I'm not sure whether or not this is totally finished... if you were to criticize it more than go "omg, u rock at writing," it'd be cool (I already know I rock at writing, I want to know what needs improvement..) but I guess a little ego boosting never hurt either.

The one thing I really hate about it is the first paragraph, which is clumsy and needs to be re-worded, so if you have suggestions there, go for it.

anyway, uh, if you don't like swear words and/or lesbians you shouldn't read. There you go.


UPDATE: If you haven't read this before, skip down to here (http://forums.ffshrine.org/showthread.php?s=&postid=202879#post202879) for the updated, finished version... what I originally posted here has been improved upon.


<font size=5>Blowing Smoke</font>

The kids referred to the abandoned air strip about three miles north of CVA High as �The Strip.� It was an uninspired name, but there was nothing better to call it anyway; sometimes, you just can�t give something an inspired name. Sometimes things serve a use that in itself is not inspired, and although they loved the races they held there every day, loved them and paid no heed to the adults who forbade it, none of the kids ever could convince his or her self that they were not carnal, primitive, and ultimately self-destructive; they required no more thought than the basic instincts of the teenage mind, which was what the CVA High scene revolved around.

The kids there were, for lack of a better word, cool. They were the coolest. Kids from schools all over the region came by The Strip to hang at the CVA scene.

Today was no different. Engines were about to roar.



Angie was a consistent smoker. She smoked two cigarettes every day�one when she first arrived at The Strip after school, and one right before she got onto her scooter and headed home. She liked smoking, but she did not like spending inordinate amounts of money on things she didn�t need, and she didn�t like the idea of having shitty breath and ugly teeth, either. So it was two every day. And she always chewed some gum afterwards and brushed her teeth at least twice a day, often thrice, and always did an extremely thorough job of it.

Today, she was wearing a cut-off sleeveless shirt and ripped up blue jeans, despite the chilly temperature. Angie always loved cold and she almost never dressed warmly. Her face was slender but full and smooth, with a pea-pod shaped and sized mouth and a nose that was set comfortably between large and small. Her eyes were moon gray and her hair was brown but dyed blonde. It gently hugged her head, just barely clasping it around the bottom of her jaw, giving the impression that her face gazed at you from a throne. She was leaning against Kelly�s shoulder, sitting on the top of the makeshift bleachers that sat by the side of The Strip, and Kelly was trying to write poetry.

�What the fuck rhymes with �auburn?�� asked Kelly.

�I don�t know,� Angie replied. �For God�s sake, get a fucking rhyming dictionary.�

And so on.

The motorcycles were pulling up to the starting line. Sometimes, it was motorcycles; other times, it was cars. Today, it was motorcycles.

As soon as the bikes were up at the line, the kids started cheering.

�Get �em, Shazaki!�

�Kill that fucker!�

�I love you, Terry!�

Shazaki Lee was the only Asian kid who attended CVA High, and he was one of the coolest. His real first name was Kanta, but he didn�t like it, and had told everyone to refer to him as Shazaki. His leather jacket had the image of a phoenix embroidered on the back, and he was tall, slim, powerful, and aerodynamic. His presence exuded confident comprehension and elicited fear.

Terry Cole, on the other hand, was completely American, right down to the flags on the side of his bike and helmet. He was brightly blonde, stern, fearless, craving attention, and his leather jacket was wide open, the T shirt underneath proudly proclaiming �RAMONES� in big block letters. The engines revved, the kids screamed; Angie�s gaze was locked on the opposing bikes, Kelly�s questions and comments miles away from her ears. The roar seemed to grow louder.

Ten minutes before the beginning of the race, several important dialogues occurred.


* * *


Kelly sat down in his traditional seat on the top of the bleachers next to Angie. He was young, constantly grinning, and full of idealistic energy; he also hated that his parents had given him a name so feminine, but was forced to accept it and try to make the best of it, usually failing spectacularly. His hair was blonde and he wore thick glasses, a direct result of his reading habits; but he had an understanding of people and style, and was always accompanied by a leather bomber jacket and dark blue jeans.

�Who�s racing today?� asked Kelly when he had settled into his seat.

�Shazaki and Terry,� she replied.

�Really?�

�Yup.�

�Wow. That�s crazy. They�ve been talking about doing it for months now.�

�Yeah, I know.� Angie absently puffed on the remains of her cigarette.

�So did you want to go see a movie tonight or what?� Kelly asked. �I�m sorry to keep asking, but I have to know what I�m doing so I can square things up with my parents.�

�Yeah� I don�t know. I�ll tell you by the end of the race.�

�Okay.� Kelly pulled out his pad and pencil, and started to tap the paper with the eraser. Angie didn�t look at him; she only stared at The Strip.

Cory came running up behind them, climbed up the back of the bleachers, and plopped down next to Angie. Cory was large and stupid. He was also the only self-proclaimed dendrophiliac in the history of CVA High. Somehow, everyone believed this was due to his name being �Cory.� In order to be named Cory, they reasoned, one must be a large, stupid dendrophiliac.

�You�re not going to believe who�s racing!� he said in a hushed whisper, as though he were on a clandestine mission to report the news.

�I know who it is already,� said Angie. �I know it�s crazy.�

�It�s the fucking match of the century is what it is, fucker,� said Cory. �I mean, it�s fucking� it�s the fucking match of the century!�

�Why, gee, thanks, Cory.�

�Yeah, fuck you!� Cory ran off to find someone else to tell. Angie worried that he always spoke to her. Cory was not good with people, and she felt that he picked the ones he had reason to be comfortable around.

�Dick,� she said. Kelly kept tapping his paper with his pencil.

Johnny came stomping up the bleachers, ushered in by a large crowd of kids; they were the �second wave� of arrivals, according to Kelly�s theory of how the kids showed up at The Strip. Johnny was 100% greaser, even more so than most of the kids at the scene; his hair was slicked, his jacket was worn out and personal, and he wore nothing but slightly dirty white T shirts and old, but only slightly ripped blue jeans. His hair was bright red.

�What�s up?� Johnny sat down next to Angie right where Cory had been. �So I was thinking I�d race whoever the winner is. You know, continue the saga.�

�Nobody�s interested,� Angie replied.

�What the fuck is that, nobody�s interested?� asked Johnny, aiming it in the direction of two attractive girls who�d sat down in front of him. He was, of course, ignored.

�How�s the bakery, Johnny?� asked Kelly.

�Shut the fuck up, how�s the bakery,� Johnny retorted. �Fucking faggot. What the fuck you with that fucking faggot for, Ange?�

�Oh, fuck you,� Angie groaned.

�Hey, come on underneath the bleachers if you feel like giving a real man a try,� said Johnny, and he leapt down to the ground.

�Go play hopscotch on a mine field!� Kelly shouted after him, and then turned back to his pad. �Dick.�

�You think everybody�s a dick,� Angie complained.

Kelly started. �What? Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with you today? You think everyone is a dick.�

�Well at least I don�t think I�m better than everyone else.�

�Oh, fuck, seriously, what happened? You�re in one of those moods again.�

�I don�t know. Sorry.�

Nothing was said for a little while. Angie finished her cigarette, dropped the butt on the bleachers and crushed it with her foot. That was one for the day.



Johnny, having been rejected, proceeded to the other side of The Strip where Mae was hanging out. Mae�s real name wasn�t Mae, but nobody at the scene knew what it was; she told them to call her Mae, and that was it. She�d never tell anyone about her Christian name or even why �Mae.� Another odd thing about Mae was that she never changed out of her school uniform. She had several sets and they were all she ever wore. Her short hair was dyed blue and her face was humble, simple, and pretty, but her eyes were sharp and proud, and recited volumes of threats and tragedy to anyone bold enough to meet them. She was a senior, but small and thin as the average sophomore; in fact, she looked like she had never even hit puberty. And yet she exuded adulthood.

Mae always stood leaning against a tall pole by the side of The Strip, usually smoking a cigarette and chewing bubble gum at the same time; both of these were compulsive habits for her and she was rarely seen doing one without the other�and she was never seen doing neither one.

Nobody was sure what the pole she leaned on had been used for back when The Strip was an air base, either. It was about three times the height of Shazaki Lee, made of metal, and looked as though whatever had been atop it was broken off now.

As always, Mae�s dark red scooter was parked right next to her. It was a perfect photograph, Johnny always thought: her leaning on the pole by her solemn scooter, a cigarette lazily cradled between her jaws. But he never took the picture because he didn�t want to let everyone at the scene know that he was interested in photography, as it was hardly becoming of a young and headstrong greaser.

�Fucksup, Mae?� he asked, sitting down on the grass directly in front of her. �Fucksup� was one of Johnny�s favorite ways to greet people, but he never used it on girls whose pants he was hoping to get into. Mae was a lesbian.

�Fucknotmuch,� Mae replied.

�So the legendary showdown between Shazaki Lee and Terry Cole is even amazing enough for you to come out, huh?� Johnny chided. �This is a fucking great day for all of us.�

�If you�re being sarcastic with me, you can just shut the fuck up, assbasket.� It was said through a smile, but Johnny was so used to her bantering that he didn�t even need to see it.

Johnny smiled. �So what�s new, toots? I haven�t seen you around in fucking days.�

�Just the usual. Corrupting the youth of American and other such typical Mae pursuits. I�m terribly bored, to tell you the truth.� She took a long drag on her cigarette.

Johnny laughed. �I can�t believe you talk like that.�

�Talk like what?� Mae asked, removing the cigarette from her mouth, almost sounding genuinely offended. Almost.

�Saying shit like �terribly.��

�I don�t see why it�s surprising. Some people have a little culture in them.�

�Hey, whatever, I don�t give a shit.�

�What about you, toots?� asked Mae. �Anything going on?�

�Not really. I want to get with that Angie chick. But she�s fucking some loser, and she won�t go for me. It�s really depressing.�

�It�s because no women will go for you, Johnny,� said Mae.

�What the fuck is that, no women will go for me? Fuck you.�

Mae shrugged. �You�re free to continue your delusions.�

�She�s just a tough one, that�s all,� said Johnny. �Just gonna take some work. It�ll be a nice change of pace, someone to keep me on my toes for once, you know? You got a spare cigarette?�

Mae pulled a cigarette out of her pocket and tossed it to him. He missed the catch. �She�s probably not that tough,� Mae mused. �I bet I could get in her pants.�

Johnny burst out laughing. �Fuckin� A. I�d like to see that. You couldn�t do it, though. She�s totally straight.�

Mae smiled. �Oh, believe me, I know how to pick them.�

Johnny shrugged. �Well, whatever,� he said. �I mean It�d be hot, but I don�t think you know what you�re talking about. You got a light?� Mae lit his cigarette.

At that time, Cory came running over to them.

�Why, it�s the dendrophiliac!� Mae exclaimed. �Please join us.�

�Oh, not that faggot,� Johnny groaned audibly.

�You guys know who�s racing today?!� Cory asked excitedly.

�Trees don�t have genders, honey,� Mae said to Johnny.

�What the fuck are you on about now, trees don�t have genders?� Johnny asked, truly baffled. He didn�t even know what a dendrophiliac was, so he had always assumed it was a faggot.

�Never mind, sweetheart, you wouldn�t understand,� Mae said.

�Hey, did you guys know who�s racing today?� Cory repeated. He understood even less of what was happening than Johnny, so he had decided to start over again.

�Yeah, we did, cumwad. Go inhale cum,� Johnny hissed.

�Fuck you!� Cory shouted, and he turned around and headed off.

�You�re such a pugilist, Johnny,� Mae said. �There�s no need for it, frankly.�

Johnny just laughed. �You say the fucking damnedest things, you hairy cunt,� he said.


* * *


And so it was that the engines began to rev, the kids began to shout, and the contest was on. Shazaki and Terry exchanged one quick glance, in which was summarized their entire history, the broken friendship, the rivalry, the girls they�d fought for, the humiliating defeats and the triumphant victories; and then they soared down The Strip, seemingly in a single moment; they were all silver and spinning rubber, powered more by the cheers of the exhilarated crowds than by the gasoline in their fuel tanks.

This was what the kids of the CVA High scene lived for�to experience speed, to see power pass them by at pounding velocity, to scream and to jump and to let go completely, to become a small part of an enormous, pulsating life form that feasted on adrenaline. Everything they did was to this end�the long days of school they forced themselves to live through, the cat and mouse games they played with their parents, the nicotine and alcohol with which they kept their bodies functioning�and it was never worth it until they were there, and when it was over everything was back to the eternity between races.

On that day, there was too much power, too much speed, and too much adrenaline. The competition was fiercer than anyone, even its participants, had ever imagined; in one second, they were racing, and in the next, something had happened and they were on the pavement. Gleaming metal skidded on concrete. Leather was torn. Then skin. There were no helmets, and consequently, when the catastrophe had subsided, there were no heads. The Strip was bathed in bloody silence.


* * *


Angie was certain that all of the kids would be guilty in the eyes of the school and the community. They had retreated, most of them, and most of them would deny having been there, but the fact was that everyone knew about the games they played. They had been warned against it many times, forbade from taking part many more, but it had always gone on. Angie knew they were all guilty simply by having been there, but there was no real guilt in her.

Kelly�s silence disturbed her, because he was too genuinely distressed. They were sitting in the woods near The Strip, in a little crevice, a place they had always called their �spot.� They went there sometimes when they were most in love, but more often when they were most out of it, and it always reminded them how they really felt.

�You don�t need to not talk,� Angie said.

�I�m sorry. I wish I had more to say.�

Angie said nothing, so he continued. �I feel stupid, like I�m just being how you�re supposed to be when you see someone die just because it�s how you�re supposed to be. I want to stop, and be how I would be when someone dies, but I guess how you�re supposed to be is how I�d be. It�s shit, but it�s true. I�m sorry.� He was tapping at his paper with his pencil. Angie hated the tapping.

�I�ve got to go,� she said, and she stood up and climbed out of the crevice.

�Why?� Kelly asked.

�I just don�t feel right.� She started walking off.

�Okay,� Kelly said, and he tried to snuggle into the walls of the crevice. It was okay with him, because he loved her and above all he trusted her. There was only one small thing that disturbed him�she�d smoked three cigarettes since the accident, and was working on her fourth as she departed.



As Angie walked through the woods back toward The Strip, she puffed greedily on her cigarette. She could not help herself, and she felt that it was not a reaction to the death she�d witnessed, but that didn�t make sense, because she�d started right after it. Whatever the cause, she was more in love with the feeling of the smoke entering her lungs every minute.

Then, she noticed Mae standing against a tree, puffing on a cigarette and chewing bubble gum at the same time. She walked over.

�What the hell are you doing out here?� she asked.

�What the hell are you doing out here?� Mae repeated.

�I asked first.�

�I asked better.�

Angie shrugged. �I came out here with Kelly.�

Mae nodded. �You two are a great couple. Something tragic happens and you go off to be alone together. I respect that. I bet you even have a special place out here.� There was truly no sarcasm in her voice, and it was this that infuriated Angie.

�Sure.� She walked on.

�What do you think about it? Shazaki and Terry were a huge part of this social circle. Do you think things are going to be different?�

�Things already are different,� Angie replied, still walking away.

Mae nodded, even though Angie couldn�t see her anymore.



Johnny�s bike pulled up outside his family�s home�which doubled as their bakery�and he leapt off the seat and walked slowly inside. His heart was pounding, but on the outside he was cool. It could have been him. He raced sometimes. But it wasn�t him. But it could have been. But it never would be, because he knew what he was doing. But so did Shazaki and Terry. They were the best. The best and the coolest in the school. But now he had seen their mistake and would be able to avoid it. History only repeats itself if you don�t know what history is to begin with.

But his heart was still pounding.

�Honey, it�s your day to wash the windows,� his mom called, hearing him come in. She knew when it was him, even though his brothers weren�t home yet.

He went up to his room and slammed the door. Then he lay down on his bed and thought for a few moments. He needed to get his mind off the accident, make himself calm down. Once he stopped thinking about it, he could think about it again and it wouldn�t bother him, and he�d be able to feel confident in his strength and power again. He got up and pulled out a Teen Idols album, stuck it in his stereo, and hit play. The music began, and he took off his jacket and his shoes and his socks and lay down on his bed again, letting the vocals absorb him. He had a poster of the band on his wall right above his bed, and he stared at it, losing himself in the powerful pouting face of Heather, their bassist. The vocals she added to the songs that permeated his room were as beautiful as she was. She had attitude and it made her everything. He unbuttoned his pants and went at it.

When he was done, and his breathing slowed again, he felt happy and content. He was strong and powerful, and he got up and headed back downstairs.

�When are you going to wash the windows, honey?� his mom called. She could always tell when it was him coming down the stairs, even though his brothers had come home and gone upstairs while he had been masturbating. He hurried out the door and hopped onto his bike.



Feeling the wind in his hair enhanced Johnny�s new mood. Adrenaline had taken the place of blood, and it was going heavily to his brain. He knew exactly what he was going to do. He turned down 2nd street and gunned it; he was feeling better every moment. Finally he came upon the liquor store and turned right into the parking lot.

Good Times Liquor was a shitty little joint that a lot of the kids went to because it was easy to be 21 there; the caretaker, Ron, usually didn�t bother to card, and if he did, even the simplest of fakes were acceptable to him. He never seemed to think about whether or not his patrons looked 21, either, unless they looked young enough to be freshmen or sophomores. Because of this, he got quite a bit of business.

Johnny parked quickly, leapt off his bike and strode into the store.

�Yo,� said Ron, not looking up.

�Yo,� said Johnny. He walked around for a while, examining the various wines. They all looked great, and he really had no idea how to tell the difference. Then he heard the door swing open, turned around, and in walked Mae. She greeted Ron, and noticed Johnny immediately afterward and approached him.

�Hey, fucksup?� asked Johnny.

�Fucknothing, just want something to get smashed with tonight.�

�Yeah, you were bothered by what went down at The Strip?�

�No, not really. I thought it was hilarious, to tell you the truth. I actually burst out laughing.�

�Yeah, that was pretty much it for me, too,� Johnny agreed. �Those fuckin� losers used to act all high and mighty all the time. They probably assfucked each other all the time when nobody was looking.�

�Well, that�s lovely. But I do need to get going.�

�Okay,� said Johnny. �Just so you know, I�m going to rob this place.�

�Oh, yes?� asked Mae. �Well, in that case I suppose I�d better get out of here so there aren�t any witnesses. Good luck.�

�Thanks.�

Mae picked up a glass of Chardonnay and headed up to the counter. Johnny watched with interest as she handed Ron some money, he smiled and nodded, and she walked out the door. Time to go for it. He picked up a bottle of the same Chardonnay Mae had picked and started heading up front. He felt confident�even confident about having told Mae, because he knew he could trust her. If there was anyone in the world he could trust, it was Mae; he had a kinship with her that he never understood, not until the moment he died and not even then.

He placed the Chardonnay firmly on the counter and waited. �Can I see some ID, man?� Ron asked.

�Yeah, sure,� Johnny said casually, reaching into his jacket pocket and fishing around. �Shit, I might have left it in my other jacket�� He fished around some more as Ron tapped on the counter impatiently. Reveling in what he perceived as his own cleverness, Johnny switched to his other pocket and fished around in there. He flashed Ron a sheepish grin.

�No ID, no booze,� Ron said, growing irritated. �The cops are cracking down on me.�

�Well, shit,� Johnny muttered, still feigning a desperate search. �I don�t know what the hell� oh! Here it is.� And then he pulled out his gun, which he had named Aram long ago and had never fired at a living thing. �How�s this for a fucking ID, ya fucking faggot? Now open the register and empty it in a bag and set it on the counter nice and easy. And don�t touch any kind of alarm shit you�ve got, either, fucker. I know how you guys work.�

Ron stared at the gun for two seconds and then nodded. �Okay,� he said. �Just don�t shoot me.� He turned to his register and hit a few buttons. �It takes two minutes for the register to open,� he said. �There�s nothing I can do to bypass it.�

�We�ll wait,� Johnny said, �but close the shutters and lock the door.�

�Okay,� said Ron. He got up, locked the door, and closed the shutters, Aram trained on him the whole time. Then he sat back down in front of the register.

�Should be just a minute or so now,� Ron said.

�I can wait.�

And he did wait�but in that one minute he relaxed a little.

Ding! went the cash register.

Bang! went the gun that Ron had pulled out from under the counter in the same second.



Aram dropped out of Johnny�s hand, and he looked down at his stomach. His bright white shirt was covered in an enormous bloodstain, and his vision was already beginning to fail. He collapsed onto the floor, and the ceiling lights started getting steadily brighter. Ron was saying something, very very vaguely, but Johnny couldn�t make it out; all he could really hear was Mae, quietly telling him how easy she thought it would be for her to get into Angie�s pants. Then his vision faded into an image of her paying for the Chardonnay and leaving the store, playing back several times before fading into blackness; then all that was left was the pounding of his heart, and then even that was gone.

* * *

Late that night, Angie sat on the corner of the street outside Randal�s, the club where most of the kids from the CVA scene liked to hang out in the evenings; it was set up by a graduate of the school, specifically so that the kids would have a late-night club to hang out at that accepted their ages. He served alcohol, but of course it was done in secret in the back�up front it was all Coca-Cola. Most of the cops in the area were CVA graduates themselves, and often they would join the kids and indulge in the very same secret liquor.

The evening of the three deaths in the CVA scene, the club was less packed than usual, and it was considerably quieter; some noise still existed and some patrons still attended, but the feel was very different from the norm.

Angie had called Kelly to tell him that she was breaking up with him after hearing the news about Johnny. The world, it seemed, had gone insane in one day, and she didn�t care. She took out a new cigarette, the first of the new pack she�d bought, and lit it up immediately after finishing her current one; since the accident earlier that day, she had not been without a lit cigarette in her mouth.

Mae walked up to her and sat down next to her on the curb. The two of them were bathed in the glow of the street light on the corner.

�So, it�s been a real fuck of a day,� Mae said emotionlessly.

�Yeah. Yeah, it has.� No emotion in Angie�s voice, either.

�I can�t say I really miss any of them, but it�s an odd day, nonetheless.�

�I just don�t care,� Angie said. She took a long puff.

�You want to expound on that?� asked Mae, lighting up a cigarette of her own.

�There�s nothing to expound on. I really don�t care. It�s freaking me the hell out. I don�t care at all.�

Mae shook her head. �Caring is overrated, Angela. It�s not even worth it.�

�But it used to be. It was before.�

�No, it never was�you just thought it was. Really, I know how you feel, I went through the same thing when I was a sophomore. You grow up feeling like life is interesting, and you�re interesting. You find a boy who�s sweet, full of good intentions, and who treats you exactly how you want to be treated. But then you start to change, and sooner or later something happens that is monumental and you accept the change. It�s not that the monumental thing changes you, it�s quite the opposite�you realize that you�re reacting completely differently from the way you thought you would, and because of that, you finally accept how much you already have changed. And right now, Angela, you are in that state. I can tell just by looking at you. You�re probably going to break up with Kelly soon, if you haven�t already.�

�Already have.�

�Thought so.�

�Okay,� said Angie, �so you�re right, I guess. What was your big event? Did someone die on The Strip two years ago, too?�

�No,� said Mae. �As far as I know, nothing like this has ever happened before. No, mine is different, and unfortunately much less glamorous. I was raped.�

�Oh.�

�Kind of enjoyed it, really. Nice experience.�

�I don�t really want to be someone who�d enjoy being raped.�

�Well, would you enjoy it?�

�I don�t really know.�

Mae took a long drag on her cigarette. �You just need to accept things,� she said. �You really need to.�

Angie took a long drag on her cigarette, too. �I suppose I do. I suppose I need to get used to it.�

They both took yet another drag simultaneously, and then, without exhaling, reached out and kissed, each blowing smoke down the other�s throat.

Weird. I liked it though. All of the characters respond in their own little way except for Mae who just goes about business as usual and so the ending was pretty fitting. Johnny's reaction seemed odd at first but made a lot of sense after I glanced over his part again. Same goes for Angie. In fact, I had something typed out but a quick glance again revealed I was mistaken.So, no real crit here except that I didn't like some of the phrasing, but Its 7 AM so I'm afraid you won't be finding out which phrases I thought were bothersome. The characterization was light, but it strikes me as a sort of intentional fill in the blanks thing, so I don't mind that-Unlike the story you put in your LJ way back when that outlined a well developed and changing character in a rather small story.Wait... that one with the nose and mouth.I remember that specifically. Change it.

Originally posted by rezo
Weird. I liked it though. All of the characters respond in their own little way except for Mae who just goes about business as usual and so the ending was pretty fitting. Johnny's reaction seemed odd at first but made a lot of sense after I glanced over his part again. Same goes for Angie. In fact, I had something typed out but a quick glance again revealed I was mistaken.So, no real crit here except that I didn't like some of the phrasing, but Its 7 AM so I'm afraid you won't be finding out which phrases I thought were bothersome. The characterization was light, but it strikes me as a sort of intentional fill in the blanks thing, so I don't mind that-Unlike the story you put in your LJ way back when that outlined a well developed and changing character in a rather small story.Wait... that one with the nose and mouth.I remember that specifically. Change it.

Took me forever to respond to this, but....

I'll post a massively revised version of this story sooner or later, in case you or anyone else would be interested in reading it. There are definitely things that need changing. I actually keep meaning to make a final draft of that story I posted in my LJ too. The long character outline will stay in though! :P

Care to tell me what the changes will be in the revision and why it'll be massive? Just curious.

The biggest one being that there's a new segment for Kelly (so it'll be even longer. Hooray) in there, and I'm cutting out a lot of excess stuff. "Massive" mostly means I'm altering lots of stuff, not necessarily that the plot will be really different. It will be a little though.

Honestly, the only real complaint I have with is is the first paragraph, and you already want to fix that. A lot of your sentences there are too wordy- it's a problem I have all the time with stuff I write. So I'm really interested to see the rewrite of it- and not only for selfish reasons.

What I thought the greatest thing about the story was is how light you kept it until people started dying- it makes me, as the reader, feel to a certain degree what the characters must be feeling then, which is really awesome. The dialouge was great- you really gave everyone their own personality without having to rely on backstory. You kept the pacing of the story great throughout, and I actually laughed out loud and called Merl over when I read "He didn�t even know what a dendrophiliac was, so he had always assumed it was a faggot."

Yeah, I know being specific with my compliments isn't much better then being all 'OMGZ U ROCK AT RITING!", but I liked the story. Kick me in the eye or something. :)

Hah, no kicking necessary, I'm just glad to get some more comments :D

What's a Dendrophiliac? Gonna have to read it through again... Lots of stuff to go over in my head still before I can comment. Personality without backstory... very awesome... You feel like there is a back story, and you can almost construct it as you look over the story... But for now, I only have one question: What's a dendrophiliac? Is it.... Someon who loves trees in an ungodly manner by any chance... Did a web search and it's gotten some freaky results...

Hmm... I'll have better commentary when I've read it again and had more sleep.

With lotsa love,



Zachron

P.S. Jello!

Zachron: u got it, a dendrophiliac is a damn hippy that does a bit more than hug the trees

brilliant story man, had me hooked. for some reason Battle Royale kept popping up in my head, maybe cos u write a bit similarly to Takemi, which i love and it deals with youth in a kinda similar way. u really gotta write more, i'd definately purchase anythin u get printed. great fuckin story!

Yes, a dendrophiliac is someone who is sexually attracted to trees, and you probably don't want to put it in a search engine. >_>

Thanks for reading, guys.

thanks for postin' man

Post the revised version! I want to see what you change!

Dude, I'm like, holding updates to my movie script hostage till you do. Granted, I actually need to write stuff so I have something to work with, but that's beside the point.

Originally posted by Ndi
Post the revised version! I want to see what you change!

Dude, I'm like, holding updates to my movie script hostage till you do. Granted, I actually need to write stuff so I have something to work with, but that's beside the point.

Oh crap, that means I better get to it. I've really been meaning to get to it, but I'm having a hard time finding enough time combined with enough energy to go through and do all the corrections I need before I can make with the revisin'. But now that I have some motivation, it will happen soon!

PWN3D! You tree fucker:D

i'm a newbie to this site and i just wanna say that was great story and i hope to read somemore of your work

thats nice

I think the first chapter was fine, and i think you shouldn't do a revised version, instead write a bit more on to the end such as a second chapter. Great story though.

Originally posted by Incubus
I think the first chapter was fine, and i think you shouldn't do a revised version, instead write a bit more on to the end such as a second chapter. Great story though.

Sorry, but that's the end. I worked quite hard to get it exactly how I want it, too, so there's no way I'm going to write more of the same characters.



Also, here is the finished version (finally). http://www.fictionpress.com/read.php?storyid=1570074

I think this reeks of Catcher in the Rye. Not the story, but the way it's written and the choice of language.

Originally posted by Bjorkfan
I think this reeks of Catcher in the Rye. Not the story, but the way it's written and the choice of language.

I'll take that as a compliment.

copying someone else's style isn't good.

Originally posted by Bjorkfan
copying someone else's style isn't good.

I didn't copy anybody's style. But if I reminded you of the best book ever written, that is good, as far as I'm concerned. The only parts of it that I can think of that could really sound like they came from The Catcher in the Rye are the last lines Mae and Angie say to each other, what with the repeated phrases and all, and those are deliberately Holden Caulfield-esque. I have a feeling you were just left with those and felt like the whole piece was written that way.

Originally posted by Bjorkfan
copying someone else's style isn't good.

Copying is the sincerest form of flattery.

I'd comment on the story, but everything I'd say already has been said.

Great story. By the way im new. :)

Thanks, and welcome to the shrine.

You should change the quote in your signature, or if you don't do that, you should at least spell it correctly. :)

LOl yeah i know. The funny thing is i realized it was mispelled when i posted the comment.

Just read through the edit. How much did you change besides adding Kelly's denouement? It may be from my lack of memory, but I think this is your best short so far. Yeah, "terribly" is a great word. I always try to use it as a positive term then stop myself. I also think I got the "wait, let me explain why I call myself Mae" bit. I don't remember if I picked anything up from that or not the first time I read it.

I cut out a lot of unnecessary words and phrases which aren't noticable immediately, but I think generally make it better, and I also cut out a huge portion of the very beginning, which I decided was not having a good effect. And actually, the part about Mae telling Johnny why she chose "Mae" was also a new addition, so that would explain why you didn't pick anything up from it the first time! :D I think that little piece is a really important piece that the story was missing, though.

EDIT: Oh, I also made one little addition at the beginning, the part where it mentions Angie seeing Mae across the field. That way Mae is the one character who appears in every single scene in the story.


I think this is definitely my best short story so far, partly because it's just the culmination of everything I've done before it, and partly because I've reworked it a lot more than anything I've done in the past. I couldn't even estimate the hours I put into it, and I still feel like I could do better. It's funny, having been into writing so long, and I am still learning the process of refinement. It takes a lot of patience, and waiting for days without looking at the work again so as to distance yourself from it and revise it objectively.

Here are some 52-word stories:

-----------------------------

A couple days ago I was just walking out of the local flower shop holding a bouquet of roses when I passed by the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in my entire life. She asked me if I had a cigarette. �No,� I said. �I quit smoking yesterday.� It was true.

-----------------------------


The world's prettiest butterfly was gently strutting through the air, plant to plant, when she came upon the world's prettiest flower. It felt like home. A large moth saw the flower at the same time, though, and got there first. �All yours,� said the butterfly, and she went to find another place.


-----------------------------

A teenager was sitting on the bench outside when Smith came out of the supermarket carrying the milk his wife had requested. �Whatcha waiting for?� he asked.

�My girlfriend,� the kid replied. �She said she had to go, but she'd be right back.�

�Probably ditched you,� said Smith.

�No,� said the kid.

-----------------------------


Yesterday, I tried calling Tanya twice. She told me to call her. I only did it because I'm worried about her�she's been depressed lately. But today, I found out she spent all day with some lacrosse player who doesn't know her favorite bands. I wanted to vomit, I was so sad.

Interesting. I like them, but I guess that's not surprising since I love fables and such and the presentation is similar.

What's the purpose?

My English assignment for the weekend was to write a couple of 52-word stories, and I liked it, so I wrote 4, and will probably write a lot more in the future. They're fun, and a good way to practice getting something across in limited space. Kind of "warming up."

I read both of your stories on fictionpress and thought I might conduct some constructive criticism... I wasn't very good at that...but what follows is me just finding a few typos and making a few lame comments. Other than that I agree with what Ndi said in her OMG U ROCK AT WRITING thread earlier.

The More Civil Direction

By the time it�s all in there, that coffee has got to be so sweet it would make the fucking Care Bears sick. I LOLed.

I became so broke I couldn't handle it anymroe - anymore.

She eventually started shooting heroine - heroin.

It�s my gun; I keep it in a droor next to the bed - isn't this meant to be drawer? Meh.

But yeah, I dig the ending. I dig the entire story.



Blowing Smoke

He was young, constantly grinning, and hated that his parents had given him a name so feminine - See, this was funny, because that was just after me going "Oh, so Kelly is a GUY."

Johnnys manner and speech remind me of Jay from Clerks and Dogma and such. um...yeah.

He didn�t even know what a dendrophiliac was, so he had always assumed it was a faggot. Again, I LOLed, even though I had to look up dendrophiliac myself.

some rich slob who thinks bore hunting is the absolute pinnacle of life�s pleasures. I'm pretty sure you mean boar. Unless he hunts boring people. haw haw.

But yeah, this one took me a bit longer to get into, but once it got going: really great. I think it's because the start of the story is different, more lighthearted while describing all the necessary details and introductions, and then it gets more dark and interesting halfway through and towards the end. I dunno. I enjoyed both stories. I couldn't really think of any problems with flow or plot holes or anything. Tip top.



Another thing: whatever happened to that 'god hates us' story you were writing a while back? That was cool.

god hates us continues here (http://www.ribaldyouth.com/ghu)! I simply haven't put a sig link to it yet, because I'm a lazy dumb bastard. But rezo's hosting it, so make sure you go to his comic (knock the "ghu" off the URL in that link, or just click on his sig) and read it because it's terrific.

And thanks for pointing out the typos. It's amazing how I can still miss those things after having gone over the story again and again.

Hey everyone, I recently finished writing the first (very) rough draft of a novel I'm working on. If anybody's interested in reading it, I'll email it to them, but I'm not going to post the whole damn thing here since it's a little long for that (about 100 pages). So just let me know and you will get one emailed to you.

If you want, you can read a small sample of it in this (http://www.livejournal.com/users/tk_sunglasses/2004/05/28/" target="_blank) entry in my Livejournal.


EDIT: Oh, also. There are two "versions" I can send, condensed and full. They're the exact same story, but one hasn't got any of the fancy formatting and stuff, and has a smaller font size, so it's a lot more printer-friendly. Shorter by 30 pages or so. So, if anybody wants it, specify which version you'd like.

Obviously, I'm gonna want this emailed to me. ^^

I *think* you have my email address already, but I'll pm it to you if you don't.

I don't think I do. Any communication we've done has always been through PMs, as far as I can remember.

Sorry that this isn't anything interesting like a new story (there IS one in the works though! It's been on the backburner forever, and I'm finally getting started on it), but I wanted to use this thread for a little blatant advertising.

I want to put together some god hates us fan art for the web site. I just recently got this idea and I think it would be really neat, if I could find enough people who are artists who read the story who would be interested in contributing. So, if you are artistically inclined, and want to do something, please let me know so I can get a feel for how many people might want to draw something.

And if you're artistically inclined and you don't want to do something... then don't feel obligated to, or I'll shoot you in the kneecap. ;D

This is not anything at all interesting, probably. It's not the short story I mentioned doing in my last post here, it's just some wacky thing that popped into my head and I wrote like a madman.

------------------------------------------------

At The Philadelphia Zoo

This one day recently I went to visit the Philadelphia Zoo. I�ve always had a thing about animals. I�m crazy about them. So I take pretty frequent zoo trips. And that week I was around Philadelphia, staying with my cousins for a while�sort of a family reunion type deal, only extended�and I decided, hey, since I�m in Philli, I might as well visit a zoo I�ve never been to, right? Well, I went, and I ended up inside the fence where all the big turtles are. Here�s how it all happened.

The Philadelphia Zoo has this one area behind a fence with a bunch of turtles in it. Well, I mean, of course it was behind a fence. I don�t think they let the animals just wander around anywhere they want, right? Except they actually do with the peacocks. The peacocks just kind of run around where the people are, spreading their tail feathers whenever the hell they feel like it. It�s pretty weird, but I guess there�s no harm in it. Who ever heard of a peacock being dangerous? Though, I do wonder if they could be dangerous. Like, what if some fellow went up to one of the peacocks and kicked it, just for fun? I�m not saying anybody would do that, I�m just saying, what if, you know? What if somebody did? Would the peacock attack, or just run? I can imagine a peacock being pretty vicious if it wanted to. But I really don�t know anything about peacocks.

Anyway, I was talking about the turtles. Yeah, the turtles were really cool. They were really big turtles. Actually, I guess technically they were probably tortoises. I think those really big ones, that move really slow, are tortoises, but I�m not sure. I know about as much about turtles and tortoises as I do about peacocks. But anyway, I�m going to call them turtles, because I vastly prefer the sound of the word �turtle� to the sound of the word �tortoise.� �Tortoise� is just such a stupid-sounding word, don�t you think? I do. �Turtle� is much nicer. Maybe that�s my upbringing speaking, though. As a child, I was a huge fan of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and I watched the show pretty much every day. In fact, all I ever wanted to do was watch TMNT. I had kind of a pathetic childhood, come to think of it.

So the turtles behind this fence were all just kind of standing there, looking the way turtles do in zoos. I really wanted to see them do something, but those big turtles never do a single thing when I�m around. I always try waving to them, and making noises at them that I think a turtle would make, but it never works. I mean, I know that there�s no reason why it would�I just do it to amuse myself. But I do really wonder what kind of noise a turtle does make. I mean, do turtles even make noises? Have you ever heard a turtle make any kind of sound out of its mouth? I think they�re pretty much silent. That would really suck, going through your whole life without being able to talk.

Well, this time, looking at the turtles, I decided I really needed a closer look at them. And I know this sounds crazy, but I actually went and got one, too. I actually climbed over the fence and started moving towards them. There really weren�t very many people around at all, and there were none who were looking at the turtles at that moment, so I seized the opportunity. I honestly don�t know why I did it. In retrospect, I know it was really a pretty dumb shit thing to do. But sometimes, in situations like that one, I don�t think. There was one time when I was in third grade and I just licked this girl�s cheek out of nowhere. It wasn�t because I wanted to lick her cheek, it was just because the idea of doing it kind of randomly popped into my head and I wanted to see what would happen if I went with it. That�s how brainless I can be. Sometimes I don�t think at all before I do something. And that�s how it was with the turtles.

I snuck up behind a rock, so that nobody could see me. I�m not sure if the turtles were even aware I was there at all. I don�t know if turtles have very good hearing or eyesight, or both. I don�t really know very much about any animals, actually. I don�t ever really learn anything about them. I know I said I�ve got a thing about animals, and I do�it�s just that I never really get the time to look anything up about them. I just like to watch them, mostly. But I think that�s also a pretty good way to learn in and of itself. You can learn a hell of a lot by just watching an animal. That goes with anything, really. The best way to learn is to just get out there and experience life. That�s what my bio teacher in high school said. He always said, �Rob, if you really want to learn about nature, just go out and mingle with it.� He was a great teacher. He told me some really good stuff, stuff that I�ll never forget.

But, back to me behind the rock. I decided that eventually, the turtles had to do something. So I figured I would just sit there and watch them until they did. I know that a watched pot never boils, or whatever that old expression is, but I don�t really believe that�s true. I mean, if you have a pot of water on a stove, and you sit there and watch it, it is going to boil eventually. It�s just going to seem like it�ll never happen because you�ll be bored. The thing about me is that I don�t really get bored. I can pretty much always find something to occupy myself, even if it�s just thinking about stuff. Like for example, if I need to prevent myself from being bored, all I have to do is play this little game that I call Alphabet Memories. I just go through the alphabet and think of a word for each letter that I can associate with some memory I have. Then I run through the memory in my head, step by step, as close to exact as I can make it, and when I�m done, I go on to the next letter. You�d be surprised how much time you can kill playing Alphabet Memories. Try it sometime when you�re bored. Before you know it, hours will have gone by, and something exciting will have happened. It�s never failed me�not a single time. And I�ve used it probably hundreds of times by now.

Anyway, I was sitting behind this rock, watching the turtles and waiting for them to do something interesting, and it really was taking a long time, so I started thinking. I didn�t start playing Alphabet Memories, actually, because it wasn�t necessary. To clarify, Alphabet Memories is kind of a last resort. Most of the time I can get by fine without it. Like, for example, this time, I just randomly started thinking about something anyway: What might have occupied the area I was sitting in five hundred years ago? It would have been part of some big wide field, maybe, I thought. I was imagining deer running across the field, and a river running through it, and some Indians traveling across the field and letting their horses drink from the water. Then I thought mostly about the horses. Horses are some of my favorite animals. I imagined every little spot and shimmer on the horses� coats, the way their tails flopped around behind them, each grunt and neigh they made�I really had those horses in my head clearly. And I can still pull them up again, too. Sometimes I think I have a photographic memory. I don�t need to even try�the horses come right back to me in the blink of an eye. But then again, maybe I just feel that way. The subconscious is a powerful thing, or so they say. It could be that I�m convincing myself that the horses I can picture now are exactly how I pictured them then. Who knows? That�s the thing that sucks about the subconscious. You can never quite be positive about anything, because you never can be quite certain of how much your subconscious is influencing you. Like, say, if you like striped socks a lot. What if the only reason for that is that some girl you liked in grade school happened to like striped socks, and you formed a habit of wearing them as a part of your overall attempt at impressing her, and that�s the one thing you subconsciously convinced yourself was your own? I mean, what if ever since then, you�ve convinced yourself that you like striped socks, but really you don�t? But then again, if you really think about it, being convinced that you like something so thoroughly that you don�t know you don�t actually like it kind of is the same exact thing as liking it anyway. Because really, in order to dislike something, don�t you have to be aware of your dislike of it? A dislike of something is just an unfavorable emotional reaction. So if you dislike something, you�ve got to be having an unfavorable emotional reaction. But if you�ve subconsciously convinced yourself you like something so completely that the unfavorable emotional reaction is gone, then you really do like it. But then again, maybe you are having an unfavorable emotional reaction, and your subconscious is disguising that so that you can�t actually tell you�re having it. Man, stuff like this makes my head hurt. I hate it when I get on these stupid philosophical trains of thought. They never lead anywhere, and they�re always stupid, so I�m just going to stop thinking about it now.

In any case, when I was thinking about the horses and stuff, I got really really absorbed in it, and I forgot all about the turtles. I gazed off into the sky and at the ground and pretty much everywhere that the turtles weren�t. So then, when I suddenly remembered I was supposed to be watching them, I looked back, and saw that they had all moved! Every single one of them was in a different spot! It was really frustrating. I mean, who knows what they could have done in that time? For all I know, one of them did a back flip! No, I�m not saying I really think a turtle did a back flip, I�m just saying that if by some incredible chance�and you know, I mean, you can�t really ever say anything�s impossible�one of the turtles did do a back flip, I would have missed it. Imagine missing something like seeing a turtle do a back flip.

Well, needless to say, I decided right then and there that I wasn�t going to make that mistake again. So I stared really intently at the turtles, and kept my focus on them. I started focusing more and more on them, and eventually I started focusing so hard on one particular turtle�s shell that I started thinking about how hard it must be, and what it would take to break it. I started wondering if it would be possible for a kung fu master to break through it, and that got me to thinking of the part in Kill Bill Vol. 2 where that old kung fu master guy is trying to teach Uma Thurman to break that piece of wood from a couple inches away. Then it got me to thinking even more about Kill Bill Vol. 2, and even about Kill Bill Vol. 1, since really they�re just the same movie split into two halves. I thought that overall it was a pretty good movie. Personally, though, I thought it would have been better if at the end, Bill was reformed, and whatever her name was decided to stop being all bloodthirsty and stuff, and the two of them lived happily ever after. I like happy endings like that.

But anyway, the point is, I got way off track thinking about Kill Bill and started doing that same stupid thing, where I was looking all over the place again, at the sky, and at the ground, and at the trees and pretty much everything except the turtles. Sometimes I really hate this absentmindedness of mine, because wouldn�t you know it? When I finally realized the mistake I�d made and turned back to see the turtles, they�d all moved again! And I just got to thinking about what sort of crazy stuff they might have done in that time. I mean, not that there�s any reason to think they did anything crazy, but what if that was the time when the one in a billion chance really occurred, and something crazy happened, and nobody ever saw it because I�m too damn absent-minded? But I am. I�ve always been absent-minded. Sometimes I think I have ADD or something. I can never keep myself focused on anything for more than like two seconds. Even when I think, Okay, Robert, now you�re going to focus really really hard on this thing, it only takes like two minutes before I just totally forget and start thinking about something else. I�m a really terrible daydreamer. I�ll daydream during anything, no matter what�s going on. It gets me into a lot of trouble. Like, in high school, I�d start daydreaming in class, and my teachers would always publicly humiliate me for it, by kicking my desk and making me jump or something. Then, of course, everybody would start laughing and I�d feel stupid. But, what was I supposed to do? I mean, I really did try to pay attention in class. I really did. But I just couldn�t do it. I used to tell myself that was hogwash and I could, I just wasn�t trying hard enough, but now I know that was never the case. My brain just moves too fast.

But, to finish the story I was telling, I was getting really mad at that point, I mean mad at myself because I just couldn�t focus on the turtles, but I still decided to keep trying. I was really determined to just see one turtle move. Just one tiny little movement, and I�d be happy. Then I could go jump back over the fence and go look at the polar bears or something. I love the polar bears to death. I know they�re dangerous in the wild, but when they�re in their zoo habitats, they look really cuddly and lovable. I like to imagine sometimes that I have a polar bear for a pet, and that it�s totally peaceful, and eats rhubarb or something.

And then, here�s the crazy part�after five more minutes of staring at the turtles, I just lost interest. I mean, they were really boring. If they did move, it would just be to eat some grass or something, or whatever it is that turtles�or tortoises, or whatever they were�eat. So anyway, I looked around to make sure the coast was clear, and I snuck out of the turtle area and nobody saw me at all. The whole time, nobody found me lying behind that rock in the turtle area. That�s some pretty impressive stealth work, if you ask me. I�m pretty damn good at sneaking when I want to be. There was one time when this wacky guy stole my wallet out of my jacket�you know, one of those bump-into-you-and-go-�Oh, sorry man� type deals�and I followed him for three blocks to his apartment and snuck in and hit him over the head with a chunk of a cinderblock and got my wallet back. He never even knew what hit him. Unfortunately for him, it was a piece of a cinderblock!

I found it interesting, even if you didn't.

It actually reads almost like it's scripted. It's pretty cool. I could imagine it done as dialouge along with a storyboard.

Or better yet, dialouge along with something that has nothing to do with the story.

I liked it too.

Best turtle enclosure related story I've ever read.

That was great. Especially the ending.