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A short story - just for you.
I wrote it.
Enjoy
========
He just sat there, staring. Staring at a screen which hadn't changed for the last 7 hours, and the same screen that he knew wouldn't be changing until he turned it off. But still, like a stone, he waited as his eyes concentrated on the screen. Concentrating on trying to remember what it felt like to talk to her.
Ever since that night on Teen Chat he hadn't been able to stop thinking about what she, smelt, felt and sounded. He'd been wishing to see her running in the wind, laughing at a joke. One of his jokes.
But, alas, however hard he concentrated on the screen he knew that she wasn't going to come online at 2 o'clock on a school night, so, with his heart weighing heavy he turned off PC and went to his fantasy filled, worn-out mattress on the floor on which he knew he would dream of her again that night.
And that night wasn't any different from any of the last 60 - the one solitary picture of her that he had been sent after a heavy begging session echoed in his mind as he chased the schoolgirl he imagined her to be around a labyrinth. A labyrinth he knew inside out because it was the main focus of many of the dreams, but yet still he got lost. A labyrinth he knew would lead to him waking up in a cold sweat and feeling depressed.
He'd been left by his Mother as a child. From what his Father had told him he had a picture in his mind of a theiving, lying, whóre, but the bruises and cuts on the pictures he has of her tell a somewhat different story. When he was young he thought it was due to her theiving ways, but as he looked back on his childhood in later life it became clear that this wasn't true.
Only 2 memories of his childhood stood out in his mind - being locked in his cold, dirty room for days and getting beaten by his father. As his age grew, so did the frequency and severity of the beatings, along with amount of repressed feelings.
He awoke, moist from the sweat of The Labyrinth dream, sat up and turned on his computer. His digital alarm clock flicked to 7:56, and as Windows XP loaded up he imagined what he would have been doing 6 months ago at that very time. He remembered the black suit he pawned to pay for his internet connection fee, along with his collection of Beano annuals, even though his Versace suit had easily covered the fee. He got rid of the annuals more so to destroy every memory of his childhood - he'd been bought the annuals every year as a single Christmas present from his Father, as if to try and apoligise for the beating which littered the year.
He hadn't been to work for 3 months now, and he wasn't planning to ever again - he'd never officially been sacked, or not to his knowledge at least - the only letter he ever opened was the broadband and electric bills and all the rest got thrown away; his phone hadn't been connected for a while, since the he upgraded to broadband to be exact; All e-mails he received were deleted upon arrival, apart from any which she sent.
Not that Jenna had been online much recently. He still had the last conversation on MSN they ever had saved on his PC, and even a picture of it as his background.. As XP loaded up, he clicked on his Messenger icon, typed his password as fast as could and prayed. Prayed she had stayed off school to speak to him. Prayed she'd remember him and came online to chat. Prayed he'd received an e-mail from her containing an address and time to meet up. Prayed that God could hear him.
The PC instantly regretted informing him that no-emails had been recieved and that no-one was online, as a kick in the side of the tower made the screen jump for a second, and it quickly turned back to normal, almost as if it knew that it would get more of where that came from if it crashed.
Resigned to spending another day of looking over all the past conversations they'd had, he went to get something to eat. Unwittingly no food has passed his lips for days, and his cupboard was empty, bar a bottle of Lea & Perins which was already a year out of date when a neighbour gave it to him as a moving in gift. Not wanting to miss Jenna signing on the internet, he downed the bottle of sauce and decided he would order some 'real' food on an internet shopping site later that day.
The last time he'd done something like that was with a bottle of 'Dave's Hot Sauce' to impress a girl. The girl he was going to spend the rest of his life with. The girl who he was engaged to. the girl who his best friend ran away with. At least they hadn't found the bodies yet.
The window was now open. Laughs and screams of children passing his house brought back memories of the night that Jenna tried to have a voice conversation with him. Although he knew he couldn't hear anything on the night, now he distinctly remembered a teenage laugh before she cancelled it.
He lent out of his window, watching the school children pass. He hoped that Jenna went to St. Roberts, his local school, as they had never discussed her address. He lent out of the window, wondering how much coverage a suicide near a school would get. National papers? No, he thought, it would need to be much, much more than that. Naked probably would get decent coverage. He was half naked before he realised what he was doing - killing himself on the off chance that a 15 year old girl would make the connection between his real name and his online screenname - '16_male_hot' and declare her love for a dead, middle-aged man.
He looked in his wardrobe, and pulled out the best shirt and trousers, and put them on and searched for his breifcase. Scrounging enough Bus Fare to reach the city centre, he opened his front door. As he turned the lock to end his Internet hell, he heard a sound. His PC was still on and Jenna had signed in.
======
I wrote it.
Enjoy
========
He just sat there, staring. Staring at a screen which hadn't changed for the last 7 hours, and the same screen that he knew wouldn't be changing until he turned it off. But still, like a stone, he waited as his eyes concentrated on the screen. Concentrating on trying to remember what it felt like to talk to her.
Ever since that night on Teen Chat he hadn't been able to stop thinking about what she, smelt, felt and sounded. He'd been wishing to see her running in the wind, laughing at a joke. One of his jokes.
But, alas, however hard he concentrated on the screen he knew that she wasn't going to come online at 2 o'clock on a school night, so, with his heart weighing heavy he turned off PC and went to his fantasy filled, worn-out mattress on the floor on which he knew he would dream of her again that night.
And that night wasn't any different from any of the last 60 - the one solitary picture of her that he had been sent after a heavy begging session echoed in his mind as he chased the schoolgirl he imagined her to be around a labyrinth. A labyrinth he knew inside out because it was the main focus of many of the dreams, but yet still he got lost. A labyrinth he knew would lead to him waking up in a cold sweat and feeling depressed.
He'd been left by his Mother as a child. From what his Father had told him he had a picture in his mind of a theiving, lying, whóre, but the bruises and cuts on the pictures he has of her tell a somewhat different story. When he was young he thought it was due to her theiving ways, but as he looked back on his childhood in later life it became clear that this wasn't true.
Only 2 memories of his childhood stood out in his mind - being locked in his cold, dirty room for days and getting beaten by his father. As his age grew, so did the frequency and severity of the beatings, along with amount of repressed feelings.
He awoke, moist from the sweat of The Labyrinth dream, sat up and turned on his computer. His digital alarm clock flicked to 7:56, and as Windows XP loaded up he imagined what he would have been doing 6 months ago at that very time. He remembered the black suit he pawned to pay for his internet connection fee, along with his collection of Beano annuals, even though his Versace suit had easily covered the fee. He got rid of the annuals more so to destroy every memory of his childhood - he'd been bought the annuals every year as a single Christmas present from his Father, as if to try and apoligise for the beating which littered the year.
He hadn't been to work for 3 months now, and he wasn't planning to ever again - he'd never officially been sacked, or not to his knowledge at least - the only letter he ever opened was the broadband and electric bills and all the rest got thrown away; his phone hadn't been connected for a while, since the he upgraded to broadband to be exact; All e-mails he received were deleted upon arrival, apart from any which she sent.
Not that Jenna had been online much recently. He still had the last conversation on MSN they ever had saved on his PC, and even a picture of it as his background.. As XP loaded up, he clicked on his Messenger icon, typed his password as fast as could and prayed. Prayed she had stayed off school to speak to him. Prayed she'd remember him and came online to chat. Prayed he'd received an e-mail from her containing an address and time to meet up. Prayed that God could hear him.
The PC instantly regretted informing him that no-emails had been recieved and that no-one was online, as a kick in the side of the tower made the screen jump for a second, and it quickly turned back to normal, almost as if it knew that it would get more of where that came from if it crashed.
Resigned to spending another day of looking over all the past conversations they'd had, he went to get something to eat. Unwittingly no food has passed his lips for days, and his cupboard was empty, bar a bottle of Lea & Perins which was already a year out of date when a neighbour gave it to him as a moving in gift. Not wanting to miss Jenna signing on the internet, he downed the bottle of sauce and decided he would order some 'real' food on an internet shopping site later that day.
The last time he'd done something like that was with a bottle of 'Dave's Hot Sauce' to impress a girl. The girl he was going to spend the rest of his life with. The girl who he was engaged to. the girl who his best friend ran away with. At least they hadn't found the bodies yet.
The window was now open. Laughs and screams of children passing his house brought back memories of the night that Jenna tried to have a voice conversation with him. Although he knew he couldn't hear anything on the night, now he distinctly remembered a teenage laugh before she cancelled it.
He lent out of his window, watching the school children pass. He hoped that Jenna went to St. Roberts, his local school, as they had never discussed her address. He lent out of the window, wondering how much coverage a suicide near a school would get. National papers? No, he thought, it would need to be much, much more than that. Naked probably would get decent coverage. He was half naked before he realised what he was doing - killing himself on the off chance that a 15 year old girl would make the connection between his real name and his online screenname - '16_male_hot' and declare her love for a dead, middle-aged man.
He looked in his wardrobe, and pulled out the best shirt and trousers, and put them on and searched for his breifcase. Scrounging enough Bus Fare to reach the city centre, he opened his front door. As he turned the lock to end his Internet hell, he heard a sound. His PC was still on and Jenna had signed in.
======
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Tratta replied... yey!
Thanks, this was my first real short story that i wrote of my own accord.
I plan to write more in the near future.
maybe.
Thanks, this was my first real short story that i wrote of my own accord.
I plan to write more in the near future.
maybe.
Good one, and just a little bit disturbing.
I really enjoyed that, not in a perverse way. But the language used complimented his feelings superbly. The stroy was thought provoked, unless of course it was a reincarnation of his real life position... which I do not believe it is...
Excellent
Excellent
Hmmm... yes, but for the moment I think I will leave this story and go onto a new one.
And what would you describe the pace as? I can't decide between fast or extremely slow.
Me thinks me needs more originality.
Damn my capital letters. Damn them to hell!
And what would you describe the pace as? I can't decide between fast or extremely slow.
Me thinks me needs more originality.
Damn my capital letters. Damn them to hell!
Well I liked the pace of it.
Perhaps describe the picture of Jenna from his eyes, her absolute beauty, as he sees it.
There are a couple of stray capital letters in there too, Bus Fare, for example.
Perhaps describe the picture of Jenna from his eyes, her absolute beauty, as he sees it.
There are a couple of stray capital letters in there too, Bus Fare, for example.
I waited up all night just for a 'very good'?
I'm disappointed...
any points on which i could improve upon?
And, alas, alas is a good word.
I'm disappointed...
any points on which i could improve upon?
And, alas, alas is a good word.
Very good.
Apart from the word 'alas'. I don't like that word. :o)
Apart from the word 'alas'. I don't like that word. :o)
El Blokey wrote:
> It started out very rubbishy internet stalker
The term is "stawker". Get it right.
> It started out very rubbishy internet stalker
The term is "stawker". Get it right.
El Blokey wrote:
> I didn't read all of it. It started out very rubbishy internet
> stalker, and took a turn for the worse with abused parents. But it
> seemed nicely written, like the labyryrnryrnrnth bit.
I think that was the biggest compliment El has ever paid anyone.
Yey!
> I didn't read all of it. It started out very rubbishy internet
> stalker, and took a turn for the worse with abused parents. But it
> seemed nicely written, like the labyryrnryrnrnth bit.
I think that was the biggest compliment El has ever paid anyone.
Yey!
I didn't read all of it. It started out very rubbishy internet stalker, and took a turn for the worse with abused parents. But it seemed nicely written, like the labyryrnryrnrnth bit.
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