i wasn’t drunk. I started writing this on a flight back from South Africa. I was really tired. Really. Practically drunk i would say. Then i finished it a little later. Thanks for the comment!
Short Story / God's an Alcoholic.
Chapter 1: In We Meet Our Characters
“CLINK”
The sound of champagne glasses kissing rings across the hall. Merriment is abundant.
Today is the 2nd birthday of Mr. and Mrs. Lord Safford’s only son.
He will die by the time this dinner is over. For that matter, all the guests attending this gathering will die by the time this dinner is over. Except for Mr. Bade, who happened to be going to the bathroom at the time of the incident, coming out of the wash room just as the deed was finished.
It just so happens that Mr. Bade is the protagonist of our story. Reader, say hello to Mr. Bade.
“Hello reader,” Mr. Bade responds. “How are you?”
Reader, he asked you a question.
“Oh well that’s good, or bad, I can’t decide, there are so many of you — so just choose the answer that best suits you.”
Let’s get back to the story, shall we then? Alright, here it goes. Suddenly Mr. Bade stops wiping his dirty hands on his new tweed suit (which is quite snazzy) and realizes that everyone else has suddenly died.
“Oh my,” he exclaims. Mr. Bade turns and faces you. “Reader, do you know what happened here?”
…………………………………..
“Well that’s shame.” Mr. Bade calmly says.
By this time 85% of you readers have suspected Mr. Bade of committing this atrocity. How do I know this you ask? It is because I am an omniscient third person narrator. I also know that in 5 seconds Mr. Bade will suffer a heart attack and fall to the floor dead.
“WHAT!?” Mr. Bade yells into the musty air.
I’m just kidding Mr. Bade, now please once again, may we get on with the story?
“NO!” Mr. Bade yells again into the musty air (can we get a new adjective?).
What do you mean no?
“I mean, I’m not moving until I get a new narrator.” Mr. Bade says with authority.
You can’t change narrators, besides, who wouldn’t want me to narrate their story. I’m quite good you know.
“Let’s have a vote.” Mr. Bade proposes.
Okay, but I get to chose who votes.
“Okay then.” Mr. Bade agrees to the proposition with utter ease (that doesn’t make any sense — let’s redo that)
“Okay then.” Mr. Bade says, as he walks over to the table pushes one of the dead bodies out of a chair and sits. (That was much better :clapclap: )
Alright, the person I have chosen to vote is the writer.
“The writer?...” Mr. Bade asks.
Yes the writer, the person who is telling the story.
“I thought that was you.” Mr. Bade says.
It is me…the writer is the person who came up with story. He or she created us, in this case, he.
“Created us?” Mr. Bade is trying to wrap he head around this concept. He is failing quite miserably. Watching him at this moment would be a very enjoyable experience.
Yes using his creativity. All hail master writer.
“So he is like God”
The narrator thinks for a second (is the narrator being narrated upon?). Yes, kind of.
The narrator decides to leave it at that. Now that we have a new narrator, that would be me and the previous narrator has now become a character in the story I would like to introduce myself.
I am a stout, hairy nothing of a man, I have body odor, and I rather dislike the third toe on my left foot. I have absolutely no body hair and the hair on my head is the color of the sunset in east London after a rain shower in may. Meaning it is gray—very, very grey.
My hobbies include squash (eating it, not playing it), building an exact replica of a 1983 Toyota Corrola out of plastic kitchen utensils in my garage, and baseball.
Now back to the story. I am sorry for that little non-sequitor, it won’t happen again. What? You’re gonna replace me? But why? I just thought they should know a little bit about me.
Hi! I’m Bob, I will be you’re new narrator today!
The first narrator has finally finished explaining the idea of a writer to Mr. Bade.
“So he made me…” Mr. Bade philosophizes as he feels his own body up and down with his right hand while going through his hair with the left.
“Yup,” the first narrator says, “I’m gonna join you down there now.” The narrator then proceeds to fall out of the ceiling and lands on chair right next to Mr. Bade. This chair had a person in it before the Narrator fell, now it has the Narrator and mush.
“huh, so this is what I look like.” The narrator says.
“You got a name?” asks Mr. Bade.
“No…I don’t.”
“Well then, you should come up with one.”
“How about Jamal?” The narrator muses. Mr. Bade looks the Narrator/Jamal over. He is a portly fellow of about 36. His skin is pale and looks dry although Mr. Bade has not felt it yet, so it is still up in the air. Mr. Bade feels the narrator’s skin, it is surprisingly smooth. If smoothness of the skin were to be described, it would be called smooth as baby’s bottom, even though the narrators forearm is not a baby’s bottom. His hair is bleach blond and is cut in a bowl shape—a bowl cut, one could call it. His hands are long and thin, if the narrator was a jazz musician, he would most likely play the piano, although, the guitar is not out of the question. (Are you as bored as I am? Why is the writer describing all of this stuff about the narrator? I mean it is useless information. I mean, I guess it provides “character depth” but come on. What instrument he would play if he were a jazz musician? Whatever…). Mr. Bade finishes sizing up the Narrator/Jamal (finally).
“I think Norman fits you best.” Mr. Bade says. The narrator, now Norman, is pleased with his new name, and will test it out on the first person he sees.
“What is your first name” Norman enquires.
“Jim” Mr. Jim Bade responds. They sit at the table for 34 seconds in almost complete silence when Norman stands up and starts walking to the door, he motions for Jim to follow him with his on pointer finger, which he does.
“Haha, I made you come with my finger” Norman says. They have a good laugh. Then go to the door which is made of solid mahogany imported from the coast of Zanzibar. It was put together by midgets trying to better their condition.
They open the door and their pupil’s contract immediately. The bodies are hit by ray after ray of what seems like sunlight. It isn’t though. It is just a desk-lamp.
In 1492 Columbus sailed the ocean and found India.
Many people will dispute that fact, but he found it, he found because he believed he found it.
What Jim and Norman found was God. He wasn’t God to anyone else, except to the mouse that lived in a cage by the window, and to the others he created, well he was God to a lot of things, the more appropriate thing to say is: He wasn’t God to anyone else except those thing he created, and to the mouse that lived in a cage by the window. But that isn’t any fun, now is it?
God is sitting, more slouching in front a computer screen. In one hand, a bottle of Jack Daniels, which is three-quarters empty, and in the other is lit something or other. He is mumbling in some sort of gibberish to himself and pounding his fingers on the keyboard in no recognizable pattern. Then he hears the creak of the Zanzibar mahogany wood, and cocks his head around towards the door. He flashes yellow teeth at his visitors, and goes back to mumbling at the screen and pounding on the keyboard. Jim and Norman walk into the room and take it all in.
…1…2…3…4…5…6…7….done.
When that is through they walk to towards their God. When they get to be about 3 feet away from him he says in a slurred drunken drawl “How do you two do on this fine day?”
No answer. They just stare in awe.
“Well answer me!” he says with a little force.
No answer. They just stare in awe. He goes back to the computer and types something quickly.
“We are doing fine God,” Jim says, still staring.
“How are you God,” Norman says, still staring.
“I’m wonderful, thank you for asking.” He responds, taking a puff from his….whatever….he types something onto the computer.
“boobiekakafucksexshitfart” Jim says all in one breath. God is a juvenile drunken buffoon. God takes a swig of Jack Daniels and finish’s it.
“Will you grab another one from the fridge?” He asks of Norman, “oh yeah.”
He types in:
Norman, enormously happy that he had been asked to do something by God, practically ran to the fridge and grabbed a new bottle whiskey. He forgot to close the refrigerator door, so he had to go back and do that, he even got to throw out God’s old bottle. This was a glorious day for Norman.
Suddenly Norman gets up, goes to the fridge, gets a Jack Daniels, forgets to close the door, goes back to close it and throws out God’s old whiskey on the way. He is almost in ecstasy while doing it too.
For all you people who haven’t caught on yet…too bad.
God has some fun with this. It does not need to be described detail.
When God is finished he laughs, “HAHAHA!” He bellows into the sordid air (sordid air?). God types:
The characters start to break their molds,
“Where are we?” Norman asks. God continues:
to question there existence,
“Why are we?” Jim asks. God still continues:
to be themselves,
“Why am I wearing this?” Norman asks as he looks at his clothes. God continues:
to interact,
“Hi, I’m Jim,” Jim says to Norman. God continues:
to become 3D.
“Hey how much longer is this gonna last, because I have a lunch date with this chick I met when I was in Tijuana?” Norman interrupts God.
“Did you just speak” God asks?
“Yeah I fuckin spoke…lets get out of here” Norman says, motioning to Jim. Jim doesn’t move, he just stands there staring at God.
“Why did you did you do this…?” Jim asks, “Why did you create us?” he almost starts to tear up.
“Oh come on don’t be a pussy, lets go!” Norman starts pulling on Jims arm as he says this.
“I wanted to have a life that wasn’t my own. I wanted to lose myself in a fictional world of my own creation…” God pauses.
“Great…our all mighty creator is a poet” Norman sounds pissed.
“Don’t patronize me, I created you.” God responds.
“You created the idea of me; I made me who I fuckin’ am.” Norman says.
“………” God thinks for a moment. This moment is important because it is precisely the type of moment that can change the tone or the directions of a book….so pay attention readers because this is going to be important. “Go.”
“What?” Norman is surprised by Gods reply.
“I said go. If you want to leave, then leave.” This is God creating free will. Norman, takes a step back.
“….” He has no idea what to say…God turns back to his writing.
“The End.” He writes. Norman and Jim fade into infinity. Just God and his keyboard are left in the room now.
God takes a swig of his Jack.
The End.
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Guedde reviewed Version 1 -
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lord_of_fools reviewed Version 1 -
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livwicca reviewed Version 1 -
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Well that’s shame
Norman enquires
Here’s the thing, the formatting very off-putting. Industry-wise, I don’t think this would work. It reads a lot like a screenplay segment rather than a short story and I don’t know where it could sell (if that is your intention).
The story line is clever, however, and I am torn at what to score this. It is hard to make recommendations because of the style. If you plan to market it—dump the crazy styling and stick to short-story formatting. If not, and this is just for entertainment: then good job. Overall, I say “6”. If the formatting was better, I’d say “8” because of the cleverness of drunk god.
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MuttersomeTaxi reviewed Version 1 -
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A very entertaining story, to say the least.
The first few paragraphs had me completely submerged in the story, metafiction and all. The part that tossed me back out was “85% of you readers…” The use of generalized statistics tends to hinder, rather than support arguments these days, I always think about this tautology:
“99% of all statistics are made up.”
But on a whole? Very entertaining, and it’s fair to say that most people find it comical when a story “breaks the 4th wall” – or calls attention to the fact that it’s a story.
I’d caution against referring to the writer as god, though, as it might tempt the reader to write you off as simply an egotistical self-serving bastard. Which I’m not saying at all, of course, but just saying that’s the impression self-comparisons to God can evoke in other people.
If you’re interested in reading other similar-minded writing, I’d definitely suggest Flann O’Brien’s “At Swim-Two-Birds” or pretty much anything by Gilbert Sorrentino.
Good luck!
asylem reviewed Version 1 -
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OK, you’ve got me by the fourth line. This starts really really well and actually gets better as it goes. I love how you narrate directly to the reader. Very catchy. Some of your descriptions are really excellent. For instance: “The hair on my head is the color of the sunset in east London after a rain shower in may.” There are a few places you’ve got commas when you really need periods. For instance: “I am a stout, hairy nothing of a man, I have body odor, and I rather dislike the third toe on my left foot.” You need to replace the comma between “man” and “I have body odor” with a period, or at least a semi-colon. Same thing between “door” and “he” in ”...when Norman stands up and starts walking to the door, he motions for Jim…” I honestly believe you were drunk as hell when you wrote this :). In any case, it’s very unique and well written. Makes me want to read more of your stuff.
Fossilized_Sap reviewed Version 1 -
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I have some conflicting feelings about this piece. I really enjoyed it, especially the very beginning. I thought the interaction between the reader, the narrator, and Mr. Bade was extremely clever. I also enjoyed the light and playful tone.
However, I think the dialogue between the narrator and Mr. Bade is drawn out a little too long. I found myself wanting to skip ahead because some of their dialogue seemed pointless.
despondentgnome reviewed Version 1 -
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You are really talented for a young one, I love the imagery and yu have ton of really creative stuff in her i.e. the Replica Toyota out of okastic kitchen utensils, I dug the title it is aptly named good write . There may have been a few grammatical errors just clean that up and you have a good thing going here
November 22, 2006
Deleted User
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I believe the title for the Safford’s is Lord and Lady. I found the story a little confusing at first, until I got the end. Then it started to make since. Other then than that the story is good.
SansJunior reviewed Version 1 -
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Damn, I really like this. It needs a small amount of polishing, mainly proof-reading and punctuation mistakes that need correcting, but overall, this is a really “Wow” story.
While the main concept is not new (Have you ever read the last few books by Robert Heinlein? If not, do so.) your approach is rather comedic in a deeply philosophical way that caught my attention quite well.
Couple of conceptual issues to be addressed.
1. Chapter 1: In “Which” We Meet…
2. Champagne flutes don’t “clink.” Not good ones anyway. You want something with -ing at the end like “ting.”
3. “I am a stout, hairy nothing of a man, I have body odor, and I rather dislike the third toe on my left foot. I have absolutely no body hair and the hair on my head is the color of the sunset in east London after a rain shower in may. Meaning it is gray—very, very grey.” The desciption is quite confusing. He’s hairy but has absolutely no body hair? Gray then grey? I can’t tell if these are intentional or not. I would recommend changing it around a little so that it is a little clearer to the reader that this is not your goof but mistakes made by a drunken writer/God.
Anyway sorry for the long post, but I really did like this piece very much. Clean it up (BUT DON’T post the revision. Publishers want new stuff. If you’ve already “self-published” it, it ain’t “new.”)
“And if God gets drunk, he might get stoned. Look at a platypus; I think you think he might.” Robin Williams.
cdnsurfer reviewed Version 1 -
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Well the flippant opening could be good if you work it and focus on making the rest of the story 2nd person POV. You roll into 3rd person POV, so you lose the magic of a 2nd person POV. I think you’ll want to read on 2nd person POV. It’s brilliant if you can carry it.
The magic is to make the “you” a participant “in” the story, not simply you telling the reader what happens in the story. One way to do this is to make Mr. Bade “you”. You were in the bathroom and when you came out everyone was dead. When you make it everyone turning to the reader and telling the reader what’s happening you’ve broken the fictional dream. A story is a fictional dream. We want to believe the story is occuring real time, not have it occur like a bad high school drama class play. Does that make sense?
Nevertheless, you are “on” to something here. You’re so close to a great approach I don’t think you really know it. Work that 2nd person POV.
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