F-Work: Only One

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F-Work: Only One

Post by Zarich on 2012-03-15, 00:46

Only One

Back in September I was working on a Fantasy Romance novel called “A White ship at Dawn”, after writing a third of the book I just suddenly stopped. I had a whole plot out and knew what what goes to happen scene by scene, but I lost my initiative. Nevertheless, I love writing, be it if I am a good writer or not. So I might as well resurface and polish my abilities since I'm working on a VN project on my own. The absolute favorite thing I like to do is character building. I created the character and two scenes with her in it in about 10 minutes. The character is a remarkably pathetic and emotional/easily hurt Norwegian whom I shall dub Celeste Olavsdottir (proper Norwegian naming, I hope). She suffers from a couple of things, this piece should (hopefully) sort of easily spell it out. This was a tough one, I haven't been diagnosed with anything so it was a challenge for me and a lot of research, I'm still not sure if I got the certain ailments correct. Nevertheless, I'm still rusty and I sort of have a inferiority complex with my writing so to me it all seems amateurish and not well made....I also have to mention that I wrote this while I was in a VERY good mood (A good enough mood to the fact that Depressive/Suicidal Rock couldn't keep me down).
Even in a good mood I write this around 1-3 in the morning., Expect Continuity Errors n the likes.

I Also like to listen to music while I write so the albums I listened to where
New World Shadows by Omnium Gatherum
Vengeance by Crom
Ghost by The Devin Townsend Project

_______________________________________________________________

Damn, nothing is different, I thought to myself as I took my usual desk, Another boring year this will be, good thing nobody took my seat. A year had passed since I entered this school, really the only thing that has been nagging at me was why. Really, I don't remember how I even got in. Oh well, must have been something unimportant.

The good thing about sitting at the middle desk in the back row was the fact I could sleep in class. If I just position my head right, I can be unseen by the teacher. Being in the middle meant the angle was perfect to hide unlike the girl unlucky enough to sit in the class's designated 'protagonist' seat, the seat always taken by main characters of animes. But then again she couldn't hide her head if she wanted to as her breasts made it so she had to perpetually sit upright as if balancing a scale, for fear of her weight collapsing forward.

I took my first glance at my new homeroom teacher and boy was he a wreck. There were a couple factors that in all, made me uncomfortable. First was the heavy bags under his eyes and the mortician-like suit he wore, complete with dead flower on the lapel. It was either a Rose or a Tulip, I couldn't tell the thing was so shriveled. Second was the fact he didn't even bother to look at the class, he didn't even tell us to introduce ourselves to each other. Hell, he didn't even introduce himself. The transfers were looking a little scared, and that was a majority of the class. Only a few of us knew each others names, but we didn't know each other well enough to even start a conversation. This class is going to be a wreck. Deciding this was the best thing to practice while in class, I proceeded to stare past the fellow students on my left and started to stare outside of the window and at the beautiful, almost painted mountain landscape. This is going to be a long day. Well, at least the weather is nice...

Suddenly something hit me square in head with such force that my tilted chair unbalanced itself and sent me right flat on my back. Groaning from the pain, I searched around for the object that hit me and found a leather shoe at my side. I stood bolt upright, the shoe grasped in my hand. Before I could yell at the asshole who threw his shoe at me the teacher spoke up.

“If you were daydreaming any harder I would have thrown a chair at you.” He sounded young, probably just out of college, a tone of malicious humor coming from his words. “Throw back my shoe.”

“Surely there is a better way of getting a students attention then throwing a shoe at him!” I yelled, throwing his shoe at him as hard as possible, aiming for his head. I missed.

He smirked and simply said “Look down.”

I did. At my feet were numerous pieces of chalk and what seemed like a haphazardly made paper airplane. I blushed. Daydreaming sure took my whole attention. The whole class was staring at me.

“Put those away in your desk” he motioned to the pieces of chalk, “and we can finally get to your assignment.” He motioned to what he wrote on the board, pulled out a book, and started reading:

Teacher: Mr. Hunter Louis.
Second Year Assignment #1: Introduce Yourself.
Write a paragraph introducing yourself to present in the front of class. Be creative.
Extra points to those who can write their intro as an epic in three cantos

Dear God, I thought to myself. This teacher has a horrible personality, a horrible sense of humor AND we are being graded for an introduction about ourselves. I looked around, the whole class was busy writing, some people obviously more into it than others. That big breasted girl was almost done with a second page. Damn, she is a total teacher's pet. I continued examining the class till I got to the seat to my right. It was empty. Strange, I thought, who would miss the first day of classes?

My mental question was answered as suddenly as it came into my head. From the door at the back of the class appeared a medium-sized shadow and a sound of the knob being turned. Well, the sound of it trying to be turned. It seems that the person on the other end was having some trouble. When the door finally opened out stepped a girl I had never seen before. At least with the transfers I could recognize their face at last-weeks orientation. She must have been a sudden transfer or someone who just didn't bother to go to the orientation. Why was she late? It isn't like the room is hard to find, there are floor maps EVERYWHERE. The Teacher looked up from a book he was reading, 'The Hellbound Heart' by Clive Barker to an open folder, probably the class roster, and in a loud voice, yelled at the girl “You are a little early, Celeste, class ends in ten minutes. Next time come later so you don't interrupt the class you missed! Get to work on your assignment and if you forgot a pencil, you won't have time to go back to Norway to get it.” Sheesh, that guy is harsh. The girl, Celeste, mumbled something incomprehensible, sort of like a mix of “huh?”, “I'm Sorry” and some incomprehensible words, probably was in her home language. The Teacher, Mr. Louis did mention in his snide remark that she was from Norway. The girl stared at the class, looked around for an open seat and took the seat next to mine.

The commotion the new girl made and the vague look she had when trying to find an open seat gave me a good chance to check the new girl out. The first thing that I took notice of her was her hair, pure white with one stripe of black hair that was a part of her bangs. which tried to cover her face and hide the deep circles under her eyes. It seemed she got less sleep then our teacher. But still, that was some dedication to colour your hair in all but one place. But then again, Scandinavian norm would be Blonde hair so she could have just dyed one section black. The next thing I noticed was that she only had one arm, the right one was hanging at her side through the sleeve of a loose-hanging, school-commissioned Black Sweat-jacket that covered her left side and a boy's uniform button up shirt. The shirt was messily put on, buttons were just randomly put in random holes. At first I thought that she was an amputee until my eyes focused on a bulge from under her barely passable breasts. I bent down to pick up a pencil that I purposely knocked off my desk and took a different angle, viewing her from below. What I saw was that underneath her jacket was one half of a straight jacket, binding her left arm to her check.

As I got up, the girl, Celeste, reached in a jacket pocket and took out a piece of paper and a pencil. As she put pencil to paper, the tip of the pencil snapped, leaving the pencil useless. She reached in her jacket pocket again and took out another pencil. This one snapped the instant it touched the paper also. This continued on for five minutes. It was like a bad continuous joke on TV; and like those type of jokes, each time she broke a pencil it got less funny and more pathetic. I just wanted it to end, it was getting annoying. When she finally was able to write, her writing was horrible and shaky, as if she wasn't used to writing with that hand. Curious, I switched hands and started writing, the penmanship was about the same. She was a lefty. Why her good arm had to be locked up was beyond me, I'll ask her during lunch.

As I got back to writing I heard another Snap of the pencil breaking, but this time followed by a soft sobbing noise. I turned my eyes to Celeste. Tears were streaking down her face, down her chin and hitting the paper she was trying to write on. Our eyes made contact right as the bell rung, making her jump into the air with surprise and fall out of her chair. I got up to go help her but she pushed my hand aside, got up, and ran for the door. As she ran from the door she tried to open it while wiping the tears from her face. We had our next period in the same classroom. She didn't return.

*******************

I didn't see her again till Lunch time, she was eating along in the cafeteria. With lunch in hand and having nowhere else to go, I decided to go see if I can sit next to her. As I walked up to her she looked at me, it seemed she regained her composure.

“Can I sit next to your?” I asked. She turned her head to me, our eyes met and she motioned to the seat next to her with her right hand. She was fidgeting a little bit. Maybe she didn't expect someone from her class to go and talk to her after what happened.

We started to eat together and for a couple minutes there was an awkward silence between us. She was eating what seemed to be a poorly made Sandwich. Every so often she would stop eating and take a glance in my direction but I pretended not to notice. The feast became more surreal when I realized she had her left arm out of the straight-jacket. It was laying on the table in an oddly unused fashion.

“You got rid of the Straight jacket?” I inquired.

“The teachers told me to keep it on everyday, even when I am sleeping. But I don't see the use, Straight Jackets are supposed to bind the arms so they don't do dangerous things.” She replied. Surprisingly, I was expecting a a strong Scandinavian accent but her voice came off more British. It was a soft voice, beautiful to listen to. Hell, if I had a recorder, I could listen to her all day.

“But it was binding an arm” I pointed out and motion to her motionless arm. “That arm”.

“What?”

“Your left arm was in the straight jacket”

“What arm?”

“What do you mean?” I pointed again, “That arm, the one laying on the table.”

“I don't have a left arm.” She stated that in such a manner-of-fact fashion and with such an an innocent face it started to piss me off.

“Is this a joke? alright, where is the camera? You obviously have one, it is attached to your shoulder”

“Listen,” Her voice suddenly became menacing and aggressive. “I only have ONE arm” she muttered to me, adding emphasis on the “one”.

Giving up, I went back to my lunch. A couple minutes later I felt something hit my head. I looked to my side, it was a piece of lunch meat. The same type that Celeste was eating, Turkey. I ignored her, goes back to eating. Another piece of lunch meat hit me again, and again. I tried to keep my cool but nonetheless I got pissed every time she flicked a piece of lunch meat at me. From the corner of my eye I could see it was her left hand tearing off a piece after every bite and flicking it at me, Celeste didn't even look at me while she was doing it.

Before she could flick another piece of meat at me I grabbed her arm.

“Stop that” I said, my tone showing I was obviously pissed. She looked at me with such guiltless eyes and responded. “Stop what?”

“You are throwing your lunch meat at me.”

“No I'm not.”

“Yeah, you are.”

She got serious again. “NO, I'm NOT.”

I gave up. I tried to keep my calm but this time, right when I got back to eating, the whole remnants of her sandwich was thrown at me. Looking back, this was a very childish thing to do, but I couldn't control myself. I snapped. In a fit of rage I got up, grabbed her left arm, the one that she was using to throw things at me, and in a motion that could have dislocated it, dragged her from her seat. She landed with a little squeak of pain. With a face that looked like it was about to cry, she started to yell at me.

“What's your problem!?” she yelled at me. Gone was the soft voice, her yelling voice was trying to hit high registers but made she sounded like a mouse. She started to sound more and more pathetic in my ears with every note.

“What's YOUR problem?” I retorted. “You act like nothing is happening. I told you before to stop throwing your damn food at me.”

Without answering she got up, and in a sudden movement, her left hand was going towards my throat. She had a firm grip. My mind wasn't thinking clearly, all it was busy with was trying not to black out from her grip. I grabbed her by her shirt and slammer her against a nearby concrete column. Her hand quickly let go of my neck. Seizing my chance I grabbed her left hand and put her hand in front of her face.

“Enough of this I only have one arm bullshyte. You can use it perfectly fine, see?”. She didn't speak, it was as if she averting her gaze from it. I moved the hand close to her, she turned her head 45 degrees. I brought it closer when suddenly in a shriek that was totally unfitting her voice yelled, “GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME!! I ONLY HAVE ONE ARM!

In surprise I let go. My anger was subsiding and I was slowly regaining my composure. Celeste on the other hand, lost her's completely. Her legs were shaking as if they were about to collapse on themselves, her face was red and two rivers of tears were streaming down her face, as if a dam broke. I tried to console her, finding it hard after all I had done.

“Um...Celeste, was it? Umm...errr..I'm Sorry.” She wasn't listening. She was staring at me, but I could see no light in her eyes, it was as if her soul fled her body. “I'm sorry” I repeated “But that arm is in all truthfulness connected to your body and I don't-”

“I don't have a left arm.” She whispered, as if trying to tell herself that that is the truth. Her left hand was fiddling with her shirt, toying off the buttons, and it was as if Celeste didn't notice.

“Repeating something won't make it the truth” I told her. But she just retorted with yelling “ONE” at me. It seemed she lost herself completely. She legs gave way and she crumpled on the ground. She curled them up to her in a fetal position and started to hyperventilate. The whole cafeteria was silent. I could still hear the sobbing whispers of “One...only One” coming from her crumbled form. The last Image I got of her before I ran was her looking up to the ceiling, the whites of her eyes were taking over her iris and pupils, her voice still repeating the same self-reassuring sentences. Celeste was a pitiful wretch. Maybe I'm just as bad...


Finished part below...



Last edited by Zarich on 2012-03-15, 00:47; edited 1 time in total

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Re: F-Work: Only One

Post by Zarich on 2012-03-15, 00:46

Cont.


************************


The next day I got up early, I had to find that girl. I had to make sure to apologize for what I did yesterday. But it is unsurprising if she just snubs me and tells me to fuck off. I try and ask some other students but they avert their gaze, looking scared. Looks like the story spread, I'm now the bad guy. Maybe I am....

Nevertheless, I continue searching. I'm not even sure if she will be in class. How long does it take to recover from a mental breakdown? But lo, there she was. She was walking down the hallway towards my direction. Her left arm was back in its place and she look none the worse for wear. I ran up to her.

“Excuse me,” I asked, my head tilted downward so she didn't have to make contact with me. Before I could even start my apology she spoke in a surprisingly calm tone.

“You are...the person who sits next to me in class.” To my astonishment, she acted as if nothing had happened. To further my astonishment she bowed to me and said. “I'm sorry for causing a scene back in class, yesterday.”

“Eh?”

“I couldn't sleep because the nightmares kept on waking me, I wasn't in a good emotional state then. My dreams stress me out. Truthfully, I'm afraid to go to sleep. My dreams seem so real, like they actually happened” She look straight at my face and smiled. “Sorry for drawing so much unwanted attention. Please don't hate me, ok?”

What was she saying? One could not forget a big scene like that. She continued. “I had a bad dream again today, you were in it.” She looked at the floor, as if she was reciting some sort of punishment. “I was being an annoyance and you beat me for my horrible behavior....It felt so real. I wanted to find after class but I got too embarrassed. I can't remember much after that.”

“You don't hate me for it?” I replied.

“For what?”

“For beating you up.”

She looked surprised. “That was in a dream, not reality. I wouldn't hate you for something that didn't happen in real life.”

“But I also hurt you, emotionally.” My face turned red, “I didn't know just mentioning your left arm would do so much damage at you.”

She looked at my inquisitively, I waited for her response. I wouldn't look down, I'll look her into her eyes and see the response from her expression, not just her words. Unexpectedly, she raised her free hand to stifle a giggle. “What are you talking about?” she said. “I don't have a left arm. I only have one arm.”

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Re: F-Work: Only One

Post by Malkav on 2012-03-16, 02:24

I'm pretty intrigued with the girl's plot device ("Ms. One-Arm's Nonexistent Left Arm"). The story seems a little awkward and generic, though. Or maybe under-developed. That could be it; maybe it seems forced because the actions or ideas progress without a real feeling of development/accomplishment. Like they are more of an outline or something like that.

While I don't know 100% what it is, I can't shake the feeling that something along those lines is missing. The characters almost seem human, yet... hmmm. I'll have to think on this a little longer/harder. If you can fix that, though, this would no doubt become very crisp and addicting Smile you've already done some very interesting (and unusual!) things where the plot between the girl and the protagonist is concerned.

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Re: F-Work: Only One

Post by Zarich on 2012-03-16, 03:09

Yeah, ill have to fully look into it when not under a shitload of stress and when I'm not about to g to sleep. I need an Outline, I work better that way, other then

1. Idea
2. Think
3. time is 3 in the morning - start writing with no idea what will happens
4. Go to sleep at 4 and wake up at 6 for school.
5. Restart at 1 in the morning, reciew once go to sleep at 3
6. Wait a couple days, Chat, Post

Truthfully, for me writing from the view of some sort of difference, while me beeing undiagnosed it sort of tough. I changed sime stuff just for Drama sakes instead for so e realism, 'cus I make stupid decisions that way Xp.
Really the best Idea I like from rereading is the girl. It is a mix of PTSD and AHS (Alien Hand Syndrome) so I thought, if something related to the AHS caused the PTSD then one would forget and blockout the AHS, maybe even a whole section of the body. Ill prolly rework everyone around but aill kee the characters (including the teacher, which was basically me in a nutshell) and most of the cafeteria scene as that has a more personal connection (in my case it was a pen, a mental pole instead of the column and two girls instead with one. Lets just say I was always on the good side with the parents, the faculty and the principal then, was a lucky bastard years ago).

I'll work on the outline, I have a way of doing it in a thriller novel style outline which I leanred from an Author. Of course the outline will be worked on at 1 in?the morning. I still have AP calc homework to do but at least I know what to work on. For me the protagonist has to have sirt of connection to moi in order i for it to be a better character and besides anger outbursts there is nothing else and since hs is the MC ill have to change him around to make the view in the story better.

Yup, 4 months of no writing makes one rustyc

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