Desert Places

ClassicDisaster

I was going to enter this in the Sean Dunne short story competition, but my teacher never got me an entry form but sure let me know what you think?

Note, some parts may seem a little bit confusing; especially the end but there is nothing i can do about it, it’s going to be part of a four part story but I haven’t written the other three parts yet.

Sugested changes in Green

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Desert Places

Poetry is my thing. Plath is good, if you’re looking for an easy read. However her tendency for self harm is worrying to say the least. Frost is better. Nature has never been my forte though, unfortunate. Shakespeare, literary donkey that he is, he’s a man I can relate to. Not so much the alleged homosexuality or wife abandoning, but his rule breaking. You’ve got to give the man credit; he broke rules by making new ones, full marks for ingenuity in my book. Mahon is my favourite, his work fits my mood, fits my outlook on life, chaos hidden behind order. What could be more terrifying? Only thing that springs to mind is me.

I sit in my office, its beige, I hate beige. Beige walls, floors, furniture, its beige in general. For all intents and purposes I’m as beige as everyone else. My secretary is the only colour in the building as far as I can see, she’s red. Literally she’s not. She’s wearing blue today. I’m not talking literal. If she was a colour she’d be red, red for passion, vibrancy…lust. She has a gun strapped to her leg, so do I. Brushed steel, nine millimetres and quiet. I could shoot you in a crowded room; no one would hear a thing. Custom pistols. Not common in a stationary firm. Not common in business, well maybe they are.

I work for the firm. Not this firm, “the firm” we don’t deal in stationary. We sell a unique service, death on demand. We don’t discriminate. Money keeps everyone equal. Some more equal than others perhaps, politicians, businessmen, students, revolutionaries. It makes no difference. We sell a service: Cold, harsh, and undiscriminating. I don’t like it. I’m good, too good. I know too much. Knowledge is my prison. I can’t get out. It wouldn’t be tolerated. I know this. I’ve taught long standing “employees” that retirement is not an option. Not when you’re in deep. My secretary could get out. Just. Watching her, is easy, a distraction from myself. Inevitably it’s never enough. In ways she’s nothing like me. She has a chance. She’s young, pretty, and talented, talented at killing. I was too. I didn’t get out, no one told me to. That’s why we’re similar. I’m trapped by knowledge. Ignorance is her prison. I should tell her, tell her to get out. Run away as fast as she can. I won’t, Ill just sit. Sit in my office, my beige office and watch.

The engine roared. The sun raged an epic battle with dark, dark clouds. I sped towards the city, all chrome and pure power, a silver bullet aimed straight at the sun, the final nail in its luminous coffin. I like to think so anyway. The Storm clouds hung behind me, a grey wall reminiscent of so many fantastical castles in so many fantastical books, impregnable. My engine wailed a prelude to impending thunder, a prelude to an impending storm. My gun sat beside me. Cocked and loaded: pure, white and terrible. The road spread out before me, a causeway of black asphalt steaming under the final rays of the midsummer sun.

Work, gridlock, crushing familiarity, this is how people live today. Work, gridlock, choking familiarity, today is just like any other day. Work, gridlock, unbearable familiarity, today is a bad day to die.

How did I get into this? I could have been anything. I am a cocky businessman, a revolutionary, a dentist, a teacher, a poet, anything, I am everything and nothing. I am Scum, a pet dog trained to jump through hoops and to snarl at strangers, a man who blindly takes orders and executes them.

The sun fights. The sun fails. Darkness. Thunder arrives early.

The building is nondescript, metal and glass, metal and glass. Thirty stories at least, height its only discerning feature. My pistol is art. It awes me. It hurts me. How can a instrument for death be so perfect? Brushed white steel, its body the definition of elegance; its grip is perfect, pale ivory, beautifully carved. Two black dots destroy its purity; “the firm” owns this weapon. The weapon is me. I am owned.

The car door closes with a smooth click. I walk to the door, glass and metal. I could be anybody: no one looks twice at a beige man. No one looks twice at a dog unless it barks.

A dog walks quietly through reception. No one bats an eyelid. He goes straight to the elevator, it’s open. The buttons are small, with an impossible dexterity the dog calls for floor thirty. The door closes and the dog shoots up. The elevator stops, floor thirty: a man steps out, I step out. A sign reads “30-penthouse: no dogs allowed” I laugh quietly. I scare myself sometimes. The hall is bright, only 2 doors on each side, these are big apartments, the man was rich, the man is rich, probably with a beautiful wife, beautiful kids, a beautiful life. His death wont be beautiful, he might plead, he might fight, he might cry, the end result will be the same.

I walk to room 301 and knock. No answer. I break the lock, no one hears a thing. The hall is dark; a TV screams white noise in a room somewhere. I walk from the darkened hall to a room drowned in golden sunlight; the sun has made resurgence, a last stand before an overwhelming storm. A man lies on the floor.

Bang!

Bang!

I fall; two ragged holes ruin the immaculate white of my shirt I laugh quietly, I scare myself sometimes. The red pool spreads across my chest. A woman walks towards me, she’s pretty. I know her; if she was a colour she would be red, I should have told her to get out. I didn’t, I just sat and watched.

“Police” she screams.

I barely hear her, the sun wins, and I drown in light: everything goes black.

rockbeer

"How can an instrument of death be so perfect?"

As for the rest, it has something about it - it's certainly engaging and atmospheric, but I find the choppy style and endless repetitions a bit tiring to be honest. e.g.

"The car door closes smoothly, click; I walk to the door the door, glass and metal. I could be anybody. Beige, I am beige. No one looks twice at a beige man. No one looks twice at a dog. No one looks twice at a dog unless it barks."

Personally I think this has at least three too many repetitions. Especially having done beige so heavily already it starts to feel like you're labouring the point. How about something like:

"The car door closes with a smooth click. I walk to the door, glass and metal. I could be anybody: no one looks twice at a beige man. No one looks twice at a dog unless it barks."

In this case I think less is more. The single beige reinforces what went before without reprising it. I could offer some other similar examples:
'“the firm” owns this, this weapon.' To me the second 'this' is entirely reduntant as it doesn't, for me, help the rhythm of the words, it just makes it harder to read.
"Beige, I hate beige. Beige walls, beige floors, beige in general." Five beiges in eleven words could just be two too many.

But if that's the effect you're after then take no notice of me. I'm sure it will appeal to others.

A few spelling errors for you:

para 2: 'steal' should be 'steel'
para 3: "That’s why were similar. - were should be we're
para 10: 'aloud' should be 'allowed'
third-last para: 'raged' should be ragged

Also I'd look hard at your grammar, especially your use of commas. Quite a few seem superfluous or pop up in strange places e.g.

"I fall, two raged holes, ruining the immaculate white of my shirt."

Wouldn't this read much better without the second comma?

Having said all that, I'd definitely keep polishing this: it has a claustrophobic density about it that makes it stand out.

ClassicDisaster

Great advice, I was kind of aiming for a choppy, dislocated/confused style and a claustrophobic atmosphere. I’m glad that I achieved that part, but I can see your point in going slightly overboard with some of the repetition. I changed some parts of the story and highlighted them in green, pretty much took your advice and ran with it!:D

skateing dragon

I loved it! It was very dark, and pretty Noir. I loved the ending, I have a feeling it's the secretary that shot him becuase of the "she would be red" part.

The short sentences and description really draw you in. It was great.

ClassicDisaster

thanks!

Panda Man

very cleverly written, very visual, great climax.............well done!

Gumbyman

Hey, I enjoyed this. The end is indeed a bit hairy. Police don't usually shoot first then announce "Police". Unless she says it with a smile maybe? As if it is personal.

Good stuff though. More!

ClassicDisaster

the kinda unconventional police actions at the end will all become aparent... i know why i just have to write it down:P

buck65

Humphrey Bogart would be great to narrate this, if you can get him.

ClassicDisaster

easier said than done!

hypercrawl

Sorry, I just want to make a few points. I hope they fall into the category of constructive criticism, but I fear they might not. Otherwise, excellent story.

ClassicDisaster wrote: »

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Desert Places

Poetry is my thing. Plath is good, if you’re looking for an easy read. However her tendency for self harm is worrying to say the least. Frost is better. Nature has never been my forte though, unfortunate. Shakespeare, literary donkey that he is, he’s a man I can relate to. Not so much the alleged homosexuality or wife abandoning, but his rule breaking. You’ve got to give the man credit; he broke rules by making new ones, full marks for ingenuity in my book. Mahon is my favourite, his work fits my mood, fits my outlook on life, chaos hidden behind order. What could be more terrifying? Only thing that springs to mind is me.

Not sure about this as a start - You've gone straight to the noir genre with a poet twist. 'Poetry is my thing', but I'll also give you every single description of american noir you've ever read.
I can't help feeling that I'm not getting the life of a character, but the life of the writer. Why would anyone capable of offering commentry on plath & mahon say 'Only thing that springs to mind is me'? You've mentioned people capable of expressing beautiful sentiment, you've told us that this character understands these poets, but you can't make the character express that feeling. I hate to use an expression that I've always hated but, 'show, don't tell'.
If I'm reading your story I don't care that you know about plath, mahon or macsweeney, I want to know about your character; if your character has an interest in poetry have him quote a line and relate it to what he is observing - rather than 'I like poems, different poets are different - I'm a hard-boiled detective by the way'.

I sit in my office, it's beige, I hate beige. Beige walls, floors, furniture, it's beige in general. For all intents and purposes I’m as beige as everyone else. My secretary is the only colo

I'm sorry, I can't go on. Fix the opening and come back to me...








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Panda Man

hypercrawl wrote: »

I'm sorry, I can't go on. Fix the opening and come back to me...

you say that as if its your story....... maybe he wants it that way, how many books have u written that have sold more than 2 copies(you and your ma)???

Memnoch

I would agree that it needs polishing. Also agreee that there is potential here.

However, it is very choppy. At parts you have a paragraph or two that flows, at others it hangs and stutters. While you may be going for a claustraphobic effect, I don't get the feeling that the effect achieved is intentional.

Some of the descriptions are over the top and detract from the piece. If a reader has to stop and think about a similie or line of description to see the connection with what is being described then that generally hampers the enjoyment of the story.

I am also not a fan of the first paragraph. It reads like something a writer would say, as opposed to the charecter telling the story. Like you just put it in to show off your literary knowledge. And if people haven't read some of those writers then the references will not make sense to them. You'd be better off cutting out the first paragraph entirely and starting the piece with "For all intents and purposes."