We stood on the edge of reason together. The wind was harsh, blowing her hair all over; constantly shielding my view of the world. The rain hid her tears, but her voice pushed itself up into her mouth often; she was crying; at war with her thoughts; at war with me.
“Don't you do it,” I whispered, fear pulling me back slowly into depths of darkness.
Empathy flooded me. I could hear her every thought. Her every desire. She wanted me gone; I was distracting her.
I hate this, she thought – those cried, too. I hate my life! I hate everything! It's not fair; its so friggen retarded!
“C'mon, you, ya'know what's right.”
Just -- shut the hell up! That one was finally directed to me. I know this because she was shaking her head, eyes shut tight. It was her way of trying to get rid me from the inside. It never worked, though, because it was my job to care; to guide and protect her, and I never have and never will stop trying. In my case of darkness – the darkness she bestowed upon me, unintentionally, I'm sure – I tumbled all over the place; in every direction, I think. When I fell back down, I lifted my head, eyes weary and shoulders bowed.
“Please...” I said. “Ya'know you don't wanna do this. Please.”
Her voice finally escaped; it seemed to thrust suddenly, its tone full of agony. She was holding onto the window frame on either side of her, and when she started to sob, her body leaned forward. I looked through her eyes – which were stricken with apprehension and anxiety – mine suddenly widening, and the dark, chaotic world rose.
Oh, no.
We fell together. Her thoughts were as hectic as the storm, her screams blending with thunder. She was beginning to regret the decision to jump; to end her life. She was scared all of a sudden. At the same time, however, she knew this was what she wanted. She felt so strongly – and for years now – that there was no place in this cruel world for her; she was elusive; absolutely no one understands her; a waste of space and explanation; a bad fit. The ground was rushing toward us. This was it. The end of our existence.
***
I don't know where we are; everything is black.
Daddy...? She thought faintly. I braced myself as her head rolled. I'm so sorry...ugh...
She was in pain, barely remembering the past. Her face grimaced and I felt for her. Somehow, I believe we're still alive. We must be...her heart is beating – irregularly, but beating nonetheless. Her brain must still be active, also, because I'm still here. Talking to myself where she can't hear me. Worrying. Just then, I heard faint feminine voices and only caught some of what was being said:
“No...but they foun...not inside...”
“Why? I can't...it's...”
“Right...and yes, she...mm-hm, very lucky girl.”
She moaned and her eyes fluttered, barely opening. I caught a glimpse of two figures standing near an open door, wearing white. It was dark, the place bathed in a dim grey light. Her eyes closed.
Where am I? She thought, and seemed slightly satisfied with the perceived situation. I knew what she was about to add before she did; her nonverbal thought had already processed her presumption. A hospital. She kinda liked the sound of that. No school, lots of attention, unfamiliarity from home; unfamiliarity from him.
Someone had come into the room after some time, and she pretended to be asleep. The person pulled up a chair next to her – the sound of its legs resting on the tiled floor at our bedside. Then, he placed his hand on her forehead. I know it was a he; I remember his deceiving touch. It was naturally rough, big, and firm.
“Kate,” he said lowly, his thumb rubbing a swollen area. “Why?”
Her eyes remained closed. She was good at pretending. She pretended the bruises on her body were nothing when people asked. Pretended she liked her father's caress when they'd cuddle near the fire at home, all snug and junk. Pretended she was happy. Now, he believed she was sleeping. His conscience was easily read, because it was always at work from being constantly ignored. It was begging him to lay off. Reminding him that she was his daughter. Reminding him that she was asleep; defenceless. He was sick of its repetitive efforts.
His hand clutched her head and squeezed the best it could, and through clenched teeth he said, “Why Katelyn?”
She made a noise and hardly tossed. “Stop,” she pleaded under her breath.
“Ya'know what's best for you,” I told her, blind as a bat and oblivious to any possible actions he might take next. “Don't give in; open your eyes.”
His conscience was going crazy. It was pulling away into the back of his mind, nearly crying. This made me nervous.
Kate held her mouth ajar but nothing would come out. She wanted to tell him to get his hands off her, but even if she could get the words flowing, she wouldn't know how to go about it. For a while now, she has been his puppet. She was forgiving, though...because she loved him, no doubt; he was her father; her – ahem, secondary – protector. But with me around, I knew she knew between right and wrong. It's just, he's all she knows. His actions; all she knows. Deep down – where I usually linger – she's aware of the fact that he has no morals, but she wouldn't know where else to go on this Earth without him. Death always seemed the best way to go.
“Kate! Get up if you know what's best for you! You do! You do!” I shouted, with the frenetic pleas of his conscience ringing in my hollow head.
Stop! She thought. Please...
“You were trying to get away from me, weren't you?” He whispered loudly, his thoughts getting louder; closer.
He was furious that she fell from her bedroom window. He just knew that she was trying to commit suicide. We all knew. In complete darkness, I was overwhelmed with tension and voices...so many voices.
A sound rumbled passed her lips and adrenaline-like apprehension managed to pull her eyes open. She looked over at him. His expression was dense, and his eyes bloodshot. Still hasn't shaved that beast off his upper lip I see. He grabbed her neck and she couldn't breathe – initially, her breathing was laboured.
“You're going to recover,” he ordered, leaning so close to her that his lips brushed her ear. He then kissed it and she tried to pull away but, of course, failed miserably. Her eyebrows were pulled together with discomfort and anger. “And then, come home. Like a good girl.”
Her terrible breathing frightened her. Eyes starting to close. I grew weak...
“Kate!” I said. “Kate...! Don't...”
Comments
Stan | July 13, 2012 - 15:08
Whew! Strong stuff, Jessica, and a lot going on here.
There are places you could tighten it a bit, but otherwise this shows a lot of progress being made. I can tell you're really starting to work harder with your writing. That first paragraph, for instance, is excellent and really drew me in.
Good stuff, mate. Well done.
JessicaA | July 13, 2012 - 15:18
Thank you so much Stan!
If you don't mind...how would I tighten bits like that, but still paint the picture? Or should they simply be eliminated altogether? Keeping things short and vivid is a challenge for me...always has been.
Also, does this short fulfill this prompt: the main character is radically different from the people around him or her.
Or no? If not, how could I make it fulfill it?
You don't necessarily have to answer. Thanks for the comment, anyway. Greatly appreciated!
Stan | July 13, 2012 - 15:45
Well... this whole story is short and vivid. It's about the right length, and it's dramatic. The viewpoint character almost feels disembodied - a kind of floating presence, reading into the minds of the others. A guardian spirit... but one whose powers only go so far. That came across.
The phrases I thought about just seemed a little wordy, slowing it - whereas it started off so pacy and clean... straight in to the situation and the action.
'We stood on the edge of reason together.' That's a great line - and it's a literal edge, too. Later, though, you've got lines like
'I knew what she was about to add before she did; her nonverbal thought had already processed her presumption.'
The first phrase is fine - but I'm not sure that the second phrase adds anything to it. It kind of repeats it. I don't think you really need it, but it's up to you. Then there's
'A sound rumbled past her lips and adrenaline-like apprehension managed to pull her eyes open' Hmm. Just play with that line a bit, trying not to use 'adrenaline-like apprehension' if you can. Once you've got the momentum going, try to keep it going. Read it aloud, too, and see what you think.
Above all... keep on. Like I said, it shows progress. You're thinking about it a lot more and choosing your words more carefully. You have some interesting ideas, and it's coming together.
I'd put it aside and give it time to settle, then come back to it. That's always a good thing when a piece is finished... and you might come back with different ideas... or even decide that it's only a part of something bigger.
Like I said, too... we're all learning!
JessicaA | July 13, 2012 - 15:48
Thanks a bunch. :)
sue dinum | July 24, 2012 - 20:41
Hi Jess, an excellent comment from, Stan, full of valid critique and advice to take you forward. I didn’t have a clue what was going on here, but you kind of suck people in because you weave a spell with your words and phrasing. That’s clever writing. But Stan’s right when he says you need to tighten up a bit. Learn to be more selective, sparse and precise. There’s no need to overstate. Just tell the story. You have some fabulous phrases and imagery; you just need to be less ‘wooly’ in your writing. But that will come with experience without a doubt. It’s more a case of knowing what to leave out that makes the difference. Give the reader just enough. Don’t cloud the issue by getting too flowery or trying to impress, let the language evolve naturally.
Something that’s really good, and apologies if you do this already, is to put a piece of writing (completed) aside for at least a week and come back to it afresh with the view to possibly pruning, or even adding, although adding should be less likely).
You will see your writing in a new light, a better perspective, and you will in turn be far more objective about it. Actually, I think Stan has already alluded to this process, but there is so much to recommend it that I make no apology for repeating it. The fever is great for getting the writing done, but a cool (detached) head is needed for edit. So give yourself a week to come back to earth.
You’re heading in the right direction, Jess; just make sure you read your fair share of good books as part of your literary diet, see how the best authors achieve their effects. Having said all that, I have really enjoyed all I have read of you so far and I look forward to more. You have a lot of potential and it’s pretty certain there’s lots of improvement and good writing to come from you. And by the way, you have an incredible imagination, and without that (I mean, any imagination at all) any would-be writer of fiction is utterly lost.
Trev
JessicaA | July 30, 2012 - 19:37
:)
Thanks for that, Trev. I've absorbed everything you said and understand. I usually fail to re-read a story I've written and edit it, or leave it for a while and then come back to it. I should take up on that more often. I think it's anxiety that makes me do that, because I get so anxious about making it perfect or living up to standards and posting stuff quick enough. If any of that makes sense.
I'm nothing special, but I hope to learn as I grow. Your support and insight is greatly appreciated. Thanks!