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Author: Subject: FW: Untitled

Moderator





Posts: 37
Registered: 1/8/2003
Status: Offline

  posted on 10/5/2004 at 07:31 AM
An Untitled Story

by Squire-of-Gothos




PRESENT 11.53 p.m

I can move my hands now, but it takes a long time. I’m looking at the couch, and it’s not the couch from the living room. I must be in another room. Maybe another house. Thinking is almost painful. So I stare at the couch for a very long time. I think about five minutes, but then I see that Natasha is on the couch. She is out of focus, but I can see her hair and her eyes very well. I try to speak, but I can’t. The lights go out now, but I can still see her eyes. They aren’t blue anymore, at least I don’t think they are. I think she’s speaking again, but it might be anyone. It might even be me.

“A project.”

Her eyes are suddenly very close now, and I’m sure it’s her talking, because I can smell her breath. She smells like copper and dust.
“Not one for school, silly boy.”


10:?? p.m.

Dust. There was dust, on this……..floor. I was on a floor. My neck wouldn’t move, I tried it, and it wouldn’t move. I think there was weight on my back then. And heat on my neck. There was a hand on my face, too. It went black then……..


9:12 p.m.

The house party had oddly died down. I felt a little uncomfortable, but then Natasha and two girls I’d never met before, each with a guy next to them, came into the living room and told me I should join them in the dining room. I did. I was mostly just sipping my beer and smoking, but I felt a little bad; that is until Natasha sat next to me. She settled into the seat to my left, and my comfort level went up immediately. The two girls talked a lot more than their boyfriends or whoever they were. They sort of sat silently next to the two girls, who were both quite pretty, but not as good as Tash, and only spoke occasionally and then only to back the girls up. I started to tune them out though, because I could sense Natasha looking at me. I turned and looked into her eyes, and I realized she had the most amazing look in her eyes. It was almost hope, almost a yearning, almost a vision of something better. God, did she want me? I kept looking, until she got up, and poured me a drink. It looked like scotch, my favorite drink, so I swallowed it up quick. It wasn’t scotch. Jesus Christ, what the hell was it. I had absolutely….no…consciousness…..The girls were speaking again….

“He’s very tired, yes?”

“Yes”

“Go to the room, now ok, pull those sheets out.”

“You’ll be ok, right?”

“Sure.”

“What’s this?”

“The sheets, do it, come on.”


5:45 p.m.

When you think of a party, you get a couple of distinct images in your head. Maybe it’s a wild booze fest, or maybe it’s a smoky stoners hang out, or maybe it’s a hip 20 something art party, or maybe it’s even a crazy house party complete with local band. I’m usually the kind of guy that wants he hipsters have crazy booze, and to whooping it up to a live band. Oh, and the stoners are in the basement. So when I got there, I wasn’t horribly disappointed; it was sort of like when someone says they have a surprise that you will really, really love, but you don’t because it isn’t a purchased present or anything, and you’re a materialistic fuck. It was a quiet kind of things, with a couple of six packs, a few bottles of bourbon and vodka, and lots of paneling on the walls: Budget house party, another Florida staple. Tash was in her high school uniform, that is to say a baggy black shirt with some type of Japanese band on it, worn baggy black jeans, and her hair in a pageboy bob. I really loved her look; she reminded me of this tall, aqua line cat, all beauty and smoky mystery. She fascinated me more than she turned me on, and it was because her sexuality was totally subconscious to her. She didn’t know she was beautiful, and that made it all the more precious. She was pure personality, and it drove her every move. I almost told her gorgeous she was, but I felt a little uncomfortable, so I commented on the band shirt she had on for about 15 minutes, and then my mouth felt tired and I went to get some beer. Is it just me, or do you ever feel bad, when looking back on things, you remember drinking beer. It almost feels like it makes you a filthy, stupid, frat boy. Well, I dragged my self loathing into the kitchen, got some Guiness, and came back to find Natasha. But she wasn’t there. I looked around a bit, but I couldn’t find her. Anger flooded into confusion, until my head felt like a swirling mass of red and purple and green, so I needed to sit down. I think I took a nap.


12:27 p.m.

Natasha called me. We spoke for about an hour. I called her Tash, and asked if she’d ever flown one of those kites with two strings, and if she liked guns, whether she thought Bush was pure evil, and why she was at my college today. I wanted to know if she believed in fate, and whether she thought fate wanted us to meet there, but I never did. I wouldn’t, of course, because I try not to give people the impression that I’m a suck freak or a stalker. She’s far too nice and wonderful to ruin things with that type of talk. Natasha hadn’t seen me in over a year, and even then, it wasn’t through high school; that would be more like 2 years. No, she was dating my cousin at the time, and I saw her at the family’s yearly Christmas party. Come to think, that’d put it at more like a year and four months, but four months is barely enough to note. I’m a firm believer that it takes something more like 6 or 8 months to mention in causal conversation. There are rules involved here.

Our conversation was interrupted by my girlfriend calling my cell phone, so I said goodbye, and she said goodbye, but before the phone left my ear she called out to me again. Her voice has a real annoying tendency of making you very giddy and aware of the point she’s making. It’s hypnotizing. She wanted to tell me she was going to a party, and I should come. I’m always amazed when pretty or interesting people want me to do things with them, so I naturally agreed, and got the address just as I answered my cell. While I spoke to my girlfriend, I repeated the address in my head about 30 times, because I refused to forget it. When we finished talking, I told her I loved her, and I was going to be busy studying tonight, and she said ok. I really meant it when I told her I loved her. I did.


9:18 a.m.

Hit and a miss. As it turns out, old news makes new news even more depressing. I’m constantly reminded how horrible life can be for other people, and the sad part is, is that though the thought that my existence is better than others, just makes me loath myself even more. My problems aren’t eating every night, or having clothes to wear, but they seem just as real, as tangible, and as important. I left class with a bitter taste in my mouth, and there’s nothing like seeing someone from your past to throw you into an introspective free-fall. Right in front of me was my doppelganger, a girl I knew from high school named Natasha. Before I could speak, she saw me, called out my name.

“Hey Natasha.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Class, and yourself?”

“Oh, I’m doing a project. Looking for something.” I had no idea what this meant. Was she still in highs school, and utilizing the college’s library, or did she go here just like me? I was in too much of a mental hurry to throw the question out there.

“Well hey; it’s been a long time. We should hang out, what’s your number?”

I gave it to her, and she ran off in some inexplicable hurry. Isn’t it weird the way you leave some little encounter like this, and your mind is just shadow boxing inside your head, throwing out wild punches of fantasy and reality and thought. I couldn’t help feeling, walking away from that spot, staring at my feet, that more should have been said. That I should have asked how her life was going, or why exactly she was there, or if she ever wondered about me, ever thought she could love me, what kind of a kisser she was, what kind of lover. I guess it’s just me, helplessly being thrown from one dream to another. But I guess my girlfriend wouldn’t like that very much; the thoughts or the realities. Not that it would ever happen.


5:45 a.m.

The air was the kind of suburban air that only Florida could pump out; gasoline fumes, paint thinner, salt air, and dying grass. I stepped a bit farther out of my doorway, studied the empty early morning street, and decided it was ok to get the paper in just my boxers. Another staple of southern Florida; shameless lack of modesty mixed with white trash ethics. I picked up the Sun Sentinel, still damp from the 5 o’clock humidity, and glanced at the front page article. I didn’t even have to finish what it said, and as far as I was concerned, it could have said “Blah, Blah: Insert New War Tragedy Here.” That was bout the general summation of every headline for the last year or so. Hell, I can barely remember when this war started, or even why, but that isn’t saying much: Most of the people who helped start this war probably have no idea what its real purpose is. I stepped back into my crowded living room, dropped the depressing pulp on my table, and started to get dressed for class. I’m sick of death surrounding me, making me afraid of it or something. I’m sure a history lesson on America’s earlier failures will make me feel better.



 

Administrator




Posts: 317
Registered: 31/12/1969
Status: Online

  posted on 10/5/2004 at 10:08 AM
Well... I did manage to read it all the way through. I'm still not sure I get it though. It starts out sounding like Nicole Blackman's "Victim" - and ends up sounding like the diary of someone with no life.

The backwards time thing is a neet idea, but I didn't even get that it was going backwards until I got to the end and read it again. Maybe starting it with a better ending would help it make more sense? Time lapses are hard enought to follow going forwards. Backwards time is hard to follow too. I think you need to do a little more to make them both work together in this story.

Assuming that it does make sense and I'm just not getting it - you really need to proofread. In a story like this - even more than other kinds of stories, one missing letter can interrupt the flow enuf to kill he vibe completely. (See what I mean?) It happened quite a few times while I was reading.

 

____________________
So Sayeth Me

 

Extreme Fanatic




Posts: 759
Registered: 31/12/1969
Status: Offline

  posted on 11/5/2004 at 10:43 AM
It feels like the intro to a story, or a flashback mid story. its doesnt quite seem to stand alone and i dont think that its the back to front time or the loose flow of the story either.
It feels like the intro to an action/horror screen play or an intro to a porn story. but it feels like this isnt the story, just the set up for a story, or the justification for the story. I think focusing less on knowing her before would make it more present and free standing. could juse be me tho.

 

____________________
Real goths wear silver and crosses to keep the werewolves and vampires away.

 
 


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