Thanks for the clarity, looks like I need to work on that myself!
Short Story / All in the mind
She was a pretty little thing with a slim lightly bronzed figure, chestnut hair, deep hazel eyes to match and lush kissable lips that had swelled and split, liberally spilling their dark sticky contents, at the slightest of blows. Now, no longer crying out, she hung limply from the headlock as a final blow, accompanied by a satisfied grunt of completion, connected with her cheek.
There was a moment of silence, still and calm, as even the bus had pulled up to a halt allowing a line of frustrated commuters to build up behind it. Tires squealed as a now angry driver rounded the bus, blaring on his horn as he did so and awaking the man from his daze.
He scanned the staring horrified faces and followed their line of sight to the unconscious bloodied form half slumped into the aisle in front of him.
It was almost an equal contest with both men reacting in the same instant only the offender had desperation on his side and the would-be valiant knight received a sharp kick to the crotch for his trouble, felling him instantly, as his opponent launched himself over his victim towards freedom. The remaining passengers were all still too scared or stunned to do anything more than sit and stare as the attacker, forcing his way through the doors, leapt to the sidewalk and disappeared down the nearest alley. The driver was the next to react, after making a half-hearted flailing attempt to stop the man who was already clear of the vehicle, by calling in to report the incident and request assistance before rushing up the aisle, suppressing the bile rising in his throat, to the aid of the girl.
The ferocity of his attack on the bus door should have paled the one on the girl but the images of cracked glass, dented metal and broken pneumatics failed to replace the flashbacks of fresh bruising on delicate skin or the blood on his hands as he tried to wash them in an oily puddle not five minutes hard sprint from where four cops were trying to unravel the garbled stories of those in shock and the paramedics were doing their best for the sorry state of the girl.
As he stripped off the stained sweatshirt his chest was heaving, whether from the run or his sobbing, the tears freely rolling down his cheeks, he couldn’t tell. The only thought on his mind as he dumped the sweatshirt on a fire tended by a couple of snoozing alleyway drunks was to get as far away as possible and destroy all traces of himself having been there.
It would be a long time before he’d return.
It would be far longer before the girl would travel by bus again.
He leaned lightly on the edge of the dark heavy oak desk. His eyes flashed over it, taking in all the usual desktop items, intercom and phone, computer monitor and mouse on its pad and, finally, the diary and stationary neatly arranged behind the polished gold name plate, Dr. Gerald A. Kaufman.
‘I know you’re here.’ he teased, now scanning over the open notebook and coffee cup, looking for a clue to the good doctor’s whereabouts. He quickly crouched down to peer into the ample shadowed legroom space under the desk. It was empty, but beyond, on the other side of the desk; he noticed the orientation of the well-worn green leather swivel chair, its parallel wooden armrests pointing to one side. As he slowly stood up he turned around to face the bookshelf to his right and after further inspection he could just make out the false section that was in fact a doorway. He took a couple of steps towards the door, feeling himself alternatively tense up then relax in anticipation, clenching his left hand into a compact hard fist while reaching out with his right to try the handle now obvious to see.
‘There’s no use in hiding now, is there?’ he coaxed as his fingers slowly wrapped around the knob.
As Dr. Gerald A. Kaufman opened the door from his en suite bathroom to his office he cried out in surprise, closely followed by his newest patient’s shout as he awoke with a start. Somewhat disoriented the patient tried to come round by blinking his eyes hard in succession for several seconds before Dr. Kaufman said, ‘Mr. Smith, I’m so sorry, you startled me terribly. You don’t look too good yourself why don’t you lie back down on the couch.’
‘Yes, I think I will doctor.’ Smith replied as the doctor helped him over to the large couch on the opposite side of the office, ‘I really haven’t got a clue what just happened.’ he added.
‘Don’t worry,’ reassured Dr. Kaufman, ‘You dropped off just before our regression session, it does happen more regularly than you’d think actually. When I called your name you opened your eyes and asked for water, so I thought you’d woken up, but evidently not. I had just popped to the bathroom to get you a glass when I heard you talking, as it turns out, in your sleep.’
‘Really!’ replied Smith swallowing hard, ‘And what was I saying?’
‘Well, that’s the disappointing thing. I was just coming out of the bathroom to start the tape rolling when I met you at the door. You must have been sleepwalking too, although I have to say that it’s very unusual for one to achieve such a state so quickly after falling asleep.’
‘So you didn’t catch anything?’ Smith asked cautiously.
‘No, unfortunately not. Still, better luck next time, eh?’ encouraged the doctor with a grin.
‘Er, quite. Is that going to be all for today?’
‘Yes, we’ll reschedule this session; speak to Mandy on your way out. I think we’ve had a bit too much excitement for you to make the most of the therapy today. Do you feel well enough to stand?’
‘Yes, doctor, I’m fine. I was just a little bit disoriented after waking up like that.’
‘Well, I just want you to understand that it’s not the best course of action to wake someone who’s sleepwalking and there may be side effects.’
‘What!’ said Smith somewhat alarmed and then checking himself, ‘I’m sure waking me today did more good than harm, doctor.’
‘No need to worry, I have to make you aware of the possibilities. Remember to keep notes in your diary; you’ll be amazed at how much it helps.’
‘I won’t forget doctor, goodbye.’
‘Goodbye Mr. Smith.’
It’s a large open plan office, of a type that for some unknown reason is very popular these days, on the upper floors of one of several ultra modern metal and glass atrocities in the latest of a never-ending line of business complexes clogging up the city. A state of the art security system had been installed at great expense meaning that everyone going in, even if they’d been working there since the company moved in, was treated to the same strict demeaning procedure.
Firstly, metal detector and if necessary an ineffective pat down from an overweight, sweaty security guard called Ernie or Archie, giving him a friendly smile as he slaps you a bit too close to the genitals for comfort, again.
Then, name and employee ID at the reception manned by an apparently dumb, definitely miserable, retirement-aged woman who gives only the slightest glance at your card as you wish her a very good morning.
Next, swipe card through the turnstile before getting into the elevator. It’s difficult to say which is more unnerving; the fact the elevators ferry employees silently and smoothly, four at a time, without the aid of a control panel, just a large red button screaming the single word inscription HELP, or the blindingly obvious security camera impersonally and invasively sweeping back and forth over the occupants of each solidly enclosed six cubic meter space.
In the departmental lobby on the fifteenth floor another swipe and you are granted entrance to the inner sanctum, but don’t be lulled into a false sense of security, you are by no means any better off here. Some would say this is by far the worst part, the long lonely walk past cubicle upon identical cubicle of your fellow workers, ironically enough not working but gossiping and chatting about the game last night or the latest episode of their favorite, oh so lame, soap operas.
If you are unlucky you might have to fend off the occasional bland greeting with an equally empty response, ‘Hear about that earthquake in Asia last night?’ ‘And do you know Bob was seen last week with Marjorie from accounting and she only got married less than a year ago!’
‘Oh no, I didn’t know. Sure I’ll make a donation.’ ‘Really, would you believe it? Bob should know better after his messy divorce earlier this year.’
Curt answers only provoke the snide remarks you are obliged to gallantly ignore when you are almost out of earshot, but not quite, the awkward silences when you enter the cozy canteen and the clearly audible laughing out loud after you’ve left that you acknowledge to others with a shrugging smile.
Lastly, the final humiliation. Mr. D. ‘I’m always right’ Wright holds the key to your success or, more likely, failure in the palm of his greasy little hand, so you’d better put on your best smile and give him an obedient, ‘Good morning Mr. Wright,’ as you pass or you’ll never get to blend with the rest behind your computer screen instead being bombarded with countless menial, time-consuming tasks before being reprimanded for you slow pace on the current project.
This is my office and I hate it.
Alice had always admired the fact that her husband was, what she thought, a good man. In fact almost everyone commented on his good manners; way with kids, and not just his own as all kids seemed somehow magnetized to him; willingness to lend a hand even at the expense of his own interests and his compassion as he sat and patiently listened to others worries and problems ready with a supportive word or gesture. God knows, Alice herself appreciated this more than most as she remembered her own frustration and tears worked through with him by her side. She remembered how, not long after, she had been surprised and delighted when he had gotten down on one knee and proposed to her in front of everyone at her sister’s wedding, how she had not hesitated to say yes. As she sat here now gazing at him trying without much success to relax she realized that for the first time since they had met she was worried about him.
‘Hon,’ she began and the corner of his mouth twitched slightly, something she had never noticed before, ‘I get you a Bud?’
‘Nah, I’m good,’ he replied turning to her briefly with an unconvincing strained smile.
‘You sure? You always have a Bud after dinner. What’s goin on with you, you feelin sick or somethin?’
He rubbed his heavily bagged eyes and turned to look at her again. She knew he hadn’t been sleeping well, if at all. On more than one occasion in the last few days she had woken up in the middle of the night to find he was not there sleeping beside her, or had never come upstairs to join her, but was sitting in an armchair staring out of the window or standing listlessly looking blankly into the middle distance.
‘You worryin bout somethin at work?’ she persisted.
‘Everything at work is fine, you know Wright got a promotion and a raise so he’s off our backs right now.’
‘You mad at me? An you better tell me if you are.’
‘Ali…’ he began but didn’t need to finish, she knew she was just skirting around the real question she wanted to ask.
His father had been a large bullish, bullying, man well-known for his angry outbursts and displays of bad temper. There was the time he’d almost broke his neighbor’s jaw after some slight during the annual street grill and the legendary cursing incident at the local beauty pageant after his only daughter came runner-up to that slut Sadie Thomson. However as far as she knew, and she liked to believe she knew everything, he had never gone further than boxing his boys around the ears only when they really deserved it and although he’d constantly argued with his wife she never saw evidence he resorted to the regular beatings that some gave. But this had all started not long after his father’s funeral a couple of weeks ago and Alice couldn’t help fearing there were deeper, darker sides to the father-son relationship.
‘It’s the dreams,’ he said, interrupting her particularly unpleasant train of thought.
‘What’s that, you got nightmares?’
‘Well, you could call them that,’ he conceded, ‘They jus…jus soo real.’
She tried to make the question sound incidental, ‘You think it’s somethin to do with your pa?’
‘I guess it must do, but I dunno what…’ he broke off.
Not being able to hide the fear in her shaky voice she asked, ‘Your pa ever, you know, touch you?’
‘Ali! Nah, not to do with pa that way. Just I swore I’d never turn out like him.’
Relieved Alice tried to reassure him, ‘Lots of people have parent problems, aint nothing to be ashamed of. Remember me when we first met?’
She smiled at him, put a hand on his arm, swallowed the hurt that came with what she saw as at least partial rejection and added, ‘Look, if you need to talk to someone, you know, a pro, I got the number of a very good doc. I was plannin to visit him myself before I met you.’
‘You know, baby, you too good to me.’
‘Quit messin,’ Alice said dismissing her efforts, ‘Just doin what anyone would. You comin to bed?’ she asked suddenly noticing how late it was, standing up and yawning.
‘Nah, in a bit. G’night.’
James hadn’t slept for nearly 48 hours and was thankful for the rough brick wall that dug into his back through his thin shirt preventing him from dropping off without realizing and as he crouched there on the sidewalk he concentrated on putting all his weight against the jagged bricks and mortar. His lack of sleep only added to the effect the stubble, weather and hanging around alleyways had had on his appearance and he now passed for one of the city’s many homeless, which suited him just fine for the time being. This, in fact anything else, was better than the alternative.
Such was his concentration of his current task of not falling asleep he didn’t notice the old woman pushing her battered three-wheeled shopping cart along until she had stopped over him blocking out the dull yellow glow of the streetlight. He slowly raised his head as the woman started gibbering to herself. She didn’t have many teeth left and stank of alcohol among other things but then James guessed he didn’t smell much better.
Suddenly she squatted down in front of him and James stared at the reflection of a dirty disheveled man in the woman’s shades for a long time before he realized it was himself. The woman continued to look directly at him and the intensity of her eyes, which he could sense even through the thick black plastic, was beginning to make him feel uncomfortable when she shifted her position, startling James and making him jump, and cocked her head as if considering something.
He blinked at her slowly, fighting his eyelids back up. The woman reached out a hand, which even through James’ daze looked remarkably clean and smooth, to touch him on his left cheek. Her fingertips were warm and then he felt a strange tingling sensation as images flashed in his head just before the woman snatched her had back letting out a cat’s ‘hissss’ and fell backwards dislodging her glasses.
James was shaken by the memories that had been stirred by the woman’s touch and directed his gaze at the sidewalk beneath him for fear of seeing realization of who he was, what he’d done, in the woman’s eyes. As James cautiously raised his eyes he noticed the shades just in front of him and picked them up carefully.
‘Sorry…’ he began before being brought up short by being face to face with the woman’s empty eye sockets. He couldn’t stop a gasp of shock slipping out but quickly composed himself and offered the woman her glasses back and as she took them she grabbed his hands in hers with an iron grip that no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t shake off.
‘What are you doing!’ he cried followed by ‘Please let go,’ pleadingly as he fell into the dark abysses where the woman’s eyes had been and the images started to flicker to life again.
James saw his father and mother shouting at each other on their return from a K-mart trip, their argument escalating as they dumped the bags of groceries on the kitchen table, his father throwing the bag he was carrying on to the floor with a mighty crash before storming out of the room and later his mother trying to hide her tears from him as she cleared up the mess.
He was in a strange apartment where a woman was washing her glass and hiding a half-full rum bottle just as the front door opened and a man walked in. The man was obviously angry as he began wildly gesticulating and then, without warning, launched a right hook at the woman’s head that felled her like a rock. The man nonchalantly went over to the fridge, got and opened a beer and went to plant himself on the sofa in front of the TV as the woman groggily tried to stem the bleeding and began to gingerly pick herself up from the floor.
More of his mother’s tears on her birthday when pa had surprised her with a romantic weekend trip to the coast, her launching herself at him and showering him with kisses while hanging on his neck while he gave his deep booming laugh and pa eventually having to prize his wife off so he could breath freely again.
A sophomore student on the crest of his prime sat almost in darkness, curtains drawn assembling his weapons rhythmically and systematically before slipping in the clips and strapping them in their various holsters. With a heavy colt gripped in each hand and an unnoticed tear sliding down one cheek he stepped from his room heading towards the dorm communal areas pointing his pistol at the nearest body…
He and his brothers were at the park trying out their new baseball kits as pa played umpire and shouted encouragement to them each in turn as they stepped up to bat and ma and his sister sat on a blanket preparing lunch, soaking up the sun and cheering along.
An old man was sitting with his grandchildren gathered around him, all of them obviously listening intently to his story as he flicked through a scrapbook, eventually coming to a page marked State Penitentiary – Two years, five months, one week, and three days. The children’s eyes widened with shock, horror, denial, admiration and countless more emotions and feelings as he showed them his only photo from that period, his mug shot.
James was looking up at his father, whose cheeks colored crimson with rage, as he retaliated with some smart comeback. He saw the blur of the back of his father’s hand as it sped towards his temple and then everything went black.
James eyes flicked open as the horn sounded his first reaction one of panic as he looked for signs of violence, but thankfully his hands, held out rigidly in front of him, were only covered in the dirt that had built up in the last two days. Then he remembered the woman and stood up looking along the busy street and seeing her weaving through the standing traffic, that didn’t seem to present her with a problem despite her blindness, gave chase.
The woman, now on the opposite side of the road, slipped down an alley and disappeared from view as James, forgetting his previous weariness, skipped between the cars accompanied by beeps and curses as the signal changed to green. By the time James reached the alley it was deserted with no sign of a possible exit. In disbelief he did a quick 360 which revealed only that he was standing there alone as he realized he would never see the woman again to elaborate on what he now suspected. James aimed a kick at a rusty old tin can and, taking a long, deep, calming breath, sent it flying while at the same time screaming, ‘FUCK!’
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serenitylace reviewed Version 1 -
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hmm some really great character development, and each one could be a unique story, however i didn’t get how they all tied together? there was a lot of jumping from one character to the next without tying them well enough together… although keep at it. this was a good piece and with work can be an excellent story!
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groovieknave reviewed Version 1 -
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It’s a very refreshing story, nice ending to it even, I enjoyed it although to make it a little better since for me it was a little hard to read you could try giving a return space between dialogue and paragraphs, although I’m not much of a grammar great myself, I just like the format to be easy to read. That’s just me though.
Overall it was enjoyable, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect and for that alone I like it. Much nicer than that teenage angst that’s plastered all over Urbis. I like the dark humor in it as well. Very well done!
Edaurdo reviewed Version 1 -
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Ovrerall I have to say I like it.I’m interested to see how all these charecter’s come together in this strange violent tale.
Parts of it I found utterly confusing though It just seemed to jump from one situation to another sometimes too quickly and without warning making me get lost and unable to comprehend what was going on. like when you start using you in the office. e.g. he slaps you a bit too close to the genitals for comfort, again. Then it goes into the whole walking through the building but I had no clue why you where describing the events this way . It really baffled me becase everything else is in third person pov. I think with some re work this could possibley be pretty good. Like I said I want to know how these charecter’s come together and what’s going on with the regression sesssion’s, but at the state it’s in right now I just found myself getting way too lost.
bmcquilkin reviewed Version 1 -
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The writing here is not bad, but it is obviously a first draft, and writing a second and third draft would definitely do this piece justice. Some things that stand out that could be improved upon – dialogue. Much of it sounds forced, and ironically, has that soap opera flavor to it. For example, the line: ‘You sure? You always have a Bud after dinner. What’s goin on with you, you feelin sick or somethin?’ There’s no need for the ‘you always have…’. Streamline the dialogue and let the reader use the context to figure out things. I would suggest changing the line to, ‘You sure? Are you feeling all right?’ This tells the reader that it is unusual it is for Alice’s husband not to have a beer after dinner, and without spelling it out in forced and unnecessary dialogue. It reads easier, too.
The dialogue between Mr. Smith and the doctor also sounds forced. I would rewrite it a few times; write it and then read it aloud and see how it sounds. Then rewrite it again. I sometimes rewrite my dialogue a dozen times before I’m happy with it.
The next thing to address is the basic structure of the story and what the story is about. As far as structure, I would recommend bringing each section of the story together more – you need something to bind them together, a string that the reader can follow through each episode. Also, keep the POV consistent – don’t go from third person to first person to third person – it’s not so much confusing as much as it interrupts the narrative and distracts the reader. You want to write so smoothly that the reader doesn’t even notice the writing. Switching POV’s is an act that stands out and screams.
Grammar and sentence structure, especially uses of punctuation, has to be addressed, too. Instead of reviewing each instance, I’ll suggest some reading for you that I found very helpful:
The Elements of Style by Strunk and White – every writer should have this book; read it and reread it and then read it again.
Fiction Writer’s Handbook by Hallie and Whit Burnett
The Art of Fiction by John Gardner
Self-Editing for Fiction Writers by Browne and King
All of these books address the problems you face when rewriting this and will help immensely with structure, dialogue, and grammar.
With all of that said – you have a real talent for writing. You just need help with the basics; once you have those down, you’re going to produce some really good stuff. And this story is good, really good. Your description and imagery are very well written and the insight of human interaction and the minds of your characters are all very good. Read those books, and then keep writing, every day. You have talent and you shouldn’t let it lay idle.
scottlyon2003 reviewed Version 1 -
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Good story, though a bit confusing (which was intentional, obviously). I won’t waste your credits correcting spelling or grammar, but there are a couple phrasing issues you should fix:
“awaking the man” – waking
“by calling in to report the incident and request assistance before rushing up the aisle, suppressing the bile rising in his throat, to the aid of the girl.” – The busdriver is doing too many things in this sentence. Try breaking it up. Same thing with the next sentence – too long and complicated.
“destroy all traces of himself having been there” – Awkward. Maybe change it to “his having been there” or “all traces that he had been there” or just “his presence on this night.”
“His eyes flashed over it” – While I get that “flash” is meant to denote rapid movement, I’ve had it pointed out to me before that a lot of people visualize “his eyes flashed” as denoting a burst of light (I made the same mistake in the past)). Maybe “his gaze darted across the desktop” or something similar.
“awoke with a start” – again, it should be “woke”
“Firstly” – maybe “initially” or “beginning with” but not “firstly”. It sounds awkward.
“I guess it must do” – I don’t know this accent, but if it’s meant to be country/southern, I think you should drop the “do”.
“he realized he would never see the woman again” – This is confusing. If she was a figment of his imagination, it’s entirely possible that he could see her again (though what she could reveal to him, as a figment, is questionable). If she is NOT a figment of his imagination, how does he KNOW he will never see her again. Categorical future predictions tend to make readers (like me) stop and contemplate things like this, which distract from the story. I’d suggest either taking this out or reworking it in such a way that it answers the questions I just posed, so readers like me have nothing to think about except the story.
Overall, the story was good, but you’re right: it needs work. As it transitioned from story to story, I never saw the tension building, so when you reached the conclusion, it was less dramatic. A common theme among the stories appears to be a character who commits violence in his sleep, which is a neat idea. Unfortunately, little things (like the story’s tempo, its structure, your use of dialect in that one section) detract.
Please send me a message or leave a comment explaining what you wanted the story to convey. It might be a little easier to suggest ways to fix the structure and focus your point if I knew what the story was trying to get at. If it was only the idea that someone could commit violence in their sleep because their subconscious has been so innundated with domestic violence all their lives, that’s a cool idea in itself, but maybe you could clarify that’s where you were going. Good work!!!
freelance reviewed Version 1 -
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A very interesting work. I would really like to read more of this, or perhaps some of your other works.
There are, as you mentioned, a couple grammatical errors – run on sentences (The ferocity… and… Curt answers…), but overall nothing too bad.
I like that htis has left me wondering more about the story, since I think that is the purpose of writing like this… to make the reader want to keep reading, or buy the next installment of the series…
Well done, keep it up…
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