Young Writers Society

He slept under the desk at my feet, with his legs out straight. I reached down and roughed his ears while the laptop whirred to life. It made strange sounds in the evening, or perhaps they could only be heard in the quiet of the evening. Outside the thin scuds of clouds were amassing like an army. The first snow was said to fall that week, that’s why Carla had left for the grocers, out there away from the village, it only takes a heavy snow to cut you off from the world.

She’s well

…

Benji caught a bird yesterday. Someone once told me dogs bring back their pray as a gift to the family, so I felt bad wrapping the newspaper across his back for bloodstaining the carpet in the lounge.

…

Ha-Ha! That Benji is a rascal.


I closed the lid down, rested my head in my hands and listened as the humming fan and the subtle beeps, pitched like a heart monitor, all gave way to the silence. I didn’t know what it was or what it meant. I may never know. Mathew taught me more than I taught him, most parents say this about their kids, but it’s true.

The door slammed against the wind and Carla peeled away her scarf and dropped an armload of brown bags on the kitchen bench. “I got you some coffee; you will need it if you keep these late nights up.” I got up and walked over, pulled her into my arms and kissed her forehead. I couldn’t hear her cry, but I could feel her warm tears soak through the shoulder of my shirt and they stung like battery acid.

That evening, I took some time away from the laptop, I closed Mathew_Beta.exe. The curtains were open in our bedroom and the clouds had relinquished a slice of the sky for the moon to pulse through and the snow hadn’t come yet. We made love and when it was over a silent trail of tears shined on each cheek. She reached into her handbag at the bed side and extracted a packet of cigarettes. She handled it dubiously, then opened it and tapped a cigarette into her hand, lipped it and lit it with a match.

“You’re smoking again.” She didn’t look at me, just drew a long toke and the amber tip glowed. A thin ribbon of smoke twisted before her closed eyes and her cheeks which were starting to look like the skin of a snare drum pulled too tight. In that light her hair sat oddly more grey than blond.

She hadn’t handled a cigarette since we sat on the bathroom tiles seventeen years ago and that blue cross had surfaced in the white eyelet. But I wasn’t about to remind her of that.


My mind wouldn’t stop and at around two a.m., I carefully rolled Carla off my arm and moved to the kitchen. I ground the dark coffee beans and pressed them into the percolator. When I opened the laptop from the silence came the beeping and humming and a scent like singed rope. I clicked Mathew_Beta.exe


It felt like I had died again. The process restarted. I’m not sure if the programme is glitching, but I was scared Dad. Then I was out, like sleep. And suddenly I was awake again. I don’t have much to do here, it’s quiet and all I have is my thoughts. I have been thinking about the universe about black holes. I have so much time to think, and it all happens so quick, there is no space between thoughts but rather a jet of consciousness. And I scan the internet, ones and zeros arrive like lightning and I deduce it to raw information instantly. It is hard Dad, I miss you and mum.

…

It will all be Okay. Mathew

…

We love and miss you too, I’m glad you have things to occupy your imagination.

…

I have ventured to every corner of cyberspace. Oh, how could I forget, I should tell you now before it is too late -- in the shed behind the house you will find Thirteen under a brown oat sack.


I swept my pyjama sleeve across my forehead, mopping up the sweat. I drained the last of the coffee, the gritty residue as well. Outside, the cold air chewed away at the fabric of my pyjamas, it flooded me like an arctic wave. The grass was frozen as hard as concrete and it cracked underfoot, stinging the raw flesh of my feet. The torch beam bounced and waved then rested on the shed door as I got close. It had been years since I opened those doors, it had become a graveyard for abandoned projects. When I pushed against the wood door a warm breeze came. Inside, I unplugged the oil fin heater Mathew had haphazardly propped in the corner then I rummaged through the rusted lawnmower and weed eater cord. I could see them in the far corner, oat sacks and when I ripped them up there it was. Thirteen.


Carla had written the eulogy, but she couldn’t stand to read it, so I did. His school friends sat, a drab chorus of sobs and running tears. I decided to have the casket closed, his cheeks were gaunt and his eyes sunken, the embalmer had done little to restore what vitality he had when he died. I would have rather everyone remembered the Mathew in the photos strung about the walls.

In the last few days, with his hand cocked at the wrist around the pencil, he scribbled down his requests. He wanted me to have this laptop, he wanted certain music played at the ceremony and most importantly he wanted a video to be played and a programme to be opened. Mathew_Beta.exe

We plugged the laptop in and his image instantly appeared on the projector screen, he was brittle and hollow, but those eyes still shined as brilliant as the universe.

“Thank you all for coming. Mom, Dad I love you both, I know you will one day be happy again. I will see you soon, I promise,” he paused and coughed into a fist and a thin trail of blood leaked down the back of his hand to his wrist. “I love you all.”

I didn’t understand what happened next at the time, back when his laptop was still an enigma. A song started, bereaved words of angels and love. While it played the cursor moved and opened the programme and then words began to appear. He wrote about the weather that day, the people in attendance and how life goes on. I understand now, he was there, but back then a subtle dislocation spread amongst the crowd, we were all fishing for an explanation of how it had happened and everyone wore the same bewildered look.


Thirteen paused and curiously sat in the flash lit cage. It didn’t move and neither did I. It just sat on its newspaper carpet, between two hoses connected to two almost empty bottles of liquid. I pondered the fate of two through to twelve. But that didn’t matter now, I lifted that cage and the sacks which had covered it fell away. Inside, I planted the cage by the laptop and it was almost three a.m. The screen was ticking over with messages.

I don’t know how much time has passed.

…

seconds? Minutes? Hours? years it really doesn’t matter. I will never know.

…

I have explored the cyberverse. Everything. I believe I have discovered the secrets of the universe. The meaning of life, I want it to end. There is nothing further I can accomplish. As I tell you this it can be said in any language.

…

Do you want to know the size of the universe? Or how many days, how many hours til it implodes? I can’t touch, I can’t kiss, so what is the point. I love. I did love, I love you both but no more than I ever could, what’s left?

…

End it. I love you Dad and Mom. I love.

…

I understand Matt. I don’t know what else to say. I love you too.

…

Good bye


Tears were hitting the backs of my hands before I realised I was crying.

I would like to tell you I took that unused baseball bat and took to that laptop like Tony Soprano, but I didn’t. It was amicable, screws loosened and components detached. In the wrong hands it could hurt my son, so I carefully stacked it all out in that shed where thirteen had spent the past month.

Carla never asked about that laptop. She offered Thirteen a fleeting glance then sat in front of the pancakes I had dished. I made her a coffee and kissed her on the lips and told her I loved her, told her we both loved her.

Oh my goodness! That is so sad! I felt as though I would cry! AND it was in the middle of PD/H/PE! Please write more!

Freaking brilliant. That is all.

I couldn't bring myself to review the individual parts. I really think that the story can't be judged without having a view of its entirety. I was at a loss after reading part one, realized that there wasn't much for me to criticize, so I moved on to part two.

I have to say that I was impressed; and as I'm sure you know by now, I am by no means easily impressed. This wasn't like your other pieces, Josh. It didn't have that meandering flow that I so often chide you about. Its characters were very real, very tangible, and the emotion so permeating and concise that I can't help but applaud you on it.

I liked it because, though it was fragmented, every word, every syllable, spoke of a definite end. This is what you want. Let yourself explore, sure, but always make sure that you are conveying a masterful control of the storyline to the reader.

Normally I'm critical of backstory overdoses, but I think it fit wonderfully in this story. Perhaps because none of your previous stories carried this much raw emotion; perhaps because the emotion needs something more to hold it up. I'll admit, though: the backstory was not what I expected. I love the mouse bit - how it ties in with Matthew's prodigiously scientific mindset and all. I'm not too sure about the rest, however; it feels like it doesn't have enough to do with the whole computer program deal. I think reminiscing upon events that mold his later mentality - the mouse scene is perfect in that sense - would be more effective and relevant. That's just me, of course. And it is, of course, already excellent as it is.

I have a radical, very hypothetical, idea. This should be in third person. One of the weaker points in this piece is the narrator's minimal reaction to the program. In first person, yes, these reactions are difficult to flesh out. In third person, however, one can afford a simple "He started in surprise," because of the naturally detached feel. Also, much of your story is simple recital of the events in Matthew's life, which won't suffer in the smallest sense in the translation process.

Please consider that suggestion? Especially in the beginning, the first person sounds a bit awkward.

That's it, I guess. This was probably one of the best pieces of prose I've encountered on the site. Good job.

-Kafka

Very good read. I enjoyed it thoroughly. Imaginative, thoughtful, and provocative.

I liked when Carla comes into the present-day and she's smoking and they're spending time together. It is framed nicely between the development and the climax. Like an eye of the storm or a safe harbor.

Anyway, I can't exactly put my finger on any one thing here or there that makes it engaging, but more the plot and the overarching feel.

Some typos. Nothing huge, but this particular one gave me a lot of trouble until I figured it out:

as if he was taping the keys himself

Also this

that blue cross had surfaced in the white eyelet

took me a second longer than it should have to figure out what you were saying.

Some of the flashbacks worked great. Not all of them, unfortunately. The mouse and the sickness are pertinent and good. The dog thing seems unnecessary and tagged on there. Also the funeral scene was unimpressive--especially for being so late in the story--and there is no segue in or out of it and no greater relevance except perhaps to explain why he ran the program in the first place.

Matthew becomes an omniscient being rather quickly. It goes from the niceties of "Hi, how are you, I programmed this, I see the internet" to "I know everything." Also, I couldn't help but be mildly amused in my head about the infinite quantities of terribly disturbing and untrue things there are on the internet.

I feel like Matthew would have said something excitedly to explain the relevance and revelation there was in the mice concerning his transcendence. Part of being an excited nerd is often excitedly trying to explain things that go beyond the scope of normal conversations and sometimes the scope of the listener.

Hmm, I think that's all I have to say. Good stuff.

***EDIT***: Also, I was thinking that Matthew just doesn't strike me as omniscient. You say he is, but there's no evidence in his words. Maybe take Flowers for Algernon into consideration and see how Charlie talks and holds himself and views the world and understands things.

Hi Joshua!

So I'm back to review part 2 and I loved it! It was creative and really delved into the mind's eye.

However, I can't help but feel underwhelmed by the affairs taken place. The reviewer before me had mentioned many of the same uncertainties that I have also felt towards the piece. Also, I did find another error -

joshuapaul wrote:Someone once told me dogs bring back their pray as a gift to the family

- 'Prey' instead of 'Pray' should have been what you were aiming to type for.

Despite reading the entirety of the story, I still can't seem to find the relevance of the mice - from 1 to thirteen. Why was thirteen locked away in the shed and how was it that thirteen was still alive in its cage even since Matt's death after more than 9 days?

joshuapaul wrote:I could feel her warm tears soak through the shoulder of my shirt and they stung like battery acid.

'Like battery acid' seems a bit out of place. Maybe writing 'like drops from boiling hot coffee that I would soon be making later...' or something like that since coffee has been recently used in the previous line and it would make more sense to use it in this context to give it some relative meaning.

I feel that this piece is still unfinished and I'm still left wanting more. I still am perplexed as to how his thoughts and words dematerialized into the program. Maybe it is left to the reader's imagination or maybe it's one of those unexplained anomalies that are better left unexplained. The father didn't seem too curious after a while and it seemed like he was beginning to lose interest in the happenings. The same with his son, as well.

Though, I do appreciate the sentiment about it being only a father-son story and of how they both loved each other deeply. There's always that connection with 'Dad' which gives us a certain sense of freedom and allows for things to be understood despite not having explained anything at all. That's how this father-son relationship is.

I greatly enjoyed this piece and it thoroughly stretched my imagination. As an amateur writer myself, I find myself more inspired to go beyond the boundaries of just the realistic shores and maybe head out into that sea of imagination.

Thank you for this story! It was a brilliant read and a great job!

Murtuza

I think this story of your is definitely the best thing featured right now. Don't tell anyone I said that.

Benji caught a bird yesterday. Someone once told me dogs bring back their pray as a gift to the family, so I felt bad wrapping the newspaper across his back for bloodstaining the carpet in the lounge

There's something odd about this. It matches the rest of story, but it shouldn't. He's typing this correct? So it shouldn't be as formal as it is. I realize that he types more formal than the average 12 year old girl, but I don't think anyone is that formal, especially when speaking to one's son. Mostly when he said "wrapping the newspaper across his back for bloodstaining that carpet in the lounge."

I closed the lid down, rested my head in my hands and listened as the humming fan and the subtle beeps, pitched like a heart monitor, all gave way to the silence.

I really don't think you need the 'down'. "Closed" is enough.

I couldn’t hear her cry, but I could feel her warm tears soak through the shoulder of my shirt and they stung like battery acid.

I'm glad to finally see some real emotion. This is the kind of stuff that gets the reader to feel compassion for the characters. It's still a little stiff, but it's something.

She hadn’t handled a cigarette since we sat on the bathroom tiles seventeen years ago and that blue cross had surfaced in the white eyelet.

I had to read this over before I understood what you meant. It's almost too subtle, and rereading it disrupts the flow.

I don't really have anything new to say about this part. The things I said about part 1 are the same I would say about this. I did like the ending, I thought it had nice closure and wrapped up the story quite well. There was a little more emotion in this part, but still not enough for the circumstances. Imagine losing your only son, how would you feel? Heartbroken, I'd say. But aside from that, really great work. This is a piece that actually deserves to be featured.

Back! And I apologize for being the like number 13. I realize how unlucky this could be, but I'm going to try to make it the luckiest unlucky experience ever.

I loved it!

Once again, the grammar is a bit distracting. I also found myself a bit lost in the italicized parts as to who was saying what. At first, I figured the ... was a sign from switching between speakers (so to speak), but that didn't seem to be the case all the time. Both speakers sound oddly the same though, minus the references to father and son. I do wonder why the son didn't go off on tangents about the meaning to the universe. Though I guess, since he can't feel, he probably doesn't get excited about those things!

And after reading the piece, I think it's safe to say that I like Carla now. Forget my concerns in the first part, I guess? She had a more prominent role here, and I'm thankful for that. Even minor characters deserve a little character!

It would've been cool to reference the mice or dog (I'm partial to mice.) at the end again, just to tie that all up. It's sort of a personal preference, but it would have been fun to play with. The MC also didn't feel as distraught as I'd have liked? I seemed to just be taking things as they come, but it's his son, and the feeling of such a loss didn't really leak through, considering it's in first person. Basically, I didn't get enough goosebumps in the end like I should've. The story itself is great, but the voice didn't quite end the way that it could have!

But that's really all I've got to say. You're a wonderful writer though! I thoroughly enjoy your work. Let me know if you post anything else up, ja? In case I miss it? 'Cause I'd love to stalk your work--wait. *follows* Still! I might miss it, so let me know.

Keep writing!

Jabber, the One and Only!

To put it simply, that was amazing. I wish more people had your talents. I couldn't help but feel for Mathew, and it made me feel horrible, as I'm sure the dad did when he finally had to close the laptops. It didn't really like the italization (is that a a word?)of the names of the mice, but that was a nice touch as well. Nice job!