Jan 26, 05
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Strange Life
Okay, i need your guys honest opinion and critisism! I have to write a "short-short-short story" to quote my english teacher (2 - 5 pages) and i need to emphasize setting... please be honest!! :)
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. As the seconds turn to minutes, and the minutes turn to hours, all we can do is wait. The walls in this room are stuck-o painted in a sickly pastel green paint which almost reflects the smell of the room. The fluorescent lights that hang above my head are sending beads of sweat down my neck and shivers up my spine. The constant buzzing they emit is ringing in my ears. Nobody is telling us anything. Where my hands were placed on my thighs, you can see a faint outline of my hand. I wipe my clammy hands on the couch cushions. As the hours turn into migraines, our sorrows get welded together through the concern which we share. No body knows how long we’ve been sitting here; it must have been at least four hours since we got the call. People are scurrying by, yet nobody is telling us anything. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. I begin to focus on a fly on the wall. Crawling up towards the ceiling with no particular destination, its gasoline-spill eyes darting around the room stop to look at nothing. It jumps off the wall and flies towards the light, bumps into it and retaliates against the heat falling a few inches before dizzying off to land on the water cooler. The fly scuttles down the side of the water cooler, going in the same direction as the beads of water dripping down the inside of the cooler. My attention drifts over to the clock again. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Friends have brought us coffee, lunch, dinner, snacks, pillows, blankets, everything. Everything but the news we yearn to hear. My coffee gets cold, the lunch gets hard, the dinner starts to smell like embalming fluid, the pillows are lumpy and my wife stole my blanket. Even if I had a comfortable pillow, I don’t think I could allow myself to be taken to yet another level of consciousness. My dreams would be nightmares, and my nightmares would wake me up only to have me back in this stuffy room. A horrible nightmare I don’t wish upon anybody. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. As I sit here thinking about what’s happening to me, I can barely breathe. And the more I breathe, the more it takes my breath away. I think back to the phone call I got all those hours ago, before the migraines and fluorescent lights. I was sitting in my black leather chair staring at the painting on my wall of the boat in calm water. I was also thinking about taking a sip of my mud-sludge coffee, but then remembered how thick it felt on my tongue. Then the sound of the phone ringing sliced through the silence. “Mr. Brown...”It was a voice I’ve never heard before, so I just tuned out. Kept bending and re-bending my green paperclip. I found that even though I wasn’t intentionally listening, I picked up everything this woman was telling me. I snapped the paperclip in half, hung up the phone and went to get my wife from work. Racing down the busy roads, my mind was back in my office focusing on the boat. I picked up my wife, and got here as soon as possible. We’ve been waiting ever since. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. I rest my head on the wall. The coolness of it surprises me and almost calms me a bit. I see a man sitting next to me, head in hands. I wonder if he’s here for the same reason, if his mind is reiterating that same sad song. He lifts up his head, and the lines on his face are so notable. They look like the cracks on the terracotta tiles in my kitchen, deep and spread out but accentuated by stress to a certain area. He’s balding at the top of his head, but I guess we all do at this age. Out of the corner of my eye I see the door open. A woman in a uniform the colour of the green walls walks in. Finally, the answer we’ve all been waiting for. Tick. Tock. Expressionless, she commences her walk over. Tick. Her lips part, Tock. The words roll off her tounge, Tick. “Excuse me Sir…” Tock. I hear the sound of the door swinging open again. A second woman walks in, same expressionless glide over to where we were sitting. Tick. “Excuse me…” Tock. “Congratulations.” Tick. “I’m so sorry….” Tock. “You have a baby girl” Tick. The man next to me let out a yelp of excitement, wrinkles smoothing over his tired skin. Tock. “We did everything we could…but we just couldn’t save your daughter Mr.Brown.” Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. 
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Jan 26, 05
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yea im still working through it :( its due in a while, this is sorta my first go at it
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Jan 26, 05
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id read it if it had purdy pictures describing whats going on :)
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Jan 26, 05
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ahh i dunno, i copied n pasted it from my word processor...
maybe it looks different on my screen...SORRY GUYS!!
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Jan 27, 05
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you have some really great imagery. i particularly like the fly with the gasoline eyes, the green stucco reflecting the smell of the room and the image of the green paper clip. the green paper clip is my favourite part of the story though, because you don't actually have to hear the horrible news coming through the phone, you just get the idea because the main character snaps the paper clip in half.
i would stay away from cliches, however, like the "sound of the phone ringing sliced through the silence." you have done without cliches up to this point in your descriptions, why start here? the blending of the happy and sad news of the hospital environment is good near the end, but why don't you blend this more throughout. i always find hospitals interesting in how they have so many emotions in them...and i think that your story could really exploit that fact. i would say you need to work a bit on it, but the images are very strong. :)
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Jan 27, 05
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NOTE: I've only quoted areas which I critique, Read my final statement first! This is a really good draft and makes for a decent frame work to start from.
======================================= Quote:
Flourescent lights don't give off much, if any heat, I suggest repacling them with a harsh, bare lightbulb for the effect you want. Quote:
This cries out to be a more poignent sentance, maybe use an analogy to ghosts or shadows, liken them to scars from the waiting, etc. Quote:
The second sentance here is really good, but it's lessened by the scentance before, you're just said "something turns into something turns into something". You need something different here.... or: You could start every scentance start with "the somethings to to somethings" as opposed to the tick tocks. Quote:
There's good imagry in this paragraph. However: -gasoline-spill is a little awkward, how about oil slick? or "the vibrant sheen of gasoline spilled over water" -Flies eyes are fixed direction, they can't dart in directions, maybe talk about the fly moving jerkily or darting -Retaliates means to fight back, I'm not totally sure that's what you were going for with it tho, maybe reacts? succumbs? Quote:
Your breaking up the flow of the list with the quantifier for how the dinner smells, if you want to quantify just that item, move it to the end of the list, it'll read smoother. Quote:
This is good, "wake from one nightmare to the next" might make it a little more concrete. Quote:
Good job creating a plausible flash back, I agree, tho, that the phone cutting through the scilence is a litle cliche. Maybe have it shatter your concentration, make you jump out of your skin, etc. Quote:
which same sad song? ======================================== ========== All in all this is a fantastic draft. The story works well and the characters are nicely sketched. The ending may need to have a slightly more stylish juxtaposition of the events, but it works nicely. Good work!
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Jan 28, 05
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wow ^ awesome feedback :) thanks for that...im gunna still play with this peice...change somethings i think..keep others, i dont really know yet. thanks so much for advice :)
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Feb 13, 05
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final copy
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
As the seconds turn to minutes, and the minutes turn to hours, all we can do is wait. The stucco walls in this room are painted in a vile green color, reflecting the lingering smell. The bare fluorescent lights that hang above my head are sending beads of sweat down my neck and shivers up my spine. The constant buzzing they emit is ringing in my ears. A faint outline still remains on my thighs, from where my hand was placed earlier. I wipe my clammy hands on the couch cushions. As the hours turn into migraines, our sorrows weld together through the concern which we share. No body knows how long we’ve been sitting here; it must have been at least four hours since we got the call. People are scurrying by, yet nobody is telling us anything. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. I begin to focus on a fly on the wall; crawling up towards the ceiling with no particular destination, its oil slick eyes fixed on nothing. It jumps off the wall and flies towards the light, bumps into it and reacts to the heat falling a few inches before dizzying off to land on the clear blue water cooler. The fly scuttles down the side of it, going in the same direction as the beads of water dripping down the inside of the cooler. My attention drifts over to the clock again. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Friends have brought us coffee, lunch, dinner, snacks, pillows, blankets, everything. Everything but the news we yearn to hear. My coffee gets cold, the lunch gets hard, the dinner starts to smell like embalming fluid, the pillows are lumpy and my wife stole my blanket. Even if I had a comfortable pillow, I don’t think I could allow myself to be taken to yet another level of consciousness. My dreams would be nightmares, and my nightmares would wake me up only to have me back in this stuffy room. A horrible nightmare I don’t wish upon anybody. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. As I sit here thinking about what’s happening to me, I can barely breathe. And the more I breathe, the harder it becomes. I think back to the phone call I got all those hours ago, before the migraines and lump pillows. I was sitting in my black leather chair thinking about taking a sip of my mud-sludge coffee, but then remembered how thick it felt on my tongue and decided against it. I started staring at the painting on my wall of the sailboat on Lake Lovering, trying to take my mind off this boring day. What I would give to be away from it all. No work, no stress, just some quiet time to fish and think. The sound of the phone ringing shattered my concentration. “Mr. Brown...” It was a voice I’ve never heard before, so I just tuned out. Kept bending and re-bending my green paperclip. I found that even though I wasn’t intentionally listening, I picked up everything this woman was telling me. I snapped the paperclip in half, hung up the phone and went to pick up my wife. Racing down the busy roads, my mind was back in my office, in the painting, on the boat; no work, no stress. I picked up my wife, and got here as soon as possible. We’ve been waiting ever since. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. I rest my head on the wall. The coolness of it surprises me and almost calms me a bit. I see a man sitting next to me, head in hands. I wonder if he’s here for the same reason, if his mind is reiterating the same sad song as mine. He lifts up his head, and the lines on his face are so notable. They look like the cracks on the terracotta tiles in my kitchen, deep and spread out but accentuated by stress to a certain area. He’s balding at the top of his head, but I guess we all do at this age. Out of the corner of my eye I see the door open. A woman in a light pink uniform walks in. Finally, the answer we’ve all been waiting for. Tick. Tock. Expressionless, she commences her walk over. Tick. Her lips part, Tock. The words roll off her tounge, Tick. “Excuse me Sir…” Tock. I hear the sound of the door swinging open again. A second pink uniform walks in, same expressionless glide over to where we were sitting. Tick. “Excuse me…” Tock. “Congratulations.” Tick. “I’m so sorry….” Tock. “You have a baby girl” Tick. The man next to me let out a yelp of excitement, wrinkles smoothing over his tired skin. Tears of joy were streaming down his face, and he let out a half laugh, half scream. The nurse was happy for him; her smile was about as big as his. She asked him if he wanted to see his new daughter, and he cried harder and nodded his head. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick The other nurse turned to look at me, her eyes focused on a far away land. She stared at me for a while, her lips quivered and parted a little bit and her voice cracked as she started to speak. She didn’t need to say anything, her eyes told me everything. The clock stopped ticking.
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