Write a personal story but from a different point of view

"Bed five is awake," called Carol. "You want to go get him sorted". I cocked my head to the screaming that had been coming down the hall for the last half hour.

"Not really". I said

"To bad," Carol said shoving his folder in my hands. "He's your's now get him to shut the hell up. He's freaking everyone out." I grabbed the intake bag and headed down the hall.

In the five years I had worked here I had seen people get checked in some pretty sorry states, this one wasn't any different. They had stripped him and placed him in orderly pants. They were covered in piss and his chest in vomit from the charcoal they had poured down his stomach. His raw throat made a pretty terrible sound and yet he still yelled. He strained and pulled at the restraints on the bed. His back arched, his muscle's tensed. Hadn't they sedated him? I checked the file. With the amount of sedatives they had given him he should of been completely zonked, not like this.

"Quit it, your just going to hurt yourself." 

He shut up and stared at me, taking in my entire 6'2" hight.

I pushed the hair out of my eyes, adjusted the glasses and gave him a couple of minutes to get his head sorted.

"Where am I?" The voice that had been trying to pull the building down with its volume was now barely a whisper.

"Somewhere safe, You had a pretty eventful night."

"I don't remember"

"What do you remember"

He looked out the widow to his right as if he wanted to jump out of it. The only thing getting in or out would be the light.

Finally he answered "I don't know. It's all a jumble."

"Don't worry, you'll get it figured out."

He turned back to me. "Why am I strapped down. Can you let me out"

I checked the chart, "sorry no. You took a swing at a nurse in the ER and you tried to stab your wrist with a scalpel. Your on lock down till the Doc gives the okay."

"Please, I just want to get cleaned up."

"Sorry. Can't let you out. Suicide watch."

"I didn't" he spat at me.

I nodded towards his wrist and for the first time he noticed the bandage there. "I told you, you took a scapel to yourself and that doesn't count to amount of pills found in your system."

"I didn't want to die, I just wanted to sleep."

"Yeah well, if they hadn't restarted your heart you would of been in the longest sleep of your life."

I reached into the bag and pulled out the Blood Pressure Monitor. I strapped the device around his arm and pushed the start. While it ran and whirled I grabbed a cloth and went to the sink in the corner of the room. I wiped off his chest and tried as best I could. "Thanks" came his reply.

tbc

Assignment One: Voices 2012

Oscar nudged my knee and I turned my face towards the automatic door. Momentarily cutting off the low sounds of voices and classical music, and replacing them with the din of the traffic outside. My hands gripped tighter to the coffee cup. It's warmth seeped into the palms of my hand. I took a swig. Dutch courage.

            It was her smell that told me she had arrived at the table. The soft hint of cinnamon and lavender mixed together with a million other things that as men, we aren't supposed to know, but to appreciate and comment on. The memories also came back with that smell. A life that had been filled with laughter, with tears, with passionate kisses and equally passionate arguments. Her smiling face, green eyes and mousey brown hair were centre frame in all those memories. It had been our life. It had been a good life, until...

            The scraping of the chair along the hard floor brought me back to the present and Oscar and I ambled to our feet in a sense of chivalry. Her soft little laugh wafted across the table, as if trying to melt the wall I had spent years building around my heart.

            "You were always such a gentlemen"

            "No, but I always tried"

            "Yes, you did."

A waiter came over, his pen scratching along his note pad.

            "Evening ma'am, would you like a drink?"

            "Yes, white wine"

            "Which one would you like?"

            "Just the house Sav will be fine"

A slight tsk, and some more of the scratching sounds

            "Very good, and sir, another for you?"

A shook my head no, but jerked my thumb at Oscar "But he'll have some water." The waiter huffed for a moment and then just moved off.

            I don’t know how I knew, it’s this new trick I have learnt, but I knew those two were taking the measure of each other.

            "Don't worry, he doesn't bite."

            "How did you…" She trailed on in that surprised tone.

            "Because everyone does the same thing," I said to make her feel at ease. Oscar brushed against my leg as he got up and left me. Her chair scrapped again as it turned.

            "He doesn't talk much, but he knows all his manners."

Oscar let out his usual ‘hello’ grunt and I knew they were shaking hands. Once done, I also knew he would leave her and come sit back beside me.

            "And he is your..?"

            "Friend", I said cutting her off, "Boon, life companion. Its just us now."

The conversation, silence stretched out uncomfortably between us.

            "So have you been?" I volunteered

            "I have been good, the gallery is going well since the remodel and the we have been asked to put on a new show. What about yourself?"

            "Travelling mostly, the books are doing quiet well

“Oh yes, I read them, they were quite wonderful. Better even than I remember.

“I have more time on my hands now to get them right, it’s just writing and touring.

“Touring?

“Promoting my books. I’m told if I do the tour the gimmick of all this helps the sales."

            Her words came out quick and sharp "You are not a gimmick"

Her hand reached out and touched mine. Our first contact in three years and it was like the first time she had touched me all over again. Slow moving electricity flowed up my arm, hairs standing straight up marking her progress. Before it could reach my chest and I jerked my hand back.

            The silence descended on us again. Her finger’s began tapping away on the table in time with the music. An old nervous habit.

            It was her that cracked first this time, "How come you are here, instead of  your place in Newmarket?"

            "I sold it. I spent a year in that place recovering, learning how to live again. I don't want to go back." I couldn't keep the hostility out of my voice.

            "I'm sorry.” Her voice softened, “I tired to visit but I just couldn't..." her voice trailed off.

            "What? You couldn't be with someone like me?" gesturing to my face.

            The soft clink of glass on table brought me back to where I was. Oscar started drinking right away from his water. I quietened but the wall was gone. A quiet anger filled me. I knew this would happen. I should never of agreed to see here again.

            "You weren't the only one to be hurt in that accident you know. It affected all of us." her voice was soft, barely loud enough to be heard.

            "Oh yes, it hurt all of you but I am the only one that has to live permanently with its scars." My hands gripped the edge of the table.

            "I didn't come here for a pity party." She stood and there was more scraping of that damned chair.

            I let out the breath I had been holding. "Sit, please. I'm sorry. It's just being back here has rekindled a lot of the old memories and anger, and I am sorry."

            She sat; I didn't speak as I tried to order my thoughts again. I found my coffee cup and took another swig. The clink of glass let me know she had been doing the same as well.

            "I'm in therapy. I'm trying to deal with it, but it's hard. I know that accident hurt other people but I can't help feeling like I got most of the pain of it. It ruined my life. It ruined us."

            "The accident didn't ruin us, you did.” Her words crashed against me, and the defences shattered like glass. “You were so angry about what had happened, so angry about what you lost that you just angry with everyone. You were in so much pain, but you wouldn't allow anyone near you, to help you. You pushed us away. I didn't leave you because of the crash. I left, because of what you let it turn you into."

            I bowed my head into my hands and for the first time allowed the tears to flow.

            " I know it was my fault, the accident and then afterwards."

            She was by my side. She lifted my glasses and looked into my scared face. Her hands moved over tracing each line and wiping away the tears and this time I didn't recoil from her touch. Instead I reached out and touched her back. The soft smooth velvet skin took me back to nights spent in each other’s arms. I couldn't help but follow the usual curve of her face and down to that long slender neck. I couldn't stop the sensations all came back. Her arms held in tight, palms on either side of my face. My hands on her shoulders slipping down her back till our lips met and the whole world stopped. Her we were again. In our same, old, wonderful positions. I pulled her forward, tiled he head slightly and stopped when I felt the baby in her belly give a tiny kick.

            Slowly I eased back. The walls slowly slipping back into place.

            "Your pregnant"

            "Yeah" She herself pulled back, and I felt when she stopped touching me. We stood.           

            "Congratulations," I stopped talking for a moment, "but wine?"

            "A single glass isn't bad, and it's the first I've had since I found out about him seven months ago. I just needed the courage to see you again."

            A little laugh escaped me, "him? A boy? Whose the father?"

            "A good man, someone I care for deeply."

            A hint of regret entered my voice "You once said that I was the love of your life."

            I could hear the sadness in her voice. "You still are, but you aren't the one I get to spend my life with. Besides you now have Oscar." Oscar grunted as if to acknowledge that statement.

            She touched my shoulder and her lips brushed my cheek. "I have to go now, we should do this again sometime"

            "Absolutely" I said knowing I would never see her again.

            "Goodbye Steven." she said and I could hear the finality in her voice.

            "Goodbye."

She began walking off and for the first time I heard the distinct click of her high heels.

            "Grace," I called after her, the clicking stopped. "For what it worth, that year, losing you, is one of the biggest regrets of my life. I sorry. I am so sorry."

            I never looked back at her and no one told me what she did. All I heard was her walking again and then the sound of cars and she was out of my life. I reached back to the table and grabbed Oscars leash. I unfolded my cane and tapped my way out of the hotel bar and towards the elevators. 

Voice Class (23 March)

Exercise One: Exterior to character.

Move from limited perspective to a subjective point of view. Write in third person.

This is my attempt:

Steam rose from the untouched drink in front of her. She sat idly holding the little saucer. Her clutch resting on the table. Perfectly matching the ivory dress with the black belt she wore. The chipped white metal table sat atop of worn flagstones outside the Parisian coffee shop. It’s little patio hedged in by lush green bushes housed in clay colored pots, separating her from the foot traffic on the other side. Their continuous patter broke up the hum of the traffic on the road.

The taxi, rounded on top in the style of the English cabs with the usual checked mark on its side, pulled up onto the curb and backfired loudly. The sudden roar left a silence hanging in the air until the previous noise decided to come back and reclaim its place.

He stepped out of the taxi, his white cotton shirt tucked into the blue jeans with the brown belt and cowboy boots, and stared at his waiting companion. Her hands digging through that little bag pulling out one of those damned cigarettes. Sighing to himself he made his way over to her.

“Those things are just horrid” came her voice, shaking on every word. “Did it have to do that?”

He looked at her and a note of contempt entered his voice “Yes. When I called up for a taxi I specifically asked for the one that could backfire on queue, just because I knew what it would do to you”

He saw her eyes tighten and tension enter her jaw. “There is no need to take that tone. You know how I am these days, all because of you.

“True, but how many times do I need to apologies for all of that?”

She placed the cigarette between her lips, yellow stains of the nicotine showed through the once white teeth. She ignored him and allowed the question to suspend itself in the air, delaying her answer while she looked for matches.

Carefully he reached across to her, a silver lighter in his hand. With a daft flick, the lid opened and a flame ignited. Their eyes met and slowly he watched her face relax as she leaned in taking that first drag off the cigarette that he knew always relaxed her nerves. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad rendezvous.

Voice Class (16 March)

Exercise Two: Unreliable Narrator

- The first unreliable narrator is a narrator with limited knowledge, As in a small child or someone with limited knowledge (handicapped)

- The second unreliable narrator is a narrator that is lying, that makes no promise that what they are telling is the truth. More telling the story as they remember instead of what actually happened. (The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon, Lady Gaga’s Marry the Night)

- The third unreliable narrator is Sherlock Holmes character Watson.

To do:

Create a vernacular voice. Make them unreliable (naive, limited understanding. Lying) Create a plot, Conflict.

A lying character

Committed a crime

Notorious crime

Not there fault

Explaining why it isn’t there fault

This is my attempt:

I don’t care if you don’t believe me, quite honestly I couldn’t give a fuck. But if they are going to tell lies about me, then I think its only fair I get to tell my story. Sure, why would you believe me? The papers have already marked me down as a cold-blooded murderer. It’s written in ink so it must be true. Its all bullshit. I promise there were reasons. For each and every one of them I killed they were reasons. My lawyer claimed I was mentally disturbed, wouldn’t even let me testify, the prick. I’m not. Not at all. I had reasons and soon you will see. I know most will just dismiss this as a madman’s ramble. But those whose eyes are open you will read this for what it truly is and complete my work. There was a purpose and soon you will understand. I will make some of you understand that I had my reasons. That I am a hero, and not the monster you scary your sons and daughters with. Soon you will come to thank me.

Voice Class (16 March)

Exercise One: Take seven objects from someone else and create your own story.

· Dark Room

· Computer

· Skinny Girl

· Open doors

· Music playing

· Spill on the floor

· Perfume

This is my story.

Whump, whump, whump. The bass sounds mixed in with keyboard and the strings of guitar. I closed my eyes; letting the wash of the music roll over me, engulf me. It’s rhythmic pounding pulling me closer and closer into the room. One step. Another. Soon my body swayed and I began to sashay forward.

I don’t know when I opened my eyes but the darkness stayed with me. Not replaced by light only by a smell of night blooming jasmine. Turning my head I sniffed the air. Weaker that way. I rotated my body heading to the other side of the room. Music called out to me. Stronger with the perfume smell. All wrapped in darkness. Pointy soft foam cushioned my face as I walked into the sound proof wall. I laid my hands out feeling its ridges and slowly extending them either side till I found the wooden frame of the open door. The hall on the other side stretched out to the other side of the building. Soft glow came from the doorway at the end. Lightened, if only just, I trotted forward along the linoleum floor.

My footsteps coming down in time with the music. Closer I came, Closer I was pulled onwards. Right up until my foot came down and instead of staying where I put it, slipped out from under me, sending my sliding forward the rest of the way.

She turned towards me. Her skinny frame haloed by the glow of the computer behind her. Light captured her frame. The sounds of her newly composed piece of music still sampling behind. I could see quite clearly she was laughing and there was nothing I could do but join her.

Voices Class (9 March)

Exercise Two: Think of five objects and use them as motif.

- Create a first person narrative
- 5 Objects
- These objects in a room
- Do these objects belong to the character or does the character need to work out what the objects are.
- Sensory Image
- Monologue / Vernacular
- Motif


Below is what I wrote:

The metal L shaped handle felt cold in my touch as I stood before the grey metal locker. My heart pounded in my chest and I needed a moment to steady my breathing. Slowly, turning the handle, its stiffness taking a moment to give under my gentle pulling did the door finally pop open and swing with a smooth motion under my grasp. Darkness filled the inner space and I couldn't see anything in the void that lay beyond.

I turned to look back around the room. Rows and rows of similar lockers filled each of the structured lines with benches laying in between giving off rows and rows of uniformity. Hanging lights evenly spaced glared down into my eyes and I noticed the one closest to me hung right above my head.

I moved back placing the cardboard box down on the wooden bench behind and allowing light to seep into the darkness. Its contents illuminated I reached into its contents emerging with the worn leather jacket. He wore this nearly every day. I pulled the leather up and took a deep breath of his sent filling my body with him. Tears began to fall but I wiped them away as I placed the jacket next to the box.

Carefully I reached in again, this time a worn wooden frame came out, placed inside was a photo of us taken the night we met under that stupid picture of red forest in our long forgotten bar. The warmth of the wood felt comfortable in my hand, reminding me of his touch sliding over my fingers. I had to let go and give it rest in the waiting box.

The smiley badge sat on the top shelf. It smooth surface felt cold in my fingers till I felt the sharp jab. He never did close the pin unless he was putting it on, and he never went on duty with out it. So why was it here? I shook my head, a question for another time.

The rest I picked and placed in the box. Each item pulling another tear from me, reminding me of our life together that had been cut short.

Finally empty, making one final sweep of the content I found the letter tucked in back. Sealed and unopened. Addressed to me. Yellow from age but definitely with his poor penmanship on the cover. My fingers trembled as I touched it. Slowly reaching up, the ripping on the paper tearing at my insides. Hands shacking I pulled the paper out, unfolding it till I stared at the writing

"My love if you are reading this then it means that I have died." Words that shook me, collapsing my legs and pulling me against those grey vacant lockers.

Voices Class (9 March)

Exercise One: Tone

You first task was Tone. We were asked to take a single passage you have written and change the tone of the passage without changing to much of the story itself. We were asked to look at, Joy, Conflict, Sadness. Below is what I wrote;

JOY

The dot on the horizon took shape as I got used to the bouncing going on around me. The further we had come the higher we seemed to go up. My hands gripped the sun warmed wire rail holding on to the boats steady rhythm. Sunlight filtered down bringing in the details of the dock to me. Giggles of children running the deck to see the best view of the oncoming land, there fingers pointing out the distant mountains with city lights at its base, each talking as loud as they could with what they intended to do once we got back home. The closer we got the more animated their voices became, until several adult began herding them downstairs to the waiting vehicles.

Unable to take my eyes away from the now near wharf I stayed fixed where I was. The ferries bouncing slowed to at fast hum as we pulled in and bumped against the wood. From my vantage point I could see them waiting for me and no sooner had I seen there hands pumping in waves did I return the gesture and race down to the gang plank. Feet pounding in time with the humming I raced across as fast as I could make it and into the waiting arms.

"Papa" they said as they hugged me close "We missed you."

"I missed you to biscuit" I said as I scooped my daughter up into my arms and hugged her close.

SADNESS

The dot on the horizon took shape, as the bouncing going on around me got worse. The further we had come the higher we seemed to go up. My hands gripped the wire rail desperately wishing for a steady rhythm. Sunlight filtered down through the oncoming clouds hiding the details of the dock to me. Noise from nearby children running on the deck fighting to see the best view of the oncoming land, their fingers pointing out the distant mountains with dull city lights at its base, each talking adding to the noise of the boat and the pounding in my chest. The closer we got the more animated their voices became, until finally several adult began herding them downstairs to the waiting vehicles.

Unable to take my eyes away from the now near wharf I stayed frozen where I was. The ferries bouncing slowed to at fast hum as we pulled in and collided against the wood. From my vantage point I could see them waiting for me and no sooner had I seen there, their upturned faces looking at me did I race down to the gang plank. Feet pounding in time with the humming I raced across as fast as I could make it and into the waiting arms.

"Papa" they said as she hugged me close, Her red eyes and tear streaked face buried itself in my shoulder "We missed you."

"I missed you to biscuit" I said as I scooped my daughter up into my arms and hugged her close. With her in my arms I let myself cry for my Newly deceased wife.

CONFLICT

The dot on the horizon took shape as the bouncing going on around me got worse. The waves never giving the boat a chance to find its steady rhythm. My hands gripped the wire rail as it splinter dug itself into my palm. Sunlight fought itself down through the oncoming clouds bringing in the details of the dock to me. Noise from nearby children running on the deck, fighting to see the best view of the oncoming land, Their bodies pushing each other aside while pointing out the distant mountains with city lights at its base, each talking as loud as they could Out doing each other about who would have the best time in the city. The closer we got the more louder their voices became, until finally several adult, told them to be quiet and get down stairs to the buses.

Unable to take my eyes away from the now near wharf I stayed rigid where I was. The ferries bouncing finally slowed to at fast hum as we pulled in and collided against the wood. From my vantage point I could see them waiting for me and no sooner had I seen there, their upturned faces looking at me did I bother to head downstairs to the gang plank awaiting for me. Feet tripping on themselves, I could made my way across To stand next to them.

"Papa" She said as she looked up at me, Her eyes quickly went downcast and back to the uneven wood "I'm sorry."

"We'll talk about it when we get home" I said as I as I made my way to the car, my teenage daughter trailing behind.