Post by morcac on Nov 19, 2011 8:25:06 GMT -5
Here I am going to post unedited excerpts from a book I am trying to write. I would like feedback on anything other than story line, which I have all planned out. And don't worry about offending me, tear it apart if you think it sucks.
I woke up to the sound of screams, normally I wouldn’t have thought much of it, my sister always woke up screaming... On weekdays that is. But I was in the middle of a nightmare at the time (one including a massive amount of death and destruction) and thusly assumed that someone was dying. Of course I was right, but not about anyone in the general vicinity. Still though I assume someone was dying. I sat up quickly, bashing my head on the boards that held my sister’s bed on the bunk above mine. I pulled myself up to see if she was okay and found that she was not in her bed. As I woke up more and oriented myself to my surroundings I noticed that the sound was coming from downstairs. I pushed my door open and ran down, expecting something bad to have happened. Instead my mother, father, and sister were simply sitting on the couch watching a slasher film. The beige walls and the bookcases filled with movies bringing comfort back to me. I was at home, nobody was dying, I was not being chased by an insane scientist who wanted to preform tests on me. I had begun to calm down when I checked my watch...SHIT! I had to go to campus, exams were today and I had missed two already. I began to panic, why had nobody woken me up when they realised I hadn’t woken up to my alarm? Why hadn’t I woken up to my alarm for that matter? I always woke up to my alarm... And then it dawned on me, it was the summer, and I had my bachelor’s degree. I immediately relaxed and sat down next to my father on the very saggy brown couch that we all loved so much. Nobody seemed to even notice me. I laughed inwardly, my family never noticed anything while they were watching a movie. I hadn’t seen this one before, but it didn’t matter, once you’ve seen one you’ve seen them all. It’s not the plot that matters anyway, just if they can make you afraid, or jump, or something. I didn’t really pay attention to the movie as it flickered by. I was lost in my own thoughts. First day of summer... Degree, check. Prospects, check. House, next week. Job, interview on Monday... My life was looking up. It wouldn’t be too hard to get by, my parents were buying the house, and a nice one too, so I just had to pay for basic utilities and food. The movie was finishing, the slasher person was trapped... And out the window he goes.
I walked back up to my room to lie down and enjoy being free. I was going to go out with some friends that night, but at that particular moment I simply wanted to savor the glory of freedom. I looked up at the bottom of my sister’s bunk, at those boards that had become so familiar as I would lie on my back and think. I looked around the room, at the dusty windows, the blue walls. At my desk, still covered in the papers from when I was studying. Sure my own place would have my own things, just how I wanted them, sure it would be better, and yet somehow I would miss this old house. In it there was every memory of my childhood, of growing up... Yeah it seems odd that I’d be missing it now rather than later, but I am odd myself. Straight down to the name, Gregarious Fern. The last name of my paternal grandfather was Miller, but my father changed his. The only reason being that his two children could be named Gregarious and Botanical Fern. My sister’s name made sense, I have no idea what dad was thinking with mine. I guess ferns do live amongst other plants, so maybe all plants (excepting cacti) are social and gregarious creatures. But I don’t think my father had thought it through that far. Of course we didn’t use our full names, I just told everyone to call me Greg. My sister tried to get everyone to call her Lilly once she got old enough to realise that everyone was making fun of her, all her friends did at least. But she was sixteen now, and people only called her Botanical out of habit rather than cruelty nowadays. Life without my sister would be interesting. Sometimes she was my best friend, and at others my arch nemesis. There didn’t seem to be any reason behind the changes back and forth, she just did. That was my sister 100% though. She did what she was in the mood for, when she was in the mood for it. Reason and consequence were never a matter of consideration. One minute she could be politically active, the next she could be buying from Walmart. You could just never tell with her... But no matter how unreasonable and ridiculous she could be, I still loved my sister. I’d probably miss seeing her every day more than anything else when I moved out. Either her or the couch.
Time had flown by while I had been thinking, though looking back on it I had probably dozed off. I stepped outside and got on my motorcycle... Time to meet my friends. As I zipped down the roads, quickly leaving the suburbs and entering my town I considered that my parents were odd for rich ones. They had offered to get me a car when I turned eighteen (they wouldn’t let me drive until then), but when they did get me one they let me get this road monstrosity that most people over the age of thirty six detest... With good reason, most people who ride these things tend to be ass-holes on the road, but at the time to me it seemed the height of cool. I still liked it now, but not because it was cool, I had grown out of that in the past four years. I loved it now because of the freedom it gave me... And the memories. I had so many good memories of this bike. It had lead me to meet the first person I had ever loved. Sure I’d been with people before, but this was different. It showed in the fact that I was still recovering from it somewhat... By which I mean I still miss her at times... At most times when I have nothing to do... Or when I’m on this bike. Weird how sometimes time doesn’t heal, only specific moments in it. I was slowly forgetting about her, but not over the course of time, things would happen to remind me to be happy... And I slowly drifted away from the sadness. Now there was only a little burst of longing when I saw something that reminded me of her... But it was still there. Maybe it would always be.
I parked my bike outside of our most frequented bar. Why did we go there so often? Because it closed the earliest and was therefore the logical choice to start at when barhopping. I saw Zack leaning against the door-frame, waiting.
“Is Clay here yet?”
“Yeah, he’s over in the back corner, already gone through ‘bout a bottle of whisky”
I laughed, “The fat bastard”
To clarify, I doubt weather clay had a square inch of fat on his body. It was all muscle. He saw broad shouldered, and so large that he took up almost an entire booth at the bar... but anyone could see by the fact that he wasn’t fat through the muscle exposing shirts he always wore... And the tank-tops any time it was above zero degrees. We just liked insulting Clay, he liked insulting me and Zack. Somehow that made us friends. Zack and I meanwhile had known each other since we were toddlers. The honest to goodness incarnation of best friends forever. We walked into the bar together, not saying a word. Zack and I only ever spoke to each other to relay information and for show. We knew each other well enough to know the responses to any questions asked. But the crowds (by which I mean everyone in the general vicinity) loved it when Zack and I would talk. Not to brag, but we were damn funny. And we always knew the other’s response before it had been said, and sometimes even planned up to ten moves ahead... And it always worked out just like in our imagination. Never once did either one of us turn in a surprise response other than to be an ass and throw a monkey wrench in the direction the other was going. We’d argue over it later, but only in joking. Zack and I had never, ever fought.
Sliding in the booth I said to Clay “Ton visage est tres drôle!”
Zack laughed “Oui, c’est ça cent par cent”
We often spoke French to Clay. We had taken it in college, but he had picked Spanish, so “Oui” was about the only word he understood. The funniest bit was that he never thought to insult us back in Spanish. He just looked mad and told us to shut up. But this time his speech was interrupted by a girl who walked up to us. She was just Clay’s type, thin, beautiful, blonde. You could tell in the way she walked that she was a ditz. Clay looked practically stunned, the incarnation of his dream girl... But she was looking directly at me.
“Helll-oh!” She spoke with a voice and tone that can only be described through OMG being spoken by a female on helium, every syllable being enunciated more than the previous, “If you want to be my friend, I can like, solve all of your prob-lems!”
“I don’t have any problems” An honest enough truth, I didn’t have anything really bad going on at the time.
“Oh, I bet you will.” Her ditzy manner dropped for a moment, almost as though she had forgotten, but immediately commenced with “My name is Chloe.”
“I’m Greg” I said “I’ll be your friend, but I honestly don’t have problems I need fixed”.
I was a little bit freaked at this point. A weird ditz had just asked to be my friend... Who asks to be your friend after first grade? Little did I know that that night was only going to get weirder.
I woke up to the sound of screams, normally I wouldn’t have thought much of it, my sister always woke up screaming... On weekdays that is. But I was in the middle of a nightmare at the time (one including a massive amount of death and destruction) and thusly assumed that someone was dying. Of course I was right, but not about anyone in the general vicinity. Still though I assume someone was dying. I sat up quickly, bashing my head on the boards that held my sister’s bed on the bunk above mine. I pulled myself up to see if she was okay and found that she was not in her bed. As I woke up more and oriented myself to my surroundings I noticed that the sound was coming from downstairs. I pushed my door open and ran down, expecting something bad to have happened. Instead my mother, father, and sister were simply sitting on the couch watching a slasher film. The beige walls and the bookcases filled with movies bringing comfort back to me. I was at home, nobody was dying, I was not being chased by an insane scientist who wanted to preform tests on me. I had begun to calm down when I checked my watch...SHIT! I had to go to campus, exams were today and I had missed two already. I began to panic, why had nobody woken me up when they realised I hadn’t woken up to my alarm? Why hadn’t I woken up to my alarm for that matter? I always woke up to my alarm... And then it dawned on me, it was the summer, and I had my bachelor’s degree. I immediately relaxed and sat down next to my father on the very saggy brown couch that we all loved so much. Nobody seemed to even notice me. I laughed inwardly, my family never noticed anything while they were watching a movie. I hadn’t seen this one before, but it didn’t matter, once you’ve seen one you’ve seen them all. It’s not the plot that matters anyway, just if they can make you afraid, or jump, or something. I didn’t really pay attention to the movie as it flickered by. I was lost in my own thoughts. First day of summer... Degree, check. Prospects, check. House, next week. Job, interview on Monday... My life was looking up. It wouldn’t be too hard to get by, my parents were buying the house, and a nice one too, so I just had to pay for basic utilities and food. The movie was finishing, the slasher person was trapped... And out the window he goes.
I walked back up to my room to lie down and enjoy being free. I was going to go out with some friends that night, but at that particular moment I simply wanted to savor the glory of freedom. I looked up at the bottom of my sister’s bunk, at those boards that had become so familiar as I would lie on my back and think. I looked around the room, at the dusty windows, the blue walls. At my desk, still covered in the papers from when I was studying. Sure my own place would have my own things, just how I wanted them, sure it would be better, and yet somehow I would miss this old house. In it there was every memory of my childhood, of growing up... Yeah it seems odd that I’d be missing it now rather than later, but I am odd myself. Straight down to the name, Gregarious Fern. The last name of my paternal grandfather was Miller, but my father changed his. The only reason being that his two children could be named Gregarious and Botanical Fern. My sister’s name made sense, I have no idea what dad was thinking with mine. I guess ferns do live amongst other plants, so maybe all plants (excepting cacti) are social and gregarious creatures. But I don’t think my father had thought it through that far. Of course we didn’t use our full names, I just told everyone to call me Greg. My sister tried to get everyone to call her Lilly once she got old enough to realise that everyone was making fun of her, all her friends did at least. But she was sixteen now, and people only called her Botanical out of habit rather than cruelty nowadays. Life without my sister would be interesting. Sometimes she was my best friend, and at others my arch nemesis. There didn’t seem to be any reason behind the changes back and forth, she just did. That was my sister 100% though. She did what she was in the mood for, when she was in the mood for it. Reason and consequence were never a matter of consideration. One minute she could be politically active, the next she could be buying from Walmart. You could just never tell with her... But no matter how unreasonable and ridiculous she could be, I still loved my sister. I’d probably miss seeing her every day more than anything else when I moved out. Either her or the couch.
Time had flown by while I had been thinking, though looking back on it I had probably dozed off. I stepped outside and got on my motorcycle... Time to meet my friends. As I zipped down the roads, quickly leaving the suburbs and entering my town I considered that my parents were odd for rich ones. They had offered to get me a car when I turned eighteen (they wouldn’t let me drive until then), but when they did get me one they let me get this road monstrosity that most people over the age of thirty six detest... With good reason, most people who ride these things tend to be ass-holes on the road, but at the time to me it seemed the height of cool. I still liked it now, but not because it was cool, I had grown out of that in the past four years. I loved it now because of the freedom it gave me... And the memories. I had so many good memories of this bike. It had lead me to meet the first person I had ever loved. Sure I’d been with people before, but this was different. It showed in the fact that I was still recovering from it somewhat... By which I mean I still miss her at times... At most times when I have nothing to do... Or when I’m on this bike. Weird how sometimes time doesn’t heal, only specific moments in it. I was slowly forgetting about her, but not over the course of time, things would happen to remind me to be happy... And I slowly drifted away from the sadness. Now there was only a little burst of longing when I saw something that reminded me of her... But it was still there. Maybe it would always be.
I parked my bike outside of our most frequented bar. Why did we go there so often? Because it closed the earliest and was therefore the logical choice to start at when barhopping. I saw Zack leaning against the door-frame, waiting.
“Is Clay here yet?”
“Yeah, he’s over in the back corner, already gone through ‘bout a bottle of whisky”
I laughed, “The fat bastard”
To clarify, I doubt weather clay had a square inch of fat on his body. It was all muscle. He saw broad shouldered, and so large that he took up almost an entire booth at the bar... but anyone could see by the fact that he wasn’t fat through the muscle exposing shirts he always wore... And the tank-tops any time it was above zero degrees. We just liked insulting Clay, he liked insulting me and Zack. Somehow that made us friends. Zack and I meanwhile had known each other since we were toddlers. The honest to goodness incarnation of best friends forever. We walked into the bar together, not saying a word. Zack and I only ever spoke to each other to relay information and for show. We knew each other well enough to know the responses to any questions asked. But the crowds (by which I mean everyone in the general vicinity) loved it when Zack and I would talk. Not to brag, but we were damn funny. And we always knew the other’s response before it had been said, and sometimes even planned up to ten moves ahead... And it always worked out just like in our imagination. Never once did either one of us turn in a surprise response other than to be an ass and throw a monkey wrench in the direction the other was going. We’d argue over it later, but only in joking. Zack and I had never, ever fought.
Sliding in the booth I said to Clay “Ton visage est tres drôle!”
Zack laughed “Oui, c’est ça cent par cent”
We often spoke French to Clay. We had taken it in college, but he had picked Spanish, so “Oui” was about the only word he understood. The funniest bit was that he never thought to insult us back in Spanish. He just looked mad and told us to shut up. But this time his speech was interrupted by a girl who walked up to us. She was just Clay’s type, thin, beautiful, blonde. You could tell in the way she walked that she was a ditz. Clay looked practically stunned, the incarnation of his dream girl... But she was looking directly at me.
“Helll-oh!” She spoke with a voice and tone that can only be described through OMG being spoken by a female on helium, every syllable being enunciated more than the previous, “If you want to be my friend, I can like, solve all of your prob-lems!”
“I don’t have any problems” An honest enough truth, I didn’t have anything really bad going on at the time.
“Oh, I bet you will.” Her ditzy manner dropped for a moment, almost as though she had forgotten, but immediately commenced with “My name is Chloe.”
“I’m Greg” I said “I’ll be your friend, but I honestly don’t have problems I need fixed”.
I was a little bit freaked at this point. A weird ditz had just asked to be my friend... Who asks to be your friend after first grade? Little did I know that that night was only going to get weirder.
