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The Phobia of "Who Am I?"
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The Phobia of "Who Am I?" |
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fractal007 Senior Member
since 2000-06-01
Posts 1958 |
Myself His breathing shook. His demeanour was shattered and broken, but not lost. It would come back. Everything would come back. Everyone knew he was so sorry. Everyone could hear each shaking breath dancing its sorrowful song on the stage of his voice. He could project so well. He could voice those sounds and dripping words so quickly and efficiently. “I’m sorry…” It was all he could say. “I know… You want a Dad who will love you. Well, you will. I am going to change right now!” The shaking breaths he ejaculated projected so well. It wasn’t his fault. He was just autistic. He was just psychologically ill. He was just himself. He couldn’t change anything. “I’m going to change, I promise.” The dad kept at it, while everyone else listened to the sorrowful speech, savouring each word of humility. The shaking breaths flew like old worn out rickety doves showing up to demonstrate peace. The doves arced across the field that was that kitchen table, landing on the ears of the awe-filled wife and kids. Slowly they softened. The dad knew it. He saw it in their eyes. He had gotten through to them. He had renewed his token. He arose from the table, the sympathy-filled eyes of his sons gazing upon him, and left. My Wife The woman gazed into the eyes of her sons. She elaborated on the breaths and sighs and words of her husband. “He has a problem tolerating too much excess noise,” she said. “I think he’s autistic. I think he has depression. The doc’s got him on everything. He should change soon.” And so, the wife and her two sons grappled the problem of helping the dad out of that sorry pit he was in. They would single-handedly pull him out. They would rescue him. They would win, not the evil abyss that lived inside the dad’s head. The sons saw that picture so well painted. They could see the blank stare in the face of their father, as he sat in some old wooden box. Everyone stood around wondering what to do with the weight, while the dad sat and relaxed, inside his old overused fantasy crate. Was this a prison or a home? Oh no, it was a symbiotic relationship. The two sons could hear the soft snoring of the dad upstairs. He could sleep well tonight. The blame had been placed on something else. The abyss had swallowed it, just as it swallowed everything else… "If history is to change, let it change. If the world is to be destroyed, so be it. If my fate is to die, I must simply laugh" |
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| © Copyright 2001 fractal007 - All Rights Reserved | |||
Allan Riverwood
since 2001-01-04
Posts 3502Winnipeg |
I enjoyed this, Frac... but I think one thing you might want to try in your writing is cutting down on how many sentences you begin with pronouns. You can do this by reversing the order of some sentences. I won't give any examples, you know what I'm saying, I'm sure.  The storyline itself was really creative... I love fiction written about people with psychological or mental illnesses... The ending... the ending was cold and brutal. Definitely satisfying. Nice to read yours again, pal. I've missed you. ~Allan "I know it's nice to be known - It caresses your ego - but the society cost is terrible." |
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fractal007 Senior Member
since 2000-06-01
Posts 1958 |
Allan: I do agree on the pronouns, to an extent. This piece was written mostly as an exchange of emotion between the parties, so the pronouns were necessary to an extent. However, I think you're right about the overuse. I think that a more creative way of expressing this emotional dialogue might be in order. Thanks for the compliment on the ending. This piece is intended as a cold and brutal one. It is an attack on someone I know, unfortunately. I could not find any other way to express the rage I felt, and punching my pillow isn't my forte. lol. "If history is to change, let it change. If the world is to be destroyed, so be it. If my fate is to die, I must simply laugh" |
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