This piece, by Melanie, is begging to become a full-length novel. The assignment was to create a story that is reminiscent of The Outsiders, and she definitely succeeds. It also reminds me of one of my favorite young adult novels Inventing Elliot. Now I want to read Chapter 2. Enjoy!
Color Blind – Chapter One
A sharp, stinging pain in my chest hits me. That’s it, I’ve gone too far. I consider stopping. No, I must go on. If I stop, a larger pain will overcome me. So I’ll keep running. Running past stores and restaurants and houses. Nearly ramming into poles and cars and people.
“You can’t run forever, you freak!” That twang-like sound of 180 pounds of muscle roaring behind me. Close behind me. Closer than I’d like. I move faster. It doesn’t last long.
My breathing begins to fail me and my lungs cramp uncomfortably. I’m finding it harder and harder to move. No, that’s it. I’m done. I can’t go on; I’m too tired.
I leap into the nearest alleyway I can find, hoping to confuse the train of attackers coming after me. For a moment I think I am safe, and I lean against an old building’s wall for support. Several strands of my thick, white hair cover my eyes, and I push them away as I gasp for air.
As another moment passes, I listen quietly for my hunters. Silence. I risk a look around the corner. Nothing. A large sigh escapes my lips. I’m free.
My feet try to lift themselves, but are too weak to move. I decide to just let myself slide down the building until I’m sitting, my back leaning up against the wall. Luckily, the rest of me can still move, and I lift my arm up to my pale forehead and wipe the sweat from my face using the sleeve of my black jacket.
Suddenly my heart stops as I hear a voice near me. “There you are, Samsicle.” He calls me by that stupid nickname. “You really thought you could get away from us?” His dark brown hair is slick with sweat from all the running. His green eyes hold a cruel fire as he nods to one of his friends. He’s only got two with him, but they’re both just as large and strong.
The one he had nodded to, a blonde with a large bandage over his nose and ratty clothes, chuckles and makes his way slowly to wear I sit helplessly. My legs try to move. Nothing. I curse under my breath as the blonde lifts me harshly up by my arm. I attempt to slug him with my free one. He simply grabs it, and with what I assume must be lighting speed, twists it around to my back and applies pressure upward. I wince; it hurts.
The brown haired one (whose name is Cal), smiles and grabs my hair, lifting my head up to look at him. I struggle, but the blonde applies the pressure again and I stop immediately.
“You know,” Cal starts, “that’s very unkind of you, running away from us.” He grins and the other two (the third being a black haired guy with a scar in between his eyes) chuckle a bit. I begin to whimper, as they proceed to beat the heck out of me.
Hi. My name’s Sam Devens. I’m your average 15 year old guy, trying to get through life. You know; school, parents, friends, girls. Oh yeah, and did I mention I’m an albino? Yeah, I have white hair and pale skin. That’s why, for as long as I can remember, I’ve been beaten up, made fun of, called names, and excluded from a lot of stuff because of it. I only have a few friends, and they get bullied for being friends with me. It makes me feel really bad. They tell me not to care so much, but I can’t help it.
Those guys who you just read about, Cal and his gang, are the ones that beat me up and bully me the most. I’m getting really sick of it. But they’re stronger and bigger than me, and I just can’t fight back.
Still, they’ll get it one day. I just know it. They’ll stop picking on me, and leave me alone. Some day…
Monday, November 10, 2008
So the piece I post today is a story fragment. Could it be the start of a short story or even a novel? It reminds me of the style of Ray Bradbury, for, in my opinion, it engages the reader with the rhythm of its language and startling nature of its plot. Perhaps we can talk its author, Jake, into finishing it!
October 27, 2008
Time; over time we loose, we live, we love. Time is our measure of our daily life up until our unfailing death. One man, John Sedmour, is the father of time.
John had spent the last 82 years watching time and watching the world change and evolve. Not from a television or from a computer screen instead from a naked eye simply sitting at a park bench right in New York City. An old, lifeless and cold bench it was to anyone else in this city. Not to John; John felt comfortable in this bench. It was the perfect place to watch the people of his city. It was a time portal, a pair of binoculars. A mirror reflecting all the change in the world was really the true meaning of the bench. From seven till seven John sat watching and waiting.
Today was not a normal day, but James didn’t realize that until exactly 6: 43 while eating dinner at of course the bench. As he finished eating his New York styled hot dog, John looked up and saw a man. It was the usual man in New York; a suit and a cell phone in his hand talking away ignoring the rest of the world in order to maintain “perfection” in his own life. John happened to catch a glimpse of an1993Camero drive off course blasting into a concession stand nailing the business man who was so wrapped up in his own life he never seen anything coming let along a thundering car blazing down the road. The thud of the man’s heart had stopped. The innocent, normal man died instantaneously. As well as the teenager driving the car who was obviously intoxicated way beyond anyone should be. Time had stopped moving in New York. The population of the ‘big apple’ halted. It just watched. But then, people began to move again, carelessly, walking or driving home to be with their families, eat dinner, or catch the 7:30 Yankees game. The world continued to move, except for two people; John and a middle-aged woman who just became a widow.
After witnessing such an event John knew it was time to leave. He walked home not with a smile on his face like usual, but a stare of shock. John needed his home; it was all he really had left other than the bench. Instead of turning on the television, or reading the paper to check what other sort of terrible incidents happened on this planet he just changed and fell right to sleep. Not even to stop for the picture of his deceased wife. John somehow was able to sleep through all of the never endless police and ambulance sirens taking care of the crash. Lucky for him he could but for Christine Miller- Rachels that would be impossible.
Christine threw opened her car door and rushed the key turning on the ignition. She had a twenty minute drive to get to center New York. She hauled out of her driveway and stepped on the gas, hoping she would get their much, much sooner. She grasped the steering wheel tightly as she thought of what life could possibly be like without a husband. Thoughts of her three children raced through Christine mind. She could even speak the words “My husband is dead.” Tears began to drop and roll onto the leather wheel. Christine prayed over and over hoping for soul mate. She made her final turn only to see the site of flashing lights and flaring sirens. Again, she shoved the car door open. This time Christine sprinted to the nearest ambulance. She caught the site of her husband, Brad, lying lifeless on the cold, hard street. She ran to the body of her husband to lie down beside him hoping he was still alive. Christine hoped her husband was still living life and not watching down. Her voice crawled out of her mouth to say,
“Honey, are you there?”
There wasn’t a reply. Not one body movement. She began to sob harder and harder. Sharon shouted at an emergency doctor. “Is he alive? Please tell me is he alive?” The man didn’t respond and took her husband onto a stretcher and into the ambulance. The Doctor was shutting the door very slowly. He never did respond. Instead they drove off not giving any answer to the woman. All Christine wanted was to think. So she took a seat near the scene on a bench. This bench now meant something to two people in the world.
October 27, 2008
Time; over time we loose, we live, we love. Time is our measure of our daily life up until our unfailing death. One man, John Sedmour, is the father of time.
John had spent the last 82 years watching time and watching the world change and evolve. Not from a television or from a computer screen instead from a naked eye simply sitting at a park bench right in New York City. An old, lifeless and cold bench it was to anyone else in this city. Not to John; John felt comfortable in this bench. It was the perfect place to watch the people of his city. It was a time portal, a pair of binoculars. A mirror reflecting all the change in the world was really the true meaning of the bench. From seven till seven John sat watching and waiting.
Today was not a normal day, but James didn’t realize that until exactly 6: 43 while eating dinner at of course the bench. As he finished eating his New York styled hot dog, John looked up and saw a man. It was the usual man in New York; a suit and a cell phone in his hand talking away ignoring the rest of the world in order to maintain “perfection” in his own life. John happened to catch a glimpse of an1993Camero drive off course blasting into a concession stand nailing the business man who was so wrapped up in his own life he never seen anything coming let along a thundering car blazing down the road. The thud of the man’s heart had stopped. The innocent, normal man died instantaneously. As well as the teenager driving the car who was obviously intoxicated way beyond anyone should be. Time had stopped moving in New York. The population of the ‘big apple’ halted. It just watched. But then, people began to move again, carelessly, walking or driving home to be with their families, eat dinner, or catch the 7:30 Yankees game. The world continued to move, except for two people; John and a middle-aged woman who just became a widow.
After witnessing such an event John knew it was time to leave. He walked home not with a smile on his face like usual, but a stare of shock. John needed his home; it was all he really had left other than the bench. Instead of turning on the television, or reading the paper to check what other sort of terrible incidents happened on this planet he just changed and fell right to sleep. Not even to stop for the picture of his deceased wife. John somehow was able to sleep through all of the never endless police and ambulance sirens taking care of the crash. Lucky for him he could but for Christine Miller- Rachels that would be impossible.
Christine threw opened her car door and rushed the key turning on the ignition. She had a twenty minute drive to get to center New York. She hauled out of her driveway and stepped on the gas, hoping she would get their much, much sooner. She grasped the steering wheel tightly as she thought of what life could possibly be like without a husband. Thoughts of her three children raced through Christine mind. She could even speak the words “My husband is dead.” Tears began to drop and roll onto the leather wheel. Christine prayed over and over hoping for soul mate. She made her final turn only to see the site of flashing lights and flaring sirens. Again, she shoved the car door open. This time Christine sprinted to the nearest ambulance. She caught the site of her husband, Brad, lying lifeless on the cold, hard street. She ran to the body of her husband to lie down beside him hoping he was still alive. Christine hoped her husband was still living life and not watching down. Her voice crawled out of her mouth to say,
“Honey, are you there?”
There wasn’t a reply. Not one body movement. She began to sob harder and harder. Sharon shouted at an emergency doctor. “Is he alive? Please tell me is he alive?” The man didn’t respond and took her husband onto a stretcher and into the ambulance. The Doctor was shutting the door very slowly. He never did respond. Instead they drove off not giving any answer to the woman. All Christine wanted was to think. So she took a seat near the scene on a bench. This bench now meant something to two people in the world.
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