No don’t worry, none of it is from personal experience. I just wanted to write a story to put across a few points.
Short Story / The Beautiful Man
The Beautiful Man
“Arigato.” Thanks.
I couldn’t think of anything more intelligent to say. I lay on the couch, writhing, the both of us palm in palm, and eventually fell asleep from the exhaustion of crying.
Tears had hardly ever met my cheeks. I had seldom cried as a baby, even less as a toddler. No – that’s a lie. I cried a normal amount, as much as can be expected, maybe even a little more than that. Actually, an awful lot. The crying only really stopped when my dad died, and that’s when the lying started.
It wasn’t that I was overcome with grief, so much so that I felt his death was worth more than tears and never bothered again. Nor was it that I didn’t care. I just realised he was well and truly gone, no matter how much I cried he wouldn’t come back. Why further trouble myself with the strain of crying? Strange, I know, but people react to loss in different ways.
I became a compulsive liar when my mother unknowingly married a paedophile. Far removed from the nice, friendly man I had initially thought him to be.
“Are you upset about your daddy?” He asked as he stroked my hair. I don’t know where he got that idea, all I was doing was staring wistfully out of the window at the persistent pattering of the rain. I certainly wasn’t crying.
I had to lie to my mother because we had become intensely poor after dad’s deaths and her bastard-husband was all that stood between us living on the streets. Mum couldn’t work – she had a very shoddy history of education and no skills with which to find a job. In any case, she wanted to stay home to take care of my little brother. I couldn’t risk her getting a divorce. She seemed so happy and, although we were never as close as I had been with my dad, I wanted to preserve this artificial happiness that she depended on so much.
I lied to the rest of my family, my friends, my teachers, everyone who was concerned about me. I started to worry that I had a constantly miserable expression on my face. Why was everyone so set on thinking I was upset? I wasn’t crying.
Still, I felt it was better to keep my mouth shut. This way I could continue with my education funded by my bastard-stepfather (who got all manner of sordid repayments), my mother could go on living in her shallow fantasy world and I could keep what little there was of my dignity left. There was the issue of my brother, the only one I didn’t lie to, the only one who was going through the same pain as I was. He always had a certain sadness about him – I always tried to play the role of the comforting older sister.
“Don’t…” This time I would be doing to hair stroking, but in an entirely different way.
If only I had known how much those simple gestures meant to him.
As soon as my education was over with, I ran for it (along with enough of my bastard-stepfather’s money to cover my travel costs). Naturally, I went as far away as possible, to a place with as opposite and exotic a culture as possible whilst remaining within the boundaries of a city: Tokyo, Japan. And, besides, I’d always wanted to go to Japan, where all the people were modern and polite and where I could be surrounded by beauty, both human and natural as well as artificial. You’d have thought I would blend in as much as The Hulk would, trying to conceal himself in a crowd of red ants. Bathed in limelight. You’d be wrong – everyone around me was confident, elegant and paid little or no attention to those next the them, not out of rudeness but because they simply had lives to be getting on with.
I’d never been to another country before, so you’d also have thought I would feel dreadfully overwhelmed by the grandeur, the novelty. In reality, it makes sense that I fitted in, that I made friends, that I picked up the language quite quickly (although, of course, not fluently). I desperately wanted to because I was trying to start afresh. I had started afresh, I was a new person. I forgot everything. I spoke little of my past and lied so convincingly, when I had to, that I believed myself. It’s strange how the brain works when it’s possessor deeply desire’s something.
I rented a cheap apartment downtown, using the money I earned working in a quintessentially Japanese shop; it mostly sold second-hand clothes, plastic jewellery, odd hats and peculiar accessories such as purple braces or outrageously yellow shoes, and things patterned with skulls-and-crossbones or cherries -sometimes both. This was the kind of place where the more bohemian Tokyoites would come searching for bargains and where the shop girls were always expected to dress in ridiculously mismatched clothing that somehow still made them look quirky and interesting. I, however, looked more like a clown and my colleagues came to accept that couldn’t pull off their funky fashion.
It caught my eye immediately, not only because it was slightly larger than the minuscule shops around it, but because it appeared to burst with life and colour. This is why the plain sign in the window, asking for help, stood out strongly against the palette of a background, like a daub of white paint on a water hydrant.
The location was pretty fortunate too. Now I could work near from home, down the less fashionable end of Harajuku. Here I met all kinds of new, interesting people and could practice speaking to them, although I was pretty apt by this stage.
I bought a plant. The most impossibly colourful, unfeasibly magnificent one I could find. It bloomed briefly, only to slowly and devastatingly wilt and die. Then I bought another which suffered the same fate.
The phone rang.
“Hi.” The woman’s voice spoke in English.
“Mother?”
How had she found my number?
“I tracked you down.”
I supposed anything was possible in this day and age. She continued:
“Just thought you might like to know your brother’s dead. Overdose. Goodbye.”
And then nothing.
And then I was outside in a torrential downpour (or were those my tears?), my head spinning, my years of pent up anger and sorrow released in screams and sobs that the passers-by barely noticed, or perhaps ignored.
She had every right to be angry that I had left so suddenly, but to be so tactless in telling me this news was unforgivable. Was I to blame? I couldn’t bare the thought.
I was sitting between two car lanes – my only brother, the only one who had shared my painful past, dead – rocking backwards and forwards… all my memories rushing back to me as if they were carried in the streams from my eyes, and now even the mother, whose happiness I had protected at my own cost, cared – praying for a car to hit me, but not quite having enough courage to throw myself out there. Put yourself out there. Finish it. End everything. Do it, you coward! Now!
Unknown hands were on my shoulders, pulling me to the safety of the pavement. I was clinging to a stranger who led me, stumbling, to his nearby apartment. Looking up, my eyes met the beautiful man’s. Beautiful is the correct word. With deliciously smooth caramel skin, hair of the finest chocolate colour, somewhat angular almond-shaped eyes and long limbs yet not too fragile a build, he could be considered as a fairly ordinary, perhaps bland, Japanese man. To me, however, it seemed that something from within as well as without shone spectacularly – beautifully.
He introduced himself as Taro. He wasn’t nosy enough to ask why I was in such a state, he didn’t even ask my name. He left me to my silent grief until I was ready to speak, all the while wiping the dirty blend of rain water and tears from my face.
Something about Taro was different. He showed kindness such as I had never experienced. He genuinely cared about my happiness and welfare yet he had only just met me. He had rescued me when he could have far more easily walked by me like many before him. I hadn’t thought such goodness existed, but to him it must have seemed obvious. Before I left, could this feeling have been likened to the way my poor little brother felt towards me? I suppose you can never underestimate the effect you can have on someone who looks up to you, whether you do something as simple as consoling them or something as momentous as restoring their faith in humanity.
Before I knew it we were lying on his couch, my face dripping with new tears, my body drained of energy, the remnants of my anguish shown in the way I writhed uncontrollably, as if the deep sadness I had homed for so long was finally – thankfully – escaping.
He held my hand tenderly in his. Everyone I’d loved was dead or no longer wanted me to live. Some had abused me and many had never cared about me, but maybe it was time I came to terms with it and saw the world for what it really is – a place full of evil, but also of kindness that far outweighs it.
“Arigato.” Thanks, I whispered.
“Nande?” For what?
29/10/07
F.A.Trueman
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Acedia reviewed Version 1 -
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This story is literally a work of art for lack of better words. You displayed the characters’ emotions and their relationships in such a way that they felt like real people. The story concept was simple but the feelings were powerfully spoken. For a short story, the main character’s personality was wonderfully fabricated along with the flow of the story itself. All in all, this was an amazing and worthwhile read! Good job!
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EES reviewed Version 1 -
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Your opening leaves me more than confused. I don’t know what any of it means. Palm in palm? Crying, with someone? Why say thank you in Jappenese? And to whom are they saying it? Why?
The explanition comes off as sticky and awkward. Like the words get tangled in the essance of what you mean to say.
“dad’s deaths” you have got an extra “s” there. typo.
Your transitions are really rough. They need to be smoothened out to make this flow… As it is, it is well, abrubt in places and confusing.
there are also a lot of grammatical errors. I am not the best with grammer myself, but I recongnize that they are present in this story and therefore you may want to have somebody look at this to help with that. Like in person, because the effectivness seems absent on this site when you come to the mechanics of a peice.
““Just thought you might like to know your brother’s dead. Overdose. Goodbye.” ” No way could she be that cold!! Could she?
“be angry that I had left so suddenly” see! You should have explained that first. You should have said that when you left it was sudden and that your mother was angry as I had an image of you saying good bye and lovingly embracing before heading out on your great adventure out into the world.
Now I understand the opening. I think it could be done better though!!!
I like the story and the essance of it. Sure it needs work, but what, may I ask, doesn’t? Good luck, have fun,
Erin
chrry81 reviewed Version 1 -
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Hey! I gladly read your story, although it’s sad… why gladly? because it is rare to find a good structured short story by such a young writer. It’s not perfect, I think it could use some editing, but nothing super-notorious.
it flows real good, it has rythm it has a plot and a character, it has impact which is the most important thing for a new writer, (and an old one too)
congrats on the work, i hope it’s not a true story,but if it is, or some of it’s elements are, well thank god you can use them to become an artist of language…
keep it up.
avedis reviewed Version 1 -
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A good and basically powerful story.
So much of this is spot on, the occasional weakness tends to glare a bit.
Your writing improves as the story progresses, some of the earlier paragraphs hold some clumsiness. e.g.
“It wasn’t that I was overcome with grief, so much so that I felt his death was worth more than tears and never bothered again”
If I am interpreting this correctly, try
“It wasn’t a lack of grief, quite the opposite. I simply felt that his death was worth more than tears, so they just stopped flowing”
The weakest part, however, is the way you rushed the ending. You didn’t convince me how wonderful this man was. The way you have told it, he could just as well have ulterior motives and you saw more in it because you needed to.
Work on this ending.
Trenchtownrock reviewed Version 1 -
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I love this piece and how the characters are devloped. I think you have a world of talen to tell a story and you have a strong voice for character development. I wanted to read more and see how far you would go with the characters. I hope you will consider drawing this more out and giving the story more of you. I really hope you will continue your journey with words and keeping blessing people with your terrific voice.
Re reviewed Version 1 -
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Surely most will agree, this is a beautiful story. It’s so very sad and it speaks it’s truth in a quiet way, without sensationalism. I am very touched by it. Ok, I saw no errors to correct but that may be because I’m having a hard time being objective. Your writing style really got into my heart. Perhaps I can leave a second comment later
groovieknave reviewed Version 1 -
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This was a depressing but warming piece thanks to the ending. I can relate to the main character which is a must for any story in my eyes. I was kind of skeptical to read a story with beatiful man in the title, but it turned out to be worth reading. Not what I expected at all, being down and depressed, getting hit with the loss of a family member in such a harsh way, and then being found by someone who would truly care is very heartwarming. Especially when the main character was at the end of the rope so to speak.
I can point out that you misspelled pedophile, somewhere in there. Some other grammar problems but it didn’t mess up the flow for me. I read it from start to finish without a hitch. I’d also like to see a little more detail about the man pulling her away from the street edge. Cause it just kind of happened in a blind way, though that may work for your story. It was just all of the sudden which may have been what you wanted.
I liked the story, it definitely pulled me in and I didn’t stop reading. So great work, just needs some polishing and I’d give it a perfect score. Keep writing and developing your style. I truly enjoyed reading this piece.
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