one of Brain’s legs was still in the elevator with the door closing on it. “Come on, Pepe, let go of the nice man’s leg.” The door caught the bottom corner of the jean leg as it closed and Brian gave it a tug. The tug was met with a bump from the opposite side, which Brian figured was the dog’s head hitting against the door, and Brian was free.
He caught up with Jenny when she was already unlocking her door, and as soon as it opened they both slipped inside, shutting it behind them.
“Is it true?” asked Brian.
“Is what true?”
“What Miss Whatshername said.” He grabbed her by her hips.
“What did she say?”
“About you liking me.” He leaned in and whispered into her ear.
“I think she meant the dog!” laughed out Jenny and pushed Brian away.
“Yea OK… I see how it is…” turned around Brian, acting upset.
“No, come here! I’m sorry baby ok? Come here…” she kissed him on the lips, “is that better?”
“A little bit…”
“How about now?” she asked moving her hand over his crutch.
Brian didn’t bother to say anything; he just nodded and kissed her. Things started heating up, they moved their little party to the couch in the living room, some clothes began coming off. Brian took his baseball cap off to take off the sweater, and then put the baseball cap back on. Jenny reached to pull the cap off but Brian stopped her.
“This stays on.” He said with a smile.
“Why?”
“I’m batting, and I’m going for a home run.”
“ Bring it on!”
Brian moved her feet apart and laid on top of her. He started kissing her neck, her cheeks, her chin. He slid his hand under her bra and felt her warm, small breast. She moaned. The bra came off and her pink nipples hardened.
“Oh Brian…” she moaned, “I want you inside me. Do it… right now.”
Brian looked up at her, and then gave her a long kiss on the lips while he was fishing out his member.
“Do it…” she whispered, “I want you…I want you…”
Brian was about to do what he wanted to do for the past year. He waited all this time cause he knew it was going to be special and that he will remember it for the rest of his life, but he woke up.
Brian was awakened by an alarm clock, which was set to 7 am. He reached over and turned the annoying sound off. He was lying in his bed, in his room, in his house. It was bright outside and a lot of street sounds could be heard through the narrow gap in the window which was left open for the night because the dry heat of the radiator was so intense that it dried up all the air in the room and made it impossible to breathe. He heard screeching breaks that were followed by a hunk.
“Where are you going? The light is red!” said a man’s voice that was met with
“Shut the fuck up whitey!” and “Yea, white fag.”
Getting up in the morning was not an easy thing for Brian, especially when he was about to get laid. Right now Brian was pondering, lying there on his bed, about why you always wake up when you are about to get laid, never right before your dream turns into a nightmare. He didn’t find an answer to that eternal question but he did manage to get off the bed. He took a look at the calendar; it swore today was the 15th, the day Brian was putting off for a while because he didn’t want to go down to the DMV. Unlike Brian, the day finally came and Brian decided to go and get himself an ID because he was tired of going around with a giant certificate with his picture he had to keep in a folder in his book bag. He was tired of the expressions on people’s faces when he whipped out the dreadful 8 by 11 inch paper at a store or at a club.
Brian jumped into a hot shower and brushed his teeth. Brushing his teeth in the shower felt safe; he didn’t have to care about where the toothpaste was landing flying out of his mouth or where he spat, and he didn’t have to worry about his mother bothering him about getting the bathroom mirror dirty. Basically they were the same reasons why he liked taking leaks in the shower.
After the shower he went into the kitchen where breakfast that his mother made before she went to work was already waiting for him on the table. It was a bagel with cream cheese wrapped in cellophane and even though he never told his mother that he appreciates her making breakfast in the morning, he did. He boiled some water and made tea. When he had time in the morning, he liked to pick off the sesame seeds from the bagel with his nails and eat them one by one, unfortunately today wasn’t one of those mornings. He had to run.
Brian quickly finished stuffing the bagel in his mouth, got dressed, went into his parents’ bedroom and took his IDs, which his mother kept so he wouldn’t lose them, took his Discman with the Fiona Apple album by the name of Tidal and ran out of the house to get to the DMV before the lines got too crazy. On his way there in the train, he met an old friend of his whom he has had little contact with in the last few years. It wasn’t that Brian was unhappy to see him, it was just the fact that they grew apart, and really had nothing to say to each other besides the few things they still had in common from years ago. They both felt uncomfortable the whole ride and were both glad when Brian had to get out at his stop. Brian got to the DMV around 9am.
We will leave Brian at the DMV and pick it up from him coming home at 7pm, because those of you who hadn’t had the pleasure of visiting this facility and require service from the MTA, should experience it for yourself instead of reading about it, and those of you who had the pleasure… well, you went through it once and I am not the kind of bastard who will make you swing down that spiral again. Needless to say after listening to the Fiona Apple CD seven and .43 times before the batteries died, and spending the good part of his day there, he accomplished absolutely nothing.
When Brian came home, both of his parents were already back from work and his brother opened the door for him and went back to his room. His mother was cooking dinner and by the smell of it, it was fried salmon with seasonings and hash browns. Brian walked by the kitchen, said hello to his mom and proceeded walking.
“Wait, come back.” Came the voice from the kitchen. Brian stopped and took couple of steps back.
“What?”
“Well?” asked his mom.
“Well what?”
“Did it go well?”
“No…”
“Right…” with an understanding look on her face she went back to cooking.
Brian passed the kitchen and turned down the hall to the bathroom. The door to the bathroom was fucking locked. His father was obviously taking his after work shower. Brian turned around and went to say hello to his brother. He opened the door and was smacked in the face by the ridiculously delicious Aphex Twin beats, which were carelessly flying out of the two speakers, which were located on top of the bookshelf, which contained a few books with plays by Samuel Beckett, and Eugene Ionesco.
“Wassup?” asked Brian.
“Nothing…”
“Cool…” Brian went into his room to get ready for dinner and to check his Email. He logged on to Yahoo and typed in his password. There were three new messages in his box. One was from “make money fast” the second from “just over 18” and the third from some band that was supposed to open for Cannibal Corpse at Lamours on whose list he got cause he was really drunk at one of his friend’s band shows. He checked the little white boxes next to all of the three emails and clicked delete without reading them. There was no email from Jenny.
“Dinner is ready,” Yelled his mom from the kitchen and Brian shot the monitor off and obeyed his hunger. He was the first one in the kitchen and took his usual place at the table in front of his awaiting dinner.
“How many times do I have to call your brother? Bobby! The dinner is ready! Come here!”
“Chill mom, he heard you.”
“What is this ‘chill’? You want me to freeze to death? Oh here you are,” She turned around to look at Bobby as he wondered into the kitchen. “Thank you for coming.”
Bobby sat at his usual place at the table in front of his awaiting dinner.
“Where is your father? Honey? Dinner is ready!” as soon as these words left her mouth Brian’s father appeared in the kitchen, wearing a bathrobe.
“Dad,” said Bobby looking at his father “Do you mind closing your robe?”
“Uh… yes… well Bob, now you owe me a buck.”
“Shut up,” said Brian’s mom and gave his father a plate containing fried salmon with seasonings and hash browns. She sat at her usual place at the table. He sat at his usual place at the table. Everyone started eating and the room became silent except for the four very distinctive sounds of chewing, the ticking clock, someone’s flushing toilet and the chilly whistling outside of the window.
“So how did your trip to the DMV go Brian?” asked Bryan’s father and smirked. He didn’t need an answer.
“Well, thanks for asking.” Answered Brian and took a piece of fish off the fork with his teeth. “I met Paul on the train. Remember him?”
Brian’s father rolled his eyes up to his forehead trying to remember.
“That’s the boy with really long hair right?” asked him mom.
“Not anymore. He now looks like Buddy Holly.”
“Oh, that’s right. Now I remember… he used to have really long hair.” Said his father.
“I can’s imagine him with short hair,” said Brian’s mom “he must look like Buddy Holly.”
“Yea, that’s right, he had long hair…” mumbled his father when the telephone rang.
“That’s prolly for me,” said Bobby, jumped up and grabbed the phone. “Hello. Hey… yea he’s right here. Its for you.” He stretched the receiver to Brian. Brian took the phone and went to his room.
You probably already guessed that on the other end of the line the pretty little lips that spoke so softly into the receiver were attached to Jenny’s face.
“Hey babe, what’s up?” asked Brian.
“Why can’t we just be friends?”
“What?” asked Brian.
“I want to date other people.”
“What?” asked Brian.
“Ill talk to you later OK?”
“What?” asked Brian, but the other line was already dead.
Brian calmly hung up the phone and tossed it on his bed. Calmly came up to the cupboard and pulled out a screwdriver from the bottom drawer. He then calmly came up to a poster of a tree trunk where some bark came off to reveal a layer of bricks, took the scotch tape that was holding it off, and put the poster on his bed. Brian then proceeded to calmly carve out words in the wall using the screwdriver. He carved out the following:
“One day we’ll meet
And you’ll smile
But inside you will cry
And you’ll say to yourself
‘I wish everything was different back then.’”
Brian calmly threw the screwdriver against the wall, grabbed the poster and stuck it on the wall with the scotch tape that was already on it from before. He calmly went out into the kitchen but everyone was already done with dinner.
His brother went to his room to go online and his parents were in the kitchen getting a drink of Florangejuice. Brian walked in and got himself a glass, which he filled up, with cold genetic milk from the good ol’ fridge.
“ I couldn’t help but think that your friend Paul must look exactly like Buddy Holly.” Said Brain’s father.
“Well you two discuss this and ill go check up on Bobby” said his mother and went past Brian, out of the kitchen.
“What time do you have to wake up tomorrow to go back to the DMV?” asked his father.
“7 a.m.” answered Brian and heard the front door unlock. He took a step back, out of the kitchen and looked down the hall. The handle turned and the door slowly opened revealing Brian’s mother. “Hey Ma, where’d you go?” he asked.
“I was just throwing out the garbage why?”
“I thought you were going to Bobby’s room?”
“No, I just threw away the garbage.”
Brian looked the other way down the hall where his brother’s room door was opened and he began to feel weird. His brother’s door always stayed closed cause he didn’t like to be disturbed. The only reason it would be opened is if someone… Brian started walking toward his brother’s room.
“Where are you going Brian?” asked his father from the kitchen. “Brian?”
The door to his brother’s room was closer and closer with every step as it should be, and the milk in Brian’s cup began to drip over the edges. He didn’t know why he felt like he did, like something horrible has happened; it felt like being kicked in the chest really hard. Brian came up to the door and looked in.
Inside the room Bobby was talking to his mother. The cup with milk slipped out of Brian’s hand and fell on the floor.
“What the hell is your problem?” his brother was upset, drops of milk were rolling down his computer. “What the hell?”
“Mom?” asked Brian completely shocked.
“What?”
“Mom?”
“Yea?”
“Mom!” screamed Brian. “Mom!” he grabbed her by her hands.
“What are you doing? Brian, are you crazy? Let me go!” yelled his mother.
“Mom!! MOM!!” Louder and louder screamed out Brian with tears already running down his cheeks. He was trying to drag her out into hallway where his other mother was. For some reason in the spare of the moment he though that if he saw them together he would be able to figure out what was going on. Why there were two.
“Let me go!” she yelled.
“No!! Mah!!” He dragged her out in the hallway.
Brian woke up at 7a.m, reached over and turned the alarm clock off. He was lying on his bed. He was warm under the blanket and didn’t want to get out into the cold. Looking around the room, he noticed his chewed up by Pepe pair of black jeans hanging over the backrest of a chair, and that the poster, which he stuck back to the wall yesterday, fell to the floor and the wall left uncovered, spelled out yesterday’s words:
“I wish everything was different back then.”
Brian’s eyes shifted to the calendar that swore that today was the 16th, then to the time on the alarm clock. It was time to go, but Brian decided to stay in bed for a couple more minutes and think about why you always wake up right when you are about to fall for someone, never right before your dream turns into a nightmare. He could hear his father, and his mother, and his other mother snoring next door, and the chilly February wind that patrolled the empty streets of someone’s forgotten, old past and fated dreams scratching at his window.
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Helplessromantic87 reviewed Version 1 -
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jordanmbobe reviewed Version 1 -
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MatthewMarquis reviewed Version 1 -
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Some of your sentences are quite long which makes the story hard to get through in some spots. Try breaking them up – it will help the reader to move quickly and easily through.
Try to steer clear of parenthetical comments. If they add to the story, try to figure out a way to integrate them more directly.
Really nice use of dialogue, by the way.
Also, try paring the story down a bit. There’s some stuff like the sesame seeds that do little to help us know the character better or move the story along. Keep the reader in the story.
Nice job, though. I’d love to see this story’s revision.
Matthew
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cdnsurfer reviewed Version 1 -
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Break up that second sentence, first paragraph. It runs on too much. If it were a bit more snappy, it would bring out the humour in the last line.
First sentence, second paragraph is also way too long and don’t use “got”. The personalization of “love” is interesting, but it was strained in that paragraph.
The third paragraph’s theme of the metamphetamine pusher really didn’t work. It felt contrived. You’re pushing too hard here for a laugh. It should feel more natural.
Whenever you do the parenthetic statements where you, narrator/writer, steps out of the background you’re into the tell instead of the show. I won’t get into this too much as I’m sure others will lead you there. First rule of style in Strunk and White is to get yourself into the background.
I’m not going to go line by line as I think you have the idea.
The story itself seems good enough and will really shine once you work out those darn kinks. I see real promise here.
Thanks for sharing with us. Good luck.
September 26, 2006
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