It was not silent (Very short!..and has a question)

[wilderness]

Hey
This is just a first draft of a new story, and I've only just started it.
My best friend read it and percieved the main character entirely different to how I intended it. Just wondering on your opinions.


It Was Not Silent

I don’t believe in silence. I always manage to hear a distant bellowing, the rumble of traffic or the subtle beat of a heart. I can hear mine now, beating hard against my ribs, pounding in uncertainty and just waiting to erupt. I often think it will. As though one more breathe of my life, one more moment seeing from my eyes, could cause a beat to stumble and collapse.

I smoke in my room. The fumes encapsulate in the walls and seep into the carpet. She would have told me to put it out. She would have taken it from my lips and stumped it in the ashtray. Once, she kissed my mouth and pulled back in disgust. She spat on the floor, looked me in the eyes, and stormed out. The door slammed behind her and the sound resonated. I stayed in the same place, in the same composure, waiting for her to return. I almost waited till the sun came back, just thinking how much I fucking loved her, but how I just couldn’t do it right. Eventually, I lit another cigarette and went back to gazing into nothingness.

She left me after that.

My fingers relax and the bud falls out the window. I swear out loud, repeatedly, the words getting softer under my breath. I climb back onto my bed and close my eyes. It’s dark, all I see is black. I open them again and blink, trying to see the colours she once told me about. She said my bed was blue, the shelves were brown and the walls were cream. I try so hard to see the colours, but the darkness shields it all. I get up, lock the door and turn the lights out. My head stops spinning and I stop straining to see through the obscurity.

It was not silent. The room was quiet, but I could hear the sprinklers outside and the dogs barking next door. I didn’t move. I didn’t want to disturb my equilibrium, or what was left of it.





So thats just the start of the story..and I think I have a tense problem...but still.
My friend percieved the person telling the story to be a female in a lesbian relationship. (However, my friend is a lesbian...so that may have been her influence.)
I always intended the character to be a male...but now I'm questioning.
Do you think the story (what you have read) feels right with a straight male or a lesbian as the narrator??

Also, she thought the main character was blind, which is why their sound was hightened. Is is what you thought? Because I meant it to be emotional darkness.

(It's kinda hard to answer without knowing where the story is going....but whatever you say will be helpful).

Thanx for reading.

Lani

 

[steffee]

I thought it was a female until it said "She left me after that. ", even before when it says "she..." etc, I just assumed that they were good (heterosexual) friends and she (the narrator she) loved her as a friend, a sister, kind of thing... then at "She left me after that" I thought it was a guy. Rereading it, I guess it could be either, but the first paragraph seems typically "female" to me, JMO.

I thought it was "emotional darkness", not blindness. I thought it was someone maybe suffering from depression or agoraphobia or something, scared to leave their room anyway, and they're lonely, bored, scared, a mixture of lots of things.

 

[bren]

I felt it was a guy all along. Then in the third paragraph, I began to think he was blind because of the eyes opening, even though in the second paragraph she "looks into his eyes." Plus, I'd be really mad if someone spit on my floor.

I don't write or anything, so I can't say with any authority, but I would think a person would want to just keep writing at great length before getting bogged down in a small segment. You know, don't worry about a fat little section, fix it later, only if needed---you may end up not needing it anyway!


See how differently people read things, though a definite yes on the depression.

 

[wilderness]

Hey

Thanx so much for the comments.
As for the above poster...I know completely what you mean about getting bogged down with small segments, but Its pretty hard to continue writing when you dont know whether your main character is a male or female, gay or straight. So I'm just trying to work that out before I continue.

Thanx for the feedback guys.
Much appreciated.

Lani

 

[x_yijun]

Well I thought the narrator was a guy all along. even more so when i read the "i smoke in my room" and "she kissed my mouth". the thought of lesbianism didnt cross my mind at all (anyway that'd be disgusting =x). Regarding the blindness, the first time i read it i didnt thought the narrator was blind. instead i thought that he was suffering from some illness or something..or too depressed and locked up in his room thats why his eyesights are failing him. But the second time i read it, the "She said my bed was blue, the shelves were brown and the walls were cream. I try so hard to see the colours, but the darkness shields it all" part, i thought he had become a colourblind. hahas.

 

[shiraz]

Hey, this is a very interesting experiment on reading texts.

I read it as a female narration up to the point "she kissed my mouth". The possibility of lesbian relationship didn't occur to me, so I started to read the narrator as male, but now I think it could be two women as well. The use of "fucking" somehow felt to me out of character, as if it weren't the word the narrator uses very often. Also, despite the confession "I fucking loved her" the relationship between the characters seemed to me more like a prisoner and a prison guard than lovers. I thought the main character was recently gone blind - I think for a person born blind the colours wouldn't matter that much, and it's not the question that first comes to mind of normally seeing person kept in complete or almost complete darkness.

Ultimately I thought the narrator was mentally ill - the heightening of senses, describing simple things in terms that give them ominous feel ("The fumes encapsulate in the walls and seep into the carpet"). In this last example, the use of the word "encapsulate" isn't very standard and made me think about mentally ill people who make up their own vocabularies with their own idiosyncratic usages. And, of course, the confinement.

 

[shiraz]

Strangely, in my reading I have completely ignored this:

I get up, lock the door and turn the lights out.

So he/she wasn't locked by someone, and certainly wasn't completely blind. Hm.

 

[*~EMMER~*]

when hes looking at the walls and the colours through the darkness, i just thought it was night time so he couldn't see the colours. But then when he gets up and turns of the light i got confused

I thought it was guy to be honest, it sound like a guy that doesnt really care that someone spits on his floor or that his room stinks.

But i agree with what shiraz said about 'how much i fucking loved her' to me it seemed out of place too, seeing as it is the only swear word in the whole peice.

I did like the start though it made me want to keep reading

 

[wilderness]

Hey
I have written it up to 1400 words, and alot of the things you mentioned above get answered later on. I think the swearing fits him very well, it comes in more and the way he uses it just suits him.
Yes, i decided it was a him. Thats just who he is.

When I first started writing, he was locked in his room but his abusive father. But I changed that. Now he just likes the closure of his room. I make that clear in the writing.

When it says he turns out the light...
The character is so depressed and so numb, he cant see anything beautiful (like colours) Its kind of describing the way he looks at life. Everything is dark and bland.
Hope that anwers some of the q's! I might post it updated as soon as I've gone over it a bit more and written more.

I relly appreciate the input guys! Its very helpful!

Lani

 

[wilderness]

Here is the continuation from my first post.
I havent changed much in the first part I posted, mainly just gramatical errors and lines thats werent necessary.
What do you think of this part?
There is still more, but I havent written it yet as I'm a bit bogged down with school work at the moment.
(Also, I'm going to be writing more about the cutting scene, I'm just waiting to get some more information and details on it)
Sorry if this offends anyone.





I wake in the night but I don’t feel the cold. She used to protect me from it; she would cover me with the blanket and wrap her arms and legs around my body. Our limbs would tangle, but I couldn’t feel her warmth. I told her once, that I couldn’t feel it, and she rolled over. I touched her back and traced her spine with my fingers. I could feel her shaking.
Tell me the reasons I should stay, she whispered.
I don’t have any reasons
Then why should I stay?
Because I…I…you know…
You can’t even say the words.
I can. I said, lying.
Then say them! Look me in the eyes and fucking say them. She was so desperate and fucking frustrated.
I looked her in the eyes, but I couldn’t say the words. I wanted to, I wanted to tell her how much I loved her, but the words couldn’t form in my mouth and they came out as a mumble.
She continued to shake and I could hear her weeping. I wanted her to stop. ****, I didn’t want her to feel my pain.
I’m sorry.
Why don’t you even try anymore? You used to try. You used to try so hard. Why have you given up?
I didn’t answer her that night. I fell asleep with her next to me, but when I woke, she was gone.

I fall back asleep but I don’t dream. The night seems long and dark. I wake feeling as unrefreshed and exhausted as I did before. I look across and see her body under the blanket. I sit up and put my hand on her, but it just sinks through. I forget that she’s gone.
I go to the bathroom and crouch on the floor. I see the red stains on the tiles from places I forgot to clean. I open the bottom draw and gaze in. I see the razors, scissors and the many blades, but they don’t seem so bad. They’re enticing; they’re calling for me. I take the scissors out and roll up my sleeve. I stare at the scars on my arm. They run all the way up to my elbow.

She once saw them, the scars. I tried so hard to hide them from her, but the fresh blood had seeped through my sleeve. What happened? She asked. I pulled my arm away and told her it was nothing. What did you do? She tried to grab my arm again, she was crying. What did you do to yourself? She kept asking. I moved around and held the sleeve down, but she was stronger than me. She held my hand and tugged the sleeve up. She paused, her face was damp and her lips were quivering. Oh my God. She kept saying it. Oh my God. She bit her bottom lip and cried. It’s all right, I tell her. It’s okay. I heard my voice crackling. She touched the scars with her fingers. What have you done? I told her I was fine. Why did you do it? Why? She pleaded for an answer. She leant down and kissed them, trying to take the pain away. Why? She kept whispering.

I raise the scissor blade and touch the tip of it to my skin. I press it down hard until I see the beads of blood. I slide it across my skin, one centimetre, two, three, four centimetres. I watch the blood dribble down my arm and drip onto the floor. I don’t feel it; I don’t feel the pain I used to. I’ve become so fucking numb. I can hear her in my head, her voice echoes. What are you doing to yourself? Her echo asks. Why are you doing this? I answer her, although she’s not here. I say out loud, I feel real. I feel alive. I just want to feel alive. I’m almost yelling. I can hear my heart beating faster and faster. It beats for her. Can she hear it?

I pull the scissors away and watch the red materialise on my arm. I can see the red. It’s the only colour I see through the darkness. I rip a few squares of toilet paper, fold them and cover the new wound. I press it hard and the blood absorbs through. I rip some more and scrunch it, and press it harder on the cut. I lean back against the wall and bang my head against it. I keep doing it till my head is pounding. I just want to feel alive; I call out again, this time choking on the words.

I clean the bathroom floor and go back to my room. I light a cigarette and smoke it, allowing the fumes to encapsulate in the walls and seep into the carpet. I look around my room and everything reminds me of her. The walls we painted together, the bookshelf she bought me, and the bed we shared. On the nights she slept here, we would make love for hours. She would ask me to touch to her, to put my hands on her breasts and feel her. I wanted to tell her that being inside her lifted me from myself. That I felt alive and actually human. I could feel the blood circulating and pumping throughout my body. Then nights when she was away, I would cut myself to see the blood, to know that I was real.

I dress in the same clothes I wore the day before. I don’t look in the mirror, not since she told me I was beautiful. I don’t want any other image to turn her words to lies.




comments are welcome.

Lani