Non-fiction / "Silent Desperation" Excerpt from "Where Do the Children Go?" (Analysis)
The young man had thoughts that were not his own it seemed, incessant thoughts; he had contemplated doing away with himself on more than one occasion. He was on an emotional rollercoaster. Often times wishing he were dead and at other times looking forward with rapturous joy at what life might be like years from the heartaches which he now endured. At times, though, he could not see quite that far into the future and it seemed no pointless to go on. On one particular occasion, after an extremely violent encounter with Junior, Jake seriously considered the prospect of killing himself. He did not even remember the events of the minutes before as he sat in his room bleeding from the lip and crying; locked behind his door in an attempt to find safety. It had all happened so quickly, so much anger seethed from his brother and he had been on the receiving end once again. Jake sat for an hour or so, listening to Junior as he rampaged throughout the house freely, using the telephone, the bathroom, slamming cupboard doors and the like. The teenager felt truly trapped once again, like an animal in a cage.
He rose to his feet and slowly crossed the floor, reaching for the doorknob to the closet where he had kept his twenty-two caliber rifle and a shotgun. The only two weapons that were not kept under lock and key because he used them so frequently. He picked up the twenty gauge shotgun and handled it, caressing its fine grained stock and admiring the luster of the sheen he had restored it to a few years before. He thought back about the days when it was only his father that he was afraid of and not the constant and putatively ever present terror that now stalked the rooms of the house.
He chambered a round in the weapon and tightly closed the bolt, setting the safety out of habit and proper training. Of course, the act of loading a gun indoors in itself was out of character for him as he had been strictly taught not to do so. It all felt so commonplace now though and he was quite at ease with the sublime feeling that enshrouded his being. It was though he were floating high above the room, watching another desperate young man, that only looked as he did, place the muzzle of the shotgun under his chin. Many thoughts too terrible to describe in words crossed his mind.
He thought of his little sister, his mother and his father, for these were the only people he truly felt close to anymore. He thought about his two sets of grandparents next, but as extended family somehow, a bit removed from his inner circle of near aloneness. These are all the ones that he loved. Since the move he had come to miss so much of what life had once been, the carefree days of the Valley, visits with his paternal grandparents and the warm summer days long spent in freedom and security. Things were so out of place now though as was Jacob.
As he sat resting his chin on the barrel of the gun and his left hand on the trigger, his Grandpa Knightly came to mind, perhaps because Jacob had hunted with him often in years past and learned many traditional firearm safety precautions from him. His grandfather, of Scotch heritage, was always target shooting, always handling guns and hunting; always he spoke of that great and terrible conflict of World War II. Richard Knightly had been a seamen first class, aged thirty-three years when drafted into the service of His Majesty Franklin Roosevelt’s fleet. Despite his age, men were in short supply those latter days of the war and even men in their forties were called up. Leaving behind a wife and four sons, Richard answered his call aboard the U.S.S. Vincennes, a Cleveland class light cruiser patrolling somewhere in the Pacific.
While Grandfather was a skilled marksman, given his age and his culinary background, for he had worked in a restaurant as dishwasher in his youth, he had been assigned the position of gunner’s mate with extra duties as a ship’s cook. Nevertheless, he had always been a warrior poet in his grandson’s eyes. Jacob recalled the stories that he had told him as a young lad and often recounted at family gatherings or when pressed to do so by the grandchildren.
It was a day in nineteen hundred and forty-four, according to Grandpa Knightly; they were at sea near Formosa in the vast and forbidding Pacific. He had been on deck smoking a cigarette and all had been calm. Richard leaned over the rail and thoughts of home bobbed up and down in his mind as the ocean gently rolled the vessel. All hands were at ease as were all minds. Nothing was to be expected.
Jake recalled to his mind just how his Grandfather would always tell it:
“I had gone out alone from the galley to light up. The ocean was just as deep blue as the lake in early winter just before she freezes. I had tossed my first coughin’ nail over the side and had just put another to my lips to light up again when I heard it.
The familiar buzzing sound of Jap zeros as they dived down from great heights as swarming insects; nobody knows how many. Before anyone could move, a lightning blast of bullets ripped across the deck behind me. Damn good thing I was off by myself too, ‘cause if anyone woulda been standin’ around me, he’d a surely had it. I crouched low and made for the first cover which happened to be an empty gun turret. Wouldn’tna had any business being in that one if it weren’t for dodging the shrapnel and enemy fire. My gun was a twenty millimeter cannon used for ship to ship battle and this weren’t my battle station. The two man crew that usually mans that particular gun wasn’t there yet and by the way the Japs had caught us off guard, and had us pinned down; I doubt they’d a made it to their stations so I figured to duck down in the protection of the steel enclosure. The Yellow Bastards just didn’t wanna let up. Wave after wave of them dived on us and I figured that the fighters might be running cover for their dive bombers. That’s the last time I ever prayed during the war; prayin’ just wasn’t enough.
Well now, after a few minutes of that kinda horseshit going on, with bullets strafin’ the hull and deck and all around me, I figured it weren’t but a matter of time till I bought it too. I thought; ‘you dirty bastards ain’t gonna get me without me bringing one of you outta the sky.’ I grabbed the handles of the fifty caliber twin gun; a damn good thing that a belt of ammo was already loaded in her cause I didn’t have no time to be foolin’ around.
One of the sons a’ bitches came right at me; I stood to face the enemy and opened up. Didn’t touch him! Boy that raised my blood pressure as much as it did the hair on the back of my neck! I waited for the son of a bitch to come around for another pass. I just took a lead on ‘em like I would on a grouse and sure enough; I brought ‘em down. Black smoke billowed out of his ass end and the dirty rotten devil spiraled right into the drink!
A minute or two later I swatted another one of the damn Yellow Bastards from the sky… the whole attack was over in ten minutes. A few planes got away; turns out they were just a patrol.”
And that is how Grandfather earned one of the two medals that were housed in a dusty display case which hung over the mantle in his grandparent’s home, right next to the photo of Grandpa Knightly and his shipmates. His fellow crewmembers came to refer to him affectionately as the old man. While grandfather had always made light of the tale, Jacob could always detect a certain hush in the old man’s voice as he neared the end of telling it, as if there were something more to it that was best left unspoken.
Jake recalled how his grandfather had always said, “They tell ya don’t give up the ship; hell boy, just don’t give up; Ever!” With this thought in mind, Jacob turned the gun aside and unloaded it. He collapsed on his bed and cried.
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You have a great deal of skill in sculpting a gripping narrative. This is a very touching story, especially considering that I myself have been in a very similar situation. Having read this excerpt I would love to read the entirety of the story.
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“his twenty-two caliber rifle and a shotgun. ” was this explored earlier in your piece, only because I find it hard to believe that a teenager can have this in his possession and no one notice. How did he attain these weapons? I think this will make the situation more realistic. I think your knowledge of guns and weaponry makes this feel so real. I grasp that this person is from a family comfortable with weapons and with using weapons, but I still find it hard to believe that a child and not the parents or older sibling have actual control of them. There are a few grammatical errors, a read through should point these out. There is something about this pov that removes me from the actions and emotions. It would be wonderful if you could switch b/w this and 1st person. I think it’ll have a more profound effect.
I was shocked at first, but hooked at the same time, you want to turn away from reading it, yet I wanted to no more. Although i felt a little lost on page 3, i got back into it very quickly. its easy to place yourself at the scene.
This is good, I like how you made the grandfathers story sound just like he was doing the talking and I was on edge wondering what was going to happen to the boy in his room. Good Job!
The part about Jake’s grandfather was (I thought) more compelling than his suicide attempt and should be tied in better.
I was very shocked and distressed for the character Jacob. His relationship with his grandfather is touching. However, I cannot empathise because I’ve never had this sort of experience myself. I don’t understand why Jacob doesn’t do something else apart from contemplate suicide, and I feel he is a weak character because of this. He is a teenager; can’t he leave or stand up to the bully in other ways instead of using a gun on himself? And I hope he’s not going to use the gun on someone else!
Good story. Very touching and moving. Starts you off feeling sad and pitying for the boy, then moves to heart-pounding action, and then back again. And it’s well-written enough so that you almost forget what you were feeling from one part to the next. Very good transitions. Can’t see what else you come up with. :)
You have captured the raw emotion of someone who we might call “suicidal” very well. Not that Jacob, wanted to kill himself, but his frustrations with life was leaving him few options. It is interesting how we seem to become prisoners of our own mind, and allow others to rob us of the joy of life, by what they say and do. I think you have a very good grasp of the emotions involved. You need to be careful of grammer and syntax. Sometimes simple things like leaving a comma out somewhere can change the way someone reads a sentence. But this emotion is something that needs to be heard. Thanks for the privilege of reviewing it.
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