Yellow Plus Red (Contest Entry)

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Spoiler

Hello, everyone. This is my contest entry for the Big Random Story Theme Contest! It's rough, so I hope that you will be generous and take the time to review it for me. Any comments are appreciated. The prompt is "Your story is about a historian in a mental institution wandering the highlands".

They put me in here because I'm afraid of the color orange.

My fear is completely logical, but they don't think it is so I'm in here. White walls -- soft, composed of thick doughy squares that look like couch cushions all sewn together. So white. Not orange.

It's completely logical that I hate the color. Let me tell you why. One, it's ugly. It's the exact color of the bloody pus that oozes out of your ear after your eardrum bursts from an infection. It's vibrant, but it doesn't belong: it clashes with any color it comes into contact with. It's an unnatural mix of red and yellow. Whenever I see an orange flower I think that that flower isn't actually real; it's just another illusion mocking me, just because I hate the color and the world knows it and it wants to show me that it knows it. The world can't mock me because I'm behind these walls, but sometimes orange comes and prints small, bright footsteps all over my room, and I panic and throw myself against the couch cushions, trying to drown out the noise I begin to hear. The noise goes
Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

and it repeats over and over and it won't shut up. I know that it's orange's fault. It's completely logical. I'm a logical man.

Yet I'm here.

I'm one-hundred percent positive that I am a historian. I know of the past, thus, I'm a historian. I have brown hair, tinged with gray, that falls past my eyes. I want to get a haircut, but they won't let me close to sharp objects, and I don't trust them around me with sharp objects. Honestly, I would give anything for a sharp object right now. I would prick my finger and I'd wait and see if blood comes out, and if I see red I'll know I'm alive. For all I know I could be dead; no one has told me otherwise. But I might be alive because in my mind I'm living, and in my mind I'm wandering the highlands.

The hills are bright green, brighter than the highlands should be, but in my place I see what I want to. The landscape rolls up and down like a blanket flapping in the wind. The sun is completely obscured with a thick layer of clouds, thank goodness. Instead, light seems to appear randomly. Everything of interest gives a light, and the most interesting thing is her.

Blank, wide, eyes stare at me. I move, but her eyes do not follow. They stay focused at the same spot. Her red lips are parted. Her skin is blanched and bloodless, with small, blue veins that branch along her throat. Her head is tilted too far to the right. It would give her a painful crick, always being like that, but since she doesn't feel anything, I think she’s fine with it. She hangs in the air, about one foot off of the ground. Nothing’s keeping her up there.
She's always hanging, and I'm always standing. It hasn't changed since they brought me here. When I choose to see her, I can never do anything except stand. I want to touch her, but I can't because the world knows I want to touch her and it wants me to know that I can't touch her.

She has a bracelet that's silver, with a small key on it that bounces off her wrist in the breeze:
Tap.

Tap.
Tap.
We stand together in silent companionship, and I’m happy, I think. But then she speaks.

I've forgotten what words sound like. I began to ignore them when they took me here, after they said I had a nervous breakdown. I forgot after the antiseptic smiles phased to placid expressions, then to exasperated looks. All I have left are the voices inside my head, but I cannot actually hear them. They are whispers escaping open lips, never inflected or pronounced, yet I understand them.

So whispers escape her gaping mouth and they mean,

"Why am I here?"

So I mean back,

"Because you're my everything."

A chill runs down my spine. She whispers,

"Your Everything is Nothing."

The highlands begin to swirl. Light emanates from strange places, as if it doesn't know where it belongs. The clouds form strange shapes, unmasking the sun which covers the world in glaring light. Everything is changing, and I don't understand. What has broken? Slowly, her feet land on the ground. Her neck's crooked, but she’s closer now. I see the dark bruise on her neck. She strides away. I hear

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

With each sound, I’m assaulted with a memory. Memories that I had repressed but came back. I see us walking, with her neck perfectly straight, and I wonder why we are holding hands. I remember.

"Wait!"

"Your Everything is Nothing."

Another tap and I see a rope. Tap. I see her hanging. Tap. Her orange shoes hang limply above the ground. Tap. And I cannot look away. Tap. I am paralyzed, but all I see are those shoes. Tap. Orange shoes. Tap. Why can’t I do something? Tap. Why can’t I look away?

Because she is my everything.

And my everything is nothing.

I wake up screaming, ranting, raving. I thrust myself against the walls, pounding them. They pour in, and pin me down. Their tone means to say it's okay, but it's not okay. Orange foot prints stain my vision. The world knows she was all that was left of me and it wants me to know that by taking her away. Sharp, glinting needles fade away along with my consciousness. I’m going back to the highlands.

They put me here because I’m afraid of the color orange. My fear is completely logical.

Yet I'm here.

uh...........wow thats some deep stuff

That... was... AWESOME!! I enjoyed this so much! I love insane people >.<

I'm not great at nitpiks (did I even spell that right?) so I'll just ramble about everything I'm thinking.

First thing is... I didn't understand the woman. I don't even understand if I'm supposed to understand. She's bruised and seems kind of dead, but what connection does she have to him? Everything and nothing... I think I would be happy with just a few more clues as to their relationship. Unless we're not supposed to understand.

This is just a little thing, and probably doesn't matter much, but you know that part where there's a tap between each sentence? I love that part, but all the other taps were in italics, so I was wondering if they should be like that too?

I love how he thinks he's completely logical. I love that.

Hmm... can't think of much more now. Sorry if I wasn't much help, but I really did enjoy this piece immensely!

-Dai

That was fabulous!

I'm going to launch directly into nitpick mode before I forget them, but that doesn't change the fact that I thought this was pretty damn stellar. I wouldn't bother to nitpick at all if I didn't think so.

(1) Your narrator says

I've forgotten what words sound like

which is a concept that really worked for me because it allowed you to use "mean" as a (totally awesome) dialogue tag, but that statement is contradicted when he says that he's been told he isn't allowed to have sharp objects and when he appears to understand what's being said to him when his room gets stormed.

(2) He also says

I have brown hair, tinged with gray, which falls into my eyes.

but I don't know how he knows that, because he's in a padded cell with (I assume) no mirrors.

(3)

t's completely, like I said, logical that I hate the color. One, it's ugly.

This didn't work for me. Pieces of it did-- I like his straightforward attitude about the color orange and I like his systematic explanation as to why, but I can't understand the thought process of him asserting that he's completely logical and then immediately feeling the need to explain himself. That made him seem insecure about his hatred of orange, and I didn't believe he actually was.

There was also some awkwardness in the inclusion of "like I said." It struck me as too informal for the tone you set.

Whew. Nitpicks done.

I really like this prompt! I think you took it in a great direction, extrapolating on the nature of his illness with the orange and the woman he sees. I wonder if there's more you can do with the historian...this is purely speculation, so feel free to ignore me, but one thing that made me recoil a little bit was the way he used "highlands" as a direct descriptor. I didn't want for them to be an anonymous place. What if, as a historian, he has prior knowledge of the particular mountains he's wandering? That would be a way to expand upon his history and the setting. Two birds, one stone, and maybe some insight into the way his mind works?

Like the reviewer above me, I wasn't completely sold on the connection between the orange and the woman he sees. I don't know how much more I needed to buy it as a form of explanation for the way he is...maybe a solid link in between the hanging woman and the orange hatred. I believed that he was just remembering he loved her, so that part worked well...it was just the hatred of the orange that tripped me.

The musing on wanting something sharp to prove that he was still alive really got to me. That was great. So was the repetition of him being a logical man.

And that's all I have for now. Thank you for the read, and let me know if I can help any further (if I helped at all to start with!)

Quasi

Out of everything I've read on this site (not a lot, I just joined), this has been my favorite. It makes no sense at all, but it makes perfect sense at the same time. Astounding. You are a fabulous writer, and this shows that with a clarity not many can master.

When reading through the other entries, I'd become bored and leave to find others. This is the only one that captured my attention from the first word to the last, which is great. Keep up the amazing work, you are doing great.

Dude, I hate the color orange too. Orange is the color of inmates that have had a terrible twist in their destiny or twisted it themselves. Orange is the color of cones that warn people away from danger, and Orange is also the color of too many flames that have grown into a wall. Mr. Orange is a character on Resuvior Dogs that lies and gets everybody killed- and I hate that guy. The story was completely logical. Yet he's insane. The spaceing was right and the daydreams were just off-kilter enough to make it feel real.

It's brilliant, keep up the good work.

I loved this. I read it to decide whether or not to sign up for this site, and it definitely convinced me to create an account! It reminds me of Poe's Tell Tale Heart, with the unreliable narrator insisting on being completely sane. Excellent work! One minor qualm:

The world knows she was all that was left of me and it wants me to know that by taking her away.

this line seems incomplete to me. I read it as saying the world wants me to know that, by taking her away, it. . . and then there's just a blank, like what does the world want to say? Re-working the wording might eliminate some ambiguity here. Of the entire thing, that's actually all I can come up with that could be changed-- I think the rest just might be perfect. I love that it's the color orange that he latched on to, I love that he sees the dark bruise on her neck before the rope, I love that she remains ambiguous. I love this. Great story!

Wow, that was amazing! I love stories like that. I love the pain and the sadness and the deep underlying message. You nailed it!

This is amazing! I was hooked from the beginning. I love the taps that you put between the sentences. Everything was really dramatic, and it had really strong emotions.

I liked the part with the girl in it, but I didn't really get some parts. Maybe be a little clearer on that.

Other than that, this was such a good story! You're a really good writer. Keep it up!

Wow. Such a vivid description of both the physical objects and people but also of the raw emotions that have the reader hooked on your every word.

I wake up screaming, ranting, raving. I thrust myself against the walls, pounding them.

Whoever can't imagine that situation has some serious problems with their imagination! Your use of adjectives was very profound and I particularly like the way you give the reader a sense of what is happening and how he is feeling in so little words.

Because she is my everything.

And my everything is nothing.

This is another quote that stood out to me because, once again, you are so concise with your words yet you seem to spill out the heart of the character so mesmerizingly well.

This is a brilliant piece of writing and one of my favourite pieces I have read in a long long time. Keep up the good literature! :')

AMAZING! you are such a good writer, I hope you win!