I miss the days of MS Word I’m unfortunately using MS Works wordprocessor, which leaves a lot to be desired.
Novel Treatments / Rough Draft Chapter 1
Mementos of the Afterlife
By; Sara L Rowley
Chapter One
I would say cheapness and an incompetent mechanics shop landed me on an embalming table. Currently I am a corpse trying to adjust to my new surroundings. The idea seems a little awkward to me. To wander in a strange limbo not knowing what purpose this place serves or my role in it. I’m in what can be called the ER waiting room of the afterlife.
I’ve been sitting in these chairs whose colors reminded me of the baby food colors gone wrong of the 1970’s. The orange chair I’m in has this plastic layer I keep trying to peel away. When one layer ends another layer of this pumpkin orange keeps appearing. My fingers are sore and my nails keep cracking. My only other distraction are my fellow corpses, who for whatever reason do not talk. They like me find ways to try to keep their hands busy.
The guy to my left is in his early 40’s and his navy blue Italian wool/silk blend suit hangs off him like a loose set of skin. He is constantly coughing and blowing his nose. When I glimpsed at his face his skin was ashy with eyes so sunken in they looked like tunnels with blue pits of light. If I was to guess I’m thinking he died of some type of cancer. The lady to my left is wearing an emerald green suit and it brings out her hazel eyes. Her only movement is her bodies constant shaking and it never stops. I can’t hazard a guess as to what she died from.
Sitting here I begin to wonder what the heck was the rush to get me up here, if I’m going to be constantly waiting. I mean come on you don’t kill someone, and then forget to do the clean up work, who the hell is in charge of this waiting area? I could be back home busy getting along living my life. The cherry tomatoes in my garden would just be sprouting up. I would be out in my garden clogs with the watering can and picking the fresh ones off. Coming back into the house to make Pico De Gayo salsa. Chopping the tomatoes and mixing them with the diced onions and cilantro. My mouth is watering just thinking about the smells of the ripe onions. The feel of tomato seeds under my finger nails as I mix the salsa.
The nurses or scrub workers who are the representatives of the afterlife provide a welcome distraction at times. From what I can tell all of the representatives where I’m at appear to be in their thirties. My fellow corpses all appear to be middle age. I wonder if we are the middle age section waiting room of the afterlife? There hasn’t been one kid, teenager, or old person I’ve seen. Is the afterlife split into age brackets?
Oh wait I see one of my favorite nurses come my way. Don’t tell me I finally get to stop waiting. My feet keep taping the floor and I’ve stopped peeling away the never ending layer of pumpkin orange plastic. Yea it’s my favorite sarcastically funny tattooed covered guy. Many an hour I’ve spent finding the ones well done and the others where I think a bottle of tequila and a prison buddy was involved. He’s wearing the scrub top reading “Deadly Accidents Only Happen Once” today. One of his co-workers a 6’ tall woman with brown hair hanging down to her butt wears one that reads “When is this shift going to end again?”
“Hi Leslie, I’m Mike the intake representative and I have some preliminary items for you to do. I’ve talked with your permanent representative and he states he wants you to make a visit back to your current life. Before you think you’ve gotten an 11th hour reprieve you haven’t. There are rules to this return trip; you will be able to smell, feel, taste, and hear what is going on around you. However, no one will know you are there at all. My advice try to remain calm and don’t become angry.” He smiled and chuckled lightly.
“How long will I be visiting?” I can’t believe this I finally see a representative and I am told hey you are granted a visitor pass out to the world you were taken from. What is this? I feel like I’m in an insane asylum and have been granted a day pass. He’s just told me don’t go crazy and start talking about purple giraffes what an ass.
“All right that’s all I have for you and hopefully we will see each other again sometime.”
Oh yeah can’t wait to see you again you just brought a ray of sunshine. I mean on the one hand I’m glad I can see what is going on, but on the other this seems like slow torture. All I can think is Damn you asshole! Patience is something I don’t have.
My thoughts are interrupted by the freezing cold metal under my skin. As I inhale the smell of disinfectant I am reminded of how much I hated hospitals when I was alive. Irony at its best considering I’m spending my eternity in a make shift hospital emergency room. What has made the afterlife hospital better has been the lack of cleaning fluid, human body fluids, and burnt cafeteria food smells. Nobody asks why you are in the afterlife hospital. What I noticed about hospitals when I was alive is people always ask “what are you in for?” This same question is asked of people who are in jail also, both places rob people of their privacy.
I can hear the mortician outside walking around. His shoes keep squeaking on what I’m assuming is linoleum flooring. There is the faint sound of a radio playing in the background, but I can’t hear what it is playing. I now know what it would have been like to be locked in an oversized refrigerator drawer when I was alive. The drawer is beginning to move and I can’t move. I’m paralyzed but I can still see what is happening to me. I wonder if this is what stroke victims feel.
The mortician has slight wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. His face is clean shaven and he has a smooth neck. His mid section is sizable and reminds me of a pillow I could sink into. There is a faint smell of hand lotion and the latex powder of his surgical gloves. His voice sounds as though he drinks whiskies and smokes cigars. He’s starting to say something to his co-worker about me.
“Hey Earl when is this lady’s husband coming in?”
“Linda told me, he’s coming in between 10 and 11 this morning.”
“Don could you maybe, for once, not be a lazy ass and go ask her and get the actual time.”
“Oh I’m the lazy one, eh? I’m not the one smoking two packs a day and hasn’t seen the inside of a gym since the eighties. If you gain anymore weight your stomach is going to overlap your belt. Can you still see your toes?’
“Hey don’t you worry if I can see my toes, I’m still taking care of business. Besides my wife says I’m her teddy bear and she likes it.” He then winked and a sly smile started to form at the corners of his lips.
“Yeah Earl you keep disillusioning yourself. Ah come on don’t look at me as though I just killed your dog. It’s a joke get over yourself. Anyway, how did this lady go?”
“From what I was told the brakes on her car failed and she couldn’t get over to the shoulder. She was driving in the middle lane, went to put on her brakes and they malfunctioned. Her compact slammed into the back of a semi truck and a bunch of cars slammed into her. The scene looked like a vehicular mosh pit by the time the paramedics arrived.”
Hearing this I remember that I had been on my way back to the brake shop to have them fix their shoddy work. The bastards had ripped me off for a cool $200 with these “new brakes.” I had been hearing a squeaking coming from the area of the brakes after the work had been done. John, my husband had picked the shop to do the work, because he had a coupon. I had wanted to take the car to the place we normally went to, but he said this would be cheaper and just as good.
I had gone during the weekend to have them do the work. I remember sitting there listening to the lady complain about the shop. At this point I should have said okay screw the coupon I’m going to the regular shop. Even so I just sat there reading my book and trying not to make eye contact. The woman’s kids were running everywhere, and she was trying to wrangle them as though they could be lassoed like claves at the rodeo. As I watched her I realized I was waiting for grandchildren, after all I was in my early 50’s and wanted to be able spoil kids and send them back home. Even with her kids running all around I did hear part of her conversation with her husband when he dropped her off.
“Honey, why don’t you talk to this guy? He treats me as though I’m complaining whack job. We both know he screwed up our car and now they’re going to double charge us.” Her hands were in a constant state of flurry with an array of hand gestures.
“Come on sweetie we have the warranty. Just show the guy that and stop making such a big deal. These things happen once in a while I’m sure it’s a simple error. They can’t argue with you about their own warranty.” Se smiled the whole time, the smile was an armor pleading “come on honey don’t make a scene.”
“Yeah, a simple error costing me half a Saturday.”
“It will be done in an hour and then we can go run the rest of the errands. Don’t get yourself all upset.”
She took a deep breath and said, “Okay, but we are discussing this at home.” I glanced up and saw her brow furrowed and there sides of her eyes crinkled up. Her hands were on her hips and her lips were moving in an inaudible mumble. Yeah, she was rehearsing the grievances speech she would hurl at her husband in a few hours.
Two and a half hours later I was finally able to leave the mechanics shop. As I drove home I thought I heard a squeaking noise, but chalked it up having an active imagination. The next day the squeaking became louder and I knew then the shop had screwed up the work. This time I told John: You go and sit there forever I don’t want to waste anymore of my time. He came back an hour later and said they had sprayed some lubricant on the brakes and the squeaking was gone.
Sure enough the sound didn’t appear until a few days later on my way into work. I remember driving and thinking, Damn it John, this places isn’t as good. Now I have to go back to the regular place and see what exactly was wrong. I had made an appointment to go and have the brakes looked at after work. Obviously it was one appointment my car refused to let me keep.
“Sir can you please tell me is this your wife?” Earl kept his voice as calm as possible and it had lost all of the jovial tone he had had when joking around with Don. At the same time though there was the sense he had asked this same question hundreds of times.
“Yes, that is Leslie.” His voice was filled with awe and his eyes glazed over and he shuffled away from the table. With him looking at me I can’t remember the last time we really looked at each other. We had become experts at glancing up to ask where certain things had disappeared to.
“Have you chosen a funeral parlor to handle the arrangements.”
“Yes, the Omega Funeral Home and Crematorium will be handling everything. They will be coming soon to pick her up. The funeral is going to be Friday.”
“A fine establishment and many families choose them. Their staff is great, and we have a good working relationship with them.
Laying here to be picked up by the Omega Funeral home people. I wonder how John had reacted when he received the call from the morgue. I can picture him sitting at home grumbling about a late dinner and complaining about running low on snacks. Then having this all interrupted by a phone call to be told I had died in a car crash. I wonder who he called first? Did he pace the house for a few minutes? I can picture him stopping in the kitchen in front of the freezer, taking a deep breath and reaching in for the scotch and ice cubes. Then going back out into the living room sitting in the easy chair sipping his scotch and crunching ice cubes, trying to process the fact I was dead.
He probably called my sister to have her make the necessary calls saying he was to distraught. Trying to tell the kids would be nearly impossible for him. Since the kids had left the house the only questions he asked were about their cars and if they needed money. I was the one who could weasel information or piece together certain fragments. I can see him shaking Earl’s hand a nice firm hand shake without too much pump. My father had commented on this when the two of them had met.
“Nice guy, what a horrible way for his wife to go.” Earl was walking back to his desk to check the messages.
“Hey Don the Omega people are going to be hear at 2PM to do the transport.”
“All right I’ll make sure we have her out and ready to go.”
They make it sound as though I’m a package they are getting ready to have mailed out. I know that’s all I am to them, but still have a little respect people. I wonder what time it is? I haven’t seen a clock around this place yet. Oh well I don’t know why I care what time it is.
The ride to the Omega funeral home was a stop and go commute which seemed to take forever. In the bag I could smell every previous dead body they had transported back to the funeral home. There was a mixture of old perfume, musk, and dried hair products. When they unzipped the bag I was relieved, but then I caught a large whiff of every chemical in the place. Next I heard one of the employees talking.
“Hey, Janet here is a picture for you to work off of. Her husband brought it in, and said it was from their anniversary party last year. He said it was the best recent picture he had.”
I’m glad John picked out a nice better of me. When I heard the word picture and John bringing it in, my mind flashed to one of a candid shot just waking up or something equally embarrassing. He had selected a great picture for the make up artist to work off of. I had gone to the salon and had the works done. We both had a great time at the party and were cracking jokes and I was a laughing hyena for most of it.
“Thanks Mike, it always helps when the relatives bring in a good picture with nice lightening. I can see she has great bone structure, and when I cover up the scratches and cuts she’ll look as good as new. She’s picking up her make-up pallet and I can hear her humming and blending the colors.
“Well Leslie, I have to say I’m going to make you look great. I’m not going to do the Miss Piggy treatment on you. I only give old ladies the Miss Piggy when I’m bored out of my gourd. Hey, I know it’s not exactly professional, but I have to find my fun somewhere around this place. Dang it I forgot to pick up the skin toner I’ll be right back.”
I can hear her shoes clopping against the floor. Her walk has this quick choppy step almost a walking offbeat cha cha. The toner she needs is just across the way and everything on her counter is organized by size from what I can tell.
“Okay I’m back. Where was I? Oh yes I was telling you about what I do when I am going a little stir crazy around here. My life outside of this place isn’t exciting either. Not to divulge “too” much, oh what am I saying you’re not my therapist, you won’t give me the look, nod and hmm, “what do you think that means?” I haven’t been in a relationship in over a year. Every time I meet someone it never goes past the first date. They hear what I do and get squeamish and then don’t want to go out again. Some days I spend half the day wrapped up in a reoccurring day dream. It’s not very original. Basically involves me, the mystery neighbor and the two of us going at it and me thanking him for helping to relieve my tension. No muss no fuss just a business transaction. I know not very romantic, but hey a girls got needs and sometimes the shower head just isn’t going to cut it.”
If I was alive, I would have to take a few moments gain composure, and think of something reasonably intelligent to say. In this case though I keep a straight face no effort required. A little free entertainment and a window into some ones mind they keep hidden from their therapist. After her confession of sexual frustration she quietly mixed colors and her lips stayed slightly clamped together and I watched her elegant long fingers move.
It’s been a few days from what I can tell. My make-up artist has just shown up to put on the finishing touches. She is getting me ready for my “big showing.” As she works away I keep thinking about what my father said about open casket funerals, he had said “If you couldn’t bother to come see me when I was alive don’t bother when I’m dead. It’s insulting to me and a self serving bull-shit thing to do.” Even so, I’m curious to find out who is going to come and she me. What are they going to say? I’m sure I’ll get the old stand by lines people uttered. The one classic “She looks like her old self,” oh yes my old self just lying around in a casket.
Having the lid closed on the casket for the few minutes to transport me to the chapel, I suddenly wanted to pound on the lid screaming let me out of this thing. My body though didn’t budge an inch. Damn useless body made up for the world to see and I’m stuck watching. The first few people have started filling into the chapel. There is my neighbor who has the small yappy dog who barked at me every time I picked up the morning paper. Even though I had wanted some days to drop kick the annoying little mutt, I had always been nice to its owner. After all the woman was an elderly woman who walked with a cane and was sweet enough. It wasn’t her fault she picked out a yappy mutt who’s very bark made my ears ring.
There are a few of my co-workers mingling around in the corner. One was my cubicle mate. She always covered her side of the cubicle with Dilbert cartoons. The two of us could exchange a look and a hand signal and know exactly who was on the other end of the line. Everyday we go out walking around the building trying to stave off the horse shoe butt. The horse shoe butt was when a woman’s hips and butts joined and the shape formed almost an exact horse shoe. Seeing her I really miss her and wonder how she has been doing at work without me.
The rounds around my coffin are starting to be made. Very few say anything and if they do it’s said sideways to the next person in line. The best I heard and if I was alive a definite kudos to the make-up artist was, “Wow, she looks ten years younger and so calm,” I guess if you’re going to be laid out for the world to see you might as well look great.
Most people give the cursory glance. Their eyes close together and brows furrowed, and their hands seem to be these cumbersome things to figure out how to use. Some go for putting their palms on the casket, others quickly do the stations of the cross, the one which amuses is the thinker pose. A few minutes into people peering into my coffin, I realized I could hear the guys thoughts as he was peering in.
The people milling about my coffin has stopped and I can see the minister has made his way into the chapel. He has a small bald spot forming on the back of his head he is trying to comb over still. His hair is a wispy blond, the beard he has works for his face, and he has piercing brown eyes. Looking at him I think of being out on a lawn chair during a warm spring afternoon.
“We are here to honor Leslie Derbanks life and remember the warm giving person she had been. Her husband John, and two children Ann and Steven have suffered a great loss.” I could see him reading from note cards and even though he is trying to personalize my service’ I have become bored with his almost overly sweetened calm voice. After listening to him for a few minutes this guy could have been a replacement for Valium. I wonder if John even realized how intensely dull this pastor was. This is why I hadn’t attended church when I was alive. I either became bored during a service or sat there and analyzed it for all of its flaws in logic.
I have to do something, and since I’m on a day pass away from the hospital version of afterlife, time to have some fun. Scanning the pews I can see some of my distant relatives. I don’t want to go into John’s heads or the kids. As it is John still has the look of an after shock victim sitting there waiting for the movement to subside. The kids both looked as though they were trapped in their seats and couldn’t find a way to escape this nightmare. Ann was smoothing the creases in her dress and her Kleenex looked like a smashed origami crane. She cried in control streams and had her elbow interlocked with her older brother. He sat there holding her hand and trying to keep a strong front on in front of Ann.
One of the first thoughts I can hear someone having is “at least the funeral is on a Friday so I can have a three day weekend.” The next thought is someone asking “Did I feed my cat this morning?” I can’t help but find the cat thought a little humorous. I can just picture this guy coming home to find his cat laying next to the mess he left him. Then giving him a look as to say, for me to sleep I need for you to actually feed me you selfish prick.
Most of the thoughts I hear though are of the need to create wills. These are the same people who tell themselves their diets work, even though they seem to be mystified as to why they gain 25 pounds as soon as they stop. Wills are similar to diets, we tell ourselves, all I need is discipline. Lets face it though diets fail due to the lack of our discipline and easy availability of supreme pizza with a side of beer. Unfortunately death doesn’t say allow for you to say, screw you. Thinking of this I wonder how many woman in this room are on diets.
I’m watching women try to discreetly hike up their panty hose or attempt to stop them from bunching up behind their knees. I can almost feel the nylon clutching to their skin and the light mist of sweat holding them in and feeling the slightly uncomfortable dampness. Each had a shared look of facing mortality and having dug out clothes from the back of their closets.
I can hear the minister starting wrap up things. Everyone amazingly is still awake and doesn’t look to be zoning out. In a few minutes I can hear them telling John how nice the service was and offering condolences. Yeah, so nice a service I had to distract myself with a more entertaining activity.
The only time I could find religious services entertaining was, when I happened to switch onto a television evangelists. Watching the minister run around the stage and sweating reminded me of some zany religious aerobics instructor. They always were shouting and had there hands help up, as though all of the sweating, shouting and waving hands, made them closer to God. I always use to think why the shouting God doesn’t have a hearing problem. Then there was the people who were “healed” by the ministers magical hands. All I would think was oh geez looks like a California B actor got some work this week.
Everyone has cleared out and I’m just lying here waiting for my ride back to the funeral home. I know I’m about to be cremated. According to the intake representative who sent me on this pass I won’t be subject to remembering anything from the cremation. I was very relieved to hear I wouldn’t know exactly what was happening to my body. The next time I became aware of anything again I was being poured into a clear plastic bag. The bag was then put into a brown box and up on a shelf and I know I must stay here till John comes to pick me up.
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stargirlDR reviewed Version 2 -
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This 211 word review has not been unlocked.
madissonwilliam reviewed Version 2 -
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This is an interesting piece. I am still not totally sure what to make of it. It lays some where between dark humor and morose.
There are several places where there are grammar errors. However, the biggest problem is that most of the sentences are either run on sentences or a not really clear enough to flow well.
A lot of this feels forced. The sentences do not flow very well, the jokes feel a little forced, the sentiment of the dead person feels contrived. I am not sure if this is due to the subject matter or trying to hard.
Keep working on it.
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dogfish reviewed Version 2 -
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Interesting view of the afterlife. I seem to be coming across a number of pieces that deal with death lately. So Leslie finds herself in an ER, I’ve never heard that one before, then she comes back to inhabit her corpse through the funeral. This may need some more work Sara. The thoughts of the attendees were clever, like the horse shoe butt and the person wondering if they fed their cat.
A tip on spelling and grammar, I let MS Word fix a lot of my errors and override it when I know it’s wrong or I like my way better. Dialog needs to be incorrect sometimes. You don’t have much dialog, this being an introspective first-person piece. Another way to improve your spelling and grammar is what you are doing now: posting and reviewing on Urbis. Many writers here have very good writing skills. I would encourage you to work on it. Talent like yours needs a good horse to ride, so to speak.
I kind of liked your chapter 1 but I wonder where the plot is going. Sorry about your Gateway. Keep up the good work.
Dogfish Dan
rleyland reviewed Version 2 -
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This is a very unique opening to what promises to be a very entertaining novel. My major concern, however, is that the present tense used in your opening chapter is, for some people – not me, difficult to engage with. I would wonder, personally, if the whole thing might sound better anyway written in the past tense. Would I be right in assuming that the rest of the novel is (to be) written in the present tense also. I think that present tense is best used, in a novel at least, for dramatic purposes, and generally best reserved for the short story form if used in a sustained manner.
Overall, I thought it was highly entertaining and original. Good luck with the project!
RedBelle reviewed Version 2 -
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sorry to hear about the dead ‘puter. You have major issues with commas; more specifically, you seem to have no idea how and when to use them. I began correcting these items, but they were far too plentiful. I recommend reading some articles on their proper use.
I would say cheapness and an incompetent mechanics shop landed me on an embalming table. Currently I am a corpse trying to adjust to my new surroundings. The idea seems a little awkward to me. To wander in a strange limbo not knowing what purpose this place serves or my role in it. I’m in what can be called the ER waiting room of the afterlife.
nice hook to start your tale.
I’ve been sitting in these chairs whose colors reminded me of the baby food colors gone wrong of the 1970’s.
It feels like you mixed your metaphors here. Have baby food colors changed that much since the 70’s? In other words, are you saying the colors are ‘baby food gone wrong’ or are they 1970’s colors gone wrong? I’d drop the 70’s reference.
The orange chair I’m in has this plastic layer I keep trying to peel away.
Can you see that this sentence and the one before it are a bit redundant? I’d suggest saying, in the first sentence “The chairs remind me of baby food…” And then the second sentence, “The orange one I’m sitting in has this…”
When one layer ends another layer of this pumpkin orange keeps appearing.
When one layer ends COMMA another…
My fingers are sore and my nails keep cracking. My only other distraction are my fellow corpses, who for whatever reason do not talk. They like me find ways to try to keep their hands busy.
They COMMA like me COMMA find ways….
The guy to my left is in his early 40’s and his navy blue Italian wool/silk blend suit hangs off him like a loose set of skin.
cut “set of”...hangs off him like a loose skin.
He is constantly coughing and blowing his nose. When I glimpsed at his face his skin was ashy with eyes so sunken in they looked like tunnels with blue pits of light.
cut “when I glimpsed at his face” Start with “His skin was ashy…”
If I was to guess I’m thinking he died of some type of cancer.
...guess COMMA I’m…
The lady to my left is wearing an emerald green suit and it brings out her hazel eyes.
- replace “and it” with “that”
Her only movement is her bodies constant shaking and it never stops.
Redundant sentence. “constant shaking” and “it never stops” mean the same thing. Also “body’s”, not “bodies”. Bodies = plural. body’s = possessive singular.
I can’t hazard a guess as to what she died from.
Sitting here I begin to wonder what the heck was the rush to get me up here, if I’m going to be constantly waiting.
cut “sitting here”. Begin with “I begin to wonder…”
I mean come on you don’t kill someone, and then forget to do the clean up work, who the hell is in charge of this waiting area?
I mean COMMA come on COMMA you don’t…
clean-up
end sentence after “work” Begin new sentence at “Who the hell…”
I could be back home busy getting along living my life. The cherry tomatoes in my garden would just be sprouting up. I would be out in my garden clogs with the watering can and picking the fresh ones off. Coming back into the house to make Pico De Gayo salsa. Chopping the tomatoes and mixing them with the diced onions and cilantro. My mouth is watering just thinking about the smells of the ripe onions. The feel of tomato seeds under my finger nails as I mix the salsa.
you have many sentence fragments in the above paragraph. First sentence is redundant, trim it. The others should be reconfigured into complete sentences, complex with commas.
The nurses or scrub workers who are the representatives of the afterlife provide a welcome distraction at times.
cut “at times”
From what I can tell all of the representatives where I’m at appear to be in their thirties.
...tell COMMA all… and then cut “where I’m at”
My fellow corpses all appear to be middle age. I wonder if we are the middle age section waiting room of the afterlife? There hasn’t been one kid, teenager, or old person I’ve seen. Is the afterlife split into age brackets?
cut the “I wonder…” sentence. Unnecessary.
Oh wait I see one of my favorite nurses come my way.
Oh wait COMMA I see…
Don’t tell me I finally get to stop waiting. My feet keep taping the floor and I’ve stopped peeling away the never ending layer of pumpkin orange plastic.
tapping, not taping
Yea it’s my favorite sarcastically funny tattooed covered guy.
Yeah, it’s my favorite COMMA sarcastically funny COMMA tattooed guy. Or tattooed-covered guy. One or the other.
Many an hour I’ve spent finding the ones well done and the others where I think a bottle of tequila and a prison buddy was involved.
were involved.
He’s wearing the scrub top reading “Deadly Accidents Only Happen Once” today. One of his co-workers a 6’ tall woman with brown hair hanging down to her butt wears one that reads “When is this shift going to end again?”
..co-workers COMMA a six-foot tall woman…
“Hi Leslie, I’m Mike the intake representative and I have some preliminary items for you to do. I’ve talked with your permanent representative and he states he wants you to make a visit back to your current life. Before you think you’ve gotten an 11th hour reprieve you haven’t.
reprieve COMMA you haven’t
There are rules to this return trip; you will be able to smell, feel, taste, and hear what is going on around you. However, no one will know you are there at all. My advice try to remain calm and don’t become angry.” He smiled and chuckled lightly.
“How long will I be visiting?” I can’t believe this I finally see a representative and I am told hey you are granted a visitor pass out to the world you were taken from.
...believe this COMMA I ….am told COMMA Hey COMMA you are ….
What is this? I feel like I’m in an insane asylum and have been granted a day pass. He’s just told me don’t go crazy and start talking about purple giraffes what an ass.
period after giraffes. New sentence.
“All right that’s all I have for you and hopefully we will see each other again sometime.”
Comma after “all right”
My thoughts are interrupted by the freezing cold metal under my skin. As I inhale the smell of disinfectant I am reminded of how much I hated hospitals when I was alive. Irony at its best considering I’m spending my eternity in a make shift hospital emergency room. What has made the afterlife hospital better has been the lack of cleaning fluid, human body fluids, and burnt cafeteria food smells. Nobody asks why you are in the afterlife hospital. What I noticed about hospitals when I was alive is people always ask “what are you in for?”
these two sentences are redundant, can you see that?
This same question is asked of people who are in jail also, both places rob people of their privacy.
actually, that’s a pretty cool sentiment.
His voice sounds as though he drinks whiskies and smokes cigars.
drink whiskey. There really isn’t a plural to that.
The woman’s kids were running everywhere, and she was trying to wrangle them as though they could be lassoed like claves at the rodeo.
calves, not claves
Obviously it was one appointment my car refused to let me keep.
I’m not sure what the point is of the long story about the auto shop. From the earlier tone of the story, you have an air of humor about the thing so why the long explanation? If the “joke” of our narrator’s death is that she went to the shop because she had a coupon, just simply say that. Also, it’s not really HER cheapness, is it? It’s her husband’s.
He probably called my sister to have her make the necessary calls saying he was to distraught.
too distraught.
I’m glad John picked out a nice better of me.
some sort of typo there.
her Kleenex looked like a smashed origami crane.
**nice analogy.
- I have to admit, while it’s a unique approach to have someone returning from the dead and literally be residing in their body, I don’t have a clue as to why this is happening to her. Why was she sent back? And why, oh why, is she trapped in her earthly remains? Since one of your goals is to attract and agent or a publisher, I’d strongly recommend providing some idea of why this is even happening, what is ‘unfinished’ in her life that she has to witness or deal with. Cuz right now, it’s mildly amusing, but it’s giving me no reason to continue reading for 70-some thousand words.
AmyWalker reviewed Version 2 -
Read 100%% of the Item
Wow I have never read anything like this. Its bloody amazing how did you come up with such an awesome subject the afterlife of a corpse in waiting thats just bloody awesome I still cant get over it. This is a job well done only one thing yes there is one things that bothered me just in this line though ” Many an hour I’ve spent finding the ones well done and the others where I think a bottle of tequila and a prison buddy was involved.” Wouldnt you rather say “Many hours I’ve spent blah, blah, blah, blah and so on instead of what youve put? I dont know its just a suggestion.
Anyways keep this up I really want to see where your going with this. It kept my interest all the way to the end I gave you a 10 for all 6 goals because you absolutely deserve it. Your so far one of the few ppl on here who Ive actually liked their writing and Im very picky and fussy with whos work I review and Im glad I got to see your fabulouso work lol.
Im not a pro-writer I learn just like everyone else on here. But you have talent and I enjoyed this piece alot.
One word of advice (well more than one word lol)
KEEP UP THE BLOODY AWESOME WORK!
Because your onto something and I want to know what its about =)
Top stuff mate!
Amy
Catastrophe reviewed Version 2 -
Read 100%% of the Item
Interesting idea. You have the seed of a compelling story here.
You have an eye for details, and your descriptive passages are pretty good, too. You will need to edit very carefully for comma usage, homonyms, run-on sentences, and the like.
You have some stilted dialogue between the characters, so you may want to revisit that.
A couple of specific things I noticed:
“the smile was an armor pleading” – armor-piercing, perhaps?
“I’m glad John picked out a nice better of me” – I think you meant to put ‘picture’ in here.
Last note: review the timing in the narrative. Her husband says that the funeral will be on Friday, but it seems that she immediately goes from the morgue to the mortuary t the funeral. Give the reader some clues that time is more passing than is being described.
I think this could turn into a really fun and interesting story. Hope this helps. Good luck!
newfound reviewed Version 2 -
Read 100%% of the Item
all i can say is that in the very beginning of the piece i was drawn in exclusively by your vivid and not over-wrought descriptiveness of this limbo, how you described the ‘patients’ in this ‘room’ was also very vivid. all in all, the rest details a very lucid and intriguing post-death narration, which is something that itself demands attention. very good.
PeanutButter reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
I enjoyed this a lot. I loved how even though she was dead she made little jokes about pepole. I also how people who where around her were no longer putting on a fake face. It made the story much more real. The only thing I could say about this needing work would be a little more about how she is feeling. You told us about her children, but I know it would kill any good parent to watch their kids in that kind of pain.
sundaygirl reviewed Version 1 -
Read 100%% of the Item
the dialogue is probably the most tremendous aspect of this story. it’s poignant and ironic and really brings a smile to the reader’s face. there’s little i would do to change the story. shows an interesting view of family and religious life. very impressive writing style as well as an interesting and touching plot and conclusion.
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