extract from new short story

cobsie

I haven't posted for ages and ages, because I've been trying to stay off Boards and get some proper work done. I'm on a good roll now with my collection and feel easier about poking around the Forum to see what's up and generally putting my neck out again.

Below is the opening 1,200 words of a new story. It's just an extract of a longer story but I thought I'd throw it to the lions and see who bit

Cheers, C

******

The Speed of Violence

Remember when we used to go out to the Okerlund’s empty house to drink and goof around? I don’t know whose idea that was - was it Jason’s? Or yours? Anyway, what I do remember is the way we slid around in our seats while you brutalized the Impala up the driveway, the way the ground was pockmarked from construction vehicles like a dirty brown moon. That sh1tbucket Chevy had no suspension. That thing was like driving a trawler, my God. But hey, I have a Chevy now, so what can I say? I never learn.

So yeah, the house, remember? It was so creepy in the dark. The first time Cherry and I were out there with you guys it was pitch black. The trees were bare and the moon was dull yellow and you could hear the coyotes going yow-yow-yowww across the lake. Well, maybe I’m making that bit up. It was dark and cold, for sure. The wind was like a wet slap as soon as we got out of the car. The Tyvek sheeting on the frame rippled and snapped so it looked like the house was jumping. Cherry didn’t know which scared her more, coming with us or staying in the car by herself. I told her don’t worry, there’s no ax murderer following us to a deserted building site in the middle of winter, in the middle of Maine and he’s definitely not going to cut the fuel line, ha ha. She jumped out so fast she whacked her shin off a cinder block and bled right through her jeans all night. Pretty funny.

I think all we did first time was look around and smoke some butts. There was a patch of pristine snow, all crystal-crusted, near the line of pine trees at the edge of the property. You jumped around there making footprints, shouting “Look at me! I’m Neil Armstrong, muthafukkas!” Then we nailed you with snowballs and you died like Sonny at the tollbooth in The Godfather. You were laughing your ass off, we all were.

We didn’t go back again till the end of March, at least. The thaw had started and the whole town sounded like running water. I always liked that but I guess you were happy to get away from it. One time when you were super-stoned you stood on the hood of the Impala and raised your arms like a conductor and said that Coldwell was a symphony of grey. You conducted the clouds and the snow and the wet black streets and the meltwater around the storm drains that was turning into slush. You saved the finale for the factory tower, sweeping your arms up at the greasy silo and giving it both middle fingers. You said no way the factory was gonna get you like it got Mom and Dad, so I guess you were right about that.

But wait, I’m trying to think. When we went back to the house it was earlier in the evening. No, that’s right, it was the same time of day, but the sky was brighter. Cherry had spring rolls from the restaurant with her, so it was after work. Did you guys have beers? You were good at the ole five-fingered discount. You and Jason were a great team. Jason was so skinny and shy no one ever thought anything of it. “Do you have phone cards? Do you have red Rizlas? Can I have two No.4s?” Anything to get the clerk to turn around. Meanwhile, yoink! You were out the door with a six-pack, ninja-style.

Anyway, we didn’t break in until the second time around. You and Jason prised open a window that was boarded with sheet-rock and climbed inside. You were gone forever. Cherry and I were sitting on a pile of lumber eating the spring rolls when you came out from a side door and scared the crap out of us. Wiseass. You brought us into a big square room with gritty floors and bare brick walls and the ceiling was just a ribcage of beams. You’d found the generator and Jason had hooked up some reflector-head lamps and set them on the floor pointing up through the roof, like Hollywood searchlights.

I should’ve known there was something up with Jason, he was humming like a pylon all night. He kept jumping up and cocking his head to the wind like a dog, listening to nothing. He pulled me over to sit on a tub of gesso with him, to look at the stars. They were just up, just pinpricks. “Isn’t that awesome?” he said. “It’s so fukking beautiful, don’t you think? The world? Like, we’re so tiny but we’ve got these really intense thoughts...” He went on like that. A flock of geese crossed the sky in a crooked V and Jason pointed up with one finger and traced the V in the air. That’s when I knew. “You bastard! Are you on something? What are you on?” Cherry started patting him down, turning out his pockets, going “Give it up, dude. Let’s not do this the hard way.” I think she would’ve given him the ole sack search if she had to, but Jason was laughing so hard, squirming away from her fingers, he gave in straight away. Cherry fished a baggie of shrooms out of his top shirt pocket and gave him a little punch on the chin, then gave him a kiss on the ear, just to show she loved him really.

We got fukked up pretty quick on Jason’s shrooms. Everything started tingling at the edge of my vision. Little twinkly lights bubbled up around me and floated out through the roofbeams. I thought I was sitting in a glass of champagne. It was awesome. I kept reaching out my hand to catch some bubbles but hitting cold brick. You could tell how hard we were tripping by how quiet we got. We pulled a tarp onto the floor and stretched out, passing cigarettes and watching clouds and planes go by, saying nothing. I had a can of DW40 under my head for a pillow. Then out of nowhere you said you felt like skating and it seemed like the best idea in the world. You got the boards out of the car, three of them, because there was Jason’s, your old one with the crack and your new one. But that suited me fine. I would’ve floated right away if I’d stepped on a board, taken off into the sky like Aladdin.

We stood on the edge of the empty swimming pool and you peered down for a second and said “I hope there’s no snakes down there.” Then you dropped in and Jason handed you your deck. It was really deep, higher than your head. Jason went next. He stood in the empty basin and said “There’s no snakes down here. There’s prolly rats though.” Cherry started to freak out but Jason said “Hey, dude. Hey, don’t worry. I’m a ratcatcher,” and he held out his hand for her. He was calm and smiling. He looked so happy when Cherry leaned on his shoulder and jumped down. He put his arm around her and said to you “Hey Bill, look who we got here! Miss Asian Universe, Cherry Chan!” Cherry picked up her deck like she was going to clock him with it but instead she kicked off and started rolling.

The tiles were smooth and slippy. First you did skate tricks, ollying beer bottles and banana-coloured piles of leaves. Cherry was killer, she always had amazing balance. She kicked your ass ten times in a row but then it seemed like competition was killing the buzz so you sat with me for a while, on the lip of the pool, kicking your heels. We watched the others free-skate around the basin in wide, blissful ellipses until we could hardly see their faces in the falling dark and could only hear the scrape and thud of the decks lifting and landing. You popped a beer with your lighter and said “I think I might join the Marines.” I said, “That’s a great idea.” “I need to straighten up and fly right.” “Yeah, get a haircut, you fukking slacker.” “Oh God, not the hair. The hair’s my super power.” “Oh yeah? What’s it give you?” “It gives me understated awesomeness. Plus I look great in uniform.” “Make sure you write that on your application form.” “I already did.” I cocked my fingers like a gun and fired at you. You clutched your beer to your chest and slid back down the tiles, calling up “I regret nothing!” Then you did a neat little kickflip and skated off.

******



[...the full story is 4500 words long...it becomes apparent that the narrator is talking to her dead brother, Bill. The final scene is the last time she saw him and I try to give it some dramatic irony by making their last encounter very ordinary. There's no change in their fond but lighthearted relationship, because they don't know what's about to happen, so there is no profundity or redemption or closure. Lizzie relives their final moments retrospectively, where she focuses elegiacally on small but ordinary details.]

pickarooney

The characters of Lizzie and Cherry Chan appeared in your story about Rocky. Is this story in any way linked to that or should we read this completely separately?

This excerpt is nice for what it is - a fond remembrance of a brother, well written with nicely-dosed emotion. It's not exactly gripping though and given what we can tell from the outset and your comment about the story wrapping up in a prosaic way it's hard to see anything to get excited about. How can I say this - if these were real people (perhaps they are) and I knew Lizzie I would probably find this beautiful and worthwhile. As they're not (perhaps they are) and I don't, I'm pretty unmoved by it.

cobsie

Thanks for the comment, definitely interesting. I think it's flattering - despite the faint praise! - that you entertain the possibility that the characters might be based on real people, because they are totally fictional and it's not autobiographical at all. So, that's a worthwhile outcome.

The characters appear in the Rocky story and also in the very first one I posted here, Snow Day. The collection I'm working on is a series of linked stories revolving around a central group of characters who recur to different degrees in different stories.

pickarooney

cobsie wrote: »

The characters appear in the Rocky story and also in the very first one I posted here, Snow Day. The collection I'm working on is a series of linked stories revolving around a central group of characters who recur to different degrees in different stories.

That in itself would be enough of a hook to make me read this, I think. I really like the idea of overlapping stories even if they don't directly follow on from one another.

dublinario

Wow. I think it's brilliant, frankly.

davyjose

pickarooney wrote: »

This excerpt is nice for what it is - a fond remembrance of a brother, well written with nicely-dosed emotion. It's not exactly gripping though and given what we can tell from the outset and your comment about the story wrapping up in a prosaic way it's hard to see anything to get excited about. How can I say this - if these were real people (perhaps they are) and I knew Lizzie I would probably find this beautiful and worthwhile. As they're not (perhaps they are) and I don't, I'm pretty unmoved by it.

I think this is a very harsh appraisal, Pickarooney. It's fantastically well-written, as good as anything I've ever read here. Better than most, if not all.

I suppose knowing it's a short story might affect a person's opinion. If it were the beginning of a novel i'd be looking forward to the story unfolding, but perhaps it's a little bit slow for a short story. The plot maybe needs to jump at you more.

Cobsie, the writing is very strong. Keep going, you have a talent. Love the line. "We didn’t go back again till the end of March, at least. The thaw had started and the whole town sounded like running water". It perfectly sets the scene and mood in two quick sentences. That's the kind of touch a good writer has.

cobsie

Hey, thanks a mil - very flattering!! The story is a bit of a slow-burner, it has a sort of dreamy, stoned quality to it up to a point and then turns suddenly on a violent moment. I really appreciate your comments <blush!>

elizaphilip

that was a really good story