EntrenchdMentalist
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Jun 3, 2006
- Messages
- 106
This is a short story I'm working on. Sorry, have meant to have been working on but have been slack. This is me trying to write in a more traditional short story format, rather than being all playful and experimental linguistically. But it has remained part one of a dead cat story in four parts. I have time on my hands and I want to finish it. I was thinking if I could get some feedback from people and maybe some ideas (not for the story itself, but the way to write it) it might motivate me to finish it off.
Writing like this is HARD WORK compared to the poetry I do, which just kind of flows out of me.
I thought it would also be a nice chance from all the poetry (which is great, but it's more than just poetry, it's Words, innit?
)
I've already had feedback on this piece from (Wordy) elsewhere, so I'd like to hear from some of the others. There are some great writers here whose feedback I would love to hear! Particularly about the way the dialogue is layed out and interspersed with thoughts and actions. Something about it feels wrong all spaced out like that, but also, it doesn't look right all one line after another...
Kitty
PART 1 of a dead cat story in four parts
I get a simple therapeutic pleasure out of doing the dishes by hand, although we have a machine that does it. We have a machine that does everything. Pre-rinsing is what I'm all about. Get the food and crap off quick, before it dries out and sticks (It probably "wastes" water, but you know... that stuff comes out of the sky). So there's no hard scrubbing to do, just a gentle wipe. The hot water soothes me and the repetitive motion puts me into a reverie, where I let my mind wander. While washing a plain, white coffee cup, I hear a knock.
Hastily, I dry my hands, and sort of half-jog to the door. I don't like to keep anyone waiting, even if it's just a salesman - the quicker I tell them to politely fuck off, the quicker they're on their way to that sale - it sure won't ever happen here; if I need something, I'll go out and buy it. If I don't already have it, I don't need it. Don't even get me started on charity collectors.
But it's not either, It's Joe from next door. We get along in a neighbourly fashion and he keeps an eye on Jakey for me if he's playing outside. Actually, I guess you could say we're mates. We've shared many a beer and he comes over to watch the cricket sometimes; my telly is bigger than his. Usually he's all smiles and chit-chat, but today he looks uncomfortable, almost nervous.
"Hey mate, what's up?" - My standard greeting.
"Um..."
I just raise my eyebrow; this is not like him at all and I start to worry just a little. Jakey's at school so I'm not too stressed.
"It's Kitty," he says, "he's been run over".
Joe looks at the ground for a second and I gaze over his shoulder into the cul-de-sac as I gather my thoughts. I've had pets die before, so I'm not upset or anything. But Kitty's not mine, he's Jakey's cat. Was Jakey's cat. A cat named Kitty. Silly name for a cat, I guess, but so playfully apt. It was actually my idea, Jakey just ran with it.
"Shit," - I can't think of anything else to say.
"Yeah..."
"Um, where is he?"
"Kitty? Um..."
Joe lets out a half-sigh, "in my driveway."
"Oh..."
Someone is suddenly a penny short.
"Oh! Oh, you poor fella!"
I instantly feel sorry for the bloke.
"He was asleep under the car, I guess. I was pulling out pretty quick, I heard him, but..."
Joe's almost in tears now, his voice is cracking.
"Hey, Joe. Don't worry about it. I've probably come close a hundred times."
"...it was too late."
"Joe..."
Give him some time.
"Joe, mate... Fuck knows why those things choose to sleep on cold hard concrete under a ton of deadly metal."
"I know..."
"It's not your fault."
"I know. It's just, what are you going to tell Jakey?"
"That it was an accident, of course."
"Please don't tell him it was me."
"I can't lie to my son, you know that."
"I know..."
"Come inside and have a beer, it'll calm your nerves. We need to figure out what to do with Kitty."
Joe looks me in the eyes with his own glistening, red-rimmed version for the first time since I opened the door. We share a brief moment of... Bonding? Understanding? I dunno, but it feels like in this moment we've become true friends. He has come to me and been up front, I respect that. I've let him off the hook, and he feels validated, he appreciates it.
"Thank you... Thank you, Rob"
I swear he's about to hug me. But he just looks at the ground again and slinks past me towards the kitchen.
END OF PART 1
Writing like this is HARD WORK compared to the poetry I do, which just kind of flows out of me.
I thought it would also be a nice chance from all the poetry (which is great, but it's more than just poetry, it's Words, innit?
)I've already had feedback on this piece from (Wordy) elsewhere, so I'd like to hear from some of the others. There are some great writers here whose feedback I would love to hear! Particularly about the way the dialogue is layed out and interspersed with thoughts and actions. Something about it feels wrong all spaced out like that, but also, it doesn't look right all one line after another...
Kitty
PART 1 of a dead cat story in four parts
I get a simple therapeutic pleasure out of doing the dishes by hand, although we have a machine that does it. We have a machine that does everything. Pre-rinsing is what I'm all about. Get the food and crap off quick, before it dries out and sticks (It probably "wastes" water, but you know... that stuff comes out of the sky). So there's no hard scrubbing to do, just a gentle wipe. The hot water soothes me and the repetitive motion puts me into a reverie, where I let my mind wander. While washing a plain, white coffee cup, I hear a knock.
Hastily, I dry my hands, and sort of half-jog to the door. I don't like to keep anyone waiting, even if it's just a salesman - the quicker I tell them to politely fuck off, the quicker they're on their way to that sale - it sure won't ever happen here; if I need something, I'll go out and buy it. If I don't already have it, I don't need it. Don't even get me started on charity collectors.
But it's not either, It's Joe from next door. We get along in a neighbourly fashion and he keeps an eye on Jakey for me if he's playing outside. Actually, I guess you could say we're mates. We've shared many a beer and he comes over to watch the cricket sometimes; my telly is bigger than his. Usually he's all smiles and chit-chat, but today he looks uncomfortable, almost nervous.
"Hey mate, what's up?" - My standard greeting.
"Um..."
I just raise my eyebrow; this is not like him at all and I start to worry just a little. Jakey's at school so I'm not too stressed.
"It's Kitty," he says, "he's been run over".
Joe looks at the ground for a second and I gaze over his shoulder into the cul-de-sac as I gather my thoughts. I've had pets die before, so I'm not upset or anything. But Kitty's not mine, he's Jakey's cat. Was Jakey's cat. A cat named Kitty. Silly name for a cat, I guess, but so playfully apt. It was actually my idea, Jakey just ran with it.
"Shit," - I can't think of anything else to say.
"Yeah..."
"Um, where is he?"
"Kitty? Um..."
Joe lets out a half-sigh, "in my driveway."
"Oh..."
Someone is suddenly a penny short.
"Oh! Oh, you poor fella!"
I instantly feel sorry for the bloke.
"He was asleep under the car, I guess. I was pulling out pretty quick, I heard him, but..."
Joe's almost in tears now, his voice is cracking.
"Hey, Joe. Don't worry about it. I've probably come close a hundred times."
"...it was too late."
"Joe..."
Give him some time.
"Joe, mate... Fuck knows why those things choose to sleep on cold hard concrete under a ton of deadly metal."
"I know..."
"It's not your fault."
"I know. It's just, what are you going to tell Jakey?"
"That it was an accident, of course."
"Please don't tell him it was me."
"I can't lie to my son, you know that."
"I know..."
"Come inside and have a beer, it'll calm your nerves. We need to figure out what to do with Kitty."
Joe looks me in the eyes with his own glistening, red-rimmed version for the first time since I opened the door. We share a brief moment of... Bonding? Understanding? I dunno, but it feels like in this moment we've become true friends. He has come to me and been up front, I respect that. I've let him off the hook, and he feels validated, he appreciates it.
"Thank you... Thank you, Rob"
I swear he's about to hug me. But he just looks at the ground again and slinks past me towards the kitchen.
END OF PART 1
