This is a just-finished rough draft, so I'm really looking for criticisms, particularly on the way Deb speaks. Hope you enjoy.

The Perils of Sleepwalking

“Ties and blazers are no longer worn together. Have you noticed that?”

“What?” asked Amy.

“Ties and blazers. They’re both in, but you don’t wear them with each other anymore.”

Amy put her cigarette in her mouth and looked around. “Oh yeah,” she said after a moment’s observation, a grin cracking her face. “Yeah.” She laughed a little bit. It was a real laugh that she forced to occur.

“You know that your society is fucked up when ties and blazers aren’t meant to be worn together anymore,” Trevor muttered. Amy was busy examining something else. The targets of Trevor’s momentary assault were standing at opposite ends of the bar, one drinking a certain brand of beer, and the other drinking an entirely different brand. To Trevor’s left (though if he were to turn around, as he had when he’d picked out the targets, it would be to his right) was the first: A twenty-something individual with straight black hair and a heavy five o’clock shadow, who happened to be wearing a blazer overtop of his “Something Indistinguishable” T-shirt and jeans. He was not wearing a tie.

The second was on Trevor’s right-which-would-be-his-left, and was wearing a white button-up shirt and a solid black tie. His hair was light brown, reaching almost to his shoulders, and he was talking excitedly to a girl of gut-wrenching beauty, clad all in black, including her hair. Her eyes were probably black too, but Trevor couldn’t tell because she was too far away in the dim light. He hated the fellow with the tie, and he knew full well which pitch-black accessory his hatred was primarily a result of, but it didn’t make the other any less heinous. And the other was a better subject, by far, to discuss with his girlfriend.

“You want another beer?” he asked her.

“Yeah, sure,” she said.

The bar was heavily populated, so Trevor had to make himself very noticeable. The bartender was a bored looking, chubby girl with glasses and her hair tied back. The glasses were there to improve her piercing stare. Trevor ordered his and Amy’s drinks, and leaned on the bar while he was waiting for them to arrive in front of him. The Gut-Wrencher was only about three feet away from him, and Tie was still happily blabbing away at her. She appeared fascinated by his tie and the bar. Trevor decided he would have to look for an opening to try to talk to her, and imagined her dumping Tie that very night and running away with him. The guy had, of course, been cheating on her for ages and she was just waiting for somebody new to come along and make her realize how fed up she was about it. Then Trevor remembered that his girlfriend was still there.

On the way back to their table, Amy’s hair, which was also very black, was staring him in the face accusingly. It had been watching the whole thing. Trevor sat back down and handed Amy her beer.

“Thanks,” she said, and she threw her hair back a little because it was getting in her eyes. Trevor noticed the way that little extra tuft of her black hair that fell almost over her right eye moved and then fwooshed back into position. It made him fall in love with her again.

Trevor turned around when he heard someone approaching behind him, and it turned out to be some mutual friends of his and Amy’s, who had, until he’d started dating her, only been mutual friends of Amy’s. They were Bill and Casey. Their relationship with each other was a lot like Trevor’s with Amy.

“Hey guys,” said Amy as the two pulled out some chairs and sat down. They already had drinks. “How’s stuff?”

“Same old,” said Bill. “The world keeps turning.”

“How’s the magazine coming, Amy?” asked Casey.

This was Amy’s cue to turn her body so that it faced the other side of the table—the side that Bill and Casey were sitting on—instead of outward toward the stage. “Okay, I guess, I mean as much as it can ever be okay. Nobody ever makes their deadlines and printing costs are going through the roof, and I think the plumbing in the offices is fucked, and, you know, we’re probably going to come in tomorrow and find that somebody’s defaced everything and destroyed all our work on the next issue. But fuck it, right?”

Casey smiled. “Business as usual,” she said.

“I’m still planning on writing that review for you,” said Bill. “I just have to decide on something to review.”

“Yeah, and that should take you, what, about three more months?” Amy said, a cloud of smoke wafting through her grin.

“Four,” said Bill.

“We don’t really have time to listen to music or watch movies anymore,” Casey said, looking absently at the stage, which was now being populated by a variety of males in their early twenties, setting up band equipment. “Everything’s so hectic now.” Trevor felt like he should be upset about how sad she looked, because her life was full of all the things she had talked about wanting years ago, but he didn’t actually care. Mostly he just wanted a cigarette, and he wasn’t feeling very well.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom,” he said. He got up and started heading for what served as a bathroom.

Inside, there was somebody in the stall. Trevor sat on the sink and waited. He didn’t actually have to use the stall, he just wanted to sit in it and smoke.

Finally the person in the stall got finished, and the door opened. Trevor noticed that it had been stuck shut with a wad of toilet paper that was jammed in between the door and the stall; the lock was broken. He also noticed that it had been a girl inside the stall. She stood and looked at him for a few moments. Her hair was dyed jet black. Then Trevor realized she wanted to use the sink. She looked pretty sick. He got up and stepped aside, examining her has she placed her face underneath the running water. Her hair was soaked under the tap, and it almost looked like the water was trying to clean the blackness out of it.

Trevor moved into the stall, using a wad of toilet paper to seal it shut. He sat down on the toilet lid and lit a cigarette. He still didn’t feel too well. His stomach was a little upset, and he had a minor headache. The inside of his body felt like it was trying to get out.

He thought about the Gut-Wrencher and her staring at Tie’s tie and not really paying attention to anything he was saying, and then he imagined that she had come into the stall with him. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, wishing that he knew something to do with himself besides go to bars and sit and drink and smoke with his friends.

Finally, he stood up, flushed the toilet, and left the stall. Flushing the toilet had just seemed like the right thing to do. When he walked back into the bar, the first band was standing on the stage and it looked like they were about to start playing. Trevor didn’t want to hear them, and he didn’t want to keep talking to his friends, either. So he decided not to go back and sit at his table. He turned around and walked out of the bar and into the parking lot.

Outside, there was somebody sitting on the hood of his car talking to a cell phone, and there were also several bugs buzzing around the light right next to the door. The night was pitch black and there were only a few stars out. Trevor lit up another cigarette and he stood around and looked up at the blackness for a while. It was soft and unobtrusive. He scratched at one of his sideburns. He was bored, but at least it wasn’t so bad being bored. Most things were worse.

The door opened, and he looked to his right to see Tie and some other guy with long hair walking out. He watched them as they headed back to their car, and got inside. He took another drag on his cigarette, dropped it to the ground, and put it out with his foot, then turned around and walked back inside.

The Gut-Wrencher was now talking to another girl, still sitting in her same place at the bar. The band was playing and Trevor didn’t listen to them. He wanted to go sit next to the Gut-Wrencher, but he didn’t like the idea of intruding on her conversation with her friend. So he decided to go watch the band, even though he didn’t really care about them.

He stood by the stage, a little ways away from the table his friends were sitting at, not looking at them. The band was some guys with guitars, singing about something or other into their microphones. He tapped his foot instinctively. There had been a time when he was interested in this sort of thing, but he’d sort of forgotten how to work up the appetite for it.

“These guys are really good, but this is the wrong venue for them,” said a guy standing next to him. Trevor turned to face the guy, who was standing with a blonde girl leaning on him. The guy himself had glasses and spoke with a very faint accent that Trevor couldn’t be bothered to try to place. He nodded, not wanting to encourage further attempts at conversation.

“They should be playing over at the Tango,” the guy continued. Trevor instantly got annoyed, and wanted to tell him to shut up and tell somebody who cared, but he didn’t, because that would only create more trouble.

So he said, “Yeah.”

The guy interpreted this as an invitation to further explain. “The regulars over there are fucking insane. They’d go nuts to this band. But I’ve never seen these guys over there, and I would have seen them.”

Trevor decided not to reply, and the guy became more interested in talking to his girlfriend again. Trevor got exceedingly bored with the band at that point, and he decided to go sit at the bar and order another drink.

He chose a good vantage point from which he could steal glances at the Gut Wrencher, who still had not moved from the spot she’d been in all night, and was still talking to her girlfriend. He stared straight forward for a while, occasionally sipping his drink, and still instinctively tapping his foot to the band.

The band finished a song, and their lead singer started talking into the microphone. He made sure everybody knew the name of his band, and that they could buy a homemade CD after the show if they wanted to, and that he was very grateful to them all for coming out that night. Trevor found the last statement most laughable, as nobody had even come out for them, most likely. Everyone was there to drink beer. They probably had a few friends and their girlfriends in the audience, and nobody else. But then the singer said something that surprised him.

“We’d also like to thank Amy over here for all her help promoting us over the last few weeks,” he said. Trevor turned around, and sure enough, the guy was pointing to his Amy. “She’s been the best.”

Trevor remembered then that Amy had been talking about promoting some band for a long time, and about how they had to go see them, and then he knew why she’d acted so much like they had been planning for weeks come to this place tonight: They had, and he just hadn’t really been paying any attention. He didn’t really care, though. They were just a band, and his relationship with Amy was the same.

The band started playing again, and Trevor turned his attention back to the Gut Wrencher, who was having at least her third beer. Her conversation seemed to have died out, and she was looking around with an expression like an empty hole waiting for its peg.

Everything else was getting harder to look at by the minute: It was too sharp, too busy, or too strong, or too much of something or other. She was the only thing in the room that was easy to look at anymore. It had come down to a choice between staring at her from across the bar, or sitting next to her. Staring at her from across the bar was easy to rule out.

The walk towards her was a perilous one. He had to make his way around the crowd, but it was more a problem because it is very difficult to approach a person you don’t know, with the intent of speaking to them, from a distance. If you look at them, you will have to be doing it for the whole approach, which is extremely unnerving. If you don’t look at them, it just makes it seem strange when you arrive and sit down next to them. If you sort of glance at them occasionally as you’re approaching, it becomes obvious that that’s what you’re doing. There’s no way to avoid the difficulty involved in the scenario.

But once Trevor sat down, things seemed okay. “Hey, I thought you might be lonely over here,” he said.

“And what gave you that impression?” asked the Gut Wrencher. Her voice was unbelievable: She had an English accent, and it was soft, but so solid it was almost substantial. He immediately wanted her to start talking about philosophy, or Turkish architecture or a subject so outlandishly obscure he couldn’t conceive of it without some kind of eight-year college education.

“Well,” he said, “you were talking to that guy with the tie earlier, and he seems to have run out on you, so that was part of it.”

“What makes you think he ran out on me? Maybe he just had to duck out for cigarettes or something.”

“I guess I just assumed it. You can tell me to fuck off anytime you want.”

“No, that’s alright. He left, but he didn’t exactly run out on me. He’s not a boyfriend or anything.”

“Oh, well I guess that’s good then.”

She laughed. “You guess,” she repeated.

“Well, anyway, it’s Trevor,” Trevor said, extending his hand.

“Deb,” she replied, picking up his beer and putting it in his extended hand. He looked down at it, and cracked a grin, unsure of how he was supposed to respond.

“Well, fair enough,” he said with a shrug, and took a big swig. She laughed and did the same.

“I don’t suppose I could bum a cigarette off you?” Deb asked after they’d done. “I’m all out.”

“Sure,” Trevor replied, reaching into his pocket. “I hope you don’t mind my saying I’m a little disappointed, though,” he added.

“Disappointed? That I smoke?”

“No, not at all.” He handed the cigarette over, and held out a light. “It’s just that I always imagined if I met an English girl, she’d call cigarettes fags.”

Deb grunted a vague concession of amusement. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m afraid I’ve been over here long enough to have adopted a lot of Americanisms.”

“How long is long enough?”

“A couple years now, with some return flights in between. I’m here for school.”

Trevor nodded. “Where you going?”

It turned out that the school Deb was attending was a very well-known and competitive one about a half hour’s drive away from where Trevor lived.

“Wow,” he said. “Must have been hard to get in there.”

“Not all that hard. I’ve never really had difficulty with anything like that, actually.”

“Just naturally brilliant?”

“I suppose. I like to think I’m naturally… good at acting brilliant. I don’t know, I think brilliant people have to accomplish something worthy with their lives, and benefit all of mankind. I just can’t muster that kind of altruism. I’m pretty much just out to make absurdly large amounts of money and live like a princess.”

“Well, as far as I’m concerned ambition is a greater virtue than altruism.”

“Oh? And what’s your ambition?”

“I haven’t got any. Maybe that’s why I admire it.”

“No ambition whatsoever?”

“Nope. Nothing. I’m not really interested in much, and I’m not very good at anything.”

“You seem fairly capable at chatting up women in bars,” Deb said.

Trevor couldn’t help but smile. He struggled to get it under control. He was enjoying himself way too much, and he knew that he should try to find a polite exit. He hadn’t been expecting to actually hit it off.

“Well,” he said. “I suppose one can’t really make a career out of that.”

“It may have application somewhere. At the very least I suppose you won’t have to be lonely.”

“I’ve never really been bothered that much by being lonely.”

“Oh,” Deb intoned. “A lone wolf. Untouchable. Aloof.”

Trevor laughed. “Nothing as dramatic as that,” he said. “I think I’m mostly just apathetic.”

“So, what we’ve got so far.” She started counting on her fingers. “Your name is Trevor, you dream of meeting a woman who refers to cigarettes as fags, you have no ambition, you’re apathetic, and the only skill we know you have is chatting up women in bars, which you’ve apparently left your girlfriend behind to do right now. What would you say all that adds up to?”

Trevor paused in mid-swig for a second. He put his beer down and looked straight at her. “Where’d you get that last one from?” he asked.

Deb grinned. “I was watching you,” she said. “I could tell. She is your girlfriend, isn’t she? And you kept looking at me. You’d rather be sitting with me here right now than over there with her. Tell me if I’m wrong.”

Trevor looked back at his beer, and took another sip. He was almost ready for another one. “You’re right,” he said.

“And right now you’re struggling between feeling guilty because you’ve been found out, and feeling excited because you’ve discovered I was watching you all evening at the same time you were watching me. Am I right?”

“Am I really that easy to figure out?”

“Yes. But I don’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing. I can tell that you’re simple, and I don’t mean intellectually. I mean, in the same way that I am. I think we’re alike. I think people who are alike naturally connect sometimes. Maybe there’s a reason we were watching each other.”

“So what did you first think when I came over and sat next to you?” Trevor asked.

“I was glad. I hadn’t thought you would actually do it. I was sort of toying with the idea of approaching you myself when you sat across from me, but I really prefer to be approached.”

“And I prefer to do the approaching,” Trevor said. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so compatible with someone I’ve known for such a short period of time.”

“So what about her?” asked Deb, motioning with her beer over to the table where Amy was still sitting with Bill and Casey. “Are you going to go back and sit with her again?”

“Not anytime soon.”

“Why is that? Are you not in love with her?”

“Well, I think I am. But I usually don’t feel it until certain things happen. And I don’t mean like meaningful things, I mean like there are little reminders she can give me. Like when she wears a certain outfit or something. It’s stupid.”

“Are you happy in the relationship?”

“I’ve never been happy in anything.”

“You’re not happy right now, sitting here with me?”

Trevor took one last swig, and finished off his beer. He motioned to the bartender for another one. He was feeling a little tipsy by now, but he had a ways to go before he was in the state he desired.

“No,” he said. “Not happy. Or maybe I am, and I just don’t know how to define the term. I’m pleased, and content, but I don’t know if I could say happy.”

“Have you ever been happy?”

“Probably. I think when I was a lot younger. It used to be really easy to please me, like if I just got some new thing I wanted, a record or a video or something, or if I went to see some band I really liked. Nowadays none of those things have that much affect on me.”

“So jaded. It’s a tragedy.”

“I’d say I don’t care, but I’m afraid I’ll appear to be trying too hard.”

She laughed, louder than he would have expected. She was grinning hugely. Trevor wasn’t used to being entertaining. He used to be entertaining all the time, but he’d gotten bored of it. He liked making Deb laugh, though. It was something he could actually muster interest in. He wasn’t going to tell her that.

“Oh, God,” Deb muttered when she was done laughing. “I really don’t want to bum any more cigarettes off you, but I already want another one. Do you suppose we might go down the street so I could get some?”

“Isn’t there a machine over there?”

“There is, but it’s out of order. Besides, I hate to pay six dollars for a pack.”

“Fair enough. Let’s go.”

“Great.”

Trevor made certain that he did not look backward as they got up and headed for the door, drinks still in hand. It felt good to get out of the crowded, noisy bar. The night was quiet save for the noise of the sparse traffic, and the air was cool and clean from the rain several hours before. Not to mention that the darkness was comforting.

“It likes to rain a lot around this time of year, doesn’t it?” asked Deb.

“Yeah, I guess,” Trevor said. “I’m so used to it I don’t notice anymore. Rain never really bothers me much anyway.”

“Have you lived here all your life, then?”

“Yeah. I’ve never really liked it, but I don’t hate it either and I doubt anywhere else would be all that different.” They started walking down the side of the road. There was a convenience store only a couple buildings away from the bar.

“Oh, don’t be absurd,” Deb laughed. “Every place is different from here. This is the only place I’ve ever been that’s just like everywhere else.”

Trevor laughed. He didn’t laugh very often. “Probably,” he said. “I guess it’s more just the fact that I don’t think I would be any different anywhere else.”

“And is that the only thing you’d care to change?”

“No, not really. I don’t think there is much I’d care to change in general, actually. I guess if someone gave me the opportunity to instantly change myself, I’d take it, but I’m not all that worried about it.”

“And how would you change yourself?”

“Just get rid of my stupid habits. Stop wanting to smoke. And make myself less lazy about things like shaving.”

“I rather like your scruffiness,” Deb said, rubbing his cheek.

He smiled. “Well, good,” he said. “I guess that’s one less thing I’d change.”

She laughed again. “I like you very much the way you are,” she said, and she gravitated toward him and put her arm in his as they walked.

“I don’t think I’ll stop being shocked about that all night,” he said.

“I don’t think I will either.”

They turned into the parking lot of the convenience store and started walking towards it. Some guy was pulling out of a parking space in a fancy sports car, and Trevor caught his eye as he drove past. Trevor felt absolutely no jealousy about the expensive car, because he thought he was the one in the more enviable position between the two of them.

He pulled open the glass door, and Deb thanked him as he held it for her. They walked up to the counter. There was an Indian guy behind it. He looked about middle-aged and was missing a couple of teeth. He viewed them grimly and moved very little as they approached. When Deb asked for her cigarettes, he said nothing, just pulled them down and put them on the counter. He blankly told her how much they cost and she fished around in her pocket for a few bills, pulling them out in a crumpled mess that she spilled on the counter and sorted through. “Could I get a book of matches, by the way?” she asked. The Indian guy nodded and silently reached under the counter, pulled out the matches and placed them on top of the pack. When the cigarettes were paid for, the cashier simply nodded and turned away, heading for whatever menial job he had to do. It was late enough that he must have been working the night shift. Trevor felt bad for him.

“What a relief,” Deb cooed as she lit up a cigarette. “No offense, but your brand of cigarettes is really shit.”

“Yeah, probably,” Trevor replied. “I don’t really notice because I only smoke them for the nicotine.”

“Well of course you do. Everybody only smokes for the nicotine. But that doesn’t mean they have to be shit.”

“I guess.”

“Oh, dear, I’m already getting drunk and I don’t feel even close to done drinking yet,” Deb suddenly shouted. “Would you like to get positively wasted with me and take a cab back to my place?”

“I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t like to.”

She looked over at him and smiled. “You’re not going to, though, are you?”

“At this point, I don’t really know.”

“Perhaps I can convince you.” She jumped in front of him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and pressed her mouth against his. He kissed her back, and loved it. It was exciting.

“There,” she said after a few seconds. “Now if you want any more you’ll have to commit to spending the evening with me.” She didn’t wait for a response, just turned back around again and kept walking back towards the bar, as if leading him. He followed, and caught up to her again.

“You know what I feel like?” he suddenly said. A bizarre thought had occurred to him.

“What’s that?”

“I feel like I’m sleepwalking. It’s weird.”

“Steadily heading for drunk too, are you?”

“Not exactly. I mean, yeah, definitely. But it’s not how I usually feel. I used to sleepwalk all the time when I was a little kid. My mom actually used to worry about it, like I was going to hurt myself one day. Then I just stopped when I got older. But this feeling right now is like how I felt when I was just waking up from it, kind of half sleepwalking and half conscious.”

“I’m glad I inspire such new feelings in you,” said Deb.

They pushed through the doors and walked back into the bar. The return to the noise and the lights and the band—it was a different one now, but no different to Trevor—was a hard shock. They walked back to the bar, and Trevor felt different sitting there. He didn’t actually feel like continuing to drink.

“Trevor,” said Deb.

“Yeah?”

“Before we go on, there’s something I think I ought to tell you.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m sorry, but I lied to you earlier.”

“About what?”

“That fellow with the tie that you were talking about earlier. He is my boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Trevor immediately had a sick feeling in his stomach, and he found its presence there more disturbing than the sickness itself.

“I’m really sorry. I just thought it would get in the way. You know, of us. I really like you.”

“Why’d he leave?”

“We were planning on leaving all along. We were going to go bowling with a large group. He really wanted to go but I told him I suddenly didn’t feel like it and pretended I was enjoying the band too much to leave. I just kept insisting he go without me because he wanted to go. Told him I’d take a cab home.”

Trevor nodded.

“I lied to him though. The only reason I wanted to stay here was because I was hoping I’d get to talk to you.”

He nodded again.

“So listen. I’m going to go run to the bathroom. I’ve got to pee so bad. When I get back, let’s just go right to my place. We can finish getting drunk there. I’ve got a lot to drink.”

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay!” Deb stood up and headed for the bathroom. She was walking just a little unsteady.

As soon as the bathroom door had closed behind her, Trevor looked back to the table that Amy had been sitting at. She was standing up a little away from it, talking to Bill and Casey and the members of the first band, the one that she had apparently helped promote. He got up and walked over in their direction.

“Hey,” he said, tapping on Amy’s shoulder. She turned around. “Oh, hey,” she said. “Where’ve you been?”

“Sitting at the bar. Listen, I’m sorry to ask, but can we duck out of here like right now? I feel like absolute shit. I think I’m getting sick or something. And I’m in no condition to drive and I don’t have enough left for a taxi.”

She gave him a funny look. Not in a bad way, though. “Alright,” she said. She turned back to the others she’d been conversing with. “Hey guys, we’re gonna get going.”

They all said goodbye to her, and a few quick hugs and kisses were exchanged. She turned back to Trevor. “Okay, let’s go,” she said, fishing around in her pocket for her keys.

“Sorry to drag you out of here,” Trevor said. “I feel really bad about it.”

“It’s okay,” said Amy. “Don’t mention it. I got to see Tommy and the guys play anyway, that’s the only real reason we were here tonight.”

“Yeah,” he said.

They walked back out into the night, and Trevor was relieved again. He looked up at the thick black sky, still almost totally without stars. It was beautiful. He pulled open the car door, and sat down, noticing suddenly how incredibly tired he actually was. He felt boring again.

Amy shut the door on the other side and started up the car. “Who was that girl you were sitting with?” she asked.

“She was someone I knew in high school,” Trevor replied. “I felt like I had to go talk to her, but I didn’t really want to. She was never a very interesting person.”

Amy nodded. “When the two of you left, I honestly thought you were ditching me,” she said.

“Nah,” said Trevor. “She just wanted me to go with her to buy cigarettes, and I couldn’t say no.”

“Ah,” said Amy. “Isn’t there a machine in there, though?”

“Yeah, but apparently it was broken and she hates to pay six bucks for cigarettes anyway.”

“It’s not broken. I just bought a pack out of it like a half hour ago.”

Trevor laughed quietly. “Yeah, that’s the kind of thing she would do,” he said.

“Oh well,” said Amy. She pressed her foot down further on the gas.

There are some little issues with pacing and flow, but nothing damning. Overall, it was pretty tightly written without any really dead weight, although some of it did kinda drag. I did think the "gut-wrencher" nickname was a little over the top, but that's not a real complaint. The only bit of advice I have is to try to make better use of pronouns. You have a tendency to repeat names a bit too often for my liking.

There are some little issues with pacing and flow, but nothing damning.

Any specific examples? It'd be hard for me to know exactly what you mean just based on the whole story.

The second was on Trevor’s right-which-would-be-his-left,

There's a pretty decent example. That could easily be cleaned up, but as it stands, I had to read over it a couple of times to figure out what the hell you meant.


The bartender was a bored looking, chubby girl with glasses and her hair tied back. The glasses were there to improve her piercing stare.

Those could easily be spliced into one sentence and would be more readable IMO if rewritten as, "The bartender was a bored looking, chubby girl with her hair tied back and a pair of glasses that (insert point of second sentence)."

I'm not going to go through and list every instance, but that should give you a general idea of what I mean.

Yup, it definitely does. Thanks for the feedback.

Anytime.

Post stuff like this more often. This forum needs more good (or even decent) material.

Just a few things that need to get fixed.


�Ties and blazers are no longer worn separately. Have you noticed that?�

I'm assuming you meant for it to say that ties and blazers are no longer worn together. :)


�We don�t really have time to listen to music or watch movies anymore,� Casey said, looking absently at the stage, which was now being populated by a variety of males in their early twenties, setting up band equipment. �Everything�s so hectic now.� Trevor felt like he should be upset about how sad she looked, because her life was full of all the things she had talked about wanting years ago, but he didn�t actually care.

This bit was a little confusing. I wasn't sure is you were talking about Amy or Casey.

Other then that, I thought it was wonderful. The beginning was good, but after it got into the conversation, it got great. It's nice to read something from you again. I love pretty much everything you've ever written, and it's been way too long.

Gwahaha. It's weird the things you can miss in your own story. Yes, together it should be. I think I wrote it with something more like "they're worn separately" initially and somehow didn't change the word? X_X Boy, that was ridiculous!

The second thing you quoted, I'm having trouble understanding where the confusion lies. Do you have a suggestion for how I could make it more clear? To me, it looks pretty obvious since the description is immediately following Casey's dialogue. (She's the one it's talking about.) Maybe I'm just missing something really obvious though because it was so recently I wrote the story!

And thank you very much. ^_^

As to the low amount of output of my writing, I'm afraid I've just done very little short story writing recently. But I'm getting kinda back into it now, I think, so hopefully there will be more in the near future.

The second thing you quoted, I'm having trouble understanding where the confusion lies. Do you have a suggestion for how I could make it more clear? To me, it looks pretty obvious since the description is immediately following Casey's dialogue. (She's the one it's talking about.) Maybe I'm just missing something really obvious though because it was so recently I wrote the story!

It was just because Amy had just been talking about the magazine, and how stressful and was and it seemed to fit. Aside from saying that things were hectic, Casey never talked about any things she had that she might have wanted years ago.

Maybe I just was thinking something weird when I read it and was confused because of that. If no one else is confused then you are probably phrasing things just fine.

I liked it. No big problems with how Deb spoke.

I tried to find them though!

Hey, TK, nice to see some of your work again. I just finished reading the 'God hates us' (or something) story you wrote. Man, if there are anyone on this forum who can write, it's you (sorry, I'm tired, I know my sentences are making little sense now). Anyway, I'm too tired to read anything now, but I'll certainly check back for this sometime. I just know it'll be good.

Thanks for the feedback, all.

Ndi: Now I see what you mean about that! I will try to work in some way of making it indisputable that it's referring to Casey there.

Meh.

Wrote this tonight for an assignment in my writing class. It's short for a story, but I think longer than what the prof was asking for. Oh well. He seems like a pretty kickass dude and I don't think he'll mind too much.

Keep in mind I wrote this tonight so I have only given it a cursory once-over and it's going to be rough. That said, it shouldn't be too rough because it's short.

If any of you recall that short blurb from the guy at the Philadelphia zoo I posted not too long ago, it is written in a similar style to that. Fast, super-coloquial stream of consciousness stuff.



I Need a Stronger Prescription

It’s already 1 A.M. and I’m showing no signs of slowing down. There’s too much caffeine in my system to sleep, and I’m too tired to do anything that would require any effort. This is a problem because I’ve got a paper due tomorrow and it’s not finished, but you know, screw it, I’m already failing the class and it’s not like a final assignment or something.

Since I can’t go to sleep and I can’t do anything useful, I was going to watch a movie, but my computer is infected with so much spyware that I can’t use it anymore and I don’t have a DVD player in my room. I don’t feel like trying to find someone who’s still awake who has a DVD player just so I can watch Mean Girls for the seventeenth time without really paying attention to it.

That’s when I remember that I’m almost out of razors, and I’m down to my last little thingy of lip balm, and I’ve been meaning to make a run to CVS. It would be a slightly productive thing to do with my time, at least. So I pick up my jacket and quickly glance in the mirror to make sure my hair doesn’t look ridiculous or anything. When I see my reflection, I remember that I haven’t shaven in four days, and I’ve got a lot of thick fuzz. There’s no way I could focus enough to actually shave right now, and I hate the idea of going out looking like this to buy razors. I know this is going to sound stupid, but if I walk into CVS with this really thick fuzz on my face and buy razors, it’s kind of embarrassing. Like, oh man, that guy is obviously kind of messed up if he doesn’t have razors and he’s waited this long to buy some. I wouldn’t worry about this normally because most of the time the CVS employees on the night shift are just fat bald guys or old guys or guys with long greasy hair or something, but just recently this really cute girl started working the night shift there and she’s been there the last three times I came in past midnight. I don’t have any intention of asking her out or anything, I mean I don’t know a thing about her except she’s really cute, and I once overheard her making a comment to a coworker that she thought somebody was hot, but I couldn’t hear who she was referring to. On some level of my brain, I like to hope she was talking about me, because I like to think I’m good looking, at least when I’ve kept up with shaving properly. But she was probably talking about some guy in a magazine, or making a joke or something. Anyway, like I said, she’s no big deal to me. I’m not planning on trying to ask her out or something stupid like that. I’m not so pathetic I hit on girls at cash registers. I’m just saying, there’s this weird part of me that hates to make a bad impression on someone I find attractive, no matter what the circumstances.

So—and I know this is really crazy—I actually take like five more minutes hesitating about going to buy razors with a thick five o’clock shadow before I finally just basically decide whatever and I put on my jacket and go.

I think I’m almost at the point of needing a stronger prescription for my glasses. This is a little distressing to me because I don’t have any money and I don’t really want to try to hit my parents up for it, even though I know they’d give it to me for something like glasses. It’s just they’ve already sent me a lot of money and I feel bad about the way I’ve spent it. But I’m a college student, so what am I going to do with money I get aside from buying beer and records? I’m sorry, that’s all I really want out of life right now, to be honest. Maybe that and a nice girlfriend. But all the nice girls I know are too nice. And all the girls who aren’t too nice, they all drink too much. I want a nice girl who’s not so nice she doesn’t drink occasionally, but you know, she keeps it reasonable.

It’s a pretty nice night. At least in terms of the weather. I like it when I’m comfortable just wearing my jean jacket. I’m not really scared of walking the city street late at night because I don’t get scared about things. I’m not some macho-freak or anything, I just don’t find the prospect of some hoodlum attacking me very scary. If it actually happened, I’d get scared. But I guess I just never got over that teenager thing, what my mom always called the “it won’t happen to me” syndrome. I’ve been amazed at how lucky I’ve been through my whole life and I guess it’s just made me sort of cocky. But I can’t help thinking that bad stuff just doesn’t happen to me. I mean, I was once standing within thirty feet of a person who got hit by lightning, and I once survived a pretty bad car accident when I wasn’t wearing my seatbelt, and I’ve walked a lot of dark city streets past midnight and never gotten mugged. Maybe people exaggerate the danger of it, or maybe it’s only really dangerous if you’re a girl, or maybe I’m just ridiculously lucky. I don’t really care.

I like how in the city, it’s never really dark. Even at night there’s always the streetlights and stuff, and the headlights of the occasional passing car, and the lights of the few places that keep lights on all the time. It makes it easy for me to stay awake most of the time. I hate the idea of sleep. The concept of lying down somewhere and doing nothing. Even if I’m wasting time, I’d prefer to be doing something wasting time. That’s why I drink so much coffee. I’m up to like six cups a day, I think. I know it’s bad for me, but if I die sooner, I don’t care that much because it’ll probably all come out the same. I will have spent more time awake during the years I was alive, so what’s the difference? I’d rather live a short life and be awake more than a long life and be awake half the time. Missing stuff sucks. I once missed a show that three of my top five favorite currently-existing bands were playing, and it was all because I had promised a girl I was dating at the time that I would go do some stupid thing with her. I was so mad when I found out the show was that day but when I tried to change our plans she got all upset and cried and stuff. It made me feel like such a horrible bastard, so I gave it up. She used to pull that crying stuff a lot. Man, I’m glad she’s gone. I wish I’d never started dating her because that show would have been one of the highlights of my life, I swear. I’ll never get over the fact that I missed it. Those three bands will probably never be in the same room together again, ever.

When I finally get to CVS (it’s quite a few blocks, but I don’t mind the walk because like I said, it’s a really nice night out), there’s a bum sleeping outside and I wonder whether bums are really stuck or if they just don’t feel like doing anything. I once saw a bum sitting outside a building separating a bunch of coins into stacks of the different types. He had a stack of his quarters, a stack of his dimes, a stack of his nickels, and a stack of his pennies. He was counting them all up. I thought it was pretty sad, but the stacks weren’t small. I was surprised at how many coins he had. And actually, he looked so happy about them, in retrospect it’s hard for me to keep feeling sad about it. I mean, he was like, off in his own world with those coins. They were his treasure. He was really into them.

I walk inside the store and head right to where the razors are. I come in here to buy razors an awful lot, so I know exactly where to go. I’m glad to see that the girl I was talking about earlier isn’t at the front. Maybe she’s got the night off. With any luck, she won’t ring me up. I pick up my razors and start to head to the front, because I want to get there while that old guy is up there so that he’ll ring me up and I’m not in danger of the cute girl seeing my five o’clock shadow, but then I remember that I haven’t gotten that lip balm. My lips get really chapped and if I run out of lip balm, it’s the biggest pain in the ass. So I walk over there taking big huge steps. I don’t really want to look like I’m in a hurry, because then I’d look stupid, but at the same time I am in a hurry. I know as I’m doing it that it’s utterly ridiculous, that I shouldn’t care if the cute girl rings me up or not, but I really do.

I grab the lip balm and head back to the front, and then I kind of panic a little (not like real genuine panic, I’m not that ridiculous) because the old guy is gone. They have one of those bells on the counter now that you have to ring for assistance. I’m already on my way to the counter and I’ll feel really stupid if I stop all of a sudden and go look at magazines or something. So I try to kill time before hitting the bell. I scan the racks of candy they have under the counter, pretending I’m trying to decide what to buy, when really I don’t want to eat any candy right now. In fact, the idea of eating candy is making me a little bit nauseous. I feel stupid after like thirty seconds, so I finally just grab a Milky Way. I can’t believe I’m actually buying a Milky Way, but on the off chance someone was watching me scan those racks, I’d look really stupid to them not actually buying any candy.

Then I realize just to what extent I am being stupid and I feel really ridiculous and I just hit the bell, a little harder than I needed to probably, but at this point I’m really pissed at myself. Someone walks up the aisle behind me and I can tell it’s an employee by the frequency of their steps. I put my stuff down on the counter at the register, but I don’t look around because I don’t want it to be the cute girl. It is, though. She stands behind the register and says, “Hi.”

“Hey,” I say.

She starts ringing up my stuff without asking if I have a CVS card. This is evidence that she knows I don’t have one and thus remembers me, which simultaneously thrills the tiny part of me that wants to believe she was talking about me that time she commented on somebody being hot, and panics the part of me that doesn’t want her to remember me as that guy who hadn’t shaven in four days and was buying razors. (I never got a CVS card even though I probably buy enough stuff from them for it to be worth it. I’m just too lazy to bother.)

She tells me how much it is and I pull out my wallet and start flipping through my bills. I’m one of those people who hates it if I have to break a twenty.

“Gone a few days without these, huh?” the girl suddenly asks, pointing at my razors.

I am panicking again. Okay, think, think fast. Damage control. “Yeah,” I say, grinning sheepishly. “It’s been a really crazy past few days. I hate having this scruffiness, but I just keep forgetting about it. I really hate it though.”

“Well, I kind of like the scruffy look on you, actually,” she says, flashing me a very attractive smile.

“Oh,” I say. “Well, I guess when I get home I’ll have to look in a mirror and reevaluate my opinion of it.” She laughs, and I pay her.

“Well, I’ll be waiting to find out the results of your decision,” she says, handing me my change and my bag.

“Alright,” I say. “Thanks.” I turn and walk away from the counter, and head out the door. The bum is still sleeping in the exact same position, but I’m not really paying much attention to him anymore. I think it is fairly undeniable that at this point, I am the hottest man on the face of the planet, and I am too busy reveling in that fact to take notice of much else.

Ok I retract that cause been sorted

Glad to see you're still writing TK. Keep it up.

As yet untitled. Very rough draft. As always I could use criticism.





The weather is deceptively pleasant today. I drove here with the windows down, and I didn’t like how good it felt. I want to be miserable right now, because I’m pulling up to Sadie’s house for what will probably be the last time in months. Her family is great, but I don’t think I’m going to be coming over just to see them a whole lot.

She’s already outside, sitting on her porch, waiting for me. There’s a blue duffel bag and two suitcases next to her. She’s an unusually light packer for a girl; this is all she’s taking with her to college.

“Hey,” I say. She stands up as I approach and reaches out to hug me. I hug her back, and it’s depressing. “Ready to go?” I ask. I’m all business, I guess.

“Not really,” she says, picking up her duffel bag. I grab both of the suitcases. I still instinctively pick things up for girls, even when they are Sadie.

“How bad were things this morning?” I ask, to change the subject. It’s weird, but I’m actually struggling to find conversation.

“Not that bad. Mom didn’t even cry.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I think she got it all out of her system already.”

I chuckle a little. I’m not really feeling it. I think maybe the thing I’m most upset about is just the fact that I’m not even happy for her. I just want her to stay. It’s pretty selfish of me, but I’m really tired of losing people.

I open the trunk and toss her suitcases in. She shoves her duffel bag in after them. “Thanks again for driving me,” she says.

“Of course,” I say. And we walk around to our opposite sides of the car to get inside. Everything about this is awkward, and it probably shouldn’t be.

It’s slightly relieving to be behind the wheel, though. I like it when I have something to be doing with my hands. “So how are you feeling?” I ask. “Pretty much the same?”

“It hasn’t really hit me yet,” she says. “Nothing ever does.”

I love stuff like that. When people mention stuff like nothing ever hitting them. It’s a lot more real than most things people say. Nothing ever really hits anybody, in my experience. Definitely not me. So I say, “Yeah.” And I really mean it.

Sadie lives in one of those little residential neighborhoods where all the houses look the same, and it’s like finding your way out of a maze to get back onto a real road. I know the way by heart, though. In fact, this whole routine is pretty familiar, including the trip to the airport. I’ve driven Sadie to the airport for virtually everything she’s ever gotten on a plane for, which includes tons of trips to see her dad, and a couple others to visit her friend Lea, who moved out to Minnesota a few years ago. I don’t think she ever liked me, and I can’t really say I was too fond of her either.

“But, I guess I am kind of excited,” Sadie adds. “Not like giddy or anything, just kinda have this little pounding at the back of my mind.” I can tell that she is smiling as she says this, even though my eyes are on the road.

I nod. “I know the pounding well,” I say. And I do. I think it’s actually apprehension more than excitement. Apprehension may be the most familiar thing in the world for me.

We’re back on Jackson Avenue now, which covers most of the distance between here and Route 4, the road to the airport. I’m really looking forward to getting out onto Route 4 so I can drive fast. I’m a pretty good driver, and I like going fast because it feels more natural to me.

“It’s gonna be so awesome when you come visit me,” Sadie says. “Dude, you have no idea how cool Pittsburgh is.”

I smile a little, because I do have an idea how cool Pittsburgh is; Sadie has not stopped telling me about it since she went to visit and fell in love. But this is one of the things I like about her: She naturally fills gaps in conversation with whatever is on her mind, and there’s always something on her mind. There aren’t very many people who I don’t feel bored around, and she’s one of them.

“It’ll be fun,” I say.

“Hell yeah it will. I’m gonna show you where all the cool spots are. You better get a job though, so we can do this.”

I grunt. She knows what my prospects for employment are. It should be noted that I have had a total of five jobs in the past and none of them have ended well. They are as follows:

1) Gas station register button pusher. All I had to do for this job was sit behind a counter and push buttons. There was no actual work involved. Of all the jobs I lost, it’s the one I regret the most, because I’ve never had it so good. The pay was low, but I didn’t really care as long as I got some money and I was able to just sit around and read a book or play my Game Boy. So why did I quit? I didn’t. I got fired for stealing money out of the register. Which I did, frequently.

2) Video store clerk. I worked at this really small privately owned place. The selection of movies was about one fourth your so-called “family” movies, which maybe included a few black and white classics, one Woody Allen movie, Star Wars, and every bad science fiction movie ever made. The other three fourths of the store were the adult section. I also got fired from this job. It was because I falsified information on my job application. I told them that I had never had a job before because I thought they wouldn’t hire me if they knew I stole from my last job. How did they find out that I had had a previous job? I’m stupid, and I told the manager in an idle conversation.

3) Schoolbus window washer. Yeah, they actually hired me to wash the schoolbus windows. I needed a job and I didn’t want to have to try to get hired somewhere real when I’d gotten fired from my last two jobs, and working for the bus garage seemed easy since they weren’t too picky. I mean they just wanted somebody to wash the windows. Well, that was the worst idea I ever had. I showed up the first three days, and then quit halfway through the fourth by just abandoning the place without saying a word about it to anybody. The funny thing is that they never even said anything to me about it; I guess with that job, employees walking away must be a regular occurrence.

4) Best Buy employee. My sister was a manager there and she got me a job. With my record, I’d never have gotten it without her. I got fired, though. For stealing money out of the register. I don’t know why I do this. It’s just that it’s always sitting there.

5) Fast food restaurant worker. A girl I used to be friends with worked there and she got me the job. Three guesses what I got fired for. I didn’t really miss it, though. It was a terrible job, and I lost my ability to enjoy food while I was working there.

So as you can see, my track record isn’t so good when it comes to employment. I’m not really sure what the hell I’m going to do to get work, actually. I’ve been thinking maybe I’ll offer to mow lawns over the summer. That way there won’t be any money sitting there for me to think about stealing. I’m just worried it’ll be like the schoolbus job instead, that I’ll hate it too much and I’ll get fed up and drive away when I’m halfway through somebody’s lawn, leaving the mower out there and everything.

The weird part is that I’m not some kleptomaniac. I’ve never stolen from any place that hasn’t been stupid enough to hire me. And when I do it, I know they’re going to catch me. It’s obvious. When your drawer ends up being ten bucks short a few nights in a row, somebody’s just going to get suspicious and that’s the way it is. I guess when it all comes down to it, I just don’t give a shit. That’s the truth. I’m all about instant gratification. I’d rather have that extra money now than stay employed and have more later.

We’re on Route 4 now, and the windows are down, and once again I’m resentful of how good it feels. Sadie is still telling me about Pittsburgh, and I am still listening, sort of. It’s not that I don’t want to listen to her. I actually like listening to her babbling; it’s one of the reasons we get along so well. It’s just that I’m a little mad at her. Just the tiniest little bit of mad. Not a big deal, really. But I tend to blow things out of proportion.

See, Sadie’s been my best friend for five years now, and she’s just leaving me. I really hate it when people just up and leave. You build all these relationships and then they just get broken off at random.

The airport is like airports always are: A pain the ass to drop someone off at. There’s too many people, and all of them are either getting in somewhere or leaving, or meeting or dropping somebody off, all of which means they’re in a hurry and they’re only paying attention to themselves or the people they care about. That’s nice, I guess—a lot of people seem to create these really endearing images of airports in their heads. I saw a movie once that began and ended in an airport and was talking about how great it was that all the people there were finding each other after long times of being away. I hate to state the obvious, but that’s not how it is when you go to an airport. And I’m not trying to decry the movie either. I mean, it was a bad movie, but not because of that. I’m just using it as an example of how it’s easy for people to put a lot of sentimental value into something that doesn’t really deserve it. And that’s why I don’t really enjoy airports: I don’t seem capable of endowing locations or inanimate objects with fake sentimental value like most people.
Actually, come to think of it, the phrase “fake sentimental value” is probably kind of redundant.

“Let’s go play on a baggage carousel,” says Sadie.

“A baggage carousel?” I ask. I’m cracking a grin, which is cool—she always says nonsensical things like that and entertains me, even if I’m in a bad mood.

“It’s from a song,” says Sadie. “‘And the airport’s almost always empty this time of the year, so let’s go play on a baggage carousel. And set our watches forward, like we’re just arriving here, from a past we left in a place we knew too well.’ I always think of it when I’m at an airport.”

I open up the trunk of my car and pull out her suitcases. “Somehow I don’t think the airport would like it very much if we did that,” I say.

“Well, we wouldn’t want to do that, then!” Sadie playfully punches my arm, and when we start heading through the revolving doors, and I go first, she intentionally squeezes in right behind me. She always does this. I’ve seen her do it to strangers before.

After we finally manage to shove our way through the revolving door, and we’ve laughed our guts out and drawn some pretty odd looks from passing strangers, and I’ve called her a few impolite words, we saunter into the main lobby of the airport and all at once I remember what it is we’re doing and I don’t feel like laughing anymore.


I tried to stop smoking several times last year, but I always lost my resolve a few days into it. I’m greedily sucking on my fourth cigarette on the drive home, and I take an immature pleasure in throwing the butts out the window right now, because I feel like a guy in some movie flicking his cigarette butt at someone to say “eff you.”

I’m really actually not in some kind of horrible emotional state. I always end up feeling really sad over stuff like when people leave, but it’s not the end of the world. My life is still going on. It does sort of feel like the end of the world sometimes, but I always know that it’s not as big of a deal as the sick feeling in my stomach is making it out to be. The day I actually feel like I can’t keep functioning normally in my life just because someone else’s is going the way they want, I’ll know I’ve just completely lost it. That would be pathetic.

I can see a plane out the window, taking off from the airport, and it’s entirely possible it’s the one Sadie is on. But it doesn’t really matter. As far as I’m concerned, she is in Pittsburgh, and has already forgotten me. I’m going to do the same thing I have always done when somebody I care about goes away from me: I’m going to ignore her letters and emails and avoid returning her phone calls. I’m going to do this because I’m a selfish asshole.

When I get home, my mom is out in the front yard, working on her garden. I think for a second that it would be nice of me to offer to help her—it’s not like I actually do anything around here—but I really have no desire to pull up weeds.

“Hi, honey,” she says. “Is Sadie on her way to Pittsburgh?”

“Yeah,” I say. Thanks, mom. I really needed you to reaffirm to me what I just did.

“Jay called, by the way,” she says as I start to open the front door. “He wanted you to call him back.”

“Okay.” I shut the front door and head for the kitchen. I don’t really want to talk to Jay—and I don’t want to hang out, either, which I know is where this is going to go—but I want even less to sit around by myself doing nothing, feeling pathetic because I miss Sadie and putting all my energy into not thinking about it. So I guess that means I’m calling Jay back.

I hate telephones.

“Hey, sexy,” Jay says when he picks up.

“Hi, stupid,” I say. “What’s up?”

“We’re gonna go see a movie. Some war movie or something. Judgedeath or something, I dunno, it looked cool. You gotta come, we’ll come pick you up in like five minutes.”

“Do we have to? Can we just go do something else?”

“Like what? What the hell else are we gonna do?”

“I don’t know.”

“So we’re going to a movie. We’ll be there in like five minutes, we’re turning around just to get you, man, we’re like on the way to the theater. If you miss this movie you suck, it’s gonna be awesome.”

“Alright, whatever, that’s fine.”

“Alright! Tell your mom I love her.”

I hang up and walk out to the living room and flop down on the couch, wondering why I’m going to see a war movie called “Judgedeath or something” with a retard I befriended in my freshman year of high school and have instinctively continued to hang out with ever since. I am also really apprehensive about the term “we.” It means that there will be others involved besides myself and Jay, and that’s a pretty disturbing thought. Knowing my luck I’ll probably end up getting stuck sitting next to his creepy little sister Allison or something. For some reason he actually hangs out with her, like as if they were friends.

Jay definitely doesn’t arrive in five minutes. It has to have been at least fifteen when I get up and go to the kitchen for a snack. This doesn’t surprise me, of course. I wasn’t really expecting them to arrive when he said they would. But it annoys me anyway.

I decide that I’m hungry enough to eat a whole slab of microwave pizza, and that if they get stuck waiting for me to finish with it, I don’t care. If it really bothers them they can go without me.

I’m about halfway through eating it when I hear a few honks outside. Not such bad time for Jay, actually.

I head outside, the unfinished half of my pizza on a paper plate. “I’m going to a movie with Jay,” I tell my mom, who is waving at the passengers of the car.

“Okay,” she says. “Should I save some dinner for you?”

“Yeah, I guess. I doubt I’ll wanna eat anything at the mall. See you later.”

When I get in the car, I am amazed, and I immediately resolve to never again open the big mouth inside my head. The individual with whom I am going to be crammed into the back seat is, in fact, Jay’s little sister Allison. The other guy in the front seat is Rob, who I’ve always hated because he smokes more pot than I would have thought even exists in this town, which results in his being kind of stupid, and because his name is so close to my own (Rod, if you were wondering) that every time anybody says anything about or to him, I turn my head as if they meant me.

My hesitation must be apparent, if Jay’s impatient demands that I get in the car are any indication.

“Hi Allison,” I say. Boy, that wasn’t awkward. She sort of looks at me and then goes back to looking out the window again; she never really responds to you, or participates much in a conversation. She’s so skinny she almost looks anorexic, and she’s wearing a tight black tank top, tight black pants, black socks, and black clogs, and her hair is dyed black and she’s wearing black eyeliner. This is her uniform. Every single time I’ve seen her, ever, she’s been dressed this way, including more than five years ago when I first encountered her. She was in seventh grade then.

“What’s up, dog.” Jay swings his hand around over the edge of his seat and back to me, and I robotically clasp it for a second.

“Nothing much,” I say. “So what’s so great about this movie again?”

“It looks badass, man. It’s got that guy in it—the guy who was in that other movie, the one with the freaky rabbit, you know? Who the hell was that guy?”

I’m not sure who or what he’s talking about, or whether he’s talking to me or Rob, so I don’t respond.

“Sounds good,” I say, looking out the window.

Jay laughs. “Yeah, right on,” he says.

Rob turns around. “Hey man, you should come hang out at this party we’re going to tonight,” he says. “A bunch of cool people are gonna be there. That chick I was telling you about is gonna be there too. You should really come and meet her.”

Oh yeah, I’d forgotten. Rob wants to hook me up with this girl he knows. He keeps telling me that we would be “perfect” for each other. I have a really difficult time believing that I’d be perfect for anybody Rob knows, because he hangs out almost exclusively with people he sells pot to (that’s how Jay knows him—I only know him through Jay. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll smoke occasionally, but when I do, I don’t get my pot from people like Rob. Just from my friends.)

“I guess,” I say. “I might as well.” Yeah, I know I just indicated I’m not too thrilled at the prospect, but keep in mind that I don’t do anything. If I’m not at a horrible party tonight surrounded by people I don’t like, having some pothead skank shoved in my face, I’m going to be at home wishing I wasn’t such a pathetic loser, so it’s not like I have a lot of options here.

Allison is still staring out the window, and I am wondering if she is even hearing any of this.


We get to the movie about fifteen minutes late, and when we walk in, it’s already started. As soon as I see it, I remember what movie I’ve been dragged to. The previews made it look awful, like the sort of movie people who plan on joining the military would enjoy, but definitely not me. There was rap in the trailer. I think if you want to find one way to say that you are an insensitive person, you should create a war movie and then put rap in the trailer.
I am not particularly happy about this except for one thing: It gives me the opportunity to think about how much I hate the stupid movie instead of how much of a loser I feel like.


I had this weird sort of epiphany once. I was thinking about how much I hated this class I was in. It really wasn’t even all that big of a deal. It was just your average high school history class with a teacher who made too much of his job and took himself too seriously, so I had to do all this crap in the class that I really didn’t find very useful. It wasn’t hard, it was just a lot of work. And I got so fed up with it that I skipped it a few times, knowing full well I’d get in a lot of trouble.

When I did that, I hadn’t really anticipated how harshly my parents would react, and they grounded me for a couple months. That’s a long time to be grounded for me. I’d only ever been grounded one other time before that and it was only for a week, and it was for accidentally setting a building on fire with some of my friends when we were stupid little kids (being grounded was the least of my worries with that one.) Anyway, my parents were really upset about me playing hooky, so I had this huge fight with my dad over it and I was really angry because I’d bought tickets for a concert the next month that I was going to have to miss, and all that stuff. Of course I don’t care at all now but back then it was the biggest deal in the world. And I remember when I’d been sitting there and thinking about how I hated, hated, hated that stupid class for ruining my life, the phrase “I miss you” kept popping into my head. I actually think about problems I have in terms of that phrase. It’s how I start all my negative thoughts.

It’s great to know that you are so reliant on other people, you address problems totally unrelated to them by thinking about how much you miss them. It really makes you feel like less of a pathetic loser. World War III could begin tomorrow, and the first thought to enter my head would probably be “I miss you.” I haven’t got the slightest idea who or what I’d be referring to, either.


When we get out of the theater (finally), Jay and Rob are talking about how awesome they thought certain parts of the movie were, and I’m just trying to make some kind of sense of Allison, who actually pulled out a small notepad in the middle of the movie and started jotting stuff down using a little flashlight pen. I’m not sure if she was making notes on the movie or ignoring it altogether, but I’m tending towards the latter because she hardly seemed to ever look up at anything on the screen. Right now she’s just staring blankly ahead as she follows Jay out of the theater.

Part of me is jealous of whatever it is she has, this ability to completely ignore reality. Sometimes I think life must be easy if you just live it inside your own head.

It’s just starting to get dark, and it’s a little cold. I guess I should have brought a jacket, but I don’t really care. The cold doesn’t bother me much. My theory as to why this is the case is that when I was really little, I used to get incredibly high fevers for what seemed to be no reason at all, and the doctor told my mom to put me in a tub of ice whenever it happened. It may have been frequent enough that I developed a lot of resistance to the cold.

“Hey Rod, you still coming to this party?” Jay asks as we get back in his car.

“Yeah, why not,” I say. Why not indeed.

“Can we stop at my house on the way?” asks Rob. “I wanna grab a sweatshirt.” Rob is already wearing a leather jacket that must be warm enough for him. What he means is that he wants to get some pot, and I cannot begin to imagine why he doesn’t just say so, because even if we didn’t all know what he was talking about, it’s not like any of us would care.
“Yeah man, but make it fast,” says Jay. “I wanna stop for some food too.”

Jay’s definition of food is “fast food.” Not very consistent with mine. We head for a drive-through, and all I order is a milkshake. I love milkshakes, and they’re impossible to screw up, even for fast food restaurants, unless you’re just an unbelievable cretin. And I don’t think most fast food workers are cretins at all, contrary to popular belief. I think they’re just normal people like everyone else, and they happen to be in whatever position it is that drives them to work a menial job instead of a good one. But maybe that’s just because I was a fast food worker.

I open the window a crack as we’re driving towards Rob’s house, and it actually makes Allison look over at me for a second. Only a second, though. Whatever she sees out the window is a lot more interesting. I’ve zoned out for a little while myself, and I don’t know what Jay and Rob are talking about anymore; it has something to do with motorcycles. I think it’s that TV show where they build motorcycles. I hate TV.

When we pull up by Rob’s house, Jay asks to come inside so he can use the bathroom. “You guys coming in too?” Rob asks. I shake my head. I’ve avoided meeting Rob’s family so far, and I’m not particularly interested in doing so now. Amazingly, Allison also shakes her head; I hadn’t been expecting her to make any kind of response. “Alright, we’ll be right back,” Rob says, and he and Jay get out and head inside.

I immediately wish I’d gone in and risked meeting Rob’s family when I realize I’m alone in the car with Allison. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so awkward in my life. She sits there, staring straight out the window, and for a few minutes, we don’t say anything. Then she turns and looks at me all of a sudden, just like that, and I’m really embarrassed because I was looking at her, and I look away, but then I look back again because she’s still looking at me. She’s actually staring at me, with her really big eyes and her eyeliner and it’s pretty much the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me. Seriously, it’s not like she could actually do anything to me—she’s a twig. But I still feel like she’s about to leap onto me, pin me down with inhuman strength, and sink her teeth into my neck.

I look away. After what feels like ten minutes but was probably only two, I look back, and she’s still looking at me. I look away again.

I’ve never been so relieved to hear the sound of a car door open in my entire life. Jay and Rob are getting back in the car, and it looks like Rob didn’t care that much about keeping his sweatshirt façade up since he’s still only wearing his leather jacket.

“Alright, let’s get the hell outta here,” says Jay, and for once, I heartily agree with him.


I think that every single person at the party is smoking when we walk in, and it reminds me that I want a cigarette, so I take one out, and I immediately feel like I’m just doing it to “fit in” at the party.
We’re in some really big house, owned by someone I have never met or heard of. There are people all over the place in the main hall, and they’re playing fairly loud dance music; I head outside so I don’t have it pounding in my brain all night. Jay and Rob are going that way too. When we get there, Rob turns to me and reminds me that he has to introduce me to this chick.

“You’re really gonna love her, man,” he tells me. “Seriously, she was like made for you.”

“If you say so,” I say, just to avoid being contrary. I’m dreading the encounter, to tell you the truth.

“Come on, come on, she’s over here,” he says, beckoning for me to follow him. I guess I might as well get it over with.
He leads me to a table with a bunch of kids sitting around it, and almost all of them are smoking cigarettes. There are three girls sitting there: One with large hoop earrings and a pony tail, one with short brown hair that’s doing one of those swooshy things over the side of her head, and one with long black hair, who reminds me of Allison. I’m praying that the one Rob is about to thrust on me is not the one that reminds me of Allison. After my experience with her in the car, I’m so afraid of black hair I think I’d just bolt and walk home if it turned out to be her.

I’ll be honest: I really want it to be the girl with the swooshy hair. I just love that hairstyle, and while I know it’s superficial, what else do I have to go on? But there is a little more too it than that. I like the way she smiles at the things people say, the way she holds her cigarette, and the shape of her face. She’s just one of those people who immediately appeals to me.

“Hey, what’s up,” Rob is saying, clasping a few outstretched hands. He goes straight to the girl with the swooshy hair.

“Hey, Gina, this is that guy I was telling you about, Rod,” he says. “You two are like made for each other.”

Everyone laughs, and I’m a little embarrassed, but not too much. It’s not like I initiated this stupid idea. Gina actually gets up and comes over to me and extends her hand, though, which is pretty cool of her. “Hey,” she says. “I’m Gina.”

“Rod,” I say. “Sorry to be thrown at you.”

She sort of cocks her head to the side in this really ridiculously cute way and smiles. “Well, I got up to say hi to you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” I say. I’m feeling kind of awkward and stupid because she actually kind of does seem like my type. Am I really so predictable that a guy like Rob can just pick out some girl as perfect for me and be right? No, I don’t think so. Just because she’s making a good impression on me doesn’t mean she’s this magical “right” girl that probably doesn’t even really exist.

“So, you wanna go get a beer?” she asks.

“Yeah, sure,” I say. I’m a casual drinker. I never really get totally drunk, just a little tipsy. It seems like a good way for us to talk, though. I guess that’s why she suggested it (I’m a real Einstein, I just catch right on to this stuff).

We start heading for the kegs, and I silently curse myself because I let her start the conversation. Totally not the right move.

“So how do you know Rob?” she asks.

I chuckle a little. “Not particularly well, really. I mean I met him through Jay, ‘cause I started hanging out with Jay in high school and Rob would just kinda be there sometimes. I’m not sure what made him decide to try to set us up or whatever, actually.”

“Well, maybe he just thinks he’s a good judge of character.”

“Yeah, I can’t say I really trust his opinion on that subject.” I am botching this. Horribly. That was a ham-handed thing to say. I’m an idiot.

I grab a cup and start getting her a beer. At least that’s a cool move, I guess. I don’t know, is it? If there are any girls listening to this, maybe they can let me know. But anyway, I’m down but not out. I’ve got to try to think of something good to say to her.

“I like your hair.” What the hell? What was that?

She laughs. “Thanks,” she says, smiling a little awkwardly. I hand her a beer and start to get one for myself. I am not in the mood for beer right now, not even close. In fact thinking about it is making me feel like I’m going to throw up, which would be a great way to cap this horrible conversation I’m having. Very appropriate.

“So uh, how do you know Rob, anyway?” I ask. Continue the line of conversation she started. A desperate move, but all I’ve got on such short notice.

“Eh, he knows some of my friends, and he’s always around. He’s hilarious.”

“Oh, yeah.” Rob is not hilarious. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

“So what do you do?” Uh oh. This is it. I’m sunk. She just launched a torpedo that I have neither the skill nor the resources to evade.

“Uh, well I’m kinda inbetween things at the moment, actually,” I say. Rather lamely.

“That’s cool. Taking some time off after school?” Yeah right. I graduated two years ago, and I still have no plan.

“Well, I dunno. I guess, but I don’t really think I’m going to college. I mean, I might. I just don’t know what for, and if I don’t know what for, I don’t see the point in wasting the time and money on stuff when I’m just gonna change my mind, and anyway I kinda feel like it’s a waste of time anyway, like whatever I do end up doing it can’t possibly require a college degree because I’m just not that kind of guy. Which I guess sounds sort of stupid.”

“Nah,” she says.

There’s a bit of silence, and then she breaks it. “Well, I’m gonna go head back to my table,” she says. “Good meeting you… Rod, was it?”

“Yeah, Rod,” I say. “Good to meet you, Gina.”

“Yeah, maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, definitely.”

She heads back towards the table she was sitting at, and I’m pretty certain that she will not maybe see me around.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. This just wasn’t the right night, I guess. My game usually isn’t so horrible. I’m pretty decent at talking to girls I’ve just met, in fact sometimes I even feel like I’m good at it. I’ve gotten a few phone numbers, started a few relationships. None of them have ever lasted very long, of course, but I’ve never really had a hard time starting them. See, that’s the thing. When it comes to starting relationships with people, I’m fine, I just can’t seem to keep them going longer than a month. I always get left.

In this case, I was left before it even started. Maybe I’m getting worse. Maybe I’m suffering some kind of horrible breakdown and I can’t even tell, and one of these days I’m going to wake up and realize I’ve become a hermit and I haven’t showered in three weeks and I’ve been wearing the same clothes for days and I’ll just live out the rest of my pathetic existence as a total and complete misanthrope.

Probably not. I’m probably just having a bad night. Day. Whatever. The point is, I’m not really worried about my future. I’m just annoyed at myself for sucking so badly at virtually everything.

I find the table where Jay and Rob are sitting, and take an empty chair. “What’s up, man?” asks Rob. “Didn’t work out?”

“Nah,” I say. “I wasn’t feeling it. Thanks though.”

“Come on, man, I know this chick is perfect for you. Get back in there and try again.”

“Nah, really. Thanks, but I don’t think it’s gonna happen. I’m just not feeling it.” Not feeling it my ass. I really liked her.

“Okay, whatever man. But you should trust me on this. I know about this stuff. I’m like, the fuckin’ matchmaker and shit.”

A few other people at the table laugh, and it only occurs to me right now that they are all passing a joint around, and I’m probably going to be expected to smoke it. Only, I just don’t feel like it right now. I’m in a horrible mood and I can’t even begin to think about smoking pot. It’ll make me stupid, and I don’t want that. It’s just not the right night for it.
I should have stayed home and felt like a loser all night. It would beat feeling like a loser around a bunch of other people who are having a good time.

Sure enough, the joint comes around to me. “I’m not really in the mood tonight,” I say. “Thanks though.” I pass it on. There are some jeers and some slaps on my shoulder and some encouragement, but I just shrug and repeat that I’m not in the mood, and they shrug and say whatever and pass it on.

And I’m sitting here, listening to them all getting high, talking about really inane things, and feeling more and more miserable every moment that passes. Jay and Rob and talking about the movie we went to see, but of course they’re high, so they actually manage to make it sound even stupider than it was. Everyone thinks everything they say is hilarious. I’m not contributing anything to the conversation, because after all, how could I? But I don’t think I’d want to even if I could.

I’m zoning out. I’m thinking about Gina, and how I really liked that swooshy thing her hair did, and I’m thinking about dropping Sadie at the airport earlier—that’s the thought that this stupid party was supposed to keep me away from—and how I really just want to go home. But Jay and Rob are my ride. I didn’t even think of that until just now. The thought of driving home with them, while they’re laughing and talking about stupid crap and probably screaming like maniacs, is beyond sickening. And they wouldn’t want to leave yet anyway. They’ll probably want to stay here for hours.

And then I start to wonder where Allison went. I think she stayed inside the main hall, dancing. I don’t get how she can just blend into a crowd all of a sudden when she’s so weird about people.

I get up. I can’t sit here anymore and listen to this crap; I have to go somewhere else. But as I look around, I see that most everyone is drunk, high, or both, and while the thought of drinking until I can’t feel myself anymore is definitely a tempting one, I just can’t bring myself to do it, and I start walking towards the main hall, in the desperate, useless hope that I will find something of value in there.

But when I step inside, there’s nothing, as I knew would be the case. I’m up on the top of the steps that lead out onto the porch, and I can look out from above over this huge room of people dancing, probably all high and drunk as well, and looking like animals. I can’t stay here any more than I could outside. But going back out the way I came in is out of the question. Gina might see me wandering around like an idiot and think even worse of me.

So I wander through the crowd, trying to get to the front door, so I can get to the driveway, where it might be quiet. The music is even louder down here, and no matter where I turn there’s some person blocking me who I have to push past. They don’t really seem to mind—they’re used to the sensation of rebounding off other bodies, I guess. They probably think I’m another dancer.

When I finally make it through the crowd, I push through the front door, and I take a huge breath of the crisp night air. I’m relieved to be out in the cold. There is nobody out here, and I can only faintly hear the music through the walls.
I walk down the long driveway, past where Jay’s car is parked. I keep on going, way down towards the road. I can see a couple of pairs of headlights in the distance, but it’s late enough that there aren’t many cars around on these small suburban streets, which is great. I don’t want a lot of company.

I’m not sure where I’m going. My house is miles from here, but maybe I’m actually walking there anyway. I’m not too concerned with that right now. All I really care about is getting away from this stupid party. I guess I’m leaving.

Only just realised I hadn't read your most recent story, so I did so! And I found it quite good, as usual!

I suck though, because I can never find much to criticise.

The only line that tripped me up was

I�ve driven Sadie to the airport for virtually everything she�s ever gotten on a plane for, which includes tons of trips to see her dad, and a couple others to visit her friend Lea, who moved out to Minnesota a few years ago. I don�t think she ever liked me, and I can�t really say I was too fond of her either. because for a second I thought he was saying he didn't like Sadie, but it's probably just me.

And it was probably your intention, but you didn't resolve anything with that Allison girl. Finally, I think I get what you're doing with the ending, but it was the only part that seemed weak to me. Maybe just because stuff wasn't wrapped up in a neat little package as in most stories.

I enjoyed your other stories here too, but can't remember other criticisms!

Consider this a bump to get other, more critical people to comment!

Oh shit, I forgot to comment on this when I had intended to which must have been over two weeks ago.

Anyway, I read through it again to refresh myself with the story and although I tried to be critical, I basically like the story and found no holes in it at all, even the thing Bigfoot posted didn't confuse me, but I can see why it is confusing.

The story is nice and descriptive without ever being overbearingly so and everything is written with a flair which allows the reader to really immerse themselves in the story.

The only criticism I do have, and it's nothing to do with the story, is a grammar thing. I've already mentioned it to you but another opinion on this would be nice.

It’s slightly relieving to be behind the wheel, though.

It seems like a good way for us to talk, though.
There's tonnes more examples, but it'd be pretty pointless to quote them all. Anyway, I really don't like the sentences that end like that. I don't know why but I guess it lacks flow or something and I'd just leave them comma-less, but that's just me.

Anyway, certainly one of the best pieces of writing submitted in this forum and an enjoyable story!

You, sir, are the Seinfeld of this sub-forum.

Just enough material to make you read it, but nothing of substance.

And it was probably your intention, but you didn't resolve anything with that Allison girl. Finally, I think I get what you're doing with the ending, but it was the only part that seemed weak to me. Maybe just because stuff wasn't wrapped up in a neat little package as in most stories.

I agree, the end needs work. I knew that when I finished this draft, and I just didn't have the energy to try to fix it. I'm glad you think you get what I'm doing with the ending though, 'cause so far everybody else who commented on it has just demanded a fairy tale ending. =/

Here is a story I wrote. It's called Furious Rose. This is probably not a totally finished draft but it has had a significant amount of revising.

Furious Rose</center>

Outside, sitting on the balcony railing, enjoying what amounted to a perfect night, Jemina smoked a cigarette. Carly watched, resting her head on the palm of her hand, playing with her glasses by removing and replacing them and noting the difference in the world. Both of the girls were still wearing their school uniforms, even though it was late.

“You’re lucky,” said Jemina. “Your dad doesn’t imprison you. My dad catches me having a smoke and he grounds me for a month. Which is all of my life, if you think about it from my perspective.” She took another drag. Cigarette smoke rose (fittingly, because Jemina’s last name was Rose) to the sky.

“Not really,” said Carly. “You’re just being a baby about it. One month is nothing.”

“I said from my perspective. The statement justifies itself. It is my perspective. So according to my perspective, my perspective is correct.”

“I see. But that I were endowed with the wisdom of Socrates, I’d give you what for over that.”
Jemina rose.

“What did we have to do for English tomorrow?” she asked, walking over to the beach chair that Carly was sitting in.

“You can check the syllabus as well as I can,” Carly said. She would actually have preferred to be home that night, doing the very English assignment that Jemina was asking about, but for some reason, she always came when called.

“Or I can ask you,” said Jemina. “Easy enough.”

“Why don’t you try doing your own work for a change?”

“I can’t work right now!” Jemina plopped herself down on the floor next to Carly. “I’m too distraught.”

“Distract yourself.”

“I prefer to destroy myself, instead.” To prove the point, Jemina took another puff of smoke.

“Well, if you’re really so furious, find something to take it out on,” Carly suggested. Then, removing her glasses to polish them on her shirt sleeve, she amended with, “something other than me.”

“I wouldn’t take it out on you,” Jemina scoffed. “You’re no fun.”

“Better to be boring than boorish,” Carly said, reperching her glasses on her nose.

“Well, whatever. I’m going out tonight.”

“Good idea. That way you can get grounded even longer, and I won’t have to deal with you.”

“I can’t be grounded,” Jemina proclaimed. She rose to her feet, turned around and ran towards the balcony, taking a flying leap and landing on top of it. She managed to keep her balance perfectly, having been a gymnast at one point in her life.

“Obviously not, I guess,” said Carly. “But I still think it’s a stupid idea.”

Jemina spat out her cigarette, which had almost dwindled to nothingness, and watched it fall to the street below. “This is my parapet,” she announced. “Upon it I stand and gaze at a world that can’t keep up with me. It could be mine, if I wanted it. But I don’t. This world is too short-lived, too fickle, too earthy for me. It’s too everything. More or less. Too concerned with morality and lessons. I’m just bored with everything.”

“Quit being dramatic,” said Carly.

“I’m sharing my being with the world.”

Carly stood up. “Alright,” she said. “If it’ll get you to shut up, we’ll go out. But I still think it’s a stupid idea.”

“I cast off the weight of prudence a long time ago,” Jemina replied.

“Yes, I can see that,” Carly said, as she watched Jemina teeter precariously on the edge.



The hallway was dim and silent, save for the softness of the girls’ footsteps on the carpet. Theoretically, most people in the building were probably asleep, but that may have changed thanks to the fury with which Jemina had closed the apartment door.

Jemina hit down on the elevator. When it dinged, she was reminded of the ringing of the bell at school, the sound of freedom. Carly was simply reminded that they were supposed to be moving stealthily.

“Couldn’t we have slid down the banisters?” she asked when the doors had shut. “You’ll be lucky if your dad isn’t awake.”

“My dad wouldn’t wake up if the whole building fell over,” Jemina scoffed. She hit the ground floor button, and the elevator obediently began to descend. Jemina took out her cigarettes and started lighting a new one.

“Not in the elevator, you asshole,” Carly said. “Do you want to get caught?”

“Oh yeah,” said Jemina, taking a drag on the fresh light. “Because I’m the only person in the entire building who smokes.”

“No, but you probably do hold the record,” Carly muttered.

The elevator door began to open, and once again the ding was heard. The front lobby opened up before them, ready to be conquered.

The girls took a quick left exiting the elevator, straying from the front desk. The security guard may or may not have been awake at such a late hour, but it didn’t matter even if he was asleep—he’d surely be awakened by the sound of the heavy front doors opening.

So instead, they took the window at the end of the first floor hallway. The ceiling was very high, and the windows were near the top, serving primarily to let light in during the day. But someone had placed the vending machines directly underneath one of them. For Jemina, it was an easy climb. She put out her cigarette on the side of the machine, scampered to the top, and then reached down to help Carly with her more awkward ascent. Her feet clanged against the side of the machine a few times.

“Be careful,” Jemina complained. “You’re going to get us caught.” She started to push up on the window, but it didn’t want to budge. “Hey,” she said. “This worked last time.”

“Maybe somebody figured out that you use it to escape.”

“They’re not that smart around here.” Jemina gave the window a vigorous shove, and it jerked upward, producing a noise not unlike squealing tires.

“Oh, yeah,” Carly whispered, rolling her eyes. “I’m going to get us caught.”

“Shut up,” said Jemina, and the turned around and started to descend backwards through the window.

“Aren’t you going to even look and see if anyone’s outside first?” said Carly.

“Apparently not,” said Jemina, whose butt was already hanging out the window. She dropped somewhat awkwardly, landing on the very same butt.

“Graceful,” said Carly.

“Come on, get down here!” Jemina called, a little too loudly.

“Alright, alright,” Carly muttered, turning around and preparing to descend the same way. She managed to land on her feet.

Once they were out the window, so was stealth. “Ah, that’s much better,” said Jemina, starting to stroll briskly along the sidewalk. “I belong out among my people, not cramped up in some hellhole.”

“Whole hell of a lot of good it’s going to do you at this hour,” Carly said. “Nothing’s even open.”

“Nothing except a window of opportunity,” Jemina countered.

As they neared the corner, Carly turned around to see a man in a leather jacket watching them from the other side of the street. She wondered if he had been observing their escape.

“Don’t you think we’re walking rape targets out here at this hour?” she asked nervously as they crossed the street.

“Bologna,” said Jemina. “You ask that every time. Have we been raped yet? Besides, you know that if some fat ugly rapist comes along and tries to kidnap us, I’m going to make him sorry.”

“Yes, I know,” said Carly. She rolled her eyes. “You’ll kick him in the junk.”

“You catch on quickly.” Jemina lit up a cigarette. “We’re both quick learners. You learn things, and I learn people. I learn ‘em good.”

“It’s a shame you don’t understand them as well.”

“Let’s go to my palace.”

“Whatever you say. I wouldn’t want you to have to learn me or anything.”



Jemina’s palace, the Stop ‘n’ Shop, was open all night. It had everything a pair of late-night wanderers could possibly need: light, food, coffee, cigarettes, payphones, and a roof to climb on. It even had a tall metal railing that ran along the end of the parking lot, to divide it from the store’s walkway. Jemina considered it the parapet.

Jemina walked in by pushing both swinging doors open simultaneously. Carly sauntered in after her.

There were a couple of guys already in the store. They looked like college students, and seemed to be stocking up on energy drinks. They kept looking over at the girls as they browsed the aisles.

Jemina went straight up to the counter. “Evening, sir,” she said.

The fellow manning the register at the wee hours of the night was an Indian who hardly spoke any English and always sold cigarettes to minors. He grinned at her, and pulled down a pack of cigarettes. He knew her brand.

Carly, a fresh cup of coffee in hand, came up behind Jemina as she was paying. “Those guys are staring at you,” she said.

“I think they’re staring at you,” Jemina said, much too loudly, as she took her change.

Carly rolled her eyes and handed the Indian guy some money. “Keep it,” she said, and she and Jemina started to head outside.

“What do you suppose his name is?” Jemina asked as they emerged onto the street again.

“Who?”

“Indian guy.”

“Jeremy.”

“That’s not very Indian-sounding.”

“Alright, his name is Brahman then. I don’t know.”

Jemina started to giggle.

“What?” asked Carly.

“He’s a bra man,” said Jemina, and then she giggled again, snorting a little bit.

“You’re incredibly juvenile.”

“You are correct,” said Jemina. “I am what results when you combine a Jew, a van, and the Nile.”

“Oh, not now,” Carly murmured. She leaned back against railing that ran along the walkway in front of the building, and took a despairing sip of coffee. “How old are you?” she asked.

“No, I am not Hawold. As we’ve alweady discussed, I’m a Jew, a van, and the Nile.”

Carly did not respond. Jemina lit up a cigarette.

The doors opened, and the two college-looking guys emerged. “Hello, gentlemen,” said Jemina.

“Hey,” said one of the guys.

“What’s up,” said the other one.

“My cohort here is being a whiney bitch,” said Jemina, blowing a cloud of smoke in Carly’s direction. “Would you please explain to her how rude that is?”

“You’re such an asshole,” said Carly.

“Why are you being a bitch?” asked one of the guys. The other had started to head for their car.

“I am not the one who snuck out of her apartment while she was grounded, dragged her friend along, and proceeded to make ridiculous puns,” said Carly.

“I can’t be grounded,” Jemina said, and she took a running leap onto the top of the railing, landing the maneuver perfectly.

The guy just looked at her like she was kind of weird, then shrugged. “So do you guys wanna come to a party?” he asked.

Jemina started laughing.

“Uh, okay, I guess not,” said the guy. The other college-looking guy rolled down the window of his car and started shouting. “Hey Mark! Stop trying to pick up teenage hookers! I wanna go home!”

“What?” Jemina cried. With surprising fluidity, she turned on her perch to face the car. Her jaw had fallen open, leaving her cigarette to fall anchorlessly to the ground. Carly just snickered.

“Hey, come on man,” Mark shouted back.

Jemina leapt off the railing and began stomping over to the car. The guy inside stared her down as she approached, as though daring her to come any closer.

“What the hell did you just call us?” she asked.

“Couple of teenage hookers,” said the guy.

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

The guy shrugged. “Two teenage girls walking around in schoolgirl uniforms at three A.M.,” he said. “Screams hooker to me.”

“Would you care to take that back before I learn you?”

“Before you what?”

“Learn you, asshole. If you were up to a fourth grader’s literacy level you’d understand me when I use perfectly good English.”

“That’s not correct English,” Carly shouted.

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” Jemina shot back.

The guy laughed. “The hell are you gonna do about it, anyway? Give me a higher rate?”

Mark had come over to the car. “Hey, take it easy man,” he said. Then he turned to Jemina. “Forget him, alright? We’re gonna take off. Have a good night.”

“I appreciate your attempt to diffuse the situation,” Jemina said, “but I’m afraid it’s far too little and far too late.” She reached through the open window of the car, and, faster than even Carly would have expected, unlocked the door, opened it with her other hand, and let loose with a tremendous roundhouse kick that found its mark perfectly on the top of the college guy’s nose. Drops of blood splashed on his shirt, the dashboard, and Jemina’s sneaker.

“Oh, you fucking bitch,” the guy said, starting to get out of the car, holding his bloodied nose. He was wobbly, obviously not having regained his composure. Jemina kicked him in the junk. He let out a sound one might expect to hear from a dying weasel, and crumpled to the pavement. He was a sight to behold, lying in the fetal position, moaning softly, one hand clutching his wounded manhood and the other his bleeding nose. Mark, meanwhile, was staring at his fallen companion in abject horror.

“Sorry to have had to do that,” Jemina said to him. “But he really was asking for it.”

“Please don’t hurt me,” said Mark.

Jemina laughed, and turned around, heading back to where Carly was still leaning on the railing.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” said Carly.

“Why do anything with me?”

Carly snorted. “An excellent question.” Then she turned and looked back at the wreckage that Jemina had left in her wake. Both men seemed incapable of movement, one in the greatest pain of his life, and the other in morbid fascination.

Jemina just lit up a fresh cigarette.



After the two guys had left, Jemina and Carly were on their own outside the Stop ‘n’ Shop. “We should create a production,” said Jemina.

“I’m not really in the mood,” said Carly.

“Come on. Please. It’ll be so great.”

“You really are dramatic.”

“Only when I want to be!” Jemina turned to face the parking lot, standing straight and tall. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, “Rose and Hendrix Productions presents to you, for the first time at Stop ‘n’ Shop, the tragedy of The Queen and the Soldier.”

Carly rolled her eyes, but complied. She stood up straight, and walked, stiff-legged, onstage, then bowed on one knee.

“Rise, commander,” said Jemina.

“Your majesty,” said Carly. “Our spies indicate several battalions of enemy troops to the south and the west. The only path appears to be north, over the river… uh… the river Cascade.”

Jemina’s shoulders slumped. “Cascade?” she said. “Could you think of a more lame name for a river, maybe?”

“Don’t break character,” Carly muttered.

Jemina straightened up again. “It sounds like a trap to me. They’re leaving a path open.”

“Permission to speak freely, your majesty?” asked Carly.

“Of course.”

“Majesty, I believe that it would be nearly impossible for the enemy to ambush us crossing the river. There’s no means of concealment there, and we’ve thoroughly swept the area.”

“I don’t trust it anyway,” said Jemina. “I’m changing strategies. We’re going to send a small battalion in, make them think it’s our full attack, and then retreat. We know that the Rosicrucians always give chase when they think they’ve won, so they will follow our retreating soldiers straight into our trap.”

“Rosicrucians? And you thought my river name was lame?”

“Now you’re breaking character.”

“Do you even know who the Rosicrucians are?”

“Yes! It was the first name that popped into my head. Now shut up and reply to my fiendish scenario.”

Carly rolled her eyes. “Your majesty,” she said. “Please forgive my objection, but won’t that mean throwing away the lives of most of the first battalion? Those men have families to come home to.”

“We are at war, commander,” said Jemina. “Sometimes, sacrifices must be made. These men are soldiers. They have always known they may not return home. It is part of their job. Now I’ll have no more objections. Go.”

“As you wish, your majesty.” Carly turned and walked off the stage.

“I will crush the Rosicrucians as I have crushed all my other enemies,” Jemina declared.

At this point, a black SUV pulled up in front of the Stop ‘n’ Shop, and a young couple emerged. Jemina paid them no heed, but continued her monologue, lapsing into a rhyme scheme: “They hide out like cowards, fearing our approach, but on their fa&#231;ade we steadfastly encroach. They hide out in towers and forts, the naives. Raze them to the ground, and send them to the grave! They hide underwater, breathing through reeds. Raise them to the ground, and punish their deeds!”

Then, having run out of rhymes, Jemina turned to face the empty parking lot, setting the pitch of her voice to that of a narrator: “A day passes, and the commander carries the queen’s orders back to the troops. Another day passes, and a lone man on horseback arrives at the queen’s door. He claims that he carries urgent news for the queen from the battlefront, and is taken in to see her.”

Carly walked back onstage, and Jemina turned to face her. “Soldier,” she said. “Why do you not bow before your queen?”

“I have come to tell you that I will not fight for you anymore,” said Carly. “I have seen too many battles, too many fallen comrades. I don’t care what you do to me—I realize that desertion is a capital offense. But before you have me arrested, I am begging you to tell me one thing. Tell me why you persist in waging wars, throwing the lives of your citizens into the fray like chess pieces?”

The couple who had been in the SUV emerged from the Stop ‘n’ Shop, and they seemed to be watching what was happening as they headed for their car.

“I am under no obligation to explain myself to you, soldier,” said Jemina.

“I understand that, your majesty,” said Carly. “That is why I am only asking.”

“You would not understand if I explained it. I am the queen.”

“You are a woman.”

“I am the woman who rules this country.”

“But only a woman. And perhaps not even that. Perhaps only a girl.”

“I warn you, soldier, insolence will get you nowhere with me.”

“And what have I to lose? I am already a deserter.”

“Enough. I will not listen to this.”

“I believe that I know the answer to my question, but I want to hear you say it.”

“I believe you are a fool if you think you can hope to comprehend anything I do.”

“I believe it is all for your fun. I believe you are playing a game of chess. Knight moves.”

Jemina stood still, gazing at Carly intently. The couple drove off in their SUV. “I warn you, soldier,” Jemina said, softly, but audibly enough that the parking lot could hear. “I will make your death long and unbearable.”

“And I warn you, girl,” said Carly, “that you will only frustrate yourself trying, for no matter what you do to me, it cannot approach the horror I have felt on your battlefield.”

Jemina turned her back on Carly. “Go, soldier,” she said.

Carly turned around and walked off stage.

Jemina, completely disengaging from her queen persona, turned back towards the parking lot and resumed her narrator tone to conclude the production: “Shortly after the soldier left the room, the queen called in her captain of the guard and ordered that the man be followed until he reached his home, and that his family be killed and all he owned burned to the ground. And she specified that the soldier was not to be killed under any circumstances.

“And the queen, having turned her back on the soldier, continued to wage her wars until the end of her long reign. But ever since the day the soldier came to see her, she could not sleep soundly for all the nightmares she experienced. Never again, as long as she lived, did she enjoy a full night’s rest.

“At first, within her nightmares, it was not the soldier who tormented her, but the fanged, winged spirits of little children, whose entire bodies were consumed in billowing flames. But then, towards the end of her life, when the nightmares reached their peak and became more elaborate than ever, she realized that the face of each demon child was that of the soldier.”

Carly walked back out onto the stage and took her place next to Jemina, and the two of them bowed in unison, several times, thanking the parking spaces for being such a good audience.

“There, you see?” said Jemina, sitting down on the curb. “That was totally worth it.”

“I guess,” said Carly, sitting down next to her. “I’m still pissed off about the Rosicrucians thing, but whatever. That short rhyming monologue you had was pretty funny. Did you do that freestyle?”

Jemina nodded. “Maybe I should be a rapper,” she said.

“Eww,” said Carly.

Jemina took out a fresh cigarette and lit it. “I’m going to be an actress one day,” she said.

“I thought you were going to be a fireman.”

“I can be both. I’ll be an actress, and be a fireman on the side.”

Carly snorted, but didn’t say anything.

“What are you going to be?” Jemina asked. “I always say, but you never do.”

“I don’t really buy into the whole idea of being something when you grow up,” said Carly.

“What? Why not?”

“Because it’s bullshit. Having a career just means you’ve settled into somebody else’s rules. I do what I want when I want to do it, and that’s all. The future is of no concern. It’s as nonexistent as the past.”

Jemina, mouth half agape, mind half estranged, looked at her friend with new eyes. “I never knew that about you,” she said. “Why haven’t you ever told me this before?”

Carly shrugged. “Because I’m not like you,” she said. “I don’t feel the need to throw myself at everything I see.”

Jemina looked at her a moment longer, then turned back to her cigarette and shrugged, as if falling back on an easy book after a page of Ulysses. “That’s fair enough,” she said. “But you should try it sometime. Yourself is the best thing to throw. It’s better for throwing than fits, parties, you for a loop, or even up.”

Carly smiled. “I don’t know,” she said. “Those are all things you really love to throw.”

“You’re right,” said Jemina. “I didn’t even think of it, but they are.”

“Come on. Let’s get back to your dad’s place. You may not care if you’re a total wreck for school tomorrow, but I do.”

“Yeah, okay. I guess this has been enough excitement for one night.”

The girls stood up, beginning to empty themselves of the energy of breaking rules. Jemina dropped her cigarette to the ground and smooshed it into the asphalt.

They started heading back down the road, quiet this time. Streetlights gazed wistfully at them from their single light-shedding eyes, and arched protectively over their heads. Carly examined the license plates of parked cars, while Jemina choreographed martial arts routines in her mind. The night seemed a bit darker, the streets a bit more barren, then when they had first set out.

Carly noticed, as they neared their destination, that the same man she had observed on the way to the Stop ‘n’ Shop was still there, this time on the opposite side of the street, so that the girls would have to pass in front of him. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket, a cigarette was cradled between his lips, and he was leaning against a telephone pole.

“Jem,” Carly whispered. “I don’t think we should go anywhere near that guy. Let’s circle around.”

Jemina rolled her eyes. “It’s just one guy,” she said. “We’re not going through a dark alley.”

“I’ve just got a bad feeling about it.”

“You’ve got me.”

“What if he has a weapon?”

“I’ll disarm him, and then kick him in the junk.”

“You’re not invincible.”

“Invincibility is a mindset.”

“Ugh. You are unbelievable. Is nothing serious to you? Do you not understand the gravity of anything?”

Jemina snickered. “Gravity,” she said, “doesn’t exist.”

Carly sighed. Jemina would get her way, and she’d turn out to be right, like always.

As they approached, the man in the leather jacket looked up and stared at them. Carly grew more nervous, but she dared not say anything now for fear that the stranger would hear her. Jemina simply stared straight ahead as they walked.

As soon as they were within a few feet of the stranger, he stood up. Carly’s head began to swim. Time began to slow down (for as Jemina established much earlier, time is relative.) The stranger reached into his leather jacket. Images raced through Carly’s head. She imagined the man pulling out a handgun, a shotgun, a cell phone, a box of cigarettes, a bag of cocaine, a switchblade. When his hand emerged from his jacket, the object he was actually holding was: A switchblade.

The girls stopped short. Carly’s mouth was agape in horror; Jemina’s fell open in abject indignation.

The stranger did not say anything, but took a step forward, holding the weapon steadily.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Jemina shrieked, and in an almost automatic sequence of maneuvers, she disarmed him by striking above his wrist and punched him twice in the gut before he had time to react. Having stunned him, she followed up by elbowing him in the nose (for he was now doubled over, and she lacked the proper distance for another punch), and, in classic Jemina fashion, finishing the onslaught by kicking him in the junk.

The stranger fell to the ground, bloodstained and moaning. Neither of the girls wasted any time wondering if he might have friends on the way; instead they bolted straight over him and down the rest of the block.

Jemina had never felt so relieved to see her father’s apartment building. “Quick,” she said, but Carly was already dragging over the trashcan that always served as their stepladder back inside.

“Didn’t I say that guy was trouble?” Carly whispershouted as she dragged the can under the escape window.

“Look, I took care of it,” Jemina shot back. “Just get in there already.”

“I’m going.” Carly was in fact in the middle of climbing in the window and back onto the vending machines. Jemina was quick to follow her up.

Carly managed to ease herself to the hall floor without too much trouble, but Jemina, as always, plopped unceremoniously to the ground. “Ugh,” she said. “I hate getting down.”

“Come on,” Carly whispered. “Let’s move.”

The girls turned around to face the end of the hallway, and were greeted with none other than Jemina’s father standing at the end of it. Jemina gasped quite audibly.

There was an impasse for a minute or so. Finally, it was Jemina that broke the silence. “Hi, dad,” she said. “We were just out for some air.”

Jemina’s dad checked his watch. “It’s four-thirty,” he said.

“So?” she asked, her nerve returning, her hands finding their way to her hips. “What the hell is wrong with that, anyway?”

“You’re grounded.”

Jemina opened her mouth as if she was going to say something, but she thought better of it, and merely crossed her arms. “Alright, fine,” she said. “Whatever. I’m going to bed.”

“Yes you are,” said her father, even as she stomped forward and past him. “And we’re going to talk about what happens as a result of this tomorrow.”

Carly walked sheepishly past him as well, following Jemina. “Hey,” she said, catching up as they approached the elevators. “Come on. It’s not that bad.”

“Of course it’s that bad,” Jemina said. She was lighting a cigarette as she pressed the up arrow on the elevator. A single tear was making its way across her cheek.

“Come on. I thought you couldn’t be grounded. You’re ungroundable, right?”

“He’s going to ground me for like five months now or something, I know it.”

“You’ll talk to him tomorrow. It won’t be that bad.”

“It will be.”

Carly was out of things to suggest. The elevator was taking its own sweet time in arriving. Jemina kicked the doors. If they’d had junk, she’d have kicked them in it.

Finally, after another thirty seconds or so, the doors opened, and the girls walked inside.

“Look,” said Carly, “if you do get grounded longer and you need me, I’m there. Okay? Just call any time.”

Jemina nodded. “Thanks,” she said, and she reached out and hugged her friend. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Me neither,” Carly sighed.

“We’re the alternate meanings of an ambiguous word.”

When they were finished hugging, Jemina took a long drag on her cigarette. “You’re right, you know,” she said.

“About what?”

“I can’t be grounded. I’m ungroundable.”

“Right. Ungroundable.”

“But I do fall down from time to time.”

“Yes. Quite often, actually. Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay,” said Jemina. “I’ll get out of this no problem. But for now, I’m mad. I’m pissed off.” And then, her voice rising in volume: “I’m furious!” She struck the 4th floor button as she said it. Furious rose.

TK, I read this a couple of hours after you posted it. I am mentioning this since you might think that no one reads your stuff and you should stop posting it, so yeah, I read them and am just too lazy to type a critique. I WILL DO SO NOW THOUGH.

I liked this story, it was competently written and well structured- though that isn’t really appraising so much as to be expected I guess. However, I do think it lacks the spark to really interest the reader, if that makes sense. The characters are strong but it is too short for them to be really developed. I’m not saying it was dreadfully insipid or anything, just that it was uneventful. I think that as an introductory chapter it works perfectly but as a short story it is sort of lacking. You also spell already with a w rather than an r at one point, but given the context it might have been intentional.

I liked the names of the characters. They (characters) had a sense of realism to them also. They seemed young and rebelious, much like kids of today. I wouldn't call the story uneventful my self Mossy, infact the normal actions they took were made more robust by their commentary, which seemed to take place between two intellectuals but as smart as the two kids were they could not defeat "Dad".

Thanks for the feedback guys.

Mossy: It's cool, I'll always keep posting new stuff even if it doesn't get comments. I appreciate you taking the time to give your opinion though! It is always very helpful. In this case, I'm particularly glad to have reactions to this story, because I'm getting ready to start trying to get published and I was considering this as a first attempt. Since you obviously don't think this is my best work, I would be very interested to hear if you have any personal suggestions about which of the stories I've put online you would pick for a publication attempt (I don't think any of the stuff in this thread would be good enough as it is, but after being cleaned up perhaps.)

In terms of uneventfulness, I agree. The story was written to be uneventful in the sense that it's entirely focused on the characters themselves and not the story itself, which is the kind of story I tend to like the most. I am a huge fan of Salinger, for example, and all his stuff is this way (Catcher in the Rye to some extent, but his other books even more so), which is one thing I love about it, but a lot of people simply don't like it and that's fine.

And yeah, alweady was intentional.

Atom: Thanks for your thoughts. The girls were indeed supposed to come off as unusually intelligent for their age so I'm glad you saw them that way.

Thanks for the feedback guys.

Mossy: It's cool, I'll always keep posting new stuff even if it doesn't get comments. I appreciate you taking the time to give your opinion though! It is always very helpful. In this case, I'm particularly glad to have reactions to this story, because I'm getting ready to start trying to get published and I was considering this as a first attempt. Since you obviously don't think this is my best work, I would be very interested to hear if you have any personal suggestions about which of the stories I've put online you would pick for a publication attempt (I don't think any of the stuff in this thread would be good enough as it is, but after being cleaned up perhaps.)

In terms of uneventfulness, I agree. The story was written to be uneventful in the sense that it's entirely focused on the characters themselves and not the story itself, which is the kind of story I tend to like the most. I am a huge fan of Salinger, for example, and all his stuff is this way (Catcher in the Rye to some extent, but his other books even more so), which is one thing I love about it, but a lot of people simply don't like it and that's fine.

And yeah, alweady was intentional.

Atom: Thanks for your thoughts. The girls were indeed supposed to come off as unusually intelligent for their age so I'm glad you saw them that way.



No prob. I have a suggestion: Use vehicles for your stories more often, such as the cigarette. You know, i.e. cars, newspaper, magazine, shoe shop. Yah.

good job dude. *refrase* AWSOME JOB YO!

the book stashed in brain is never gonna get put down since im lazy and still in school.

Really liking what you've put together on here so far T.K. Look forward to seeing what else you come up with. =)

Thanks for the comments, guys.

I am putting together a bunch of ideas right now for stuff I am going to self-publish in addition to trying to actually get something published for real this summer. One thing I'm going to be doing is self-publishing a set of installments to a larger story called Demon Cooking. I'm not going to post this online, but if anybody would like a preview I will send them a pdf file of the first twenty pages or so. It's a relatively goofy story that attempts to mix concepts of sorcery with philosophy of language, and also is meant to be funny.

If anyone here was reading my old god hates us story, that has been heavily revised and is almost finished, and I'll be putting the completed work up online as well as self-publishing a book version. Should get finished this summer.

I'm also planning on eventually self-publishing a compilation of short stories and poems, but that one might take significantly longer since as of yet I don't have enough short stories that I think really deserve to get collected.