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Post by Mayor on Feb 13, 2013 17:47:47 GMT -5
So this thread will contain the weekly assignments for my Fiction class this semester. These pieces aren't fully edited, nor do they contain any real purpose. I'm basically just sharing these so you guys can see where I'm at in terms of short pieces, and I'll be posting some longer works as the semester goes on.
Also, I'm well aware I should be going through the stuff from the other threads on this board, and I promise I will when I have a bit more time. I'm having to do this from the campus computers, so I'll probably read from my phone and then reply when I have the time.
Weeeeeee~
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Post by Mayor on Feb 13, 2013 17:50:58 GMT -5
This first piece required we use the first sentence in this piece to either open or close the piece. I was the only one who chose to open with it. Also, I did submit a different version of this, but I can't find that one, so you guys get this instead.
Reaching home mechanically, without taking off his uniform, he lay down on the sofa and died. It had been a cruel week for Harold Blompkins, and his heart, sick of the stress, had decided that it could use a break, so it stopped. On Monday, Harold’s wife of twenty-seven years had decided she couldn’t stand being married to Harold anymore. She didn’t suspect him of an affair, but Harold had been involved in an infidelity for the entirety of their marriage. Cecilia had known when they married that Harold was devoted to his work as a bio-chemical engineer for Coleman Industries, but she hadn’t realized Harold’s heart belonged more to the company than to her. Cecilia was stressed by always playing second fiddle in Harold’s life, and her heart decided that it could use a break, so it stopped loving Harold. On Tuesday, Harold’s son Lyle committed suicide. Though Harold had never known it in his son’s seventeen years of life, Lyle was a closeted homosexual. Cecilia had always suspected, but Harold had never known his son well-enough to realize it. Lyle was teased continuously by the cruel peers of his school, and though he turned to his mother for emotional help, his father’s robotic obsession with work never afforded the full support Lyle needed, with the divorce sealing that support away forever. Sick of the stress, Lyle took fourteen Tylenol after deciding he needed a break, and stopped his heart. On Wednesday, Harold received an e-mail from his boss while planning out Lyle’s funeral. Cecilia had said Harold could remain in the house until they had buried their son, so Harold was trying to find an apartment while arranging his son’s burial site. As the alert from his boss came in, Harold read the message with a detached interest. Harold’s boss warned that rumors were swirling that the bio-chemical arm of Coleman Industries was going to be liquidated soon, as Coleman was set to purchase the more known and profitable Andersen Chemical business. Mr. Hargreaves had a great appreciation for Harold, and wanted the man to have a chance to start applying for new work immediately. As Harold read the warning, fearful for the stress of losing his lifeblood, his job, Harold’s heart decided it could use a break, so he went to bed. On Thursday, Harold returned to work to begin clearing out his office. Even if Coleman Industries kept their bio-chemical business, Harold needed the break from Cecilia’s hysteria and the stress of his son’s death. As he settled into cleaning his office, Harold was stopped by Mr. Hargreaves, who informed him that a letter had just come from the V.P. of Bio-Chemical Services, and it seemed their worst fears were coming true. Any letter containing “as we prepare to downsize and integrate in the next couple of months” was a death warrant for those in the affected offices. As Harold left work that evening, he realized the whole of the constants in his life had disappeared rapidly. Like a machine without purpose, Harold reflected it would be time for him to shut down. Reaching home mechanically, without taking off his uniform, he lay down on the sofa and died.
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Post by Mayor on Feb 13, 2013 17:52:38 GMT -5
This one was supposed to be a story describing a hallway on campus, but I said fuck that and did this instead. There was a process I explained to the class, but I've forgotten it. : D That said, professor is super lax, and he said he was a big fan of this. So huzzah.
Leopold Thorsten had only gotten mad at the administration of St. Hyancintha’s Medical Center two times in his thirty-three year tenure as custodian. The first was back in 1959, only a couple years into the job. This was back when Saul Robertson, then lead custodian and all around asshole, had hit the peak in his alcoholism. Saul would stumble in for the morning shift, his clothing in shambles, slurring his speech and insulting the entirety of the staff. When board president Hugo Johnson, Saul’s brother-in-law, dismissed Leopold’s complaints, the brash nineteen year-old took to solving the problem the way brash teens do: brawling. After a two month suspension, Leopold returned to find that Saul had left the job, as his wife had left the poor old man. Leopold eventually forgave Saul’s actions after the latter reformed his ways through a twelve step, and the two became good friends in the last few years of Saul’s life. Though president Hugo should have taken action before Leopold did, the custodian forgave the hospital when he became new lead. So it came as a surprise when Leopold once again found he was angry St. Hyacintha, this time with board president Hugo Johnson, Jr., over something much less serious. Leopold set himself to his usual routine the morning of September 21st, giving his usual rounds of hellos and how are yous to the various staff, before loading up his cart for the morning. A bit of Precise disinfectant, some Windex for clearing the windows, a bit of Armstrong Shine-Keeper to polish the floors. Only, something had changed. Leopold’s Armstrong had been replaced, Weiman’s Floor Polish now lining the shelves where his all-important Armstrong had been. This was an outrage. No one had consulted Leopold on the change in floor polish, and it felt like a complete betrayal by the hospital. In Leopold’s mind, hospitals were places where families could be safe, healed by a community that was there to help, and it had now stolen that from the poor man. Leopold had always had an affinity for Armstrong floor polish. He used it at his own home, his kids played on Armstrong polished floors when they were younger, and the brand had always done right by Leopold. In the nineteen years the hospital had been using Armstrong, Leopold had never had a problem with it. He liked the way it shone, illuminating his daily life, the scent filling his nostrils with the hope of health the hospital brought to people every day, complimented by a dash of lemon. But now what was Leopold supposed to do? He took a whiff of the Weiman, and it simply didn’t compare. It was neutral, hollow, and generally unpleasant. It lacked the warmth that Armstrong brought to the table, that familiarity. As Leopold stormed up to Hugo Johnson, Jr.’s office, he brought the Weiman with him. St. Hyacintha’s had almost always done right by Leopold, but now it had pulled away a third of his cleaning supplies, without warning or consultation, and he needed to know why. Hugo was surprised as Leopold came storming in, until he saw the Weiman in Leopold’s hand. Leopold had always been a man who cared. It was one of the qualities that made him so valuable to the hospital; though only a custodian, Leopold did fine work, and his attitude had made him a delight to work with ever since Hugo the junior took over in ’83. Hugo calmly explained that he hadn’t consulted Leopold on the decision because Armstrong cleaners had been liquidated, their profits having plunged in the last few years. Armstrong hadn’t come in the last shipment because it was a dead brand. Hugo further added that Weiman had been chosen for its comparable price and proven track-record as a reliable company. Armstrong was gone, but the routine would stay the same, and everything would be fine. Leopold cried in Hugo Johnson Jr.’s office for fifteen minutes. Nothing was fine. It could never be the same.
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Post by Jisui on Feb 13, 2013 18:09:38 GMT -5
This first piece required we use the first sentence in this piece to either open or close the piece. I was the only one who chose to open with it. Also, I did submit a different version of this, but I can't find that one, so you guys get this instead.
Reaching home mechanically, without taking off his uniform, he lay down on the sofa and died. It had been a cruel week for Harold Blompkins, and his heart, sick of the stress, had decided that it could use a break, so it stopped. On Monday, Harold’s wife of twenty-seven years had decided she couldn’t stand being married to Harold anymore. She didn’t suspect him of an affair, but Harold had been involved in an infidelity for the entirety of their marriage. Cecilia had known when they married that Harold was devoted to his work as a bio-chemical engineer for Coleman Industries, but she hadn’t realized Harold’s heart belonged more to the company than to her. Cecilia was stressed by always playing second fiddle in Harold’s life, and her heart decided that it could use a break, so it stopped loving Harold. On Tuesday, Harold’s son Lyle committed suicide. Though Harold had never known it in his son’s seventeen years of life, Lyle was a closeted homosexual. Cecilia had always suspected, but Harold had never known his son well-enough to realize it. Lyle was teased continuously by the cruel peers of his school, and though he turned to his mother for emotional help, his father’s robotic obsession with work never afforded the full support Lyle needed, with the divorce sealing that support away forever. Sick of the stress, Lyle took fourteen Tylenol after deciding he needed a break, and stopped his heart. On Wednesday, Harold received an e-mail from his boss while planning out Lyle’s funeral. Cecilia had said Harold could remain in the house until they had buried their son, so Harold was trying to find an apartment while arranging his son’s burial site. As the alert from his boss came in, Harold read the message with a detached interest. Harold’s boss warned that rumors were swirling that the bio-chemical arm of Coleman Industries was going to be liquidated soon, as Coleman was set to purchase the more known and profitable Andersen Chemical business. Mr. Hargreaves had a great appreciation for Harold, and wanted the man to have a chance to start applying for new work immediately. As Harold read the warning, fearful for the stress of losing his lifeblood, his job, Harold’s heart decided it could use a break, so he went to bed. On Thursday, Harold returned to work to begin clearing out his office. Even if Coleman Industries kept their bio-chemical business, Harold needed the break from Cecilia’s hysteria and the stress of his son’s death. As he settled into cleaning his office, Harold was stopped by Mr. Hargreaves, who informed him that a letter had just come from the V.P. of Bio-Chemical Services, and it seemed their worst fears were coming true. Any letter containing “as we prepare to downsize and integrate in the next couple of months” was a death warrant for those in the affected offices. As Harold left work that evening, he realized the whole of the constants in his life had disappeared rapidly. Like a machine without purpose, Harold reflected it would be time for him to shut down. Reaching home mechanically, without taking off his uniform, he lay down on the sofa and died.
Wow, thanks for bringing down my mood That was rather depressing. But effective. Every last line in the story felt like a blunt hit in the chest. I really like how mechanical and systematic it feels, just like Harold, there's no emotion or change in the process of each paragraph. His life is just a calender, and for each "break" that's needed every day, he just logically lists out why it was needed. I thought it was pretty well made. The second story doesn't appear to be finished, but it seems interesting. Appears to be around the same subject matter as the first, change, and how people deal with it, but I dunno yet. Now I need to find some cheerful music
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Post by Mayor on Feb 13, 2013 18:20:29 GMT -5
The Harold one actually got a lot more depressing. The altered ending dealt with Cecilia's reaction at the funeral, and how it was emotionless because her heart couldn't handle the stress, and broke, leaving her an empty husk of a person.
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Post by BloodValkyrie on Feb 13, 2013 18:26:20 GMT -5
...Hisui basically said everything I was thinking of for the Harold story. Very saddening, yet very well-written. I enjoyed reading it. Also, personally, I would have loved it if you kept that alternate ending : D
The Leopold story has me interested so far. I am hoping you add the rest of it soon.
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Post by Mayor on Feb 13, 2013 18:30:28 GMT -5
Whoops, don't know how the ending went missing there. I've straight copy pasted these from the Word documents they're saved as. Anyhow, edited in the completion of the Leopold story, sorry about that.
Also, Leopold's son died in the Gulf War. It was a repeat try at an assignment I had this last semester, wherein we're supposed to reference a child's death in a war, without referencing the child or the war directly.
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Post by BloodValkyrie on Feb 13, 2013 18:48:40 GMT -5
At first I was confused as to why Leopold was crying over the fall of Armstrong Cleaners. But then I remembered he mentioned that he used that same cleaner for his floors at home. That his children walked upon Armstrong-cleaned floors.
Now that you mentioned his son died in the Gulf War...it makes sense.
Armstrong Cleaners was one of the few things Leopold had left of his son in a way.
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Post by Mayor on Apr 8, 2013 13:50:41 GMT -5
SO HEY THIS THREAD STILL EXISTS AND I HAD A BIG ASS PIECE I HAD TO SUBMIT AND HAD WORKSHOPPED SO THIS IS THIS STORY AND IT HAS HAD NO REVISIONS MADE TO IT SINCE SO I KNOW A LOT OF THE PROBLEMS BUT I STILL VALUE ALL OF THE INPUT YOU GUYS HAVE
ALSO IT'S A LONG READ SHIT IS 8 PAGES IN WORD
We had all known Teddy Krantz would be going places, only we had assumed it would be mental health institutions. We were already members of the seventh grade class at Newton Middle School in Metonymy, Ohio when Teddy enrolled on September 12th, 1987. Of the eleven of us in the class, only Cynthia lived near the Krantz family on the far-west side of the military base that comprised most of the town. She remarked often that while the Krantz family seemed nice enough, sharing the bus stop with the enigmatic Teddy was beyond uncomfortable. None of us, sans Jeannie, would ever dispute this, as Teddy's erraticism made those five months quite interesting. Teddy's class introduction was the single longest sentence most of us would ever hear from him. “Hi, my name is Teddy Krantz, and I am a time traveler.” We found those dozen words to be utterly hilarious, until we realized that Teddy's awkward stoneface belied the serious intentions of those words. He was not the new class clown, much to Franco's relief. It wouldn't be until October 9th, when Jeannie asked Teddy directly, that we would know what he meant by those simply complex dozen words.
Teddy was entirely serious about being a time traveler. Moving forward through time at a rate of one second per second, a rate we quickly discovered we too were capable of, Teddy would remark that he hoped to at least double that rate over the course of the next five years. Jeannie never managed to to get details on how that would work, with Teddy claiming it would be too hard for her to comprehend. We figured if Jeannie, for all her love and knowledge if science wouldn't understand, none of the rest of us stood a chance at it.
They made an odd couple, the turtle and the crane. As a class comprised solely of military children, the members of our grade rotated with fair regularity. So Franco, the longest tenured student in our grade within the Metonymy Public School system, devised a rite of passage back in the 4th grade. Defining himself as a lion, well aware of the visual effect of his thick, orange mass of hair, every student would come to be assigned an animal alias based on their features. Only Tucker ever took real offense, having quite the fit about his black rhino moniker: heavy set, with a bony nose, dark complexion and family history of heart problems, Tucker hated the remark that he would be extinct within the next 30 years.
Nobody fit their descriptor as well, however, as Teddy did. A stout, round boy with a closely trimmed hair cut, coupled with his silent nature and poor posture, Teddy was a spitting image for a turtle. So it was aesthetically odd when the only person he would consistently talk with was the class crane, Jeannie. Hitting puberty early, and coming from a long line of tall, rail-thin Swedes, Jeannie had a full foot and a half of height on the miniature Teddy.
The pair began bonding over a mutual love of Carl Sagan's Cosmos, as well as an interest in time travel, though for very different reasons. Jeannie had intentions to be a journalist, and was entirely concerned with the near-past and the present to inform the masses. Teddy, however, was only interested in the potential of the future, and explained that he hoped to reach the future sooner to see world peace, an optimism which Jeannie openly mocked. They shared few interests besides Mr. Sagan, mostly a general interest in science, war history, and a love for the Watchmen comic series. Tucker, the only one of the rest of us who was familiar with the series, would try to explain the minutiae of the conspiracies of Rorschach or the dystopic world views of Dr. Manhattan, but we dismissed the conversation before he could ever get too in depth.
Fortunately, we had little to worry about in terms of conversation coming from Teddy. A few weeks after we found out about Teddy's obsession with time travel, on Halloween, we discovered more about Teddy's personality. Halloween, Cynthia claimed, was a great time to discover what people thought of themselves, each costume being a projection of an individual's mental state. And Teddy's Tin Man costume spoke volumes about his character to the rest of us. Teddy had made no effort in the last couple of months to make friends with any of the rest of us, and apparently had no intention of making the effort to do so. Gwen missed a week of school after her aunt's death on October 20th, and while we tried to be as accommodating to her situation as we could when she returned on Halloween, Teddy scolded her for making no contribution to their partnered piece on the Civil War during the week she grieved. So his Tin Man outfit made perfect sense to the rest of us. Teddy simply had no heart.
When Gwen, whose short hair and soft, round features became the prominent points in her alias as the class dog and the perfect match for her Huckleberry Hound costume, snapped and cried that Teddy was a heartless monster, Franco thought it the perfect time to quip that he was more a heartless robot. He was wrong about the timing. It wasn't, however, the worst thing said about the situation. That award would belong to Teddy's defense of his actions. We were shocked when he complained that Gwen took offense to the situation. We considered he was as heartless as his appearance belied. Teddy, however, didn't care that Gwen said, but rather that she was dragging him into an “event”.
Mr. Monroe reacted like one would expect a history teacher to; he studied the event as it happened and took action what seemed like years after. And, like most questions of history, Mr. Monroe asked the obvious question of Teddy: why? Teddy responded with conciseness and the same stoneface in his class introduction. “I am supposed to be an observer.”
Mr. Monroe was confused, as were we. Teddy had been the one to jump on Gwen about the whole situation, clearly initiating what he had termed an “event.” When asked to clarify what he meant, Teddy informed Mr. Monroe there was “too much interaction,” and requested to sit outside the classroom for a while. Mr. Monroe allowed it while he took the time to calm Gwen, while Franco took the time to point out that Teddy's idea of sitting in the hall meant standing at the window, creepily looking in to see what was going on. Teddy's dull gray face could be seen staring at the rest of us, emotionless, heartless.
On November 15th, the first frost of the year swept over Metonymy. It was also the day Jeannie found out that Teddy wasn't heartless, simply that his heart had no warmth left in it. It started when Cynthia came to school, startled that Teddy spoke to her while they waited for the bus. While we were surprised he spoke willingly to someone that wasn't Jeannie, Cynthia was disturbed that it had to be her. To us, it seemed natural that Cynthia would be the one that Teddy would be most likely to talk to, as she was the only person in our class shorter than Teddy, and the only one from our class on his bus route. Her fear, however, wasn't exactly unwarranted either. Her mousy demeanor, defined not only through her small stature, but her pointed face, button nose and large ears, meant she was intimidated by most anyone, and Teddy's heartless incident didn't make him an inviting figure. When she complained about his seeming robotic actions on the bus, his simple “get on, sit, and get off” devoid of interaction, we just took it as odd to be around. When she freaked out about his discussion of the weather that morning, however, we were more concerned about just how jumpy she was. What Cynthia described wasn't discussing anything out of the ordinary, nor was he really talking to her. Apparently, the fact that winter was coming scared Cynthia witless.
Franco rose to his role as pack leader and decided to ask Teddy about the weather directly, just in case Cynthia had actual cause to be scared, though we just assumed gross exaggeration. After all, Cynthia had once sparked a school wide fire evacuation when she pulled the alarm for what was revealed to be crossed wire sparking once in the girl's bathroom during 6th grade. As the Fire Marshal would later discuss during a class training on what defined a fire, the only way the school would have burned to the ground was if an electrician tried to fix the wire with a flamethrower. Cynthia cried about the idea of the school burning to the ground. Franco, though, was willing to entertain the point that Teddy was a maniacal madman, able to use the weather to discuss all events diabolical. He certainly didn't find a villain, but he too was disturbed by what Teddy had to say about the weather, the same aside Cynthia had heard.
“It's the first frost today, like when he died.”
Franco took this to be an admission to murder, but Jeannie fortunately sprang in to get an explanation for the phrase. Franco, meanwhile, tried to convince the rest of us we attended class with a murderer, though only Cynthia gave credence to the idea. We all knew Teddy was heartless, but cold-blooded? Even Gwen wouldn't willingly accuse Teddy of murder. Jeannie, crouched on the ground so that she was face to face with the sitting face to face with Teddy, used the entirety of study hall to find out who had died. When she came back to report it to us, she flipped through the notebook she kept on hand, the tale apparently long enough to qualify as an interview for the journalist in training.
The who in question was revealed to be Teddy's paternal grandfather, a veteran of the Korean War. Teddy and his grandfather had apparently been quite close, with the two spending most weekends together. Service careers ran among the men of the Krantz family, and so these times became ones of military history lessons and generational bonding. So when six-year-old Teddy went to stay the night with Grandpa Buckle while his parents went out to a class reunion, he was waiting for a continuation on the Korean War discussion. Jeannie commented that while she had always liked the Vietnam War as an example of the ability of men to inflict unspeakable horrors on their own kin, until Franco told her to quit with her editorial comments in favor of conveying the rest of the story to us. It turned out that Teddy’s grandfather had spent any lesson time describing the Korean War in much more depth than other lessons because of his personal bond, along with the moral that was attached.
Teddy described his grandfather to Jeannie as a man who, despite a storied career as a decorated ranger, despised war. Grandpa Buckle had seen numerous acts of violence and horror, never detailed to young Teddy, but all enacted between kinsmen. Outside of their uniforms, Grandpa Buckle couldn’t tell the Korean forces on either side apart, and so the atrocities committed were between families as far as he was concerned. The Korean War changed how Grandpa Buckle had looked at the world, and was the running theme behind the war history they covered. The past was filled with war, and so peace could only be found in the future, words which Teddy would take to heart, and which explained a lot about his character to us.
Likewise, his death explained Teddy’s behaviors quite a bit as well. No one could have anticipated the heart attack Grandpa Buckle had while Teddy was taking a bath, especially with how relatively young he was at 58. Teddy didn’t describe the emotions he felt, but he did tell Jeannie it was three hours before his parents returned to find Teddy looking through the war encyclopedia by himself. After Jeannie finished sharing the tale, Gwen made her way right over to Teddy to apologize for calling Teddy a heartless monster. What he had said was terrible, and Franco made sure the rest of us knew he would have never apologized, but Gwen explained that she was sure it was still a touchy subject for Teddy as it was for her. His response?
“I’m over it. It’s in the past.”
He was rocketing towards the future, all right. On January 11th, 1988, Teddy and Jeannie ended their friendship. The day had started innocently enough, with the eleven of us arriving at school around the same time, preparing for our first period math class, when Jeannie started yelling at Teddy. The two were off in their corner, which we had gotten accustomed to each day. Despite our small class size, there were still cliques, as children are apt to do, and their duo was just part of the routine. Usually they would discuss any developments in the Cold War, with Mikhail Gorbachev’s perestroika reform calming the thoughts of war, much to Teddy’s delight, we supposed. No one followed their discussions about war, nor their interest in scientific advancements. We were busy discussing our own problems, homework and personal, and it was best to try and not interact with their jargon anyway.
Jeannie was getting visibly agitated, and Gwen would break the news later to us. Jeannie was convinced that the U.S.S.R. was preparing for a strike against the United States, with the reform plans being just a disguise for hiding the oppression and weapons technology of the U.S.S.R. Teddy, however, was confident in it the reforms signifying the impending peace he had been trying to race towards for years. We knew that they argued often about anything political, with Jeannie being quite cynical for our age group, while Teddy seemed more optimistic, despite his seemingly robotic emotional spectrum. However, this was the most charged we had ever seen them, particularly Teddy. This was the only time any of us had seen Teddy yell.
“You’re an idiot if you think world peace impossible!”
Those nine words shook everything we knew about Teddy up until that point. It wasn’t meek, it wasn’t reserved, and it was blunt. Unlike Teddy’s usual policy of simply observing conflict, for the second time this year, he had initiated the drama. In retrospect, this was a defining moment for how we would come to view Teddy, but at the time, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back of the cornerstone clique of our class. While they were constantly arguing over one thing or another, the crane and the turtle could never come to the rest of our zoo to look for conversation relating to their interests, so they were forced to interact. So the ending of their friendship was a landmark day for our class, particularly because it struck us as being such a minor point for two close friends to part ways over.
In retrospect, however, it is apparent that was exactly the type of decision for Teddy to get worked up over. His obsession with observing conflict before intervening, dedication to science literacy and desire for world peace made him quite popular as we all aged. As the ten of us sit here, swapping stories in honor of our 30th year since finishing 7th grade, we find ourselves raising a glass to Teddy. We had all known Teddy Krantz would be going places, only we would never have assumed it was into service as the 45th President of the United States.
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Post by Jisui on Apr 12, 2013 18:49:07 GMT -5
SO HEY THIS THREAD STILL EXISTS AND I HAD A BIG ASS PIECE I HAD TO SUBMIT AND HAD WORKSHOPPED SO THIS IS THIS STORY AND IT HAS HAD NO REVISIONS MADE TO IT SINCE SO I KNOW A LOT OF THE PROBLEMS BUT I STILL VALUE ALL OF THE INPUT YOU GUYS HAVE ALSO IT'S A LONG READ SHIT IS 8 PAGES IN WORD ALRIGHT I'VE GIVEN IT A READ AND HERE'S WHAT I THINK CAPS First off, I liked it. I thought it was a really interesting read, pacing was great, nothing ever bogged down while I was reading it. I think this is mostly because Teddy is a pretty interesting character, I enjoyed digging in deeper into what made him tick, or how he thought. I was a bit skeptical on how intelligent and thoughtful they were for their age, but you covered why that was the case pretty well. Best part of the story was the characterization I think. Nice job equating them all to respective animals and delving into all of them a bit, especially Teddy. I liked his last line about world peace, really summed up his character. Teddy's a badass by the way. He'd also give the best inaugural address as a president ever. It'd start out like: “Hi, my name is Teddy Krantz, and I am a time traveler.” And then there would just be a long silence, and he'd become America's hero Anyway, the ending was excellent. Didn't really see it coming for some reason, despite the direction the story was taking. All in all, solid job bish.
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Post by SlvrNight on Apr 12, 2013 19:02:06 GMT -5
Read this earlier today when on the way to class. Really good morning reading : D
But seriously, this is really well written and I was quickly grabbed by the story when Teddy said he was a time traveler. I was pretty sure he wasn't really a time traveler but it's such a ridiculous thing for someone to say that I couldn't help but be interested.
Ending was a nice surprise. Didn't expect him to become president, haha.
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Post by Mayor on Apr 17, 2013 21:41:21 GMT -5
So I know I just posted a huge piece, but that was done back in early March. This one just got workshopped tonight, so it also doesn't have any revisions yet, but was well received. Bit of warning though: This shit is a bit depressing. I mean, that was the intent, but just watch out for it.
“I should probably ask how you all are doing tonight, but I'd be lying if I reacted with any care. You all know who I am, I know how the city is, and hell, I know most of you. So let's just get into the routine, eh?”
Thank god for the lights shining in my face. If I had to look at the depressed faces of these people one more time I'd kill myself here and now. Granted, happy people never come to Fauna's. If I wasn't getting paid to stand here and rant at people for money while they drown out their problems and my voice with alcohol, I certainly wouldn't need to come here.
“By round of applause, who here has been feeling depressed lately?”
And of course there's silence. These are folks drinking dollar drafts in a city whose claim to fame is Rowley's Kite Museum. Yes, Rowley's, the fourth largest kite museum in the United States. Metonymy had never been one to aim high, though. Military bases tend to not make a city aim for glory. Allen always preached humbleness while I was growing up, but despite his service record, he was also a boisterous drunk and beat me regularly. A great source of advice, really.
“I'd be right there with you, but I'm currently celebrating my divorce, so my life is going great. Hell, I threw a party for it last week. I've officially been divorced a year longer than I was married at this point, and it only took a decade of dedication to empty houses and random hookups. I feel like I've earned some sort of award for it, really. I don't have to share anything I own, I can fuck whomever I want, and there's no need to check up on anyone while touring. I feel like I'm giving my acceptance speech up here, microphone in hand and your attention skewed behind a hazy fog of alcohol, like any awards ceremony.
Bring the legs together, straighten them, firm up my posture. Need to take a sip of water, clear my throat for the faux-politeness tone.
“I'd like to stand up here and say I couldn't have done this alone, but that would be lying. The only people I have to thank are myself for my dedication, Jack Daniels for his friendship during many a night, and my ex-wife Aurora, a woman unlike any other who could ever come into my life, thank god. Or Satan, I suppose, given her inclinations.”
There's a few chuckles, but that joke essentially flat-lined. Not that I expected much from it. Its punchline was about as novelty as I've ever gotten. Thankfully, this will be the last show I perform here at Fauna's. I'm running out of material if this is what I'm pitching to these folks.
Relax your stance, another sip of water. Wipe forehead with towel. Are the lights usually this warm? Coming on stage in just a red tee-shirt and black jeans should have kept you cool enough.
“It was certainly a wild ride with her though. Aurora is the reason I condone violence against women. She entered the relationship a feminist, and she turned me into one as we went on. Women deserve equal rights, so it's sexist to me that women are exempt from physical violence according to society. “
A few boos, not that I'm surprised.
“Look, I'm not saying we should all go out beating women. There aren't many good reasons to hit anyone, but your gender shouldn't influence if you can be hit on principle or not. Women give birth, but you're going to try and tell me that they can't take a punch without breaking? Bullshit. When... if a woman came at me with a knife, I'd knock her out. You can call it violence, you can call it self defense, or you can even call it unnecessary, but you'd be wrong. It's social progress, folks.”
Aurora trying to stab me was certainly the breaking point, but our marriage was falling apart well before she tried to gut me. I regret nothing when I fractured her jaw with the shovel from the garage, other than the half of my bank account she cleared out from the settlement. There really will never be another woman like her for me. Crazy bitch or not, I genuinely loved her. I suppose in some aspects I still do.
So many things had looked right on paper when we started dating and eventually married. Her long, raven hair matched her slim figure so well, and the casual elegance with which she could make blue jeans seem classy was stunning. I'm still the same asshole who gets paid for complaining about my problems in creative ways to people, but somehow I absolutely fucked her head up. Those brilliantly emerald eyes of her darkened like tar stains as our marriage went on. I can still picture our wedding day. I looked into those eyes and saw hope and joy. Now I see in her eyes what I see in mine: apathy. It's just so hard to care.
Perk up a bit. Next bit is heavy, need to upsell it with tone.
“And how can you be upset with social progress? We get so many great programs and perks from it. We've all got the right to vote, we can kill ourselves slightly with certain drugs and alcohol, segregated schools are a thing of the past, and we've got the right to abortions. Well, I say 'we' as a country, but really, ladies, you have the right to an abortion. A man get no input in the decision unless the woman is kind enough to let him in on the decision. Which I say is kind of bullshit, we do half the work, we should get half the say. That'd be real social progress. We're all equal in regard to parenting”
Sip of water, but take your time, let them build up slowly to your side of the argument.
“My ex-wife was kind enough to let me in on it. And I need to be upfront with you about this, because you only ever see the sad, crying teen girls moaning about how they should have kept the baby, and how it was the biggest mistake they ever made, and if they could go back and change it they would in an instant, and other bullshit. In my personal experience, the abortion she and I had done? Best decision of our entire marriage. I don't regret a second of it.”
A few moans, about the normal.
“We had that abortion fifteen years ago, and what a little blessing it was. I'm a richer man financially for it, and you know what I bought recently? My fifteenth firearm. I buy one every year on the anniversary of that date, as a reminder that I don't have to care about trying to hide it from any kids running around my house. I don't even like shooting, but it's the principle of the matter, you know? I don't have to worry about managing my life around a small, defenseless person who shits their own pants regularly. Hell, now I'm an environmentalist, since I'm not creating future generations of litterers. I'm all sorts of progressive.”
Sure, the abortion may have wound up being a centerpiece of our divorce, but I still largely don't regret it. At least, centerpiece from her perspective. I thought we were done with kids after we canceled our first order, but I still don't know what about year eight changed that. Probably the heavy touring. Aurora kept pleading me to stay behind, so maybe the kid would have just been a way for her to have a piece of me? She was always the sentimental kind. I certainly couldn't see the appeal.
Give them a quick smirk. Flash the confidence. Wipe your forehead, this sweat feels disgusting.
“Frankly, I'm just a better person than you in general. I get paid to complain. It's like bizarro therapy. I come up to you and complain about my failed marriage or my alcoholic father, you pay me money, and I leave a better person.”
This is all true.
“Which, ironically, reminds me I should talk about my father the Alzheimer patient. Wouldn't want to forget that, would I?”
Why am I still drinking water? Discussing Allen is always rough, so my drink should be a bit rougher too.
Signal bartender. Usual 7 and 7, quickly.
“I'm simply a fan of the huge irony that my father's life has taken. The man had a memory like an elephant. He never lost a set of keys in his life, always knew where the remote was, and was absolutely incapable of forgetting any mistake I made as a child.”
Drink arrives, thank Colin for it. Sip.
“And now he has Alzheimer's. It's fantastic.”
Sip.
“This is a man who recalled every battle from the Korean war and proceeded to tan my hide regularly when he went into PTSD flashbacks.”
Sip.
“And now he's not only incapable of remembering those beatings and transgressions, he can't even drink.”
Sip.
“So this drink is dedicated to my father. While he once drank to forget, that bastard can no longer remember why he drank.”
Chug.
This audience is dying, mostly because I'm absolutely bombing, but this all felt good to get out there. I should have maybe planned an ending bit.
“Thank you for your time and money folks. This was my last show. My name is Doug Worth, and enjoy never seeing me again.”
Great work with the deadpan. Exit gracefully.
What a surprise this'll be for those people. I started ending my shows with that five months ago, and now this crowd gets to say they were witnesses to my true last show. At least, it would mean something were I not washed up. Shouldn't let my ego get to me. I know as well as anybody that I've been irrelevant for at least six years now. That pilot for HBO was the peak. Once that went bust, so did I.
Grab your coat, bow out to the staff, and get out to Patton St.
God, Fauna's still looks like shit. Back when it was the commissary, at least it served a purpose that required upkeep. Or maybe that's just the nostalgia speaking. It was a nice refuge from Staff Sergeant Allen Worth. Or at that time, I guess it was still dad then. I never did inherit his memory, and I won't worry about inheriting his Alzheimer's.
It's cold, raise the collar of your jacket. And put on the hat, your bald spot has no defense against Midwest Januaries.
I should have moved out of Metonymy. Of all my regrets, the few that there are, getting out of this place is the biggest. I could have been free of dealing with Allen's medical care, made sure I never saw Aurora again, and lived in a town where a fucking kite museum wasn't the big attraction. So many offers to move to New York or LA, and what do I do? Stay in Bumfuck, Ohio, so I can hone my craft around the most depressed people in the country.
I suppose that was the one good thing about Metonymy. There's a joke I could never make work. What do you get if you take the military base out of a city built around it? A booming growth of low-income housing going to workforce that relied on manufacturing jobs which all outsourced in the mid-2000s, leaving a city deep in economic and social depression. It just never really rolled off the tongue.
Don't forget to stop off at Flannigan's Farmacy.
Of all the small businesses to stick around, why did it have to be the food-poisoning diner Early Bird's, the shitstain bar Fauna's, and the worst named pharmaceutical business of all time? Whatever. Tonight's the big night. I should probably make a few calls.
Then again, who would I even call? Certainly not Aurora. That would get sentimental, and she certainly gets worked up over sentimental things. Last thing I want is seeing her show back up with a knife again. Granted, I haven't called her an indecisive, needy bitch recently, and sure, it may have been a bit over the top, but I'd like to think I did nothing that warranted a potential stabbing. Nor do I really have the energy to hit her with a shovel again. Do I even know where the shovel is? Did she take it when she left? Some sort of bizarre trophy or reminder of what led to the end of us? I don't know if I'll ever know her motivations again.
Though I never really did know her motivations, which was what made her so intriguing to me. I was jaded too early in life, thanks to Allen. Who could have possibly thought you could beat the wonder of the world out of a child? In retrospect, me.
Don't make eye contact with the clerk while you buy your Tylenol. Can't have him thinking you want to talk.
But Aurora couldn't be held down by my cynicism. Despite working the graveyard shift at a diner completely devoid of soul, she was always perky and prepared to serve with a smile. God, that smile was infectious, even to drunk, 3 am me. The way she could happily joke around with me, just our own time while the rest of the world was sleeping. There's something I could use one more time, but those days are gone. At least, I'm pretty sure. Maybe she'd take me back for just a bit? We could try-
Get moving. It's freezing out here. Find the car. Let's see,time to play find my silver Civic. No, no, no, ye- nope. No, no, here we go.
Right, that ship has sailed. Once someone pulls a knife on you, it's kind of an eternal “fuck you.” And I'm sure not calling Allen. If anything, I'm glad I no longer have to worry about him. It's been twenty-six years since he was last dad to me, and I haven't regretted that once since. Hell, I'm forty-one now, and I've never beat a kid once, a feat Allen started around thirty-seven years of age.
God, how sad is it that outside those two and Tucker, I've got no one else for me here in Metonymy. I can't blame Patrick for moving out and as far away as he could when he hit eighteen, but now he's going to need to with Allen. Still not sure why, as the younger sibling, I wound up becoming Allen's caretaker. Pat was always the conniving one. Sure, I get paid for my wit, but he's the one who pulled the switch that left me with Allen.
And Tucker certainly doesn't need a call. He knows I'm done. He's got his shop to run, and while I appreciate him letting me hang out there all the time to bounce material off of him, I still don't understand his obsession with comics. It's always “Batman this, Watchmen that, Invincible those, blah blah blah.” Some sort of weird wish fulfillment, I guess. Still, for a man who has known me since ninth grade, that Tucker stuck around as a friend will always be appreciated.
And he hasn't tried talking me out of the retirement plan either. He knows we're both over the hill. We can no longer die young; at best, we die unexpectedly. And he knows the motto I borrowed from the great Gary Ash.
“Comedians aren't supposed to be funny. The great ones are heartbreakers.”
Only time will tell if I was successful at that. I certainly took a lot of heartache, but I can only say I ever truly broke one heart. And it wasn't much of a joke.
Coat on the hangar. Pour out a glass of your old buddy. Take it to the bedroom, set it on your night stand, next to the bag from Flannigan's.
Not that I was in it for the success though, either. I certainly enjoyed the money, I'd be a bold faced liar if I said otherwise. But it's been drying up like my road shows. What a punchline that Metonymy, the place I hated the most, is where my last curtain fell.
Pop that stupid child safety cap. Eyeball how many you need. Handful should do.
Now it gets all sorts of interesting.
Two, sip.
I had always heard that your life flashes before your eyes before you die.
Two, sip.
I mean, sure, I've been reflecting tonight.
Two, sip.
But it's hardly been a flash.
Two, sip.
More like a highlight reel.
Two, sip.
Granted, highlights of failure.
Two, sip.
But that's my life.
Two, sip.
A fucking joke.
And, curtain.
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Post by Mayor on May 4, 2013 10:57:58 GMT -5
This should've been the alternative ending: Pour. Drank.Head shot. Drank.Sit down. Drank.Stand up. Drank.Pass out. Drank.Wake up. Drank.Faded. Drank.Faded. Drank.So I just now realized you dropped Kendrick Lamar here, and I didn't even realize that stylistically I had done that, and now it's all I can think about.
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