May Challenge - *Bleak* - Overlimit, Help! <--this one only
Harper
few last minute edits, and they make all the difference. Sorry!
--
Well, it doesn’t suck, but it’s insufficiently scary. Ideas? Overlimit by
352 words. Game to cut. Game to shuffle paragraphs around. Game for anything.
Bleak
Harper M. Willson 2003
"You think I'm psycho don't you, Mama."
Elvis Costello and the Attractions
For Sue
I'd got thrown back into the White Brick Room with the drip and the damp and
the darkness. It was the night we were to be rescued, but I didn’t know that
then. I got farther down the stairs than ever before; not only I could see the
breakwater and the beacon lights crisscrossing in the fog, I could hear cars
whooshing on the highway. Then the foghorn whistle startled me and I lost
concentration. Dr. Mac got thrown, too; I saw him crumble and vanish up the
dunes. Just moments before, he had called out to me.
“Kirker, this way!” I thundered down the remaining couple of stairs and ran
to him. A nightbird on a wire dived into the space between us and it freaked
Dr. Mac out--he gasped and clutched at his chest. That’s when he lost Kali. I
just stopped and gaped, helplessly watching him go. We’d gotten so close to
the road. I shoved on alone, but in another minute, Marridell Cloud sounded the
foghorn, my concentration shifted, and it was my turn to slip away.
I couldn't see where Fran was in the dark of our White Brick Room prison, but I
could hear her. She’d been thrown early in the evening. I felt around in the
shadows and crashed right into her; she was perched on our only stick of
furniture, a short milking stool, holding onto its sides, trying to fight the
grinding sadness. "Oh God, oh God," she said, real low, over and over, rocking
with her words. We all pretty much said the same things when we were in Bleak.
"Franny," I cheered, "think of Kali, the flower-fish! Focus, Franny, focus!"
Fran didn't even lift a hand to wave me off. She was in way deep. I pulled her
red sweater around her shoulders. She was a small lady, reminded me of my
grandma Getty, which of course reminded me of my dad, and when I thought of my
dad, naturally I’d think of my mom. I missed them both so much.
Dr. Mac got a fat dose of Bleak too. It was pretty bad. First he stood against
the wall and threw up, then he just kind of slumped to the floor. He curled
into ball and sobbed. There wasn't much I could do for them. I mean, I could
remind them to concentrate on Kali, sure, but when you're in Bleak, it's hard
to remember anything happy. Bleak has to wear off--it always does. You have to
keep saying that to yourself, though, or you'll be tempted to throw yourself
into the sea.
Meta was still out. She was better at staying out than any of us, and that kind
of embarrassed me. I wanted to make her proud. Dr. Mac wanted Meta to be proud
of him, too, I could tell.
I was feeling a little Bleak myself--enough to make me cry--but I could still
stand up, my hands were steady, and I didn't vomit. It feels horrible, Bleak,
oh my god, it feels so sick, even the small bouts of it that I'd get hit with.
What happens is, first, something startles you and your focus wavers and you
get thrown back, from outside the lighthouse into the White Brick Room again.
When you're thrown, it's like you're in an elevator that’s dropped a bunch of
floors real fast; you feel flattened out and floaty, like your brains are being
pounded into your shoes. Next you go Bleak, which was a different thing for
each of us, but we all agreed it was the saddest feeling in the world.
I was lucky, Bleak didn't happen to me too often. Sometimes after I’d get
thrown, I wouldn't go Bleak at all. Meta said it was because I was a kid--I
didn't have banks of sad memories for it to draw upon. She was right; before
the lighthouse tour, nothing bad had ever happened to me. Now it's different.
Now I’m never alone, and I'll never be in the dark again on purpose. I don't
play monster games like other kids my age. Have you ever felt fear in your
hands? Sick in your elbow, your knee? I have. It sounds totally bogus, I know.
But that's Bleak. You never forget it. I'm different now. Folks think I'm
mature for my age. It's not that. I just think about stuff more. I know what's
possible, the good and the bad.
On the second night of our imprisonment in the White Brick Room, Meta had the
floating flower-fish dream. The image, if we could hold it in our minds while
awake, was our ticket to freedom: it transported us directly to the control
room at the top of the lighthouse. Meta discovered the trick by accident, the
morning after her dream. The dream made her feel good, so she called it up and
used it to keep her mind out of Bleak. It worked great, so she kept on thinking
about it. One minute she was in the White Brick Room, cheering herself with the
flower-fish, and the next, she found herself crouched on the floor of the
lighthouse control room, desperate to keep from being seen by Marridell Cloud.
Meta tippy-toed past Leland, Marridell’s son, who stood at a large double
sink, one hand heavy on the counter, the other bleeding into a basin. Meta
crouched behind Marridell's great leather chair. Marridell was trying to stir
things up with Leland, just like she did during the tour. Meta hugged herself
tight and held still. She listened in on their conversation:
"Why do you behave so strangely, Leland?" Marridell's face was a cross of sour
scrutiny and motherly concern. "What is the matter with you?"
Leland, tall and gaunt, half turned from the sink. He thrust out his arm.
"Ma."
"Don't show me it! For the love of God. Take it to your room."
"It hurts, Ma. I'll disinfect it, all right? Then I'll go." Leland turned to
the sink and tipped a bottle of Mercurochrome over his left arm. Marridell
stuck a thumb in the pages of her book.
"I don't like your tone," she said. "A person cannot say boo without you
twisting the meaning. I never said you couldn't disinfect the arm."
"I didn't mean to twist, Ma. I didn't."
"You *do* mean to. You burn and cut yourself only to make me feel responsible
for you. Why do you hate me, Leland? What did I ever do to you?"
"Burns and cuts just happen now, all by themselves. I don't need to use
anything. I haven't hurt myself in thirty-five years."
Marridell's eyes were sharp and knowing and they shone fiercely on her son.
"My sick boy. Come over here. I want to tell you something." Leland wrapped his
arm in gauze and crossed the control room hunched. "Sit," she said, pointing at
the low ottoman at her feet. His arthritic knees popped as he bent down.
Marridell put a hand upon her son's greying head. "It's not safe for me to be
alone with you, Leland," she whispered. "You're the reason I've been anxious
all my days. "
"I’m the reason, Ma. I know." Leland shrunk from his mother's hand. Marridell
kept petting her son's hair, oblivious.
"I'll have to get you to a psychiatrist, someone versed in personality
disorders. A specialist." Marridell petted and sighed. "It's not safe for me to
be alone with you anymore."
Leland bowed his head and sat very still. "There's no specialist, Ma. You say
that every day."
Marridell clapped her book shut and thunked it onto a table. Meta saw the
title. It was the _Diagnostic and Statistical Manual, IV, Revised._ That's a
book psychiatrist's use to diagnose you if you have a mental problem. Meta said
Marridell had probably tried to diagnose Leland, and she said that had probably
upset Leland a lot. That's why we go Bleak, Meta said. We're feeling Leland's
feelings. He feels very sad and alone.
"That’s a lie! I've never said anything about it before today."
Leland's eyes glanced up skittishly. "'I’ll get him to a specialist. I’ll
make him normal. I’ll change his personality, make him into his own dear
Ma.’ You did say it before. Every day of my life--'"
Marridell reached out and slapped her son’s face hard--sent his eye glasses
flying.
"Another word, Leland, and I will call the authorities. Do you want to spend
another month in the hospital? Remember how little you enjoyed that last
visit?" Marridell appeared to be genuinely afraid of him. According to Meta,
she appeared to be enjoying her fear.
Marridell’s voice quavered. "You've been diagnosed mentally disturbed. You
will see a specialist of my selection. I can't live like this anymore."
"Who diagnosed me, Ma?"
Marridell flinched away. "Leave the room, Leland. Go! I won’t allow you to
intimidate me!"
Leland rose to his feet. Meta crouched behind the chair. For a moment Meta
thought Leland had seen her--he hesitated a moment near her hiding place. But
he made his way down the cold hallway to his cot room without another word.
Meta scrabbled out the door to the exterior stairs. Down she flew. She didn't
get far.
Meta got thrown back into the White Brick Room almost immediately; she'd made
it down only two flights. She was woozy from the throw, and then she went
Bleak. It was the first time for any of us; we though she might have the flu.
Fran took Meta in her arms and rocked her. Dr. Mac paced the small room and
mumbled about what a useless person he was. Meta suffered terribly. She had
fearbursts; I had them too. A fearburst is like, you're in the midst of feeling
these feeling so sad and so hopeless--that's basic Bleak--and then on top of
that, you get hard jolts of terror that make the sad stuff seem like the best
day of your life. It’s different from, say, rattlesnakes-in-my-path-omigod!
sort of fear. It's more like fear of your own mind. You’re not sure who or
what you are anymore, and when you’re aware you don’t know who or what you
are, your mind eats itself alive trying to find an answer. That’s a
fearburst.
When she came out of Bleak, Meta told us about her dream, about being
transported into the control room, and she related the conversation she heard
between Marridell and Leland. When she explained her theory that Leland’s
misery was the cause of Bleak--that it was an overspill of sorrow that just had
no place else to go--I think Dr. Mac would have raised an skeptical objection
if he hadn't experienced a pretty freaky thing himself just two days before:
the first transport, the one that landed us here.
The four of us had taken a walking tour of Cape Cod's historical Cloud
Lighthouse, guided by Mrs. Cloud herself, its owner and operator. We all had
gathered around the foghorn levers. There was an art to it, pulling the whistle
manually, and Mrs. Cloud--every one called her Marridell--was explaining how to
do it. She was going to let us each have a try, when Leland, Marridell's
grownup son, came into the room. Marridell introduced him and quickly turned
her attention back to the levers and her practiced talk. Leland interrupted
again and asked if he too, might have a turn at the foghorn. He was a man but
he acted like a little kid. Marridell said, "The foghorn’s not a plaything,
young sir," and she told him to go sit in his room. When he was gone, Marridell
turned to Meta conspiratorially and said, "My boy has a psychiatric disorder."
Just then, a howl rose from the hallway off the control room. Leland had heard
what his mother had said. He stepped into the tiny Pullman kitchen, took a
hammer from a drawer, and bashed himself in the knees. The four of us, Meta,
Fran, Dr. Mac and me, we all went “Ahhh!” at once.
“Stop it, stop it,stop it! I won’t have violence in my home!” Marridell
commanded. “Stop it this instant, Leland, or I'll get the restraints!"
There was something in Marridell’s voice that made me think she didn’t
really want Leland to stop, that hurting himself was just what she wanted him
to do. There was something else, less distinct, that made me think a part of
her plan had been foiled when he didn’t take the hammer to her instead.
Leland let loose a roar. He hurled the hammer above our heads into the living
room, where it tommyhawked a painting of a lone seagull perched atop Cloud
Lighthouse, flapping as if to fly. The canvas split, the hammer skittered to
the ground, and Leland began to cry. Fran and Meta pulled me back, pushed me
behind them. Dr. Mac tried to cool things down.
“For the moment, Mrs. Cloud, I believe it would be best if you would retreat
to another room. I am a doctor. I will look after Leland,” he said.
"LELAND! What have you done? Marridell searched our faces. "He tried to kill
me. Did you see that? He's trying to KILL me!"
“Gas on the fire, Mrs. Cloud,” Dr. Mac reasoned. “Let me handle this,
won’t you?” It was weird for us to get involved in a family thing, but man,
it was getting out of control.
Leland approached his mother with arms outstretched. "I didn't mean nothing,
Ma! I was just mad at you. I didn't mean to try to kill you!" His voice was
rough, and he was out of breath from yelling. He shoved Dr. Mac aside and
backed Marridell into a corner.
"You’re not permitted to get mad,” she whispered. Leland towered over her.
“If you harm me, Leland, remember ... there are witnesses.” Marridell eyes
alit. She winked in our general direction. Leland had stopped a few feet from
the consol into which he had backed her. "Stay away," she said. "Stay away,
Leland. You’re crazy." Her mouth puckered with distaste, but her eyes
twinkled happy.
"I want to hug you, Ma, that's all. I want to say I’m sorry. You just--you
hurt my feelings!"
"There, there, Leland," Meta said, stepping up and taking Leland by the hand.
"Shhh. Let's sit for a moment. Shall we? Come." Leland turned to Meta and fell
into her arms. Meta is little and Leland is big. She guided him to a chair.
"Excuse me, I'm sorry, but ...” Marridell said, “only human beings may sit
upon the furniture.” Marridell smiled and folded her arms. “A new
lighthouse rule." Meta and Fran’s jaws dropped. Leland lifted his arms over
his head and moaned, loud and low, then he fell to his knees and rolled onto
his side. Dr. Mac knelt to take his pulse. Fran and Meta took Leland's hands. I
figured I should be doing something useful, so I scooted behind the women and
rested my palm on Leland's forehead--lame, I know, but it was a thing my mother
would do, whether fever was likely or not. It comforted me.
We were all crouched by Leland, holding his hands, patting his head. Dr. Mac
assessed the damage to his knees. He was a big man, Leland was, and an old man,
but his breath gurgled and hitched like a baby’s. Meta brushed his his tears
away, and Fran rolled up her sweater and put it under his head for a pillow,
and soon he began to breathe more regularly, but when Dr. Mac asked if he would
would go with us to the hospital, Leland’s calm flew away. “NO! he wailed.
“NO!”
And that’s when we all got thrown. All I remember is falling through the sky.
I’m not even sure where the White Brick Room is, exactly. It is down. There
is nothing in the White Brick Room but a stool. A vent in the ceiling lets in
the shadows.
The very next time I slept I dreamed of the flower-fish. I tried to holding the
image of her in my mind, just like Meta did. It was a big flower, the size of a
roast beef plater, with a happy, humanoid face. When you visualized her right,
she would float before your eyes. With Meta’s help, I got the hang of it
pretty quick. Of course, I got thrown a lot, too. It wasn't long after we
learned how use our minds to bust out of the White Brick Room that Meta made it
as far as the dunes behind the lighthouse and up the embankment to the parking
lot--nightbirds or foghorn whistles never broke her concentration. She'd get
thrown by the chime her own car made when she opened the door: "Ding-a-ding."
Isn't that a funny thing to get thrown by? Meta joked that it probably reminded
her of her workaday life. I knew how bad she really missed it.
Visualizing the flower-fish came more slowly to Dr. Mac, and poor Fran, she
almost never got it. When she did, she’d get spooked and thrown back quickly.
Fran spent more time in Bleak than any of us. I felt sorry for her. She was a
granny, too old for this. She looked cute in her khaki shorts and white socks
when the tour began. She had talked to me about her many lighthouse tours so
cheerfully. Fran was a lighthouse nut, like me--and lighthouse nuts, I’ve
decided, are happy, lighthearted people. Now Fran was never happy. She’d sit
for hours on the floor in the a corner of the White Brick Room, pleading with
God to help her. Every time I looked at her, I missed my parents a little more.
I wish I had gone with them to the aquarium like they’d asked me to.
Whenever we got a reprieve from Bleak, Meta would teach us how to perfect our
visualization technique. She'd guide us in a relaxation exercise, then she'd
say, "Picture feminine features, impish, sweet-smiling." Meta was from England.
Her accent was cool.
Meta *didn't* tell us that the flower petals pulse and ululate like fish fins,
and that as it pulses a suds of shiny colored particles washes up and frames
its pretty face--that part was rad--but when we compared notes she said yeah,
she got that too. On assignment last year in Bengal, Meta became enchanted with
the mythology of a Hindi fish goddess named Kali. I proposed that Kali is what
we should call our flower-fish, and I think Meta liked that. Meta was a
photographer for Time Magazine. She traveled to take pictures all over the
world. I liked her a lot. She had long brownish hair that was always in her
face, and a nose that was always a little sun burnt. She smiled a lot. Dr. Mac
called her Smiley Girl.
The night we got rescued, just as Fran and Dr. Mac were coming out of Bleak,
Meta got thrown. Bleak set in immediately. We tended to her as best we could.
It was the worst yet; Meta begged Dr. Mac to help her die. He just said,
“Shhh ... shhh," and furrowed his brow a lot. Fran dabbed a damp cloth at
Meta’s brow. Late in the night I heard a faint weeping, not Meta’s, not
Fran’s. Old man. I strained to see in the dark, and I jumped to perceive the
shape of a fifth standing against the wall. It was Leland.
“I didn’t know where else to hide, sorry,” he said. Fran saw him and got
to her feet.
“My God. Can you get us out of this place?” Fran said. Leland looked at her
quizzically.
“You can’t get out?”
The conversation got Dr. Mac’s attention. “We, ah, get stuck sometimes,”
he explained. “We want to leave for good. Is there a way?”
“Well, sure,” said Leland. “Follow me.” Dr. Mac gathered up Meta and
fell in. We walked right through the white brick wall, one after the other.
That was all we ever had to do. I tried it a couple of times. Sweet.
As we tramped through the dunes on the way to the parking lot, Leland said,
“You’d probably better hurry. I’d better go back.” He sighed heavily
and looked around. “If Ma finds me with you, you’re in for it, too.
She’ll call the authorities.”
Meta stirred in Dr. Mac’s arms. She said she was OK to walk, so he set her on
her feet. She stepped up to Leland. She didn't say a word. The two of them
locked in a staring contest a long, long time. I wondered what was going on.
When Leland’s eyes went dreamy, I knew what was up. Meta said,
“Her name is Kali. Kirker named her.” I beamed at Meta. Leland’s eyes
sparkled with tears.
“Oh! Oh! She’s so nice," Leland said. “She’s so pretty!”
“Don’t let her go, Leland. Keep Kali with you always. Can you do that?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You must leave with us,” Meta said. Leland’s eyes filled with fear.
“Where’s Kali, Leland? Where did Kali go?” Meta said. Leland made a
focusing-real-hard face. The light returned to his eyes. “Come on, you’ve
got it,” Meta said, and Leland nodded. Meta took up his hand, then she
reached for mine. Dr. Mac blazed a trail. When the foghorn whistle blew, Fran
and I both said, “oh,” and put our hands to our mouths, just as if we were
about to get thrown. But nothing happened and Fran threw her arms around my
neck and hugged me.
Later we read that Marridell Cloud died in her sleep that night. The papers
said she had a massive stroke, but Meta said she died from a lack of fright.
Her monster left with us.
It’s great to be home. The best part of visualizing Kali is when she goes
automatic--when she stays put in your mind and you don’t have to work so hard
to keep her. Sometimes Kali darts in close and kisses me in the middle of my
forehead and her shiny particles fall like a snow globe inside my mind. I bet
you're wondering what that feels like. It's rad. The first thing you feel
is--you feel loved. Then you feel safe, like you're a little kid and your
parents have tucked you into bed and you can hear them watching TV in the
living room and you feel OK about everything. After spending any time at all in
Bleak, that safe feeling is a major relief, let me tell you. Anyhow,
eventually, love and safety mix together to make slaphappy; that's Meta's word
for joyful. I can still get that level of focus with Kali, even now. Kali is
Meta’s gift to me, to all of us. But still, my mom and dad know never to
leave me alone.
Wind River
>
> Bleak
> Harper M. Willson 2003
>
> "You think I'm psycho don't you, Mama."
> Elvis Costello and the Attractions
>
> For Sue
Thank you, Harper. You're a sweetie.
> I'd got thrown back into the White Brick Room with the drip and the damp and
> the darkness. It was the night we were to be rescued, but I didn’t know that
> then. I got farther down the stairs than ever before; not only I could see the
I keep wanting to change "I could" to "could I", but I know you're
trying to keep it in the form of the wording which follows.
The drip, damp, and darkness line is very nice. I also love
"crisscrossing" below -- that word has a nice sound.
> breakwater and the beacon lights crisscrossing in the fog, I could hear cars
> whooshing on the highway. Then the foghorn whistle startled me and I lost
> concentration. Dr. Mac got thrown, too; I saw him crumble and vanish up the
> dunes. Just moments before, he had called out to me.
>
> “Kirker, this way!�€* I thundered down the remaining couple of stairs and ran
> to him. A nightbird on a wire dived into the space between us and it freaked
> Dr. Mac out--he gasped and clutched at his chest. That’s when he lost Kali. I
> just stopped and gaped, helplessly watching him go. We’d gotten so close to
> the road. I shoved on alone, but in another minute, Marridell Cloud sounded the
> foghorn, my concentration shifted, and it was my turn to slip away.
I like nightbird not being identified. It can be real, imagined, or supernatural.
A bit confused here about Kali. I'll keep reading.
> I couldn't see where Fran was in the dark of our White Brick Room prison, but I
> could hear her. She’d been thrown early in the evening. I felt around in the
> shadows and crashed right into her; she was perched on our only stick of
> furniture, a short milking stool, holding onto its sides, trying to fight the
> grinding sadness. "Oh God, oh God," she said, real low, over and over, rocking
> with her words. We all pretty much said the same things when we were in Bleak.
>
> "Franny," I cheered, "think of Kali, the flower-fish! Focus, Franny, focus!"
> Fran didn't even lift a hand to wave me off. She was in way deep. I pulled her
> red sweater around her shoulders. She was a small lady, reminded me of my
> grandma Getty, which of course reminded me of my dad, and when I thought of my
> dad, naturally I’d think of my mom. I missed them both so much.
>
> Dr. Mac got a fat dose of Bleak too. It was pretty bad. First he stood against
> the wall and threw up, then he just kind of slumped to the floor. He curled
> into ball and sobbed. There wasn't much I could do for them. I mean, I could
> remind them to concentrate on Kali, sure, but when you're in Bleak, it's hard
> to remember anything happy. Bleak has to wear off--it always does. You have to
> keep saying that to yourself, though, or you'll be tempted to throw yourself
> into the sea.
Nice paragraph. Shows confusion and pain well.
> Meta was still out. She was better at staying out than any of us, and that kind
> of embarrassed me. I wanted to make her proud. Dr. Mac wanted Meta to be proud
> of him, too, I could tell.
>
> I was feeling a little Bleak myself--enough to make me cry--but I could still
> stand up, my hands were steady, and I didn't vomit. It feels horrible, Bleak,
> oh my god, it feels so sick, even the small bouts of it that I'd get hit with.
> What happens is, first, something startles you and your focus wavers and you
> get thrown back, from outside the lighthouse into the White Brick Room again.
> When you're thrown, it's like you're in an elevator that’s dropped a bunch of
> floors real fast; you feel flattened out and floaty, like your brains are being
> pounded into your shoes. Next you go Bleak, which was a different thing for
> each of us, but we all agreed it was the saddest feeling in the world.
>
> I was lucky, Bleak didn't happen to me too often. Sometimes after I’d get
Just a tighter suggestion ... "I was lucky, Bleak didn't happen often to me."
> thrown, I wouldn't go Bleak at all. Meta said it was because I was a kid--I
> didn't have banks of sad memories for it to draw upon. She was right; before
> the lighthouse tour, nothing bad had ever happened to me. Now it's different.
> Now I’m never alone, and I'll never be in the dark again on purpose. I don't
> play monster games like other kids my age. Have you ever felt fear in your
> hands? Sick in your elbow, your knee? I have. It sounds totally bogus, I know.
> But that's Bleak. You never forget it. I'm different now. Folks think I'm
> mature for my age. It's not that. I just think about stuff more. I know what's
> possible, the good and the bad.
>
> On the second night of our imprisonment in the White Brick Room, Meta had the
> floating flower-fish dream. The image, if we could hold it in our minds while
> awake, was our ticket to freedom: it transported us directly to the control
> room at the top of the lighthouse. Meta discovered the trick by accident, the
> morning after her dream. The dream made her feel good, so she called it up and
> used it to keep her mind out of Bleak. It worked great, so she kept on thinking
> about it. One minute she was in the White Brick Room, cheering herself with the
> flower-fish, and the next, she found herself crouched on the floor of the
> lighthouse control room, desperate to keep from being seen by Marridell Cloud.
> Meta tippy-toed past Leland, Marridell’s son, who stood at a large double
> sink, one hand heavy on the counter, the other bleeding into a basin. Meta
> crouched behind Marridell's great leather chair. Marridell was trying to stir
> things up with Leland, just like she did during the tour. Meta hugged herself
> tight and held still. She listened in on their conversation:
I think you could gain a few words here with some tightening and still
keep the wordiness of the character's voice. Might be able to delete the
line "Meta discovered the trick by accident, the morning after her
dream" without losing any meaning and adding her name in the next sentence.
I really like the the way they use the dream image as an escape and hold
onto the image. Beautiful and creative.
> "Why do you behave so strangely, Leland?" Marridell's face was a cross of sour
> scrutiny and motherly concern. "What is the matter with you?"
<snipped>
> "My sick boy. Come over here. I want to tell you something." Leland wrapped his
> arm in gauze and crossed the control room hunched. "Sit," she said, pointing at
> the low ottoman at her feet. His arthritic knees popped as he bent down.
> Marridell put a hand upon her son's greying head. "It's not safe for me to be
> alone with you, Leland," she whispered. "You're the reason I've been anxious
> all my days. "
Wonderful small image to show his age -- the greying head.
<snipped>
> The four of us had taken a walking tour of Cape Cod's historical Cloud
> Lighthouse, guided by Mrs. Cloud herself, its owner and operator. We all had
> gathered around the foghorn levers. There was an art to it, pulling the whistle
> manually, and Mrs. Cloud--every one called her Marridell--was explaining how to
> do it. She was going to let us each have a try, when Leland, Marridell's
> grownup son, came into the room. Marridell introduced him and quickly turned
> her attention back to the levers and her practiced talk. Leland interrupted
> again and asked if he too, might have a turn at the foghorn. He was a man but
> he acted like a little kid. Marridell said, "The foghorn’s not a plaything,
> young sir," and she told him to go sit in his room. When he was gone, Marridell
> turned to Meta conspiratorially and said, "My boy has a psychiatric disorder."
> Just then, a howl rose from the hallway off the control room. Leland had heard
> what his mother had said. He stepped into the tiny Pullman kitchen, took a
> hammer from a drawer, and bashed himself in the knees. The four of us, Meta,
> Fran, Dr. Mac and me, we all went “Ahhh!�€* at once.
Yowl! Hammering his knees sent a shiver up my back and made me rub my knees.
> “Stop it, stop it,stop it! I won’t have violence in my home!�€* Marridell
> commanded. “Stop it this instant, Leland, or I'll get the restraints!"
<snipped>
> Leland approached his mother with arms outstretched. "I didn't mean nothing,
> Ma! I was just mad at you. I didn't mean to try to kill you!" His voice was
> rough, and he was out of breath from yelling. He shoved Dr. Mac aside and
> backed Marridell into a corner.
Great quirky twist.
> "You’re not permitted to get mad,�€* she whispered. Leland towered over her.
> “If you harm me, Leland, remember ... there are witnesses.�€* Marridell eyes
> alit. She winked in our general direction. Leland had stopped a few feet from
> the consol into which he had backed her. "Stay away," she said. "Stay away,
> Leland. You’re crazy." Her mouth puckered with distaste, but her eyes
> twinkled happy.
>
> "I want to hug you, Ma, that's all. I want to say I’m sorry. You just--you
> hurt my feelings!"
>
> "There, there, Leland," Meta said, stepping up and taking Leland by the hand.
> "Shhh. Let's sit for a moment. Shall we? Come." Leland turned to Meta and fell
> into her arms. Meta is little and Leland is big. She guided him to a chair.
>
> "Excuse me, I'm sorry, but ...�€* Marridell said, “only human beings may sit
> upon the furniture.�€* Marridell smiled and folded her arms. “A new
> lighthouse rule." Meta and Fran’s jaws dropped. Leland lifted his arms over
> his head and moaned, loud and low, then he fell to his knees and rolled onto
> his side. Dr. Mac knelt to take his pulse. Fran and Meta took Leland's hands. I
> figured I should be doing something useful, so I scooted behind the women and
> rested my palm on Leland's forehead--lame, I know, but it was a thing my mother
> would do, whether fever was likely or not. It comforted me.
That's so true. Comfort from a hand checking for fever.
> We were all crouched by Leland, holding his hands, patting his head. Dr. Mac
> assessed the damage to his knees. He was a big man, Leland was, and an old man,
> but his breath gurgled and hitched like a baby’s. Meta brushed his his tears
> away, and Fran rolled up her sweater and put it under his head for a pillow,
> and soon he began to breathe more regularly, but when Dr. Mac asked if he would
> would go with us to the hospital, Leland’s calm flew away. “NO! he wailed.
> “NO!�€*
>
> And that’s when we all got thrown. All I remember is falling through the sky.
> I’m not even sure where the White Brick Room is, exactly. It is down. There
> is nothing in the White Brick Room but a stool. A vent in the ceiling lets in
> the shadows.
>
> The very next time I slept I dreamed of the flower-fish. I tried to
delete "to"?
> holding the
> image of her in my mind, just like Meta did. It was a big flower, the size of a
> roast beef plater, with a happy, humanoid face. When you visualized her right,
I'm not sure "roast beef platter" goes with the image of the
flower-fish. Makes me see the fish as food. :(
I'm trying to think of other options that size ... gosh I'm not coming
up with anything ... the top of the stool, since it's a familiar object
in the room? Size of a water basin or sink to tie in with the
water/flower/fish images. Dunno. Sorry.
> she would float before your eyes. With Meta’s help, I got the hang of it
> pretty quick. Of course, I got thrown a lot, too. It wasn't long after we
> learned how use our minds to bust out of the White Brick Room that Meta made it
> as far as the dunes behind the lighthouse and up the embankment to the parking
> lot--nightbirds or foghorn whistles never broke her concentration. She'd get
> thrown by the chime her own car made when she opened the door: "Ding-a-ding."
> Isn't that a funny thing to get thrown by? Meta joked that it probably reminded
> her of her workaday life. I knew how bad she really missed it.
>
> Visualizing the flower-fish came more slowly to Dr. Mac, and poor Fran, she
> almost never got it. When she did, she’d get spooked and thrown back quickly.
> Fran spent more time in Bleak than any of us. I felt sorry for her. She was a
> granny, too old for this. She looked cute in her khaki shorts and white socks
> when the tour began. She had talked to me about her many lighthouse tours so
> cheerfully. Fran was a lighthouse nut, like me--and lighthouse nuts, I’ve
> decided, are happy, lighthearted people. Now Fran was never happy. She’d sit
> for hours on the floor in the a corner of the White Brick Room, pleading with
> God to help her. Every time I looked at her, I missed my parents a little more.
> I wish I had gone with them to the aquarium like they’d asked me to.
>
> Whenever we got a reprieve from Bleak, Meta would teach us how to perfect our
> visualization technique. She'd guide us in a relaxation exercise, then she'd
> say, "Picture feminine features, impish, sweet-smiling." Meta was from England.
> Her accent was cool.
Great comments here -- the accent, England, her visualiztion images
> Meta *didn't* tell us that the flower petals pulse and ululate like fish fins,
> and that as it pulses a suds of shiny colored particles washes up and frames
> its pretty face--that part was rad--but when we compared notes she said yeah,
> she got that too. On assignment last year in Bengal, Meta became enchanted with
> the mythology of a Hindi fish goddess named Kali. I proposed that Kali is what
> we should call our flower-fish, and I think Meta liked that. Meta was a
> photographer for Time Magazine. She traveled to take pictures all over the
> world. I liked her a lot. She had long brownish hair that was always in her
> face, and a nose that was always a little sun burnt. She smiled a lot. Dr. Mac
> called her Smiley Girl.
Wonderful description, especially, the sun burnt nose under the strands
of hair.
<snipped>
> It’s great to be home. The best part of visualizing Kali is when she goes
> automatic--when she stays put in your mind and you don’t have to work so hard
> to keep her. Sometimes Kali darts in close and kisses me in the middle of my
> forehead and her shiny particles fall like a snow globe inside my mind. I bet
Wow! The snow globe image is so nice. I can see it. My favorite in the story.
> you're wondering what that feels like. It's rad. The first thing you feel
> is--you feel loved. Then you feel safe, like you're a little kid and your
> parents have tucked you into bed and you can hear them watching TV in the
> living room and you feel OK about everything. After spending any time at all in
> Bleak, that safe feeling is a major relief, let me tell you. Anyhow,
> eventually, love and safety mix together to make slaphappy; that's Meta's word
> for joyful. I can still get that level of focus with Kali, even now. Kali is
> Meta’s gift to me, to all of us. But still, my mom and dad know never to
> leave me alone.
There's a lot to this story, Harper. I'm sure I didn't catch it all,
since it plays on so many levels. It took me a few paragraphs to start
understanding it, but once I did, I was hooked. My main suggestion would
be to tighten it some. I think it can lose some of the wordiness and
still retain the character's style of speaking. I think you could easily
bring it under the word limit that way. Other than that, it's a
wonderful story in the way it explores the mind and the ways they learn
to use the mind to escape and deal with unpleasantness. It would be nice
if everyone had a Meta in their lives. I like the ending very much.
Great story.
-Sue
Wind River
>
> > image of her in my mind, just like Meta did. It was a big flower, the size of a
> > roast beef plater, with a happy, humanoid face. When you visualized her right,
>
> I'm not sure "roast beef platter" goes with the image of the
> flower-fish. Makes me see the fish as food. :(
Just had another thought here. You might not want roast beef mixed with
a Hindu flower-fish. You know, sacred cows and all that. :)
Harper
<< Harper wrote:
>
> Bleak
> Harper M. Willson 2003
>
> "You think I'm psycho don't you, Mama."
> Elvis Costello and the Attractions
>
> For Sue
Thank you, Harper. You're a sweetie. >>
You're very welcome.
<< > I'd got thrown back into the White Brick Room with the drip and the damp
and
> the darkness. It was the night we were to be rescued, but I didnâ ™t know
that
> then. I got farther down the stairs than ever before; not only I could see
the
I keep wanting to change "I could" to "could I", but I know you're
trying to keep it in the form of the wording which follows. >>
You were right to want to change it--it's a goof. I was so mad when I saw I had
a goof in the firs para; it's confusing enough!
<< The drip, damp, and darkness line is very nice. I also love
"crisscrossing" below -- that word has a nice sound. >>
Thank you :-)
<snip>
<< I like nightbird not being identified. It can be real, imagined, or
supernatural.>>
Oh, whew! I thought for sure you'd ding me on that.
<< A bit confused here about Kali. I'll keep reading.
>>
I think the whole thing is a little confusing. This is what happens to me when
I try to introduce a plot!
<< You have to
> keep saying that to yourself, though, or you'll be tempted to throw yourself
> into the sea.
Nice paragraph. Shows confusion and pain well. >>
Danke.
<< > I was lucky, Bleak didn't happen to me too often. Sometimes after Iâ ™d
get
Just a tighter suggestion ... "I was lucky, Bleak didn't happen often to
me.">>''
Much better! Are you seeing all those weird marks, the superscript TM and
stuff? I ran the story through a text doc before posting, too. I wonder if it
looks even worse to folks who don't have a Mac?
<< Might be able to delete the
line "Meta discovered the trick by accident, the morning after her
dream" without losing any meaning and adding her name in the next sentence.
I really like the the way they use the dream image as an escape and hold
onto the image. Beautiful and creative. >>
Thank you very much :-)
<< > Fran, Dr. Mac and me, we all went â œAhhh!â * at once.
Yowl! Hammering his knees sent a shiver up my back and made me rub my knees.
>>
Yah, that's pretty horrible, isn't it? Ugh. Still, somehow, while it's
disturbing, it's not very scary.
<< > rough, and he was out of breath from yelling. He shoved Dr. Mac aside and
> backed Marridell into a corner.
Great quirky twist.
>>
Thanks :-)
<< > rested my palm on Leland's forehead--lame, I know, but it was a thing my
mother
> would do, whether fever was likely or not. It comforted me.
That's so true. Comfort from a hand checking for fever. >>
It's such a "mom" thing to do.
<< > The very next time I slept I dreamed of the flower-fish. I tried to
delete "to"?
>>
Very good. I will.
<< > holding the
> image of her in my mind, just like Meta did. It was a big flower, the size of
a
> roast beef plater, with a happy, humanoid face. When you visualized her
right,
I'm not sure "roast beef platter" goes with the image of the
flower-fish. Makes me see the fish as food. :( >>
Cracked me up! You're right! I'd better change that! Lol. :-D
<< I'm trying to think of other options that size ... gosh I'm not coming
up with anything ... the top of the stool, since it's a familiar object
in the room? Size of a water basin or sink to tie in with the
water/flower/fish images. Dunno. Sorry. >>
Dinner plate? Or just a plater? (without the roast beef?) :-)
<< > say, "Picture feminine features, impish, sweet-smiling." Meta was from
England.
> Her accent was cool.
Great comments here -- the accent, England, her visualiztion images
>>
Thanks.
<< > world. I liked her a lot. She had long brownish hair that was always in
her
> face, and a nose that was always a little sun burnt. She smiled a lot. Dr.
Mac
> called her Smiley Girl.
Wonderful description, especially, the sun burnt nose under the strands
of hair. >>
Thank you. Meta is a magical person!
<< > to keep her. Sometimes Kali darts in close and kisses me in the middle of
my
> forehead and her shiny particles fall like a snow globe inside my mind. I bet
Wow! The snow globe image is so nice. I can see it. My favorite in the story.
>>
I want to write another story that focuses on Meta and Kali and Kirker, the boy
narrator. The other two characters seem superfluous.
<< There's a lot to this story, Harper. I'm sure I didn't catch it all,
since it plays on so many levels. It took me a few paragraphs to start
understanding it, but once I did, I was hooked. >>
Thank you.
<< My main suggestion would
be to tighten it some. >>
Oh my god, yes. It's way too wordy. I actually feel sorry for anyone
undertaking to read it. You're a trooper!
<< I think it can lose some of the wordiness and
still retain the character's style of speaking. I think you could easily
bring it under the word limit that way. >>
I am surely going to try.
<< Other than that, it's a
wonderful story in the way it explores the mind and the ways they learn
to use the mind to escape and deal with unpleasantness. It would be nice
if everyone had a Meta in their lives. I like the ending very much.
Great story. >>
Thank you so much for the detailed crit. Excellent suggestions as always. Mucho
appreciated, my friend.
Harpsi
--
2004 is going to be an interesting election year.
Harper
<< Just had another thought here. You might not want roast beef mixed with
a Hindu flower-fish. You know, sacred cows and all that. :) >>
Oh man!! Lol! Roast beef *really* has to go.
Thx!
Harper
Anopheles
"Harper" wrote:.
Harpsi, there are a few nits that could be pointed out here, like
Hindi=Hindu. (Hindi is the language.), but let's put that aside. Frankly,
this is one of the best things I've read on AFO. Why? Because creating a
universe in your head is hard but necessary to write. To entice a reader in
so effortlessly and convincingly is difficult. You do it here brilliantly.
This a break through, girl. It leaves many questions unanswered but that is
part of its power. Don't leave it here. Forget word length. Wok on it.
Polish it. Send it out.
Anopheles
Wind River
>
> Harpsi, there are a few nits that could be pointed out here, like
> Hindi=Hindu. (Hindi is the language.), but let's put that aside. Frankly,
> this is one of the best things I've read on AFO. Why? Because creating a
> universe in your head is hard but necessary to write. To entice a reader in
> so effortlessly and convincingly is difficult. You do it here brilliantly.
> This a break through, girl. It leaves many questions unanswered but that is
> part of its power. Don't leave it here. Forget word length. Wok on it.
> Polish it. Send it out.
Gosh, never thought I'd say it, but I agree with Anopheles. This really
is a break though. I love this story. (You knew I would.)
-Sue
Harper
<< Harpsi, there are a few nits that could be pointed out here, like
Hindi=Hindu. (Hindi is the language.),>>
You're right, shoot!
<< put that aside. Frankly,
this is one of the best things I've read on AFO. Why? Because creating a
universe in your head is hard but necessary to write. To entice a reader in
so effortlessly and convincingly is difficult. You do it here brilliantly.
This a break through, girl. It leaves many questions unanswered but that is
part of its power. Don't leave it here. Forget word length. Wok on it.
Polish it. Send it out. >>
Oh, Noph. Will it embarrass you to say I've a knot in my throat? You're a tough
one to please, too. I'm so very gratified to hear you liked it. It is one thing
to have one's efforts praised by family and friends--folks who do not write; it
is another thing altogether to hear it from a fellow writer. And from you, my
friend, for whom I have the greatest respect and admiration--it is positively
dizzying. I'm beginning to think the hours spent toiling at my little hobby
might not have been entirely in vain.
I will send it out. Thank you, Barry, for the kind words of encouragement.
Harpsi
Harper
Yeah, I did kind of know it :-) Its inspiration derives from a lot of places;
Mullholland Dr., Catcher in the Rye, life events. And from you, Sue, and our
discussions of dreams. If it pubs anywhere, the dedication remains.
Thank you, dear friend.
Harper