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Valerius 04-07-2007 04:46 AM

Short Story[?] Not Finished. Need Advice.
 
-A match flares, lifting to light the end of a cigarette. The brief flash highlights a face made gaunt by the harshness of life. I take a deep drag and slide my gaze over the black asphalt of the parking lot, memories consuming me. Every waking moment for me had been a constant terror for as long as I could remember. There were times during the younger years of my life when I had wished I could fall off of the face of the Earth or die. I remember back on my childhood with feelings of both pure, utter despair… And disbelief. How had I survived? How had I gotten out of that hellhole that had been the constant bane of my existence? As my thoughts drift back, my mind is taken over by static… That very static I recall using many times before to block out the things that were happening to me.-

I’m back… Back in that rat infested apartment with him. My father. I can remember it like it was yesterday, the sound of his heavy footsteps and the smell of his fetid breath as he bellowed at me for hours at a time, the smell nearly making my head reel… So intensely rotted. This was good.. Father never yelled at me when he was in the mood for my pain… Oh, no.. The times that I most feared him were the times he was silent. Those were the times I knew he was thinking up horrible things to do to me. Everything bad in his life was my fault, I was worthless. I was less than human. I was a rag doll he took his frustrations out on. I had long ago accepted that one day, I would die at his hands.

I was on my knees again. Father said that I must have this entire place spotless by the time he came home from drinking with his ‘buddies.’ I only nodded, knowing that the sound of my voice always made father angry. My entire body flinches as the door slams shut and I allow my eyes to wander around the dim apartment living room. The carpeted floor was matted with filth, what had once been a tawny shag type was reduced to a breeding ground for all sorts of molds and vermin. I look up and a weary sigh falls from my chapped lips… Some kind of mildew was growing in the wall to the left of the front door. I knew he would expect me to have that cleaned as well, though, I had no clue how I was to do it. The couch against the wall is caked with crumbs and crust from all the things father had spilled upon it over the few months we had lived here, though the grime was so layered and rank that it seemed like we had lived here for years, never cleaning once. Other odd pieces of furniture sat in the living room, but were so piled high with empty boxes that once held beer cans and empty food containers that they could barely be seen.

I knew that I would be punished if I did not find a way to get this filthy place garbage free, yet I knew that I would not finish. Father was playing one of his games again. Today was day three of no food and I could feel my muscles protesting with every step towards the bathroom where the cleaning agents lie in the cupboard below the decaying sink. My knees hit the floor harder than I had intended as I kneel and I wince, a faint mist of tears filling my eyes, but I do not cry.. No time for that. My fingers are a bit numb as I grip the slightly arched neck of the spray bottle filled with bleach solution. The smell always made my stomach turn, it was so strong. I grab the filthy washrags stored in a half broken wicker basket the size of my head, trying to find the least stained ones to use. I stand, with rags and bleach in hand, then walk to the kitchen to grab a broom and trash bags. The broom is in a sorry state, the bristles broken, over half of them gone.

I shuffle into what father called his ‘wreck room,’ which was just a tiny room to the right side of the kitchen…. A faded dart board that was missing half its numbers residing on the wall. Off to the right was an old foosball table, some of the little men missing heads and various parts, the miniature soccer ball had been missing for a few days, but father hadn’t noticed yet. Which was a good thing… He certainly valued his material possessions more than his son, who he would most certainly severely discipline if he discovered the piece was gone. I shiver as a cold draft from the partially broken window in front of me hits my sallow skin. I bend, grabbing the waste basket by the foosball table, using my first two fingers to gingerly grip the edge of an extremely molded pizza box and toss it into the basket. I scrunch my nose up in an attempt to block out the putrid smell of rotted food, breathing heavily through my mouth. My hand lifts, waving through the air in front of my face to bat away the tiny flies that buzzed around the room.

More than two hours pass. My forehead is coated with a sheen of sweat and my small chest heaves as I pant. I had finished this room finally, but my lack of food for the past few days was beginning to tax heavily on my strength, energy waning drastically. I force myself onto my feet, I cannot stop now… I have to try and finish…. If I do, maybe he will feed me tonight. I have to wait for him to feed me.. He already knew all of my tricks for sneaking food, he had even gone so far as to sprinkle rat poison into the trash so that I wouldn’t try to steal food from it. I suck in a sharp breath and grab the two bulging trash bags from the middle of the room, dragging them out through the front door at nearly a snail’s pace. I make my way to the top of the stairs and begin my descent, the elevator is broken, as it had been since we had moved in.

Four flights of steps later, I reach the entry way of this dilapidated apartment complex, the windows of the exit so coated with dust and dirt that the light of the midday sun barely peeks through them. The trash chute a few feet from the bottom of the stairs squeaks obnoxiously as I open it, throwing the bags in with a strained groan. I close it with a slam and turn to make the arduous journey back up to my ‘home.’ I almost feel like crying as I once again take in the horrible condition of the living room. My shoulders square as I brace myself for the task ahead, my knees touching the filthy floor as I kneel by the nearly hidden coffee table. A soft yelp echoes from my mouth as my hand slides across something sharp, the injured fingers slipping into my mouth, the copper taint of my blood coating my tongue as I continue to sort through the trash.

I must have finally succumbed to my exhaustion, because the next thing I knew was an explosion of agonizing pain blossoming in my head. I felt my nose shift out of place as his boot connected with my face, the force so great that it sent me a foot or two across the floor from where I had lain moments before. I let out an animalistic howl of terror and pain. I felt gushes of scarlet blood pour down over my mouth and chin, soaking the ragged neckline of my shirt. The pain is blinding, my hearing nothing but a muffled ‘whoosh’ as I try to regain awareness. His fingers tightening in my hair do not even register until I am hauled roughly to my feet by the dirty strands. I can hear myself whimpering… The sound like a distant echo, as if I were not in my own body. I feel myself drifting as I always did, a separation of mind and body. That lovely static in my head that blocks out all pain and holds me in its chillingly comforting embrace.

I can feel his hot breath against my face as he whispers soft word of dangerous promise. A shudder racks my small body, my breathing heavy as I try to further withdraw into myself. A slap echoes across my already damaged face, knocking me from his grasp and bringing me back into full awareness. I try to crawl away, my vision blurred, my head swimming with dizziness. A sharp pain radiates from the small of my back as I feel his boot force me against the ground. The heavy material scraping my skin through the thin fabric of my shirt as he turns his foot… Grinding it down on me. I can hear soft mewling sounds, shame almost overtaking my pain as I realize it was I who was making those noises. I hear his chuckle, dark and throaty… How I feared that sound with every fiber of my body. That laugh always foreshadowed incomprehensible pain…. My thoughts cut off as a kick to the ribs lifts me from the floor. I curl myself as small as possible as soon as I hit the floor again, whispering breathlessly for him to stop. Pleading.. Groveling just like he loved me to do, but he seems too angry with me this time to hear my cries. He forces me to stand. I weave unsteadily as I try to remain still. I roar with pain as his hand flattens against my nose, his other hand holding my head still as he grinds the heel of his palm down harder. Flashes burst before my eyes and I just barely hold onto my consciousness. My body bucks and I lift my hands up, trying to claw at his forearms to get away. His fingers grip my nose and a sickening crunch echoes in the air as he pops my nose back into place roughly. I black out.

I don’t know how much time has passed since I fell to the floor. He is standing over me, eyes intently staring at my beaten form as a curious child would watch something fascinating. I flinch as he almost tenderly brushes back the ragged strands of hair plastered to my forehead by blood and sweat. I clench my eyes closed tightly, breathing shallowly, a sharp pain throbbing in my right side. I can hear him snarl words at me in that smooth tone of his, hot breath beating against my face… Though, I cannot smell it. I unconsciously lift my hand to inspect the damage done to my nose… Big mistake. I am not too sure why me touching my nose made him angry, but I was suddenly hauled to my feet by my shoulders and dragged down the hall. My breathing was rapid and panicked, my vision still a bit hazy around the edges, but I was able to see where we were going: the bathroom. I barely made a sound as he let me go when we entered the filthy room, my body crumpling onto the floor as places I didn’t even know could hurt began throbbing insistently. I heard the water turn on suddenly, pouring into the old claw-foot tub thunderously. His hands on my torso send my eyes flying open… Just in time to see him rip my shirt in half, pulling it roughly from my body. My thin pajama bottoms met the same fate just before he lifts me. The action reminds me of how he used to be… My hero… Before mother left us. He unceremoniously drops me into the water and I instantly rear up out of the water with a scream ripping from my throat. The water was ice, nothing but cold and I struggle as his palm flattens against my chest, keeping me in the water. Its so cold… It feels as if my blood is freezing, my strength draining from my body more rapidly than it had when I had been cleaning. Soon, I am unable to struggle and I just give in, teeth chattering so badly that I bite my tongue a few times. The pressure of his hand leaves my chest, but I can’t move, its as if I am paralyzed. I look up at his face, catching that mocking smirk.. His eyes clouded with alcohol and his slowly unraveling mind. He lifts a fingertip to his own mouth, telling me to be quiet as he straightens up. I hear his footsteps echoing down the hall. I count them, making sure he is in the living room before I sit up and lift my hands to rub at my arms, trying to regain a bit of warmth. I dare no get out of the tub for fear of what he would do. My heart pounds… Is he done…..? Will he come back soon? My indecision goads me into staying in the frigid water, my arms wrapped around myself and shudders sliding through me.

After what seemed like hours, but probably wasn’t, I brace my hands against the edge of the tub. My legs shake as I stand, nearly slipping on the slick bottom. I climb out slowly, sides heaving with the effort as pain rockets around my torso. I fall to my hands and knees with a muffled cry. An invisible vice is tightening around my chest… Blurs swim before my eyes as I try to breathe. After a few seconds, I push myself up, grabbing onto the sink to steady myself. I straighten and the sight that meets my eyes shocks me into stillness. My reflection is truly a horrid vision, nose still a bit crooked, both lips split open, my pale flesh dyed pink with my blood. I lift a hand and press it to the mirror in horror, blue eyes wide in disbelief. I look down and wince as I take in a breath too large for my damaged chest to take. My entire right side is nothing but a mottled bruise, an angry looking lump rising where hip meets thigh. I grab a dirty towel from the back of the toilet and shakily wrap it around myself. I make my way to the bathroom doorway. I try my best to make no noise as I move, each step agony… Each breath like swallowing fire. I gulp in a heavy breath as I slip just my head around the wall to peek into the living room, trying to see where he was. He was in his recliner… Asleep. A wave of relief slides through me and a thought occurs to me as I stand there: He would kill me if he got his hands on me again. The instant that thought sinks in, I feel tears welling in my eyes. Not of fear… But of despair. All of these years.. I had thought he had loved me, but was just sad about mommy leaving, but now I knew the truth.. He didn’t love me. He wanted her, but couldn’t have her, so he took it out on me. I choke back a sob and move towards the front door as quickly as I could while being quiet.

My fingers wrap around the doorknob and I hear him stir. I whip my head around, eyes wide and fearful as I watch him roll over to his side in the recliner, slipping back into his drunken stupor. I turn the knob torturously slow… Sweat breaking out on my brow as I wait for him to wake up and catch me trying to get free. The door opens and I walk out. My breathing stops as I stand in the hallway, covered in blood with only a towel on. I was… Was I finally out? Before I could think more on it, I began running down the stairs. Panting as I took each flight on winged feet.. Closer to getting away.. Two more flights.. One more flight.

I burst through the apartment building doors and I am blinded briefly by the dying rays of the setting sun. I run forward, pushing past gasping people, ignoring the inferno in my lungs and the pain that jarred my body with each step I took. Strong arms wraps around my waist and I screech in both pain and terror… I am dead.. He has gotten me already. No! I struggle, kicking and scratching blindly.. Until I realize the voice trying to calm me isn’t my father’s. I stop, panting and near falling unconscious from the throbbing fire that squeezed my lungs so viciously. It was a man.. With hazel eyes and a kind smile… A police man. He cradles me to his chest and I feel safe. He asks me where I am from and I tense, not wanting to go back. I plead with him to not take me home, sobs catching in my throat as he sets me in the passenger side of his squad car. His partner stands by me. A pretty lady with honey blonde hair and blue eyes just like mine. She smiles tenderly at me and I feel something inside me snap. I begin sobbing uncontrollably. I feel soft arms wrap around me and I instantly press my face against the side of her neck, ignoring how much it hurt to do so. The faint scent of lilac slides into my senses, making me feel warm. She doesn’t seem to care that I am filthy… That I am a bad boy.. She just hugs me tightly and whispers to me softly as I cry. I tell her that I did not mean to be a bad boy…. I tried to be good for father, but I was stupid. She seems to get just a bit angry and asks where my father is. I hesitate for a moment, but I tell her, I just want her to hold me forever.

More police came… Someone gave me a big shirt to put on and wrapped me in a blanket. The police officer with the kind eyes lifted me into the back seat and buckled me in… Cocooned in that blanket. The car starts as they both get in, the man in the front and the woman in the back with me. I look up at her and whisper. “Where are you taking me…?” She smiles and brushes back the hair in front of my eyes. Her voice is like the most beautiful melody I had ever heard. “Far away from here, darlin‘... And…. I hope and I pray... You won't have to return at all.”

-A heavy sigh falls from my lips as a car screeches by, pulling me out of my thoughts. I had thought she would be my new mother. That she would protect me... That woman with the voice of an angel. Foolish. The fanciful wishes of a boy starved for love. She had washed her hands of me at the PD, turning me over to a Social worker. They placed me in the home of a woman who looked and acted sugary sweet, but was nothing but evil inside. I had thought the horrors of my life were over.. But in truth.. They had yet to truly begin. While living with her, I learned the true meaning of the words, ‘Pain is the proof that you are still alive.’ I turn, pale eyes sliding up to gaze at the neon bright signs above me, dark hair falling from my face to revel the right side… Scarred and silky smooth. Yes… Life has taught me the true meaning of pain. The bastard hadn't killed me.... But sometimes.... I still wish.. That he had...-


Alright.

Here is the deal.

This is my first time writing in First Person Perspective or Point of View.

I have trouble with Tenses [Past, Present, Etc.]

What can I improve on?

Valerius 04-07-2007 05:19 AM

o:

Temmon 04-07-2007 03:03 PM

That was... interesting. o.O

So you want advice on first-person perspective? You don't seem to need it, unless there was something that you noticed you didn't like. Your narrator is one of the better first person narrators that I've read. As far as tenses go, just remember to keep to the same one throughout when you're narrating. This is designed for past tense, so all throughout try to keep to that. Although you only lapsed that I noticed in the second last paragraph which, from the way it fits into the story, is still in the narrator's past, and thus should keep the past tense.

I didn't realize until I glanced back to see something that the main body of your story is a flashback. xD Which is a valid way of doing first person.

Also, the small, red, italic font made it hard to read. >.<

.Yuun . Yuun. 04-07-2007 10:44 PM

<33

sychobunny 05-05-2007 05:04 PM

This was good; Father never yelled at me when he was in the mood for my pain… Oh no, the times that I most feared him were the times he was silent.
Quote:

I shuffle into what father called his ‘wreck room,’ which was just a tiny room to the right side of
Are you doing a play on words, or should it be rec. room?
Everything bad in his life was my fault; I was worthless.
The smell always made my stomach turn; it was so strong.
With a faded dartboard that was missing half its numbers residing on the wall.
I have to wait for him to feed me. He already knew all of my tricks for sneaking food; he had even gone so far as to sprinkle rat poison into the trash so that
, I reach the entryway
… The sound is like a distant
Quote:

I clench my eyes closed tightly, breathing shallowly, a sharp pain throbbing in my right side.
You have too many tenses, that I can’t really correct sentences like this, but for the flashback, choose one and stick with it. It is ok for the flashback to be in present tense, and its fine if its in passed tense, but pick one and keep it.
I can hear him snarl words at me in that smooth tone of his, hot breath beating against my face though, I cannot smell it.
it’s so cold
move, it’s as if I am paralyzed
I look up at his face, catching that mocking smirk. His
Is he done?
All of these years, I had thought he had loved me, but was just sad about mommy leaving, but now I knew the truth; He didn’t love me.
Panting as I took each flight on winged feet. Closer to getting away. Two more flights. One more flight.
That I am a bad boy. She
I still wish, that he

You love pauses, but over use elipses. There are other forms of pauses. Embrace them.

I love how the story stays dark. It’s full of angst. The feelings of the subject are well portrayed, as well as experiencing the brutal scenes.


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