The structure is based on the main character. As a junkie, his thoughts and actions are going to be very discombobulated. That is why it gets random. Fleshing out the character descriptions is a good bit of advice I’ll look into. Thank you for the review.
Short Story / Crack rock superstar
Yesterday he sold acid fantasies to the kids at the school yard. It blew their minds. They started dancing to the wind trying to catch snow flakes with their eyes. The Sun was Buddha to them. They kept saying, ”How can nothing give us warmth?”
After the day went down and the high disappeared, they craved for more, but Jimmi wasn’t selling. He just gave out samples for his own amusement.
Jimmi handed her the needle.
“ Would you be a friend
and do the honors if I slip onto death’s door,
‘cause I think I might die again . . .
just so I can . . .
feel the rush
of the adrenaline . . .
Shoot through my heart.”
That was supposed to be the end. Jimmi couldn’t find a purpose in this existence. Every day was a struggle to touch the sky again. Like the first time, Smoking God through a little glass pipe. Feeling Jesus jonzing through his veins. Tasting absolution on his lips as he kissed her. His junkie-muse, She was the acid fantasy he spent all day chasing. Every high fell shorter of her. The more Jimmi consumed the more he thought she wasn’t real, just another bad trip that felt too right with the way she danced through time lingering just long enough to make him follow. She was the constant that kept him going, With every fix, Jimmi became her crack-rock superstar. Every day he woke up living he knew he needed to find her againBut today was a day when everything was flowing to fast to control causing him to become last to know. The last to be told.
He chased his liquid fantasies with Dope dreams. The hazy smoke brought visions, but his memories were the one need he tried to forget. Random event and random encounters with people who were otherwise invisible to everyone else.
“God saved my soul and now I’m worth far more than the devil offered me and in time . . . In time, my kind shall rise above this hell,” Spoke the street preacher “, and I will set those words free. The one’s I bleed prophetically while my thoughts sporadically find new sources to contain. The profane are left to unspoken scriptures. Agnostic Prayers we use only on the darkest days. Cries for salvation from a God they can’t see. But you won’t taste God unless you believe, cause on the day of judgment I will turn my back to you as if I never knew you; if you can’t tell me right now that you believe in what I am sharing. And What I am sharing is salvation. ”
But salvation kept falling to background in favor of a quick release, a chance to step outside of time for a while from the day’s worries.
The feeling of eternity coursing through his soul wasn’t the only thing he pursued. Thoughts of her rushed his mind; His junkie-muse. But she was gone. All she left was a note that read:
“I’m searching for a meaning without the reason. Without dreaming. Cause dreams make me wish for something different. Dreams make me wish for something more. I don’t know, something before or after; just not now.”
It’s just time to change. Time to leave behind the “now” and see what’s in store for me. Its time to move beyond and see what time has for me. I left without telling you cause I need to get better and I know you’d come after me to help and I can’t have that. You can’t have me around ‘cause I’m not good for you. It’s just time to move on like everyone else. Everyone moving away make’s it hard to say that I should stay and keep living the day to day without searching for new ways to grow.
But where will I go, where will I grow, uproot and sow some new earth for me to feed from. New lives to touch and new days to travels. Time has come for me to move on. Maybe we’ll meet again for another ride some time later, until then you stay you, otherwise try and become something new.”
Become something new?
“Who . . . do . . . you . . . think I am?” he asked the note.” All I’ve ever been is myself. All I’ve ever known is how to be uniquely me. Change is the last thing I need.”
“… That Lasting need . . . What I could really use is some existential inebriation. Maybe a drink or five with enough proof to convince me I’m going to be all right.”
So off he went into the night to get spent. He woke up to find himself in a church parking lot with a priest standing over him. “ Looking for a religious fix or just spiritual kicks. Why don’t you come inside and sleep it off?”
“Naw that’s all right . . . I’m cool, thanks for waking me before to cops could though.”
So off into the day he went wandering looking for something or someone to release him from his sorrow.
As he walked through the city, he began mumbling.
“I said tomorrow would be my last but then again tomorrow is never today, today is only a reflection of my yesterday”
He found himself running again, running away from the problems he got himself in. She left and he needed his fix. Her love, her understanding, her touch. She kept him sane. But now he was alone with his troubles and he needed his fix.
Street lights became beacons telling the cops where he was. He started throwing rocks to shut them up and leave him in peace but it all just grew dark and the darker it became the more he felt like his sins were going to come and claim him. Misdeeds that he always thought would be forgiven when he found truth. His truth was always one more hit away. One more high rise shot in the soul opening doors that he could only perceive when he was reaching for that absolution
Hell became heaven through his glazed stare.
Wah-wah voices asking for a hit themselves while waiting for him to leave so they could break out their own stash to consume without him. That feeling was real wasn’t it. This slow buzz like He’s about to fade out into sound waves for everyone around to groove on. She became an ideal, the unattainable fix he needed. Day in and out he tried to erase those days with her.
Whores everywhere he went, he looked for them. Quick meaningless fixes to keep him sane for a couple hours. Some wanted drugs, others money and the few who just needed a little room and board. But to him they were nothing but whores . Because if he thought of them as anything else he felt like he was cheating on her.
Just a passing thought. That’s what death was to him now. Not a release, not an end, or a beginning. Just a thought that came to disturb him about the finality. He never let it go very far because it just meant he would need more distraction to relieve his thoughts . . .
He looked in the mirror and splashed water on his face to clean of the filth. His eyes weren’t blood shot, just tired. He scrapped his front teeth with his finger and then swished water around his mouth and spit it out in the sink.” Time to go for it” he thought.
The sun was shining when he got on the bus. “One last chance to leave,” he thought. , “If not now then never.” Up to now tragedy was all he felt. He knew he wasn’t going to make it. Every glance out the window was to make sure no one was coming for him. That’s why he didn’t tell anyone. He didn’t want to be dragged back down. But it was sunny and for now he was ready to go and find his own road to travel. Life has a way of giving second chances when you start over clean. Hopefully he could.
The driver got on and told the people the rules - no smoking, loud music, or drinking. The driver glanced his way when saying no drinking. The door closed and off they went. He took one last look to his past and thought of his future. As they pulled out, he saw her. She was smiling and laughing. She was holding a boy in her arms about three years old. He thought about how it had been three years since she left and he wondered. He smiled and chuckled to himself. Maybe if he ever came back Jimmi would ask her about it.
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groovieknave reviewed Version 1 -
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Well it reads like a bad trip, yet there is something poetic about it. It’s somehow emotional enough to draw me in, nothing really makes sense in this piece. I can only guess that he’s upset over a girl that left him and he took a bunch of drugs to drown her out.
Grammar problems are all over this, but I won’t bring them up… it’s obvious that this needs a lot of work.
This story jumps from one scene to the next without any transition at all. One minute he’s lying in a church yard, the next he’s looking for hookers I guess.
The ending makes about as much sense as the rest of it. Gibberish.
I’d recommend better details of surroundings, better character development, and re-reading it to yourself to just see how random it sounds. Who is this person? Where is he (that would be nice to know, as I had to guess all the way through the story, and I still don’t know), what did he take? What is he doing besides being on drugs (I also had to guess and I assume he was walking around, but then somehow he was spitting water in a sink), and what is this story about besides drugs and a girl? Is he going to find himself? Forget about the girl? Move on? Die by suicide? Or is he going to constantly travel with a short attention span on drugs until he gets old and dies?
Too many questions to ask the writer of the story, so I’d say it needs a full rewrite with more time spent of planning it out. More detail, more substance… and at least some kind of transition to tell us where he is and what he is doing so we can actually imagine something other than a bunch of weird thoughts that make no sense.
At times your poetic abilities shine in this story, though, so I assume you write more poetry than stories. I will have to have a look at some of your poetry because I get the feeling you write some good poems.
Good luck and keep writing.
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Josephrutledge reviewed Version 1 -
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This is really good stuff man, you made me feel like I was their and the third person POV was well thought out. I would like to hear this from Jimmi’s voice. I think that would be cool to read two variations and it might inspire you to change the POV period.
I want you to know that this is the best dialogue I have read on here:
“ Would you be a friend
and do the honors if I slip onto death’s door,
‘cause I think I might die again . . .
just so I can . . .
feel the rush
of the adrenaline . . .
Shoot through my heart.”
That is good stuff. Kind of reminds me of Garland or Jesse Ball, you should check that stuff out. Good story man, keep them coming.
-Joseph
miamonster reviewed Version 1 -
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Yesterday he sold acid fantasies to the kids at the school yard. It blew their minds. They started dancing to the wind trying to catch snow flakes with their eyes. The Sun was Buddha to them. They kept saying, ”How can nothing give us warmth?”
The first line is intriguing.
I love the entire thing!
Please – do not stop writing.
aquaruischick reviewed Version 1 -
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Inroduce the characters in details. Give us a storyline or background information. You just jumped into this piece and its hard to follow. I was confused and not really very interested with this. It needs editing and structuring.
Re-read this piece out loud to yourself and see what you think. GOod luck and keep on writing.
Psimon reviewed Version 1 -
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The disjointed style of this piece works with its subject matter, which means it’s not a bad thing. However, parts of it seem self indulgent, in that you go off on a tangent that doesn’t have any real bearing on the piece itself.
The best part of your style here is, I think, the imagery. Some of the line breaks, as toward the beginning, make me think that some of the dialogue is in lyric form, but perhaps that’s not the case.
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