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Last Moments
Topic Started: Dec 1 2007, 03:26 AM (212 Views)
Esaul
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This story is a mix of fiction and nonfiction. Some of it is based off what happened between me and my dad, some of it is purely made up. I'm working on an angle that i want to use to start the story off.

How'd you know it would be from her point of view?
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Esaul
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Chapter One: Blood && Staples

     The horn honked as I walked away from the jeep. I barely remember that day, when my father walked out on us. That was a painful memory I wished to keep locked away for all time. I was really young then, too young to fully understand the true extent of that event. My brother was even younger than me. He was probably more scarred than I was. We never spoke about it. It was like a mutual agreement, not to bring up the past. It was for both our sake and our mom's.
     Those last moments with both our parents under one roof was supposed to be full of happiness and joy, not full of hatred or swearing. Those last moments was the hardest part of our life. Those last moments made me hate that man who's my father.
     The first bell echoed through the campus. I trudged along, carrying my soccer equipment. This year marked my fifth year playing. This year also marked my last. I'm a Senior now, my final year at high school. My mother always thought that I could try tro win some sort of scholarship just by playing. In all fairness, I lost my passion for the sport, it no longer made me happy like it used to. Plus I have to focus on getting a job.
     I'm a Senior and I don't even work yet! Well I've always wanted to buy what I wanted for myself instead of my mother paying for it. I've tried and I've tried to get a job, but no one's really interested. Well, I did have an interview the other day at the new Pizza Hut, that didn't go over so well. The manager was such a...bitch! It ticked me off so much at how rude she was.
     So, I had my interview and the woman was kind and very helpful. She noticed how shy I was, and how nervous I was too. So here and there she added a couple of things she thought would help me. Then she told me to call back the next day and ask to speak to the manager.
     And guess what? I did. Four times. The first day she, whoever I spoke to, told me to call back the next day. the next day I called and again I was asked to call the next day. Well it's day three and I call. I actually talked to the manager! she didn't have the chance to go through the applications and-I won't even say it. So the fourth day comes and I'm getting very irritated. By now I have the number memorized and ask for the manager...again. This next part she practically scolds me, saying how they weren't hiring anymore. She didn't just hang up the phone like a decent person would. Oh no, she slammed it down. So...um...okay, why didn't they tell me this to begin with? That they weren't hiring anymore? But of course, that meant that they would have at least half a brain to think of something that intelligent.
     The late bell sounds, I'm now seated in my history class with Mr. H. Wakefield. Such a boring class! I fell asleep at least twice this week without him, Mr. H. Wakefield, knowing. A whole circus could parade right under his nose and he wouldn't know the difference. He would still drone on about dead people. Half the time I don't even know who he talked about, even when I do pay attention. I think today was something about some dude named Himmler. I guess he was some Russian astronaut who flew into space, the first man on the moon. Whatever.
     I certainly wasn't the first man, well student, to drift into space. Nearly the whole class was engaged in their own conversations. They occasionally jotted down a name or two, but that was it. No one ever fully paid attention to the poor fellow. Yeah, I would feel a bit sympathetic toward him, let's face it...he's way too DULL and BORING for that anyway. I learned to follow the flow instead of moving against it. Mr. H. Wakefield wouldn't care anyway.
     The bell slaved us to the next class. And to the next class. And the next class. And the next class. I swear this day was taking way too long. Each minute felt like a second. By fourth period, I was just ready to give up. It wasn't worth my time and effort to try and make it through the day. Now, don't get me wrong, I have thought about skipping and cutting class, I just never follow through. I guess I didn't have enough guts. I guess I had a little too much heart to skip.
     I guess I wished I did skip.
     Calculus with Ms. Clark was the worst part of my day, well so far anyway. She introduced us to the year project four months into school. With our graphing calculators, we were to create an actual working game. Just great...another way for me to fail at math. It sounded like hell. I only wished mine would freeze over, then I wouldn't have to be here. At least I have this year left. At least it would all be over. At least...
     Hell, it wasn't going by fast enough. From day one I had a countdown set up until graduation. I only wanted to get out of school. That was the main thing that everyone wanted. I didn't want school anymore. I wasn't planning on college. Too much money, and I'm hardly smart enough to go.
     So why don't I try and get a scholarship via soccer? Soccer's something fun I do. That's it. Nothing else. Period. End-of-discussion. My mom wasn't too keen on the idea. I really didn't care what she thought. I'm living my life. The way I wanted to. She lived her teenage years, now it's my turn.
     It's now my turn to stand up in front of the class in English and read a portion from the book we were reading. My day seemed to suck so much, at least it's almost over. I hate waiting for the final bell. It takes too long from the start to the end.
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Ben Zwycky
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Fearsome Fleet Leader :D
A lot of frustrating days, eh?



Quote:
 
I wished to keep locked away for all of time


the 'of' shouldn't be there


Quote:
 
And guess what? I did. Four times even.


the word 'even' shouldn't be there.

Quote:
 
I swear this day was taking way too long. Each minute felt like a second.


Shouldn't that be the other way round, each second felt like a minute?

Quote:
 
I guess I had a little too much hear to skip


I guess I had a little too much here to skip

or just leave out the word 'here' (or did you mean something else?)
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Esaul
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I fixed most of the errors you pointed out.

With a minute felt like a second, I'm trying to show the reverse, time's going really slow.

And as for:

Quote:
 
I guess I had a little too much hear to skip


I forgot the 't' so it should be:

Quote:
 
I guess I had a little too much heart to skip
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Ben Zwycky
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Fearsome Fleet Leader :D
If a minute has gone by, and it felt like a second has gone by, then that means time seems to be going very quickly. Are you saying that's an intentional contradiction in your paragraph?
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Esaul
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Oh. Oh. Oh. Snap. I really didn't think about it until now. I got told it made sense when I read it to my friend. You're right :P

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Esaul
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     And when I got home that was the start of something completely and entirely new. This was my second hell. All my mom would do is ask about me-nag-pester me about school-nag and nag and nag. She practically gave up on my want-to-be gangster of a brother. She's probably thinking if she could save just one of her precious kids-
     Saving was something I didn't need. I enjoyed the way I am, regardless of my dearest mother's opinion. Maybe she feels guilt about how she lived hers-how she married that good-for-nothing-son-of-a-fucking-bastard-of-a-man. Oh wait...that's my dad. My oh so wonderful heart caring dad. The hell with that.
     My brother and myself were the only proof of his existence. We were his flesh and blood, even if we pretend we're not. At times I find myself imagining what my dad looked like. I've never seen a photograph of him. Some nights he has brown hair and light blue eyes. Other nights he's bald with a piercing solid stare. And other nights I just try to push him out of my mind. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Oh how I wished that was true.
     For all I know, my dad could be dead. I wouldn't know at all. Would I care? Probably not. He never sent letters or cards or called the house-we never moved so there's no excuse for his negligence. He just left. Without a trace.
     I always pictured Jack Malone and his team of FBI agents to look for him. How he would knock on our door and bring the man my mom once loved home. That's only a mere fantasy, one that would never come true.
     Fantasy-that's what my world was. Drifting forever endlessly. I'm free falling, not able to touch the solid earth again. Everyone flashed by me...Jamie, Ryder, everyone that I cared about gone. Just...gone.
     I turned off "Dream On" by Aerosmith, throwing myself on my bed. What a wonderful way to end my dad. Even with the song stopped, I continued to sing the song, remaining on repeat for hours. What are dreams? I wouldn't know. I learned to give up hope on any that I had. It's just a waste of time.
     It was recess and Jimmi Banks was teasing me. During class that day it was my turn to stand up front and share with the class something they didn't know about me. So, I decided to share my dreams. And they just laughed. I don't know why they found it so funny. I never found out. The bell rang and we all went to lunch.
     That day I sat alone. I watched from my table at everyone else. They were chatting with each other, enjoying each others company. I sat without. I didn't want to go outside, I didn't have any alternative. I wanted to swing, but Jimmi Banks pushed me out of the way. And I let him walk over me. I just let him. Who was I to stop him? He told me that dreams were for sissy's, and I was the Queen of Sissy's. And I just let him walk over me.
     Even as ten years went by, I still think about that day. I still hate him for it. Dreams, are they really for sissy's? Did everyone else dream? I didn't want to think about it anymore. I didn't want to think...at all.
     Dinner, the worst possible meal ever. This part of the day was the only chance we, the three of us, sat down as a family. Isn't really anything exciting.
     I already know what my mom would say at the table. It was one of those typical mother things. All because I don't talk, or just not enough, she assumes something's wrong. But what about my brother? it isn't like he's much of a public speaker at all. Oh, if she only knew about the things he doe without her knowing. I swear we aren't related at all.
Edited by Esaul, Jun 24 2008, 03:25 AM.
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Riss
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Where we gonna go from here?
I'm brilliant. :)
I love it so far, though. ^-^
Keep it up. :D
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