Last Christmas - Latest edit of manuscript's first chapter

This is likely to be my last edit until I finish the manuscript. I was thinking of including part of the second chapter, but I couldn't decide how much to reveal.
Here is a link to an earlier edit, in case you are curious.

Last Christmas:
Blue and White Lights

Bye.

The world was anesthesia. It had a calm, relaxed numb to it. Blank, even though it was not empty. Lethargy. Through me, everything was in this state. The road zooming back under my fender, the white covered Earth of the hills to my right, the glistening specks falling down.

I clicked on my left turn signal, checked my mirrors, switched over. The world was a machine. Cold steel cogs. The other drivers scattered about the road are just different parts, with their own functions. Us parts run independent of each other, but eventually we all link up; together we form the complex network; the automated systems that are the world.

Blank, cold. Down to the cyborg-like crackle of the monotonous talk radio host. I don't know why it caught my attention; but it did. It was all fine when I was driving down this familiar route, without abstracting thought; but then, I became aware. I guess it made me feel drowsy (physically, that is.) So, I reached over to the button on my radio..

You never know what kind of havoc a simple motion could have. Not until you have made the motion, that is. One cog slips, and a whole network of gears is destroyed. One arm slips, and you have a twenty car pileup; multiple dead. This, was just a press of a button, and surely, it's results weren't nearly as devastating, but nonetheless, it was just a button press.

I switched on the radio. 94.5 and they do Christmas music all December. The eerily mellow sound trickled from the speakers, and spread as mist throughout the car.
We hang the lights, have snowball fights
And sing our favorite tunes
All of these are memories
I make each year with you

It danced inside my ear canal, tickled me with it's freezing saunter. Then, it numbed my brain.
We decorate the douglas together
And watch "It's A Wonderful Life"
I look forward to every December
Because you're always here by my side

I felt the frozen burn of the tundra winds; winds that hissed with the wisping liquid sound of nitrogen bursts. Arctic fire inside my brain. Her face flashed through my mind.
It wouldn't be Christmas without you
The season would just come and go
The holiday cheer would all disappear

I struggled to drag the car onto the side... I feel my chest collapse into the void she's left me.
Along with the sleigh bells and snow
Santa and eight little reindeer
Might as well pass on through

I pull up to the shoulder and switch to park --
'Cause baby it wouldn't be Christmas
Without you

I can't handle it, the emotion overcomes me and overflows from out my tear ducts. I can feel the very essence of me pouring out of my body. My power, my soul, draining out of me. I roll my head back and I groan and I sob. Saline soaks my cheeks, and I clench my hair in frustration. I submit.

As I choke on the words, I silently moan out her name. I ask her why she's left me. I pray to her absence. Beg her to return.

I wipe my cheeks and eyes with my hands. The saline slime just spreads onto the back of my hands. Wipe it off against my shirt and grip the wheel.

I switch into into drive. Stomp my foot and as the tire peels I cut the wheels to the left. Need a full on U-turn across into the third lane, relying on luck more than skill – no; destiny.

I hear a collision. I probably caused it.

The bar is homely. It just has a comfortable feel to it; it looks absolutely filthy. If 'looking' is what you refer to it as in such a dim setting. It used to be that all the smoke would cause a haze, but with the public smoking bans, I know now that the place just has gloomy air.

I sat with the boys. Charlie; unemployed, Harry; retired, Fred; on call. They were talking about it when I sat down. If someone could tell them it's not their fault; that would be nice. Harry was oddly quite, signaling the others to stop, but Charlie was drunk and Fred was oblivious; I pretended not to notice. They each said their hellos and then Charlie and Fred continued on.
“Sometimessh people that try hanging themsselvesh sscrew up and the rope breakss.”
“Well, then how would you do it?”
I chimed in. “You fellas seem to be on a lovely subject. Joe, I.C. Light, on my tab.” Joe popped open a bottle and filled me up a glass.
“We're talkin' about how we'd off ourselves, how'd you do it?”
“I haven't ever really thought about it.” I lied. Sometimes, it's all I think about.
“Yeah, but yhou woul'n't hang yoursself whould you?”
“Probably not--”
“I'd jump,” interjected Fred.
“Why not shoot yourself?”
“What'ss wrhong with jumphin'?!”
“Seems like it'd be a lot scarier than pullin' a trigger. You might change your mind.”
“Ssoh 'ow woul yhou do it?”
“I just told you...”
“Noh! How whould you do iht!”

Fred asked, “Does it really matter? Just aim for your brain.”
“I don't know about that,” I put a loose fist up to my mouth, “Couldn't you miss? I've heard of people trying that and landing on the surgery table.”
“Whell..”
Joe came over and entered the conversation. “I had an uncle try to blow his head off with a shotgun. Just ended up blasting off parts of his face and getting a few BBs stuck in him. If you're going to do it, you don't want to end up mutilated or paralyzed, you go right for the temple.”

White Christms just came on the radio. She loved that song so much. Her last Christmas was a white one indeed. White sheets, white tiled floor, white ceiling, white walls. Even the little fiber optic tree I bought for her room was white, at least it was on a gray stand. I hated that room. So sanitized and blank. Made me sad, it was too much like heaven's waiting room.

The thought that she spent her favorite day of the year in that lifeless room. Only her sister and her parents visited that day; except for them, none of you came. We had lots of decorations from our home, and her parents brought decorations from when she was little, and it made her happy. Those damn white walls always showed through though.

We had some eggnog, and watched Christmas specials on TV. Her favorite was Santa Claus is Coming to Town, she loved the Winter Wizard, we watched that last. Before I left, I pulled out the mistletoe and we kissed and she smiled. That was her last Christmas. Guess it will be mine too.
So here I am. Plucking my last words into this laptop. It's plugged into it's charger so it will be on when it's discovered. I have a glass of whiskey, and the bottle's on the stand near the recliner, sitting there with the radio. The gun is loaded and ready sitting on the desk near my left hand. I graded a few tests earlier, might as well finish that for the substitute. Then I think I'll answer my e-mails.

After that, I will pick up the gun and take it over to the nice comfy chair, where I will sit and drink and listen to the Christmas station. Then, when I am content with my blood-alcohol level, I will press the snub-nose to my temple, just a trigher press. Think of her, and close my eyes.

 

great imagery.
I can defiantly see a good upcoming forum for character and plot development.

good writing.

 

Thanks. Anything you think I could improve upon?

 

I would suggest trying to connect some of the sentence fragments with colons, semicolons, etc. Some fragments are fine, but I think some of them could be cleaned up here.

 

I completely agree. I've learned a lot about grammar and styling since I wrote that. I'm trying my best not to edit this again until I've finished a few more chapters, at least.
Problem though, I keep thinking ideas for a different novel! How do I handle this one?

 

No, don't do it!!

 

But it's such a good one =D

 

Write it down and hang onto it. Take some time to develop the idea while writing your current project.

 

Are you really 20 years old? You have the insight and command of language of someone much older. You're very talented. Keep writing

 

I just don't know if I have the feeling for this project anymore, and I think that's why I've been having so much trouble setting myself down to work on it.
I wrote it at a time when I was just getting deep into my first serious relationship - and his loss represented the loss of my life, and his attempts to come to terms with it, which would be later in the story, represented, me trying to come into my new role.

And it was also at the end of my teen years, which had been spent angry, scared, shy, lonely, bitter, and generally bored and dysthymic when I wasn't being a hedonistic stoner.

At the time, I was really learning confidence, I was learning to like me, and my disorder and hormones were loosening their grip.
I had trouble being fully happy, but I was slowly learning how to not let my fears, sadness, etc. get to me at a conscious level anymore. It felt like an oreo creme of happiness.

That's sort've what the story is all about - how just because you're miserable, doesn't mean you have to be miserable.
But now, for the most part, I'm just happy - and that's really fucking me up =P

Thank you very very much =)
And yes, I am 20 =P

 

please tell me there will be a healthy dose of deus ex machina intervention in the next installment? like a knock on the door that keeps the guy from blowing his brains across his living room floor?! lol

btw: great writing. fabulous imagery.

 

Thank you.

There are plenty of more creative ways to twist things than deus ex machina.

 

:iagree:

I also like what you said about not being miserable when you're miserable. That's a philosophy that I try to stick to.
I think you've got a great intro here (a few minor edits aside). I wish I could read more of your story, but you gotta protect your intellectual property and whatnot. Keep it up. Peace!

 

If your manuscript is essentially an auto biographical description of a milestone period of your life, maybe you should treat it that way. Perhaps it simply awaits the inspiration of more living.
Good exercise in metaphoric imagery.

 

Nah. It wouldn't be so good in this case. Would make it an overdramatic coming to age story. There are way too many coming to age stories =P


Oh, and thanks all =D

 

God damn, I'm jumping on the bandwagon, great imagery.

Also this one simple line:

I don't know, just when put into context with the rest of the poem, the way I was reading the poem in my head as I picture the narrator would, the way he said that line in my head just cemented the mood so great.

Though this:

I don't know, something about it, just doesn't seem to fit into the image of depressed tears the way he says saline slime

 

I think I actually added that while editing. When I was reading how I wrote it before, it seemed too emotional, too glorifying of sadness. I wanted to make sure to make the point that the character doesn't like expressing his sadness so freely (at least not sober) - he's stuck in his depressive cycle and part of how he feeds it is through repression. He's angry and he's sad - but he'd much rather feel numb.

I think maybe there could be a better way to do this than 'slime' though. Does sticky saline sound better?

 

Yes and no, personally I think it sounds better, but someone else may go "but wait, tears aren't really sticky"

 

Sure they are. That get all nasty and clingy feeling. At least, if you don't like crying.

They used to feel sticky to me =P Not so much anymore.

 

Apparently I cry too much haha

Tears kind of burn, they dry out your skin and make you feel all hot

It's the original fire water!