The Story

CrucifiedDreams · Jul 5, 2007

I'm working on this story. It has gotten quite long and unruly. I'm trying to finish it up, and wanted to post a section of it on here to get some feedback. I've been reading over it and editing so much that it's all started to jumble in my brain and I'm not left know good from bad.

[font=&quot]We would ignore him or tell him to shut up when those racist statements escaped his mind to sit awkwardly in the air between us. He had a vocabulary of words I knew existed but had never heard anyone speak. Tyler wasn’t afraid to use those words, like swords. He was like no one I’d ever met, and maybe that was part of my fascination with him. We couldn’t have been more opposite, but I’d spend so much time trying to figure him out, who he was, how he thought, what he did. He had blue eyes and short messy dirty blonde hair. In his mind, he would always be superior. He had deemed himself part of the Aryan race.

[/font]But there was something about Tyler that didn’t fit. Actually nothing did. There was no shaved head, no white shoelaces in black doc martins, ready for violence. There were no skintight jeans, or red suspenders. He didn’t dress the part, but the term Neo Nazi fit him based on his prejudice views alone. For a label as strong as the one placed upon him one might expect to see a look of hate in his eyes, but even that too was missing.

Tyler wasn’t a particularly attractive boy. His eyes sunken and face round, his lips disproportionately large for his face. He was tall and slender, and he didn’t just walk, he strutted, walking the walk to cover up the insecure immature child hiding on the inside, that when meet with confrontation would retort without reason and resort to insults that he would not be able to take back after the dust had settled. No one could figure Tyler out and that was the way he liked it.

I didn’t grow up with racist parents, or around racist people. Tyler was the first of his kind I would encounter but I could see right through him. There was a tone to his voice that suggested he didn’t mean a thing he said. I had never been a racist person, far from it, accepting and welcoming to anyone, but that might have also been part of my downfall. I believed there was some good in everyone, even Tyler. He was angry at a world that had bestowed nothing but anger and hatred on him and now he was transferring that anger onto someone else, and minorities were his target.

I hoped that is was a phase and one he would soon grow out of because no matter how many times I heard things like ******, chink, fucking Jew or Paki, it never became comfortable. I felt like a hypocrite, and for as many times as I tried to tell him he was wrong, there were an equal number of times I simply ignored him.

“Let’s get something to eat,” I told him quietly. I was starving and we’d all forgotten what a decent meal was. The sun was setting behind the towering insurance buildings and banks as we made our way down King St. The humidity was thick despite the suns more or less absence, so much so that you could taste the heat in the air. There was a pizza shop maybe five minutes from where Jon lived. If I hadn’t been with four other boys, this was an area of town I would not be in at night. Though not particularly violent there was enough trouble to make one weary, and I was not one for taking my chances.

On one side of the shop was a clothing store and across the street was a bookstore. There wasn’t much left of the down town core we had grown up in, since the suburbs had taken a hold of our city, where strip malls were built for rich peoples convenience, which caused the mom and pop stores of the downtown to slowly go out of business.

“One slice of veggie and a Pepsi,” stated Eric to anyone that wanted to take his order as he lit a cigarette and stood beside the doorway, his eyes on the road, as we shuffled inside to his left. He held out a couple dollars in change to pay for his food, I took it from him on my way in, but not before stealing a drag of his cigarette first.

Pizza and pop and we wondered why we always felt like death. This was the kind of energy we ran our bodies on. Food that wasn’t really food and had about as much nutritional goodness as a sheet of cardboard. Our bodies would revolt soon enough, for they could only take so much pizza, pop, nicotine, weed, beer, and tequila. We were all lucky our lungs and livers still worked.
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Samhain · Jul 5, 2007

This feels like a very good start, but only the start of a story for me, it feels like there needs to be more to come for it to reach its conclusions if that makes sense, for example finding out why this boy was racist even though he wasn't comfortable with it, or didn't seem to be and finding out a little more about your friends and how you fit into it all.

I think your giving us a bit too much information, I think it could be tightened up and the reader still know what you are trying to convay

for example

But there was something about Tyler that didnt fit. Actually nothing did. There was no shaved head, no white shoelaces in black doc martins, ready for violence. There were no skintight jeans, or red suspenders. He didnt dress the part, but the term Neo Nazi fit him based on his prejudice views alone. For a label as strong as the one placed upon him one might expect to see a look of hate in his eyes, but even that too was missing.
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I would cut out a lot of the information about why he didn't quite fit at this early stage and then try and explore it gradually as the novel continues, just a little bit of information to start off with will leave the reader wanting to know more, so at this point I would take out the details about his appearence you could simply say 'he didn't look the part' as we already know he doesn't from the first paragraph and we have more about his appearence with the next bit

Tyler wasnt a particularly attractive boy. His eyes sunken and face round, his lips disproportionately large for his face. He was tall and slender, and he didnt just walk, he strutted, walking the walk to cover up the insecure immature child hiding on the inside, that when meet with confrontation would retort without reason and resort to insults that he would not be able to take back after the dust had settled. No one could figure Tyler out and that was the way he liked it.
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I like this paragraph, more insight into who he is, more seeds of doubt about whats behind his racism, one little nit pick in bold, would he want to take them back, maybe insults that he forgot about after, or never took back?
just a thought

I didnt grow up with racist parents, or around racist people. Tyler was the first of his kind I would encounter but I could see right through him. There was a tone to his voice that suggested he didnt mean a thing he said. I had never been a racist person, far from it, accepting and welcoming to anyone, but that might have also been part of my downfall. I believed there was some good in everyone, even Tyler. He was angry at a world that had bestowed nothing but anger and hatred on him and now he was transferring that anger onto someone else, and minorities were his target.
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again too much information, it sounds like you are trying to justify yourself because you have a racist character in this and saying to people 'don't worry thats not my intention to be racist in this'
something like 'I had never encountered racism before meeting him, I didn't like it, but I could see right through him' would probably be enough, if we know you have never encountered it then it would stand to reason that your family was never racist.

Pizza and pop and we wondered why we always felt like death. This was the kind of energy we ran our bodies on. Food that wasnt really food and had about as much nutritional goodness as a sheet of cardboard. Our bodies would revolt soon enough, for they could only take so much pizza, pop, nicotine, weed, beer, and tequila. We were all lucky our lungs and livers still worked.
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I think if you get rid of this sentance in bold, you will find that it runs much more smoothly, again we know this food is bad for us, you say that, we don't need the added information about the nutritional goodness and I think although your characters would acknowledge it was garbage food they wouldn't care that much ethier perhaps?

The first paragraph sets the scene really well and the whole story so far gives me the impression of a dirty town with the characters just surviving as opposed to living, I'm curious as to what will happen to them next

CrucifiedDreams · Jul 5, 2007

Thank you for taking such time to write such a comment!
It's hard becuase I took this out of the middle of the story, so you don't know what's before it, or what's after it.
I like my descriptions of him though and it goes with the rest of the story, that description is needed.
I really agree with you about the growing up with racism bit though, I knew there was something wrong there, just not sure what. Thanks for pointing that out. I'm going to clean that up now.
Thanks Sam.

CrucifiedDreams · Jul 5, 2007

How does this sound?

[font=&quot]I didn’t grow up with racist parents, or around racist people. Tyler was the first of his kind I would encounter but I could see right through him. There was a tone to his voice that suggested he didn’t mean a thing he said. I believed there was some good in everyone, even Tyler. He was angry at a world that had bestowed nothing but anger and hatred on him and now he was transferring that rage onto someone else[/font]
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floydianslip6 · Jul 5, 2007

So.... where's the rest!?

CrucifiedDreams · Jul 5, 2007

Well it's still being worked on! It's very long. I'm just posting pieces I'm not very sure of at the moment and trying to get feedback on to fix up.

CrucifiedDreams · Jul 5, 2007

Another chunk, not connected to the last though.

I sat back down as quickly as I had stood and lit up a cigarette. “Can I have one of those?” A very effeminate boy beside me asked as he swept his blond hair out of his face.

“Sure you can,” I smiled and tossed him my pack, and went back to sipping on my Colt 45. I scanned the crowd of people, watching them interact and laugh, and stumble around. I spotted Eric, who had now joined Jon in the downing of what seemed like a never-ending supply of cough syrup. They’d both be puking in no time. If I was smart, I’d take bets on who would go first, but I left them to their fun.

“You have pretty lips,” the boy beside me mentioned, as I watched two boys run around on the roof of the garage, “You’d look good with a lip piercing.” He studied my face and I turned to face him.

“You think?” I asked, “I’ve always wanted one.”

“Do it,” he seemed to get excited.

“Did yours hurt?”

“Not at all!”

“Well maybe I will then,” I smiled closing my eyes and listening to the music far away. The voices around me collided into each other as I listened, trying to pick it all apart. I laid back on the deck, ditching my Colt 45, unable to stomach anymore of it. The boy laid down beside me. I looked out into the yard and saw Roxy doing a hand stand, it made me smile.

“See those stars,” the boy asked me, pointing, “right there?”

“Sure, I see them.”

He looked at me, “Know what they mean?”

“What?”

“There’s still beautiful things left in the world,” he paused, “like you.”

“You’re so full of shit,” I laughed nervously, taking the last drag of my cigarette before flicking it into the yard.

“No really. It’s true.” He flipped over onto his stomach and hovered above me, “You’re gorgeous,” he insisted. Moonbeams bounced off his golden hair framing his narrow face, his eyes the size of chestnuts. It was as cliché as it sounded, but our eyes locked and I got lost as soon as his lips met mine. There was something delicate about this boy, which I had been missing with my current group of friends. He showed emotion and had feelings other than anger and I had forgotten what that was like. We spent the rest of the night lying on the deck, completely oblivious to the rest of the world.

He spoke softly but with confidence, while pouring shots of his coolers into my mouth. He was a fine arts student, visiting town for the weekend. He was living in the big city, Toronto, but this is where he had grown up. He was a painter and I bet a good one.

“You’re an artist too, I can tell,” he stated.

“I’m a photographer,” I replied.

“You should come back to my place in Toronto, I’ll show you my work.”

“Yeah…I’d like that.” And the truth was I would.

There was an honesty in his voice that I hadn’t heard of a long time. Some days I doubted it even existed anymore, but here it was.

People had started to disperse and I guessed it was getting late or early, depending which way you wanted to look at it. Some people were making their way to the road while others were half passed out on lawn furniture scattered around the property. I saw Tyler stumbling in my direction.

“Jay, we are leaving, are you coming, or staying with this faggot?” Tyler spat.

“Fuck you,” I jumped to my feet, “Fuck you!”

“In your dreams baby girl,” he turned and left. I slouched back down against the house beside the boy.

“Sorry about that,” I said quietly studying my shoes.

“You need a new friend,” he said to me.

“He’s drunk, don’t pay him no mind,” my words wavered because I knew in reality this boy was right. I gave Tyler too much credit.

I had gone inside to get a glass of water and when I stepped out the side door, into the driveway, I found that the boy was being shuffled off with a bunch of people.

“Hey!” I yelled after him.

“I’ll find you some day!” He yelled, while turning back to the street. I never got his number or name, nor did I ever see him again. He would forever be known as “The Boy.” It was one of those spontaneous meetings of the heart, where a connection was formed which would never be explored.

I found Jon and Eric sitting out front and the three of use took our time wondering back to Jon’s, with very few words spoken. Opening the door to his apartment, we all picked our corners in which to pass out, but it was too hot and I couldn’t sleep, so I laid on my back staring at the ceiling, wondering where the nameless boy had gone. It seemed to be a common theme in my life. Meeting people, and losing them all in the same time frame. Connections made, grasping someone’s consciousness with both hands, and understanding everything for a moment, only to lose it. My life was made up of drunken encounters, which in the moment, seemed life changing, but never lasted. I wanted that boy back.
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Samhain · Jul 7, 2007

I didnÕt grow up with racist parents, or around racist people. Tyler was the first of his kind I would encounter but I could see right through him. There was a tone to his voice that suggested he didnÕt mean a thing he said. I believed there was some good in everyone, even Tyler. He was angry at a world that had bestowed nothing but anger and hatred on him and now he was transferring that rage onto someone else
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How about 'I had never encountered any racism in my life before I met Tyler' then go straight on with 'There was a tone to his voice that suggested he didnÕt mean a thing he said......'

I think it still makes perfect sense without but I could see right through him which I think is a bit over used anyway
S

Samhain · Jul 7, 2007

I really really like your new part!
just a couple of small things

Can you set the scene a bit more of you both laying down, I know you mentioned it, briefly but it threw me a bit when you said this

ÒNo really. ItÕs true.Ó He flipped over onto his stomach and hovered above me, ÒYouÕre gorgeous,Ó he insisted.
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and there was one small word you have missed out, but for the life of me I can't find it now!
S

CrucifiedDreams · Jul 7, 2007

Thanks Sam, I'll go back over and try to expand it more.

Samhain · Jul 7, 2007

C.D can we change the title of this thread, there are loads of threads called story, you should try and sell it a bit!
S

CrucifiedDreams · Jul 7, 2007

Ya... I know but it has no title yet.

Samhain · Jul 7, 2007

CrucifiedDreams said:

Ya... I know but it has no title yet.
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let me know when it has and we can change the title of the thread if you wish
S

RexLee · Jul 7, 2007

i really enjoyed reading it

CrucifiedDreams · Jul 9, 2007

I'm glad.

“Hey,” Jon managed to gasp, rushing around his apartment trying to get ready for work, as Tyler walked in from the hallway and fell on the couch.
“When ya working till? I want to drink tonight,” Tyler said, with eyes fixed on the ceiling.
Slipping into his floor length faded and ripped black trench coat, Jon replied,
“You ask me this every night, and every night I tell you the same thing, 8am.” He sorted through the piles of odd things on one of his tables looking for his glasses and continued, “You can drink with James, he said he would be coming by.”
Jon had a habit of being overtly nice, to spare hurting anyone’s feelings. He acted tough, but was completely the opposite of the image he tried so desperately to project. The years of having to watch his mother bring home abusive boyfriend after abusive boyfriend, had taken its toll. He learned quickly that he had to be at least appear strong to survive in the hostel environment he called home. And that was the thing about all of us, not one of us were really what we seemed. So even though he would be at work every night, someone, or all of us would usually inhabited his apartment. It really wasn’t his apartment anymore, it was ours.
“It’s time you got a day job like the rest of us,” Tyler said after taking the beer bottle cap out of his mouth, having just used his teeth to remove it from the bottle.
“You don’t even work, don’t talk about the rest of us,” Jon replied.
“I got a job coming my way asshole,” Tyler told Jon, but lacked all enthusiasm.
“What? Becoming a full time Nazi prick are you?”
“Something of the sort actually.”
“I don’t even want to know,” Jon grabbed his keys and headed for the door but then turned suddenly, “Hey if Jay calls or comes by, let me know, no ones seen her in a few days, and Roxy says she isn’t picking up her cell, or returning texts.”
“You know Jay, she’s probably been in bed for the last week,” Tyler said without missing a beat, while shaking his lighter furiously, trying to light his cigarette.
“Try if you could, for once, to care about something.”
“Oh, go to work already,” replied Tyler, exhaling smoke in Jon’s direction as if trying to shoo him away.
Later that night a girl named Rayann came by, with a purse full of weed, and an attitude that suggested she’d rather be anywhere then there. She had come saying her roommate Julia had told her this was a place to chill. Tyler fell in love the moment he laid eyes on her. Rayann was the extreme version of what Tyler was trying to be. She’d lost half her hair to the razor, wore suspenders and clothes fitted so tightly to her tiny frame it was a wonder how she could move. Her face was adorned with more metal then a machine shop, and her nails were painted black. Her face was round and her green eyes small. It wasn’t her appearance that would scare me when we met, but her brash attitude and complete lack of compassion for just about anyone except her asshole boyfriend who was currently in jail.
I met her the next morning when I showed up at Jon’s with breakfast. She didn’t speak words but rather spat them. I was uncomfortable as I listened to her in alarm. She had a general distaste for everyone but especially Muslims and gays, which she made quite apparent as I watched the morning news. Tyler couldn’t keep his eyes off of her, where as I couldn’t bare to look at her. Unlike Tyler there was rage in her voice, she spoke with conviction, and to be frank she scared the shit out of me.
Over the next couple of weeks she would float in and out of the apartment usually at night after her shift at the meat packing factory had ended. There were love triangles but what was quick to form was a love line. Taylor was chasing Ryann, while she chased Jon, to everyone’s surprise. All this chasing in the confines of a 15 by 10 foot room. Jon was torn between running from Rayann and running too her. The logic of his head told him to flee, while the desperation of his heart told him the opposite.
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dirtydog · Jul 9, 2007

You're giving us some of the ins and outs of your social scene, but the reader has to ask whether there's a story line being developed, or not.

Also, we've seen the back of your head (if it's you) in your signature photograph, so how about the front?

CrucifiedDreams · Jul 9, 2007

That's me in my avatar.

There is a story, it's just... I'm only posting chunks, I'm not sure of, to get feedback on.

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