Total Write Off - 2nd round match 1 (Numbers)

pickarooney

WHITE and COPPER kick off the second round of Total Write Off on the theme of Numbers. For more details on the competition, see here.

Voting is by poll, with invisible results and open for 5 days. As far as possible, please try and give some feedback for the story you vote for and the one you don't vote for.

Best of luck to WHITE and COPPER.

pickarooney

WHITE

Cleo had been a member of the team for 18 months but she had only delivered three recruitment presentations. She was far more comfortable with the practical side of the job. Working with the Secure Undercover Protection Profiling and Offing Regional Team (SUPPORT) program, Cleo knew she was making a genuine difference. Today’s potential recruits were functional and reserved middle-aged female addicts. They were ideal for the SUPPORT program, introverts with a capability for concentrated self control, largely friendless and intensely private. She selected the first training profile she had learned, one to tug at the heartstrings. It was imperative that recruits had the potential to develop the necessary physical and mental agility to deal with their new roles, once they passed the initial assessment. However, they first had to agree to join the program, hence the presentation. As the presentation progressed she could feel her connection with the crowd growing.

“At times I think I can pinpoint the glass of wine that threw me into the waiting arms of my alcoholism. It was a Saturday, mid-June. My friends Sharon and Elise had just left, having stayed with me the night before. We had planned to go out on the town, but after dinner and a few glasses of chilled white we ended up talking until the small hours and never actually left the house. On Saturday morning we had a leisurely breakfast, sat around chatting until about midday, and then the girls had to leave to meet another friend for lunch. I had made plans with Martin, my on-off boyfriend at the time. We were due to have a ‘chat’… I was dreading it.”

Cleo shifted her weight slightly. She removed the microphone from the stand and stepped out from behind the podium, moving towards the audience.

“Ladies, we’re all here for the same reason. We’ve all been let down, cast aside or burned, and we’ve all turned to alcohol or drugs for consolation, to use as a crutch. I’d like to ask you all to raise your hands if you’ve ever thought ‘my crutch is the only thing that is consistently there for me’.”

The auditorium filled with the sound of nervous movement. Slowly each woman raised her hand, some with brisk efficiency, and others with a shy reluctance. Cleo looked down on the sea of swaying digits and sighed. It was the same in each town she visited – acres of fingers reaching towards something they could never achieve.

“I’d now like to ask you to keep your hand raised and look around the room. You are not alone. Each woman in here has felt a pain similar to yours. We know where you’re coming from. We know your anguish. We have common demons.”

A murmur of recognition rose from the women before her. Cleo flicked stray hair out of her eyes and looked directly at the heavyset but well dressed woman in the third row. She had been clutching her handbag on her lap since taking her seat. Cleo pointed directly at her, asking her to join her on the stage, while the others took their seats once again. Reluctant, the women at either side of her urged her to take the chance. She rose awkwardly and approached the steps at the side of the stage with hesitation, still clinging to her handbag. Cleo reached out a hand and guided her up the steps to the stage.

“What’s your name?”
“Martha.”
“Martha, it’s a pleasure to meet you. What brought you here today?”

The woman reached inside her bag, and drew out a shoulder of vodka. “This did.”

A quiver of acknowledgment rippled through the crowd. Cleo noticed a number of hands reaching for their own purses and bags, to ensure their security blankets were still intact. Martha started to speak rapidly with a look of surprise on her face, as though the words forced themselves out.

“It owns me. I need it, like I need air. My husband left me. It sounds so clichéd but he left me for his secretary. It’s ironic really, I was his secretary once. But when we got married, he wanted me to stay at home. So I did. I gave up my independence for what I thought a wife should be. I had his children – he wanted four, two boys, two girls, so that’s what we had. And they were always his children – even now they look at me like I’m some pathetic wounded animal who should really hide somewhere in a corner, waiting to die. I see their frustration and pity each time they look at me, as though I would still be with their father if I had just been thinner or prettier or funnier or just more in some way. They see me as a failure and they avoid me in the fear that my uselessness will somehow transfer onto them and make them similarly pointless in their father’s eyes. They have no idea who I am. Their own children treat me like a dippy open purse, there for treats and gifts. I’ve been so lonely all my life and this vodka has been the only thing I can turn to. It will never leave. It never looks at me as less than a person, as though I’m unworthy or terrifying. But it has the same dictatorial hold over me that my husband did, it forces me to keep coming back time and time again. Instead of killing my husband for the pain he’s caused me, I’m killing myself with his replacement. And I need it. I can’t survive without it.”

Martha looked shaken at having divulged so much of her own story. She apologised and moved to leave the stage, but Cleo stopped her.

“Ok ladies, I think we need to acknowledge Martha’s bravery. Can you please raise your hand if you are in a similar situation?”

Once again, Cleo looked down to see waves of well-manicured hands, grasping for hope.

“Martha deserves a round of applause for her contribution, don’t you think?”

When the last, lonely clap had rung out across the room, Cleo asked everyone to stand and look at the woman to her left and right.

“These people are strangers, but they are now part of your army. They are here to help you, although they cannot fight your battles for you. They will be part of your support network. You have taken a huge step today, acknowledging your problem and asking for help. We all have addictive personalities, so let’s replace our current addiction with something more worthwhile.

I know many of you are unsure about how we can help you. But we will give you undivided support with anything you need. A key part of this is revenge.”

Martha looked taken aback, and her reaction was reflected in the crowd. Cleo relaxed a little as she delivered the next stage of her presentation.

“At the moment, many of you take substances that poison your system, dulling your personality and your pain to hide your real feelings. The moment you stop taking those numbers, the things that keep your emotional reality at bay, you will begin to feel. You will struggle. You will wonder if you have taken the right path. But we will be here for you; we will help you to establish yourself as a whole and happy person again.

Your recovery will be complex. You will require both physical and mental. Yet when you emerge at the end of your training you will be stronger, fitter, happier and healthier than you are now. Then we will move to the next stage of your treatment – revenge. Each of you has been hurt and undermined to the point of driving you away from your happiness, towards the pain you currently feel. Revenge is a positive part of your recovery – it will help you to regain lost power and establish yourself as a happy and whole person again.

The revenge portion of our program is different for each person. It will be tailored to suit your individual circumstances. We will never encourage you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. It will help you to come to terms with your former powerlessness, and embrace your new, whole and healthy reality.

There are a number of sign-up booths in the lobby as you leave. Refreshments will be served for new members in the dining room upstairs once you’ve been given your membership numbers. Remember, this is your first step towards wellness and wholeness. We’re all rooting for you!”

As Cleo stepped back behind the podium, the women rose to their feet and applauded. Martha left the stage, and was embraced by the first woman she met. As the last women filed out of the room, she raised her hand to her ear and spoke into the microphone in her sleeve.

“Charlie Lima Echo Oscar: Phase One complete. Over.”

A tinny voice responded.

“Good work officer. Over and Out.”

pickarooney

WHITE

He walked the gravel-lined driveway towards his home, head down, soldiers slouched and kicking pebbles as he went. The fluttery, sickly feeling in his stomach had abated but the fearful anticipation remained with him. It went everywhere with him, like a fly he couldn’t swat away no matter how hard he tried. He pushed open the door and reminded himself that at home, he was safe.

The sound of his father’s voice, angry and sharp, made him wince as he stepped inside. He wondered briefly what he had done to warrant this, when he realised that his father was holding the phone to his ear. The boy was about to allow his attention to drift away, as he tended to do during dull adult phone conversations, when he caught a snippet of the conversation. ‘Yes...hmmm...we’ll try that. There’s strength in numbers after all.’

The boy’s head felt like it had imploded with the volume of the discovery he had just made. Wasn’t strength the very thing he needed above all else? The one thing that would be sure to protect him, and he had just found out how to achieve it. Numbers.
Monday morning arrived with the boy waking from his slumber. He returned to his count as he dressed and washed, having just passed the hundred-thousand mark before falling asleep.

While everyone else in his class recited the times tables, the boy counted under his breath. Lunchtime arrived, and the pace of his counting quickened. He seriously doubted his strength, there had not been enough time and he felt certain he had not counted quickly enough.

As usual, everyone steered clear of the boy as if he were infected with the Plague. He tried half-heartedly to catch the eyes of some of his old friends, but when they noticed the direction of his gaze they lowered their eyes to the ground and blushed. They were scared that he would spread the disease. Their fears were rational – anyone seen fraternising with the victim would be sure to suffer the same fate.

Everyone could remember the precedent that had been set, when one victim became two for the rulers of the playground. Friendship did not count for a cent in the cruel world of children.

Lunchtime came to an end and everyone traipsed back to their classrooms. Once again no one paid any more attention than was necessary to the boy. He felt as if the gaping hole of loneliness in his chest was lessening, or perhaps he was simply growing more used to it. Whatever the case, he knew there could be no one to rely on in his time of need. All he had now was the numbers. He felt his hope waning, how much strength did the numbers really hold? He tried to push his doubts to the back of his mind and instead focused on the counting. There was nothing else for it.

Far too soon, he was walking down the isolated, lonely road towards his house. His walk home from school was short and would have been considered very safe and secure, but no one else knew about the secret terrors on the road. They were waiting for him, leaning nonchalantly against a gate, silently jeering him.

The boy continued muttering the numbers to himself as he drew closer to them. He stood before them, focusing on nothing but the numbers. Not even the crippling terror he felt could stop him from counting.

‘What do you think you’re doing, pipsqueak?’ said the biggest and meanest of the boys. He was the person the boy called ‘Gorilla’ purely because he bore a frightening resemblance to the one on the cartoon he watched on Saturday mornings, particularly when he wore his horrible grey coat.

The boy continued counting, but he raised his voice. ‘102472,’ he chanted. ‘10247...’ he stopped, suddenly aware that his words had just caused a deafening silence. Gorilla was staring at him, his lip trembling.

‘Wh-What did you say?’ he stammered.

‘102472,’ the boy repeated, confused.

‘How did you get my dad’s number?’ said Gorilla, his voice rising an octave with fear.

The boy shrugged. Something within him told him to go along with this. At this moment in time, he was not experiencing a painful Chinese burn, and that was enough for him.

Gorilla turned to his associates. ‘If I get in any more trouble, my dad said he’d send me away...’ his voice trailed off. The expression on his face made it clear that this was not a desirable situation to be in. ‘We have to leave.’

The group of boys, who dwarfed the young boy in front of them, began to hurry away. Gorilla turned back for one last look at his former victim. He opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it. He had no last words for the boy, now that he had finally been defeated.

The boy watched the bullies disappear around the corner, scarcely able to believe his luck. The numbers had come through for him, his father had been right. He found himself grinning from ear to ear. His stomach was perfectly stable, without even the slightest flutter and the fearful anticipation had finally dissipated. He felt lighter and freer than he could remember feeling in a long time, and with that relief he moved off towards home, silently thanking the numbers for saving him.

pickarooney

WHITE

I preferred COPPER here. Up until the last paragraph I would have said it was excellent but I thought Gorilla's reaction rang false, too expository. Everything else I really enjoyed.

WHITE was a well-written effort but I found the attempt to link it to the theme of the round clumsy. On the other hand, it did leave me with a sense of intrigue and I do want to read on just to find out exactly what Cleo and Co. are planning.

Hrududu

I preferred White. I thought it tied in with the theme in an interesting way. It was very well written, the depiction of the crowd, their nervousness, their twitches was very well done.

I liked Copper but not as much. I think it hinged too much on the co-incidence at the end. But it too was well written.

Oryx

I too thought the link to the theme in white was a bit flimsy, or at least not established properly. But it had some wonderful description.

In copper I would have preferred the reason for the bullies backing down to be stronger. It didnt really work for me. Also this story had some mild similarities to a story in the previous round, which wouldn't matter normally but detracted a little for me.

Blush_01

I voted for White, although I kind of liked the triumph of the little guy in Copper, so it was another tough one.

Blush_01

And am I wrong or should the poll be private until the 25th?? The others are.

Mr E

I went for white. The acronyms were a bit cheesy, but it was well written.
Copper was very well written too, but it didn't draw me in as much as white did.

The Mad Hatter

WHITE

Both stories again were very good in this. Overall, I enjoyed Copper more, I think. The boy's misunderstanding of the phrase "strength in numbers" seemed to ring very true. Pickarooney's criticism that Gorilla's reaction is not quite natural is fair: Gorilla talks too much in the last scene. I also think that this story would have benefitted from the lead character having a name.

White I found good, but I would have liked to see a little deeper exploration of the characters, particularly in the case of Maria's story: it felt a little too familiar to really break my heart. The link to the theme I actually liked quite a bit, though it could perhaps have been made a little clearer.

Turtyturd

WHITE

I preferred Copper out of the two stories.

I normally like open ending and being left to wonder what exactly is going on but I don't think it worked in White's case. The revenge aspect of the programme just came out of nowhere and maybe some dialogue where Cleo expands on what exactly is happening might have benefitted the story.

Copper was really well written and showed a better connection to the theme. The ending was a little coincidental and I agree with another poster who said it bore some similarities to an entry from the last round but I enjoyed it more out of the two.