Opinions on this story.
So, I've churned out another bundle of words, and I was wondering as to what people think - does it spike interest, and so on... This is an experimental piece - I'm writing it in a non-chronological fashion, and it's a diary format. So, it's a series of diary entries, arranged in no particular order.
Should this not pan out, I'll do some reorganizing, and maybe try to shuffle it into some linear arc.
I'll post the text here, as I know some people may be hesitant to open a file - I know I am!
I hope to hear from some of you soon. The forums don't appear t be very active. It's a shame. This site has been helpful and enjoyable, thus far.
Snowflakes sift down, through the great tree in our backyard. I watch them, shivering, my hands clutching my collar, my jaw chattering. The neighbour’s lights look so warm, splashed across the white. I wonder if they’re seated, happily, at a big, wooden table, enjoying dinner as a family.
I’m out here because I failed to make an A+ on my latest assignment. Mother has a habit of locking me outside in these deep colds as a way of punishing me.
I only have a spoonful of peas in my stomach, so the grumble is my only company. My belly aches. My pour belly, nothing to digest.
I don’t think my mother has ever really liked me. My younger brother was planned, unlike me. I came at a very inopportune time, so she’s always retained a tenseness around me. My father is almost wholly indifferent, he lets her do whatever she wants to me, his sole contribution being a swift backhand from time to time.
My bare feet look blue. The icy air crawls under them. I wiggle my toes. Are they still alive? My breath dissipates into the night. I’m so numb.
It snows most of the time here. The sun occasionally breaks through the grey, and salutes with columnar beams, like stairways to Heaven. I treasure these moments, it’s as though everything in my life is put on hiatus, and just for those moments, I ascend, suspended with frightful happiness. I dream of tearing the sky asunder, and wrenching upward. Take me.
The door behind me clicks. I turn around to see mother, gritting her teeth, looking down into me. She brings her heavy hand down onto my shoulder, and rips me inside. The dog is eating scraps at my feet. She grabs a tuft of my hair, and pushes me down. She tells me to growl. My frozen face hurts as the muscles stretch. I growl weakly, then cough, and cry. She stands astride me, looks into the watery jelly of my eyeballs, and chides me with the word ‘pathetic’. She leaves me dissolving into a puddle of my own tears, the dog licking my face.
It has been raining all day. The garage door is open, so the cool air rushes in at me in bursts. I take a break from fitting spark plugs, stand, and let it hit me. It makes me feel so refreshed, the dullness of my life not so acute. The cranking of my co-workers is turned down, and it’s just me and the breeze.
I close my eyes, drift into dreaming, before being perturbed by my manager, yelling at me from his nest, up a flight of stairs, towards the back of the shop. My eyes pop out of their sockets. I look down, see my blackened coveralls, the spanner in my hand, and remember where I am. I crouch over the engine, and stick my hands back into its guts.
It’s almost lunch, and the rain has intensified, coming down in strong sheets. The air’s electric, pre-storm. I see people brave the gusts, their umbrellas being blown everywhere. My colleague tugs at the cuff of my arm, and asks me to help him.
In the staffroom, I munch on a ham sandwich, listlessly, like a cow chewing cud. The pitter-patter on the roof is so soothing. I try not to think about anything, but that’s been hard lately. I find my thoughts being dipped in animus more and more. I’m just so very tired.
It’s my 13th birthday. I charged down the stairs this morning, thinking, naively, that I’d be tackled with happiness and well-wishes. Instead, I saw the three of them at the kitchen table, sullen, seemingly unaware as to the significance of the day. Why do I do this to myself each and every year? Do I so enjoy the disappointment?
The sullenness persisted throughout the day, into the afternoon. I was given no presents, no kisses, no kind words, no smiles, nothing. Now, I stare at the grey ceiling of my bedroom.
He’s been shooting spit balls at me for weeks now. It all started in gym, when I changed in front of him; my gaunt figure drew taunts. Mother’s dietary regimen of peas has sucked the juices from my meat, shrunk me.
As soon as my shirt came off, he turned to one of his friends, whispered, and made semi-audible jokes. I slunk into the only cubicle, and sobbed, cupping my mouth to reduce noise. When I exited, once I thought that everyone had left, he was there, with his taller, pimple-faced friend. They were holding wet towels; they herded me into the back, in the showers, and whipped me. Fuji started to get a bit excited, and flicked me in the eyes multiple times. His friend told him to stop, and so they left me there, against the tiles, crying, like a hurt animal.
I’m in my apartment, looking down into the courtyard. It’s raining again. The news said it’ll be pouring all week. I don’t mind, I don’t mind at all. Imagine being an arborist, working in this, though: climbing trees with saws, dismembering them. I sometimes wish for a job like that: fresh air; back to nature, so to speak. All good stuff.
So, what did I do today? I woke up at 9am, ate a cheese and ham sandwich – grilled; then sat and watched a horror flick. I may soon head out, go to Akihabara, and check out the latest of this manga I’m into. I really don’t know what else to do with myself.
I made an A+ on my assignment, thank Christ. I’d crammed all week. I couldn’t bear being shunted outside, in the cold again. I even conferred with my teachers, requesting direction.
Last fortnight, I drooped just below an A+. I shouldn’t have to tell you that there was hell to pay. I stopped “misplacing” my results after receiving a firm beating for it. So, last time, she ripped the papers out of my bag, saw the grade, spat in my face, and slammed the door. I stood there, planted into my carpet for a few minutes, before I heard her stomp up the stairs. I braced myself. She burst through the door, brandishing a belt with a red hand. She struck me across the face, and as I fell to the floor, curling inward, she unleashed a frenzied flagellation. My brother came up, and stood in the doorway with a dumbfounded look on his face. She left me in the usual fashion: in my own tired, salty tears; this time with an addition –blood.
It’s my first day of high school. I’m yet to encounter any friendly faces. I think everyone already has friends, so I’m just a third, odd wheel, as per usual. I don’t much fancy friendship, I don’t think – not really. I know that it’d be advantageous to befriend someone, to keep the surging, puberty-hounds at bay. I think I’ll just find a quiet place, and sit there, reading. I found this sad-looking book at the refuge several years ago, and I’ve been unable to put it down since. It’s a gory tale about space-marines. The story appeals to me a lot.
When I woke up this morning, left my room, I smelled a peculiar, sweet smell. I heard some commotion at the end of the hallway, in mother’s room. I pushed open the door, and saw father standing over mother, tucked into bed. He was on the phone. He rushed over to me, and shoved me out, closing the door.
Right now, it’s 9:25pm, and she’s been gone since this morning. The phone has rattled off the hook several times.
Today, for an adventure, I went out of my way to go to a new store. Upon entering, I happened to notice that the cashier was stunningly attractive. I spent some time pretending to browse things that I didn’t want, just so I could feast my eyes upon him. I found myself short of breath. I must have been there for 30 minutes. I ended up going to the counter with an energy drink and chewing gum. I was gripped with stinging rage when he didn’t even look up at me, just scanned my items, and peered blankly into the lines of my palms. I snatched my change, and stormed out.
For the whole walk home, I felt the impulse to barge into people, drive my work boots into their teeth, and listen to that sublime gurgle. I just… don’t understand why I’m so unwanted. Do I require a perm or something?
I’ve been unable to secure employment since moving to Tokyo. There are no nooks, and no crannies in which to fill, apparently, so I have enlisted in the services of an employment agency. The agency has hooked me up with an apprenticeship as a mechanic. The employer balked at my age, I heard, but thankfully, 25 is still in the bracket, albeit at the teetering, higher end.
So, I’m due to start next week. I have enough money to live on until then, if I play my cards right, and don’t blow my wad on too many dime-store, hoe-bags.