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Swordfish
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 Posted: Sun May 09, 2010 6:45 pm Post subject: Do Not Cross, Entry: 1 |
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((Not sure if I did this right...is first person allowed? Thanks in advance for the input.))
“Go ahead, touch it.”
I reached out, transfixed, and touched the smooth surface. It prickled my fingers and I felt a strange sense of childhood wonderment come over me. It was smooth, shiny and oddly bumpy in sections. It took it in my hands and rolled it over. Studying it closely to ensure it was still untempered with. It was sticky along the sides but I quickly disregarded that. They were usually like that in my experience. Perhaps it was just the lollipop I was munching on earlier after lunch, who knew? The only thing floating around my mental bucket at this moment was, this is a good roll of tape.
“So your good with it?” Bob from Accounting asked.
Naturally I was ‘good’ with it. It was only tape for the office. But Bob from Accounting insisted that he run every slice of query from his mental pie by me. Bob looked like he ate enough of the crap to have a delicious pastry in place of a squishy brain anyway. After watching him buoy out of my office I returned to the work in front of me. Six hours had left me tired and yearning for a bed.. There were only a few more minutes of my own shift left. I would be thankful to be removed from this business suit prison and returned to my own, more personalised confinement. A four room cell filled with unfeeling utilities, minimal living requirements and meaningless existence.
---------
When I stepped through the portal that served as my front door for the last five years I found myself announcing my presence to nobody. A typical verbal concoction that they used in those old shows from the fifties. Only there was no Lucy to say hello to. Just a vacant apartment. I would have thought at the age of thirty I would be married or something or at least look forward to something lined up. But the timid nature of my step into the mysterious realm of women was more akin to the Cave of Secrets to Aladdin. Where if I touched anything other than the lamp everything would come crashing down. I failed to see where the monkey Abu would get involved but some sick fantasy in my mind placed him there.
I tossed my coat over the back of the single armchair occupying my central living space. And seeking a softer place I collapsed into its leathery embrace. My hand fell to the remote. A more reflexive motion than a compulsive one. A dull buzz sounded the starting of the television and its voice echoed in my brain. Naturally the channel began on the daily news. A woman was complaining about shootings happening around her neighbourhood and the sudden streak of gang violence. Then my eyes fell upon the scrolling news line at the foot of the screen. A black-white contrast made them seem harsh and demanding. ‘Infant dies in fire’, ‘man found dead’, ‘cancer still isn’t cured’. The list dragged on, forever it seemed.
In silence I watched the headlines scroll in a steady flow. My mind wandered, from women, to my mother, then to women, then to kids, and eventually back to my mother. This thought process was a pattern. A common one for myself I found following a long day of work. My parental unit had a malfunction somewhere along the line. A fuse blew, or simply just wasn’t there to begin with. Bi-polar and depression were never the best couple. But somehow they managed to lock themselves on a permanent honeymoon within my mother’s mind and I knew they were somewhere in my own, laughing and kissing in the dark. Waiting to skip down into my next kin.
Depression dressed as the brain and Bi-polar rode it like some demented cowboy imp, straddling and grunting. Something was always clutched into its crooked paw. A shock baton labelled with some emotion or thought. Occasionally Bi-polar feels the need for a little excitement. Some masochism, perhaps? Then slams a rod into Depression to hear it cry out. In its arsenal of pleasure toys was a golf bag of similar sticks, each encrypted to interrupt the brain’s neural passages.
It was when I as twenty, in a budding relationship with a member of the opposite sex that I realised these traits could be passed down. The problem lay on my mind like a bundled mass of sticky adhesive. Even if it were removed by some metaphorical hand it would still remain firmly affixed to my subconscious. The eventual result was borderline celibacy. Placing it simply as, no kids. My imagination placed the conception process as something like Luke Skywalker taking the fateful run at the Death Star. But instead of destroying the symbol of oppression, winning the day for the Rebel Alliance and symbolically defeating the Empire, his proton torpedos would fly into the port and simply cripple the station and leave it traumatised. A demented brain child spawned to serve no real purpose other than to take up space.
My mind returned to the senseless blather floating off the televison like body odour off Bob from Accounting. I looked to the scrolling headlines and thought again of my mother. She would usually place a strand of tape along the bottom to hide that scrolling bar. More than once I had come home and look at the television and realise it had a portion blocked out. It was because those things activated the shock baton in her head and that little imp would start jabbering for some action.
---------
I awoke to find a string of drool reaching from the middle of my lip to one of the upper buttons of my dress shirt. More annoying was the multi-barred screen the television presented me with. The ringing that came along with it reminded me of those old nuclear warning stations. Following such a catastrophic event as nuclear holocaust why not flick on the old boob tube? That is if your fingers weren’t fused together or disintegrated by the radioactive hell fire that swept through your skin. Tape couldn’t fix that. Nothing could.
Something heavy sits in my hand.
Wiping the string of saliva from my mouth I stared at the flickering screen that was the poison of my society. On the bottom of the television I could of sworn a piece of creamy temporary piece of repair was strung along the bottom, blocking out the news headings. I shook my head clear of the image and considered my mental state between the world conscious and unconscious. There remained no repair for my thoughts. Everything was a potential time bomb and offered no real solution to my predicament. Alcohol, recreational drugs or even the flickering static past my feet. Even if medication were a sure-fire cure for budding Depression or Bi-polar disorder my own offspring would crumble internally.
I glance at the piece in my hand. How long has it been there?
Even my mother tried to fix herself. Pinning down the wicked news of the world under a flimsy peach coloured bonding strip, comforting herself with meaningless trinkets and trivial pictures of animals in cute arrangements. There was no cure. Only an uneasy comfort in ones mind that you could hide yourself behind tape. But under that device of false fronts everything was ugly and broken.
The barrel smokes. White-grey curls of smoke whisp up from the steel monster's yawning mouth.
What...what has taken place during my lapse from reality this fine evening?
Last edited by Swordfish on Mon May 17, 2010 2:36 pm; edited 1 time in total
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PilgrimSoul
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| Posted: Sun May 09, 2010 7:04 pm Post subject: |
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Okay, I alreaady gave you a response in chat. i just wanted to encourage ypu to keep this up, It's off to a solid start
_________________
"For still there are so many things that I have never seen.
In every leaf, in every spring, there is a different green." -Tolkien
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Smee
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| Posted: Sun May 09, 2010 10:34 pm Post subject: |
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Welcome to the city, Swordfish.
I've not had opportunity to read your start just yet, but I did notice your question at the start. Certainly no worries with first person - use whichever you feel comfortable with.
Happy Writing 
_________________
The path of my life is strewn with cowpats from the Devil's own Satanic Herd!
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Crunchyfrog
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| Posted: Mon May 10, 2010 3:00 am Post subject: |
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A strong piece - I like the use of the idea of the tape, and the narration style you use for this character brings his traits and state of mind to the fore very well.
Occasionally you stray between past and present tense towards the end - make sure it's consistent, whichever you decide to use.
For the DP - I didn't quite get a good visual of the scene when he wakes, but we are looking through his eyes and through his interpretation of the world, so what we see may not necessarily reflect reality anyway...
There's tape striped all over the TV screen, and he's woken with a smoking gun in his hand...
It sounds as if a shot has been fired at the TV, but the damage is not bad enough for it to have exploded, since the screen is still working.
I'm going to guess that he didn't do it, and he's been set up, somehow. Someone - or something - is playing with him. That's my suggestion.
Good start, and welcome to IF.
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Swordfish
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| Posted: Mon May 10, 2010 6:23 pm Post subject: |
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Thank you for the welcomes gentlemen.
But on to more pressing matters. Mr. Frog, or may I call you Crunchy? I'll be sure to reign in my delicious jumping between tenses (a problem I have had since ever) and many thanks for the suggestion.
| Quote: | There's tape striped all over the TV screen, and he's woken with a smoking gun in his hand...
It sounds as if a shot has been fired at the TV, but the damage is not bad enough for it to have exploded, since the screen is still working.
I'm going to guess that he didn't do it, and he's been set up, somehow. Someone - or something - is playing with him. That's my suggestion. |
Now set up for what I ask myself? You've got my brain juices flowing that comment, Mr.Frog. 
The poll will be up tommorow.
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Smee
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| Posted: Mon May 10, 2010 11:07 pm Post subject: |
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I would suggest going for Crunchy... or at least Mrs Frog 
~
A fascinating opening, you place the reader in the head of this character very well. It's a little dark, has subtle hints of humour, and pleasingly descriptive. Very good.
~
"You see, Mother! There's no hiding this behind tape!"
The vacant apartment made no more response to my dramatic declaration than it did earlier, although the dull clunk of me dropping the weapon does briefly fill the space with the solitary percussion of a one-man band devoid of his usual array of other instruments.
There was a stench to the air. Something vile but familiar lurking behind the crisp aroma of smoke. It takes a moment to filter through the haze of sleep and confusion, but then it becomes clear like fog on a bathroom mirror fading as the hot shower water stops and the air cools.
Bob! Bob had been here.
~
Happy Writing
_________________
The path of my life is strewn with cowpats from the Devil's own Satanic Herd!
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Chinaren
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| Posted: Tue May 11, 2010 7:19 pm Post subject: |
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A good opening Swish! I'm known for not liking first person, or present tense, but you write well enough to cover that hatred.
Watch your repetition of words, such as 'piece' later on.
I guess he saw something he didn't like on TV, something sinister that then wiped his memory. 
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My Amazon page.
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D-Lotus
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| Posted: Thu May 13, 2010 11:14 am Post subject: |
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I agree with the others. The mood is dark and foreboding and yet self-mocking. It's a good start, although it could certainly be made more concise at certain points where the descriptions are a little bit overdone.
Btw, small error:
| Quote: | | Studying it closely to ensure it was still untempered with. |
This is a fragment-- an incomplete sentence.
I suggest that his crazy side took over and that he was not conscious of having purchased a gun. And somebody related to that purchase was in the apartment with him, wrecking the tv.
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Lady of the Shadows
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| Posted: Thu May 13, 2010 10:57 pm Post subject: |
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Wow...nice. I like your style, Fishie! (I hope you don't mind if I call you that) 
Just quickly...one tiny error. When you were talking about bi polar riding the brain, you mentioned masochism. Did you mean sadism? (if that's the right word)
Anyway, as for the dp, I like Crunchy's idea about someone setting him up, playing with his mind.
Can't wait for more developments!!
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Childhood is measured out by sounds and smells and sights, before the dark hour of reason grows. - John Betjeman
If you look long and hard into the deep of the abyss, you will find me. In the last rays of the lingering sun, you will find me. But I will not return to you yet.
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Swordfish
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| Posted: Mon May 17, 2010 2:33 pm Post subject: |
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Many thanks ladies and gents! It really means a lot that people are taking an interest in the writing. Stay tuned for the poll! Will be up in a few minutes.
Smee, your little piece made me laugh, I should have thought of something like that!
China, I'll be sure to keep an eye out for those repetitions. My old english teacher (she, being elderly, not speaking with 'thee' and 'thou' ) constantly pointed that out to me.
D, thank you for pointing out that small error, I'll go back and fix it in time. I know the description is over done, but I am a person who likes to get a point across and engrain it in the readers mind to the point of madness. I'll take your input to heart.
Mi Lady, either masochist or sadist would have gone happily in place of that. A friend suggested the same thing but I chose the first because it just seemed to flow better. Thank you for the compliments .
Now hold on to your hats, this is going to be a show! I'll be sure to think of some more delicious imageries and metaphorical such and such for you all. Maybe during a skateing session or bus ride to work? The unpredictability of inspiration, eh?
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Reiso
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| Posted: Mon May 17, 2010 5:20 pm Post subject: |
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This is good, I enjoy the gritty noir-ish style of his internal narrative, and someone so aware of bi-polar depression (to the point of having analogues for them in his mind) is a real interesting sort of person to have the story filtered through. It definitely calls into question how authentic his reality is. I will be watching this one closely.
As for the DP, I think it's a little too early in the game to drop the supernatural bomb or declare our protagonist mad--yet--so I'm gonna go with the plain old human threat of Bob. Keep it up Swordfish. This is nice.
(By the way, I think you meant untampered with, not untempered, but I won't tell anyone).
_________________
Sector 17 -- Rebuilding... ... ...
In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter--bitter," he answered;
"But I like it
Because it is bitter
And because it is my heart." -- Stephen Crane
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Thunderbird
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Crunchyfrog
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| Posted: Wed Jun 09, 2010 8:26 am Post subject: |
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| That's a good response you've got there, Swordfish! Looks like a clear winner for the poll!
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