Wednesday, 10 February 2010
11:47:35 PM (GMT)
Yay, I'm sneaking on!
I started writing a new story, and the opening sucks the sweat from a dead mans toes,
but for the life of my I can't figure out exactly what it is that I need to
change. If I have to scrap the first page and try again I will, but I wanna make sure
I don't repeat my mistakes.
Espen watched Mrs. Jacobs go into labor with a sleepy sense of neutrality. Time took
up an unquantifiable consistency, “speeding up” and “slowing down” merging
into one perpetual forward motion, like the motion of the doctors and nurses swarming
around Espen, or the jerking motions of Mrs. Jacobs herself.
A harried looking man in traditional doctors garb was shouting, his words reaching
Espen in waves and echoes, as if he were speaking from the far end of some strange
“You have to push- breath!” and though Mrs. Jacobs didn’t respond, her face
betrayed the frantic message, “I can’t, I can’t!” The doctor stepped
close enough to speak calmly, with words less lost within the pulsating vacuum of
perception. “One last big push for your daughter.”
Espen stood stiff and silent as a look of tormented glee took hold of the woman’s
eyes, features becoming almost estranged from the mask of pain she had worn through
the night. Her words seemed to flow directly from her furrowed brow to Espens’
ears, with a sense of fierce love and absolute righteousness.
If I do this now, I will have Lucy by my side forever.
Espen sat up straight in Lucy’s bed, annoying tendrils of her last dream clinging
to her consciousness as if Espen was the tweeny-bopper star and the bizarre
pseudo-flashback was an adoring fan. Her inability to venture fully into non sleep
related thoughts was telling; Espen was completely exhausted for no reason she could
readily account for. Angrily, she looked at her forearm for some clue.
“Sry E! I had a paper 2 write. 4givs? – L”
Firmly not sparing the matter another thought, even to her freinds' crappy grammar,
Espen combed through Lucy’s closet. Slim pickings, typical. Espen was forced to
grab some glitter ridden pink explosion of a shirt, one of Lucy’s rare pairs of
clean non-girly jeans, and some decidedly frilly undergarments. Espen kept her eyes
squeezed shut as she pulled Lucy’s pajamas off and dressed, than stood in front of
Lucy’s door, eyes fixed intently on a five year out dated photo of Jesse
Finally, Espen filled her lungs with air, her large chest, for which she was
normally credited her lack of balance, expanding beneath the ruffles of the shirt.
Espen beamed experimentally, swung the door open, and pranced in the light way of a
girl who had done ballet for just a little too long for the gait to be controlled
consciously. Unless she tried, Espen couldn’t make the old floorboards creak.
Entering the living room, Espen felt rather than heard Lucy’s mother making
coffee, her presence unmasked by the single small bathroom the lay between them,
making contact inevitable. Espen suddenly became claustrophobic in the tight clothes,
small house, and inexplicable existence she filled. She felt the urge to run, to
just take off sprinting, but knew that these legs were toned for dance not track.
Espen was still trying to calm down when Lucy’s mother walked in, looking
friendly, too friendly, and so clueless. Trusting. If humans fear the things
they’ve never known and don’t understand, than Espen was doomed to develop a
phobia of mothers like Lucy’s. Her face broke into a smile that was an automatic
reaction to nervousness, and Lucy’s mother smiled back, eyes crinkling with
affection, coffee cup in hand.
“Good morning Lucy, how’d you manage with that paper?” Asked Lucy’s mother.
Inside Espen screamed her discontent, demanding how Mrs. Jacobs could fail to
distinguish between her own daughter and some completely different teen. Within her
head Espen shouted her hatred of the situation, of the lies and the back up plans, of
the tragedy of the woman’s blindness. But at the same time on another level she was
thinking, Lucy must have finished or she wouldn’t have gone to bed, and she’d
be modest about her work no matter what…
“I think it turned out okay, but I finished so late that I forget
where I put my backpack when I was done,” Espen said in Lucy’s bright and cheery
tone. “Have you seen it this morning?”
“Oh, it’s just on the kitchen table,” she said, but Espen was already halfway
to the entrance of the hall, relieved that escape might be so easy. Turning down a
car ride and rushing to the bus, Espen dropped the act and covered the writing on her
forearm from the over curious eyes of the stupid freshman Lucy say with on the
morning trip to school. The boy, Todd something, had known Lucy long enough to
recognize that this was not one of the mornings where he could engage Lucy in
conversation, so the two of them sat slumped and silent until the bus arrived.
[I have plans on how I'd like to continue the chapter, but upon rereading was too
discouraged to finish]
Last edited: 11 February 2010