Sappy Mood

I tried for death.

I failed and got a smashed up car.

Is it any wonder that I feel I don’t belong.

Still…

What else can I do except try again.

It's just I promised I wouldn't,

Should my word mean my life must continue?

Should I live with honor?

Will it matter in the place where we all end up?

Story Concept - Extremely Rough

The sleepy town of Alexandera is rocked by the sudden suicide of four student in one night. Each, with their own story leading up to their being bumped off.

James - The school bully, 17 years old and completely self-consciousness. He lives at home with his Dad, a drunk, who is abusive (physical and mental) of him. He hides his shame by taking it out on those around him. Yet while he feels the revenge on his father by dominating those weaker than him he hates it as well because bit by bit he can feel those things that made him the happy nice child, leaving him and being replaced by the venom that is his father. His internal rage at himself and the world takes him to he edge and when confronted by his victims it all becomes to much and he simply just…

Stephanie – 15 year old. At the start of the year Stephanie falls in love with a boy at the school. The romance is intense and very physical. While she falls in love for the first time she doesn’t know that the boy she is with (should it be James?) is filming her the every time they have sex. The boy releases the tape onto the Internet and Stephanie is branded as a slut. Her life spirals down due to the shame and humiliation until it just becomes to much…

Vincent – 14 years old. A gay student. While he tries to hid the fact that he is gay it seems that the people around him do. He is picked on and isolated and marginalized simply for who he likes. Vincent him self is still trying to come to grips with the fact that he is gay. His peers are straight and he has learnt from a very young age that being gay is wrong. So while he cant help feeling the way he does he has to end the war raging in his mind all the while being pressured by the outside world to conform, until it all becomes to much….

Simon – 13 years old. The preverbal geek. Small with a bad haircut and glasses. He is usually a happy young child until he begins his first year at high school. At school he can hid in the class and during lunch he has clubs like chess and computer clubs. But it is the ride home that he is tormented on. The ride is about 20 minutes but for him it is pure torture. In the morning waiting for the bus is even worse. Standing at the bus stop with them while they brown beat him and pick on him. He begs his parents to drive him to school and pick him up but cannot really explain why. Soon his parents do become involved and the school tries to intervene but then the other student retaliate and things become so bad that in the end…

This story highlights the bulling culture and the lack of response by the school authorities.  I don’t know if I want to show the actual suicide but I think I should have a last chapter about the aftermath.

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.