Monday, June 26, 2006

Sometimes, I feel I gotta get away... [Story here, second I've written for class]

This is a story I wrote for a class, loosely based on my own great-grandpa's funeral. A side note for technical concerns is that it is 2 in the morning and I've knocked back a few so this is unedited, I don't think I can and I sure as hell don't feel like changing anything right now. I know that there are maybe two people actually reading this, so most of this is for the biographers who will scour my computer for traces of scandal (they'll find plenty before they find this). Here it is, Childhood Onset (my current title, written before the story).

He watched them, they were tall and seemed to like seeing it. They kept walking back to it and looking down at it, then they walked away and stood together in small groups, talking in tiny whispers and looking back at it, as though it might hear them and get angry. It lay there, in the box, still and motionless. It was old, it looked a lot like his Great Grandpa, but he had moved and talked and joked, the thing in the box didn't.


It seemed to be as good, or even better, at not being Grandpa, no matter how much it looked like him, as he had been at being him. The way it was laying there, even though he hadn't approached it, he knew that it wasn't going to shake his hand much less crush it. It was a strange thing, it looked so much like him, but he knew that it wasn't him. His Mom had told him that Grandpa was gone, but this thing looked like him. He got really angry at it, he felt it was making fun of Grandpa, it would make people think that he had been lazy, that he would be rude, lay there and refuse to shake your hand.


He asked Dad what was going on, what this thing was and why it was here. Dad said that the thing was Grandpa, at least it had been, but that what made him act like him was gone. That the Grandpa would lie there in the box for some time so that people could see him and so that they could say goodbye, then that it would go away too. This seemed reasonable, so he believed him. Grandpa had changed and what had made him himself was gone and soon the rude, lazy grandpa-in-the-box would be gone too.


He wondered what was done with the thing in the box (that was and at the same time wasn't Grandpa) after people had looked at it and said goodbye and not had their hands shaken or crushed. Looking around the room, he saw brownies. The place where grandpa-in-the-box was on display had given them brownies, but where had they gotten them.


Before he had looked into other rooms and had seen other people walking up to other people in boxes, looking at them, not getting their hands shaken and walking away to stand in small groups whispering. The only thing that he wasn't sure couldn't be made into brownies was the people in boxes, since he wasn't really sure what they were made of. Suddenly he heard a small voice whispering in his ear, it was telling him how the people in boxes were made into the brownies and that was where they went, when the people were done not getting their hands shaken.


The voice insisted that he was going to be made into brownies too, that this was something that he couldn't avoid. He didn't want to be made into brownies and he knew that he didn't want to be one of those boxed people, not shaking hands and being rude and lazy. Even after they had left the place where the brownies were made, the voice continued. It told him all kinds of things, scary things, it didn't stop telling him the things. No matter how politely he asked it or how angry he got at it.


When he told Mom and Dad about the voice and how scary the things that the voice told him were, they brought him to a doctor to look at his head with a machine to try and see the voice. Another doctor tried to find the voice with words after the other doctor couldn't find it with the machine. While the doctors looked for the voice, the voice told him that the doctors wouldn't ever find him and that the doctors would lock him in a room until he stopped shaking hands and was as rude, lazy, and ready to be made into brownies as Grandpa had been.


They never were able to find the voice and eventually he was hoping that the thing that made him himself would be ready to leave soon, he didn't care if people thought he was rude and lazy, he just hoped that the voice wasn't going to follow him. He thought that maybe after he was made into brownies he could be alone again, that the voice would stop telling him scary things and he could lay in a box and not shake hands, and not hear the voice and just watch people look down and him and whisper in little groups like they were worried he could hear them. He knew that if the voice stopped he wouldn't care if they what they were whispering about. He just wanted to be alone again.

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Absolutely amazing. You're such a talented writer.

-Katie-

8:26 PM  

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