Young Writers Society

When Richard came home, he was quiet. He set down his coat on the railing nearby the door and then slowly took off his hat, letting the water drizzle off of it. He sneezed violently, once, twice, and then he reached into his pocket to take out a handkerchief.

A woman walked in. She was slim, but not overly so, and her hair was in a loose ponytail that was almost out. She had bags under her eyes, but she still smiled when she saw Richard, and she came to him and took his briefcase.

“How was your day?”

“Long.”

The man continued squinting, but there were obviously no more sneezes coming. He dabbed at his nose and then shoved the handkerchief in his pocket. “Very long.”

The woman smiled patiently. “Well, why don’t you tell me about it? The kids are in bed and we have the whole night to ourselves.” She winked at him.

He ignored her and took off his wet trench coat. “I’m not really in the mood for talking today. Things were busy. Much too busy.” He looked at her for the first time, and she noticed his haggard face. “But I’m glad to see you, Virginia.”

“I’m glad to see you too.” She paused, fiddling with the briefcase, a solemn look on her face. Then her face broke into a silly grin. “Well, the day has ended! Dinner is on the table. Why don’t you get yourself settled? I’ll take care of your things. There’s pasta and salad and…”

He began walking into the room, his shoes squeaking as he did so. “How was your day?” he called out.
“Oh fine! Nothing spectacular happen, but what do you expect?”

Her voice was faint and he realized that it probably wasn’t the best thing trying to carry on a conversation across rooms. He could barely hear her, besides he might wake the children.

Instead, he turned to the table. It was not fancy. The pasta was covered in some foil, the foil loyally inscribed with the date it was made, how long you should heat it, and not to heat it up with the foil. It was mostly for the kids. Several months ago, Jaime had heated up some chicken, complete with foil, only to realize that the chicken was bad. The mess had been terrible. Since then, Jaime hadn’t eaten a speck of chicken.

Or at least Richard didn’t think he had. He tried to remember the last time he had eaten with his family.

He couldn’t remember.

The rest of the table was pathetically simple. The table cloth was worn and, from this night’s dinner he guessed, covered with large tomato splotches. A vase was in the center, but it was full of dandelions. Probably from the lawn. He hadn’t had a chance to mow it in so long.

He rubbed his head and groaned.

Virginia came the next minute. “Oh! Let me heat those up for you!” She whisked away the pasta, tossing aside the foil, and stuck it in the microwave. “It’s not great, but it’s filling.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

She gave a quick glance at him again and sighed. “You sure look tired.”

He said nothing to that.

Virginia turned back to make the food and didn’t say anything until the microwave beeped. She opened the door and reached inside, flinching when she realized the plate was hot. She looked for a mitt.

“Do you believe in hell?”

She was startled by this question and turned back quickly. “Richard!” she cried, looking at his face. “What a question!”
Richard looked unconcerned. “What? It was only a question.”

“Hmph! She turned around and stirred the pasta. “Ah well, I suppose it’s a reasonable one at that. But what a surprise! Yes, I do believe in hell. I believe it exists. Why did you ask?” She put the plate at his place. “Don’t you believe in it also?”

He shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. “I don’t know what to believe in anymore.”

“Ah.” She rubbed his shoulder. “Well, we all have bad days. I suppose this one was just a little worse than usual. It’ll get better. It always does.”

“No it won’t!” He pushed her aside. She started back, confused. “Don’t you see?” he began. “It’ll never get better! You live, you die, then what? Then what!” His voice trailed off and he picked up his fork and poked his food.

“I see.” She turned to leave. He got up and grabbed her arm.

“No, no! Forget what I said. Forget it. Just forget it.” His eyes were desperate and his breathing tense. She looked at him quietly before sitting down.

She didn’t look up at him. She brushed her hair back, thought better of it, and let her hair fall forward to cover her face. One look at her made him feel terrible. She looked so tragically beautiful with the tears glistening from her eyes.

He said suddenly, grabbing her hand, “Let’s pretend like it was April two years ago. We just met, and there was nothing bothering us. There could be nothing bothering us. The world was full of life and love…”

“You’ve been like this all month,” she said slowly. “All month. And you never tell me anything.” Her voice began to rise and tremble, so she stopped. He looked glumly ahead.

“It’s been for more than a month,” he murmured. “Or at least it feels like eternity.” He stroked her fingers. They were surprisingly soft for all the housework she did. He pulled her closer. “I’m sorry, really, I am. It’s just…”

“One bad day.” She pulled away from him. He stared at her glumly before attacking his pasta once again. Then he looked up.

“You must forgive me, Virginia. It’s just…” He paused before saying the next sentence, his lips trembling. He could feel his fingers and arms, nay, his entire body give an involuntary shudder. He closed his tightly. His breath seemed raw… breathing was work. “The patient. My patient. Amos.”

She blinked and he sighed. Of course she didn’t know about him. He never discussed his work with her.

It was something they had agreed about early on. Richard worked in a sanitarium as a psychologist. He did personal counseling with the lunatics – no, guests – to help them adapt to normal life. It was hard, but rewarding. Even so, he never felt inclined to tell Virginia about them. It felt too much like gossiping. To be able to help, you had to have trust in both parties, and how could trust be gained when he shared all the details about them to his wife? No… it was better to keep it a secret. He would not tell them about Virginia’s life and he would not tell Virginia about their lives.

Yet for some reason…

He poked his dinner again and began to eat. Virginia watched him. He did love her. She was beautiful beyond compare. And, though her face now looked tired, she did have a smile for him when he came home. He thoughtfully mulled over this while he ate. There was no conversation.

Finally he finished.

He looked up at Virginia and gave a hesitant, hopeful smile. “Come, let’s go in the parlor. I want to tell you about it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I want to. Come, let’s go.” He led her into the room.

I'm not going to be very helpful, cos I couldn't see much wrong with that. It's a really good beginning idea for a novel. It draws you in, and I really wanted to find out more at the end. It doesn't feel too rushed, and you feel you understand the characters.
The only thing I can think of to suggest is that maybe we could see more of what is going on in Richard's head leading up to his explanation. I think it would build the tension more, and make his agitation and depression more believable (although they are pretty believable already).
Ah, well, I said it wouldn't be very useful! This is a really good start though. I want to read more!

That was really good. I love your set up and the scene you creat, it's very clear. And your characters are original with their own porblems and everything, awesome job. Also, I have to thank you, because you've inspired me to keep writing and working on my own novel. (I am horribly behind... eeek!) Great job! I hope you're keeping up with your daily word count quota! Good luck!

Yep yep, I really like it. I want to go write my own novel now...Only one thing though, you asid "He closed his tightly"...he closed his what tightly?

This does leave you wanting to find out what happens more. I spotted one little typo, but I won't bother you with it. hope you feel more inspired for the rest of the month to write this, I know you've been more interested in Freak. But then, maybe you'd preferr writing Freak. Whatever you do, have fun! You could even make it a personal goal to do 50,000 more words on Freak by the end of the month if you liked.

a few typos, nothing major there.

Good.. dialogue didn't sound quite right.. actions felt forced at times. there are a few places where fragrements would have a better effect than sentences, but those are all little things, and things i love to nit-pick at. So unless you want me to grab a fine tooth comb, have any more to show us? it's not nice to keep people in suspense, you know

Considering this is supposed to be my nanowrimo, that would be mean!

But considering that this is all I've written... XD

Okay, okay. I'll write more. Starting... now!

Avoiding the toys scattered throughout the room, they both sat down opposite from each other. Richard looked a little nervous and scared, and Virginia looked confused. She thought of coming over to stroke his face and comfort him, but he had hurt her so much that it was all she could do to just stare at him.

“Your patient Amos,” she finally said.

“Yes,” he replied blankly. He sat there for a little while, and turned to her deliberately. Nervously.

“It’s kind of strange,” he finally said slowly, shifting his position. “Usually when I meet a patient, they are somewhat settled. After all, the nurses have already seen them. Made sure they’re okay. Settled them. But this guy was normal. Yet he was tied up in a strait jacket.”

“Don’t many insane people appear to be normal?” she said.

“Well… yes, but…” He closed his eyes hard. “When I came into the room – he had demanded a solitary room, I was expecting somewhat of a crazed zealot. A crazed religious zealot. You see, before a patient is allowed in, there has to be some reason why. In this case, the interviewer determined him to be overly religious and suffering from his faith.”

Virginia cocked her eyebrow. “What a strange determination!”

He nodded his head miserably. “Yes, yes, it was. He believes in a higher power, but he doesn’t believe…” He stopped suddenly again, confused. “Oh, I don’t know how to explain it,” he said, mumbling. He sunk his head in his hands and shuddered.

Virginia watched him for a moment and then sat down beside him, rubbing her hand through his hair and giving him a small kiss from the cheek. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” she said soothingly. “If you would rather not, that’s fine with me.”

“I know.” He leaned on her and sighed. “But I will anyway. Where should I begin?”

He looked so tired. Virginia frowned, but he had such a determined look on his face that she knew she ought not press him. With a gentle sigh, still stroking his face, she said, “Start from the beginning.”

“Very well then.” He sighed and closed his eyes.

The first meeting was unusual. I met him, and there he was, a slight smile on his face, his eyes looking perfectly normal. When he saw me, he nodded his head and his smile grew broader. “Good morning, doctor,” he said politely, his voice calm and apathetic. “How are you?”

“Fine,” I replied. He didn’t seem to resist the strait jacket he was in. I looked at his information sheet again. I had expected a raving lunatic, screaming curses at me, and here he was, his face calm, patiently waiting for me to speak. “Your name is Amos?” I asked.

“Yes.” He looked at me more and then added, “And who might you be?”

“Richard. Dr. Richard Elrich.” He nodded knowingly.

“What may I call you?”

“Richard is fine. I find that it creates more of a pleasant atmosphere both of us if we are open with each other.” I smiled and sat next to him. “We’ll be seeing each other often for a while.”

“Yes, yes, I know. I’m the lunatic.” He laughed at that. I watched him – there seemed no outward sign of lunacy. Yet. “And we are friends?” He eyed me curiously.

“For the time being, yes.”

He laughed bitterly at that. “A friendship that only lasts for however long is profitable for you? How clever. Yes, I can tell we will be great friends, Dr. Elrich.”

I shifted uncomfortably and held the clipboard up studiously. Obviously this was going to be a difficult patient to deal with. I scribbled down a note. “Very well then, shall we begin?”

“What did you just write?” he said, sounding amused.

“Nothing of importance.” I automatically hid the clipboard away.

He craned his neck forward, realized he couldn’t see it anyway, and laughed. “Oh, it doesn’t matter. I can guess what it says. Obviously, I’m making a bad impression, aren’t I? A difficult patient. But no matter. It doesn’t matter to me what you think, just as it doesn’t matter to you what I think.”

“Pardon?”

“Oh, come off of it. You are probably psychologist only because you want to help people. Are you helping anyone? No. You’ve probably listened to so many sad sop stories that you hardly care. I am but a name and an identification number to you. You don’t care about me. You care about your pride. Let us be frank.”

And I felt a sudden rush of rage go through me. But I was calm. I was patient. “You may think what you want,” I said. “I don’t know you well enough yet to make a good determination of your character. But I do hope we will be friends.”

“And as soon as we become friends, you will send me away, never to be seen again! What a funny definition of friendship.” His eyes glanced at me, amused. I ignored him.

“Very well, it says in your profile that you are considered a religious zealot…”

He laughed. “Oh yes! I believe in God! I suppose that makes me a zealot.” He laughed more.
I was embarrassed. “Well, they probably miscategorized you. What do you consider yourself to be? Tell me about your religious views.”

“Tell me about yours.”

I stopped and squirmed. “As an employee here, I am not allowed to discuss such matters with my patients.”

“Ah, but surely you can discuss such matters with your friends, can’t you?” When I didn’t respond, he sighed irritably. “Let’s make this easier. Do you believe in God or a higher power?”

“I can’t tell you…”

“Then you can’t help me. Goodbye.”

He turned away and wouldn’t say another word.