anti-pop wrote:I will go ahead and say this: to really enjoy this you should probably read 'My Dearest Madelyn' before you read this. But it's not mandatory and doesn't affect the story much
EDIT: No! This is NOT romantic fiction! I accidentally posted it in the wrong forum...help?
(You can try asking a Mod about moving it! Here goes my critique!)
***
Kevin Richards was a man lacking social grace. Very often did he find himself on the receiving end of stares and whispers as he walked into town. Not to say he didn’t completely deserve this kind of treatment from complete strangers. Not only notorious for his seemingly random glares at passerby, but also his stiff and rude demeanor with anyone who attempted to speak with him.
It was in this manner that Kevin Richards lived each and every day of his life since his family had left him.
He began his mornings the in exactly the same fashion; come rain, snow, sleet, or hail (I think this should be reworded; "He began his morning in the exact same fashion everyday; should it be rain or shine, sleet or hail outside.). Holidays, weekdays, every day—he would wake up at six o’clock, wash up, and walk four blocks down from his small house to the local diner. He would order eggs (sunny side down), toast (wheat), and coffee (black) ("He would order eggs, sunny side down; wheat toast, and black coffee). He was so consistent with this ritual that the waiters at the diner went ahead and prepared his meal and wrote up his check before he even walked in. This was also a way for them to avoid coming into direct contact with him.
After finishing his meal and browsing the morning paper, he would pay and leave for the local library. There, he would chose a new novel to read. Kevin had the ability to finish a single novel in a day (if he planned it carefully) (ditch the parentheses for commas!)and only occasionally did he have to go a day without a visit to check out a new book.
After selecting something, he would walk down to the park. He didn’t like it, but it gave him somewhere to read rather than his house. He would sit on the same bench as he always did; no one ever bothered to sit there. At least, not from what he ever saw. Maybe it was because people had gotten accustomed to his presence there. Perhaps they knew that he would be there at ten o’clock sharp, reading his book and scowling at passing couples.
So—this was truly his place. (ditch the line for a comma)
[s]Those thoughts formed in his mind as he took up his regular seat one cool, clear morning.[/s] (You should clarify this! What thoughts? The thoughts of his routine or his spot?
"As he took his seat one morning, the thought of how he had claimed his spot formed in his mind" or something to that effect)
He grunted at the thought of being tied down to this place. Not that he had anywhere else to go, though.
Ah, well. There was really nothing else to life any more. Why should he care? Kevin opened up his novel of the day, Sense and Sensibility, by Jane Austen. He never particularly cared for her works, but it was something new.
He was a few chapters along when he heard a high-pitched squeak a few feet in front of him.
“I’m five years old.”
Kevin dragged his eyes away from the page and craned his neck downwards to be face-to-face with a child. He had a head full of wild red curls, and flushed pink cheeks. His ensemble was also that of a typical five-year-old: sweatpants tucked into cowboy boots, a button-up shirt that could’ve only been done up by the child himself, and a pair of dark green mittens with red polka dots.
This kid was small, even for his age. Kevin didn’t remember ever being that shrimpy, but he didn’t say anything to the boy. You never know what would set them off, and the last thing he wanted was a yelling mother accompanying a bawling child.
With that in mind, he replied, “Great, kid.”
He made a great show about turning the next page in his book, hoping that the kid was smart enough to catch his drift.
Apparently not. The little boy merely waved a mitten-covered hand in front of the old man’s face.
“See? Five!” He held up a hand in an attempt to represent the number five. He then realized he was wearing a mitten, and, furrowing his brow, he removed the article and grinned widely. This time he held up a bare hand and freely wiggled all five grubby fingers in front of his round face.
Kevin didn’t bother to look up. If he ignored him, the kid would give up and run off to find someone else to bother. Kids were like that…right? Kevin tried to remember what his kids had been like, but quickly shook his head to drive that train of thought away. That was not a road he wanted to go down.
Not again.
The child, not being a reader of minds, interrupted the old man’s thoughts and asked, “What’s your name?”
Maybe if he messed with the kid a bit, he’d get upset and go away.
“Don’t have one.”
The boy tilted his head raised his eyebrows in disbelief.
“I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true.”
The boy’s jaw dropped and his eyes grew wide as he stared in amazement.
“Whoa! Your mommy didn’t give you a name?”
Kevin sighed. This kid was hard to shake off.
He answered, “Well sure. But as I got older, I decided that I didn’t want to be a part of something that wasn’t a part of me. I decided I didn’t want a name.”
The boy wiped his nose on his sleeve and sniffed.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
A few moments of silence followed, and Kevin was sure that the kid would turn and go back to his mom or something. After a few more moments of awkward silence followed, he spoke up, resisting the urge to jump up and scare the boy away.
“You have a name?”
The boy scrunched up his nose as he answered, “Evan. It’s an ugly name.”
Kevin snorted. This kid was weird.
“Mine’s Kevin.”
“That’s a pretty name.”
Kevin raised his eyebrow. Ok, this kid was really weird.
“Kid, do you know what ‘pretty’ means?”
The kid nodded and conjured an expression of utter knowingness.
“Yeah. And you’re pretty, too!” he grinned.
Alright, the kid was mental. What was his deal? Had the poor boy’s parents dropped him on his head too many times? Was the mom a druggie during pregnancy?
Kevin went through all of these possibilities in his head before he responded, “Ok. Well, what about that guy over there?” he pointed to a young man who was riding his bike through the park. He looked to be in his early teens—his face was ridden with acne and his metal braces shined brightly in the sunlight.
“Yep.”
Kevin scoffed.
“And that lady?” this time he nodded towards an old woman sitting beside the pond, throwing bread crumbs at the hissing geese. Her skin was wrinkled and spotted with age, and her clothes gave her the appearance of a 50’s church-goer.
“Uh-huh.” The boy nodded, his face solemn.
“Sure…” Kevin pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, forcing down a chuckle.
“Well, you know what, kid?”
“What?”
And for the first time in a long time, Kevin allowed a half-smile to grace his lips.
“You’re pretty too, Evan.”
Evan’s face alighted and he looked as if he was about to jump into the air.
“Really, Kevin?”
The old man opened his mouth to answer, but was cut short.
A young woman ran up next to Evan and pulled him into a choking embrace. She had dark brown hair flecked with gray and hard lines pressed into her otherwise smooth complexion. This gave her the appearance of a sort of youthful hardship—like although she was young she had already experienced more than enough to last her a lifetime. Kevin figured that on a good day, she was probably considered pretty.
“Evan! Oh my God, there you are! I told you to stay by the park! Don’t you ever go running off again!” she grabbed the child’s hand and began to drag him off when she noticed Kevin sitting on the bench. She gave him a quick look and he could see her lip curl in disapproval.
She probably didn’t think he was pretty.
Instead of saying something, she simply glared at him as she stalked away with her child. Kevin felt a sudden pang in his heart, and wondered if other people felt this way when he looked at them the same way. And for no good reason, either. Why did he do that?
He decided it was time to head home. He closed his book and placed it back in his bag. As he got up from the bench, he slung the strap over his shoulder and proceeded to make his way through the park.
A man in a business suit and a large black briefcase walked briskly past Kevin. His suitcase, however, managed to collide with Kevin’s own bag, nearly knocking it off of his shoulder. The two men automatically stopped and pulled their respective bags out of the way.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said, but his voice slightly trailed off.
Kevin vaguely wondered if this guy was really ‘all-there’. But he noticed a certain emptiness to the guy’s voice…something that Kevin found oddly familiar. Something he knew about.
And before the guy could turn and walk away, Kevin nodded and smiled.
“Don’t worry about it.”
He began his mornings the in exactly the same fashion; come rain, snow, sleet, or hail.
He would order eggs, sunny side down; wheat toast, and black coffee. He was so consistent with this ritual that the waiters at the diner went ahead and prepared his meal and wrote up his check before he even walked in. This was also a way for them to avoid coming into direct contact with him.
Maybe it was because people had gotten accustomed to his presence there.
His ensemble was also that of a typical five-year-old: sweatpants tucked into cowboy boots, a button-up shirt that could’ve only been done up by the child himself, and a pair of dark green mittens with red polka dots.
“That’s a pretty name.”
Kevin raised his eyebrow. Ok, this kid was really weird.
Here as requested. By the way, nix means get rid of. You probably know that, it's just I keep getting asked it, so thought I might clarify that before we begin.
Not only notorious for his seemingly random glares at passerby, but also his stiff and rude demeanor with anyone who attempted to speak with him.
He was so consistent with this ritual that the waiters at the diner went ahead and prepared his meal and wrote up his check before he even walked in.
This was also a way for them to avoid coming into direct contact with him.
After finishing his meal and browsing the morning paper, he would pay and leave for the local library.
He would sit on the same bench as he always did; no one ever bothered to sit there.
Maybe it was because people had gotten accustomed to his presence there.
Perhaps they knew that he would be there at ten o’clock sharp, reading his book and scowling at passing couples.
One cool morning as he occupied his usual spot, Kevin reflected on the realization that he would never be able to escape this monotonous life he lead.
His feelings of utter contempt for this place were kept stagnant only by his hard reasoning that there was nothing for him anywhere, anyways.
He grunted at the thought of being tied down to this place. Not that he had anywhere else to go, though.
Ah, well.
There was really nothing else to life any more.
He never particularly cared for her works, but it was something new.
He was a few chapters along when he heard a high-pitched squeak a few feet in front of him.
Kevin dragged his eyes away from the page and craned his neck downwards to be face-to-face with a child.
He had a head full of wild red curls, and flushed pink cheeks.
His ensemble was also that of a typical five-year-old: sweatpants tucked into cowboy boots, a button-up shirt that could’ve only been done up by the child himself, and a pair of dark green mittens with red polka dots.
You never know what would set them off, and the last thing he wanted was a yelling mother accompanying a bawling child.
He made a great show about turning the next page in his book, hoping that the kid was smart enough to catch his drift.
Apparently not.
Kids were like that…right?
The boy tilted his head raised his eyebrows in disbelief.
This kid was weird.
Ok, this kid was really weird.
The kid nodded and conjured an expression of utter knowingness.
Alright, the kid was mental. What was his deal? Had the poor boy’s parents dropped him on his head too many times? Was the mom a druggie during pregnancy?
“Ok. Well, what about that guy over there?” he pointed to a young man who was riding his bike through the park.
He looked to be in his early teens—his face was ridden with acne and his metal braces shined brightly in the sunlight.
“And that lady?” this time he nodded towards an old woman sitting beside the pond, throwing bread crumbs at the hissing geese.
her clothes gave her the appearance of a 50’s church-goer.
And for the first time in a long time, Kevin allowed a half-smile to grace his lips.
Why did he do that?
“I’m sorry about that,” he said, but his voice slightly trailed off.
Kevin vaguely wondered if this guy was really ‘all-there’.
125,008 Literary Works • 672,814 Reviews
