z

Young Writers Society


12+

4 In the city they will say you don't know till it hits ya

by Lorelie


Previously on Share and Cherish:

Two minutes is nearly half nothing Do you know how the world is beyond that mountain? Edgar was the only one who knew … There was a telly … I will kill youunless you switch to Zotran mobile … I already know what I want for my birthday … What?! You don’t even have a phone The world beyond that mountain. I want to learn …The only thing I had learned was to envy my playmates … Roger … I just stood there staring at him during school break … He reminded me of a hero cut out of one of those films … The bus stop … is a waypoint … a journey to a better world, perhaps the one I can find only in my dream … I look behind, but no sign of him … I’d had something for all eternity … and it is lost! … He picks up a scribble pad. I’ve got nothing to tell…

Edgar was right. I was still a child; I had teenhood, quarter age, middle age, full age left. I just ignored I would be needing it very soon, to tell my feats, my sorrows, my ramblings… How to start? I wrote: “Today we’re leaving home. Somehow I’m here trying to capture this place in my mental chamber, and all my friends are waiting downstairs to say goodbye… I’ll miss them.” This is worthless, I say to myself. Not true — just my first writer’s block! “I’m coming!”

One of the girls was peeking up the corner in the middle of the stairs and started jumping the minute I was seen, having told the others I was coming. Edgar was already with them, next to Candice Cow, who was wearing a white folded gown which seemed to be wore for the first time in the last ten years. Closer to the stairs were Helen Hen and Nancy Nanny — one was short and chubby, the other tall and skinny, and while the other was hiding in her redness, the other had composed her curly locks with a frame of thin green lace.

The girl peeking up the stairs earlier was Barbara Bitch, and she was known as my closest friend. Being only two years older than me, she knew nearly everything there was about me, much as I knew about her. She was wearing the fanciest dress — pale brown, slightly darker than her beautiful hair.

What about me? Well, personally I was wearing my debuting black-tacked parka, now barely dragging on the floor. But in the hearts and minds of those around me (except for Edgar) I was wearing my favourite red frock. It would still not successfully bare my knees, so I had never got to use it. Nevertheless, I was still bringing it with me. Edgar used to tell the city was cold, but who knows? You never really get the chance to flee from your dreams, right?

“Word of mouth says you’re leaving.”

It was Barbara talking. I had no idea what to say, we had no idea what to say. Someone stepped into the hall.

“Good morning, y’all!”, whinnied Miriam Mare. As Candice greeted her, I quite flinched at her sight. She had this large white gown she had shown me once, and the whiteness of it almost made her bigger. She was clearly my eldest sister, perhaps even a mother. Her black hair crept in and out of the dress with her gestures, as if she was a large spiky rose bush. She immediately went closer to Edgar. They would always have something to discuss.

Miriam was wearing a pale blue blouse. She was barely holding still, even though she had peacefully walked from her house to ours. She was also wearing a pair of lace shoes, wrapping closely around her small stubby feet. I knew nothing about her, but she used to visit our house every morning.

But today was a special day. Everyone was here to say goodbye. I’ve told no one, Edgar said, just when Helen was clucking we should have thrown a… maybe a party, she would say. Nancy was looking at me the same way I was looking at her. She wanted to say something, but I guessed her golden curls were keeping her busy. Finally, Barbara threw her arms around me and burst into tears. Her hair enveloped my face, and I heard her moaning, “You shouldn’t do this. I won’t be able to make it here without you.”

“Will you? I raised my head to Nancy, and then to Helen, who admitted she would too. Nancy just gazed at me, then at the latter, and said, “What?”

It was a nice day to have a walk, too hot for initiating a journey. Miriam gave to Edgar the CheckMe’s, the train tickets and a map. It would be safer to buy the bus ones on board. He picked our bag and left. Or was about to leave, when Jennifer Jenny, not Eve Ewe, passed in front of the chateau.

“What are those bags for?” Jennifer brayed. We’re leaving, I said to her.

Hadn’t anyone told her? “No one should have anyway,” Edgar said. So she embraced my head, and as I felt like wanting to sneeze with the smell of nearly a thousand onions, she whispered to me, “Have a nice one!” Before I could even think of what to infer from that one-liner, she had already left. Eve was waiting for us at the village border, and so I said goodbye to my family, animals and farm, so I would go with the one man who had the path to follow written in his corest brains.

[The whole family gathered to say goodbye]

Oh, I’m tired of leaving this chapter unfinished! And I’m also tired for other reasons. I don’t. Wanna. Die out. In these pages — I must insist. But how? I guess going straight on through to the end of the damn thing isn’t really my thing, but we’ll only know when we get to it.

Way back then, I would think I’d never be able to love again. Once, I read a story about this blonde, thorough, beautiful man who wouldn’t even nudge in his logic pedestal. And such elegance! He was quite the guy… Well, one day this woman appears in his life. She’s married, ok? But he keeps it for a whole decade until the day her husband passes away. They’d never exchanged more than a handshake yet they kept their love through letters and Sunday dinners at his great aunt’s. So he didn’t think twice when he decided to abandon his place for a few months, as his loved one mourned the death of her husband. Me, I didn’t need to read any further!

I was so wrong… but it is good to mourn for the people you loved after they suddenly disappear. Give it time, I used to think back then. “When love is gone, where does it go? Where do we go?” To the city, of course. But why? I will leave that up to you…

I was a simple girl, I knew nothing about the city, except for the hints Edgar had given me. Why had I convinced Edgar to take me there? He hated her; I should have hated her too! But I was too bold, too intrepid, too unfamiliarized…

The same couldn’t be said about Edgar. He was as hardboiled as no character can get, a one-of-a-kind personality you could never tell when he’s wronged you. And yet that type one would set her heart worth losing for, because deep within you trust all your patience, your empathy to have this place close to his heart, away from his mind.

I was so lost in my thoughts I paid no attention to what Eve talked with Edgar on the bus. She almost had to shake me up when she said “Safe journey!” so she could hear one goodbye from me, as we left the bus to enter the railway station. Eve gave him a firm handshake, and so we departed. If there was anyone Edgar loved, that would be me — he wasn’t just doing this out of pity. Of all the people we left behind, maybe Candice loved me the most. But Edgar had chosen me instead. Yes, he loved me like no father ever could.

Our train was this steel-made mole with a red nose poking out a hole wide-opened in the railway station wall. Edgar passed our tickets on the boarding gate, then we took our seats inside.

“Oh, here comes the conductor. Here and… here. Anything wrong, sir?”

“Issues did rotten in Lego casino pie friends…”

“Indeed!”

“Paris reviewer to-do cami parts lender a LA prima feel Matt? Dishwasher raccoon e’en particular?”

“Umm, it’s my daughter’s birthday. We’ve got some sightseeing to do.”

“Extract sweep? Some channels turned shoes Nina?”

“Sorry, she doesn’t speak Lite. It’s her fourteenth anniversary.”

Venus company’s casino! Quite bout a very quite sure bever put to…”

Needless to say, I couldn’t pay much attention to what those two tongue-wagged, but I got the feeling he’d come again.

“Do you think six hours of traveling is a bit too much?”

“Six hours? Wow, I…”

“Great! You’re yawning, now. Why don’t you get some sleep while you can?”

“In that case…”

“All of a sudden, the previous man came with two other women wearing the same uniform. They sang their “Venus casino’s to me and then Edgar told me they were inviting us to seat in the First Class carriage, to which he irreprehensibly ceded.

As we changed carriage, the first thing worth mentioning was that the windows not only were polished and shiny, they had blinds with screens on. Each screen gave a different angle from a bunch of musicians performing with a small array of instruments. Edgar whispered, “We call them the Monsters.”

I took a look at the screen right next to my seat. They were indeed fitted for the titled. There were a bunch of them with iron rings and horns crafted in and around their faces. Just a couple of them showed enough skin, though, wearing a type of shirt that bared their chests paired with a couple of trousers whose blend of darkened skin with hair gave the lot’s exuberance of colours a provocative bad-tasting tone.

“Luckily, there’s no speaker to hear them… but, if you want to, put on a pair of those. Don’t you worry; we’re barely touching the ground.” I put the headphones on and listened to their singing of an horrible chant, accompanied by a piercing weep coming from one of the three guitars. A pounding turmoil of thumps was heard behind, as the drummer struck his instrument in aching agony. But the recurring tune sounded more like a lullaby. Before I nodded off, I mumbled to Edgar, “’Tis good, ain’t it?”

[The train looks like a mole, or a deer, with its red nose]

A swoosh, a bang and a crash. I open my eyes and I see a building collapsing on top of another and another, and a rumble of destruction propagating over cars, signposts and bus-stop shelters. I turn to the other side and through the windows I watch as two planes and a helicopter fly over our train in warlike formation. Edgar’s asleep. As I rush him to wake up, he takes his earplugs and my earphones, looks around and comments, “What do you think of ‘Panoramic Realistic Experience in the Heart of the City’? They only screen it on specific trains!”

“Not funny,” I reply.

He went closer to press some buttons next to me on the compartment wall. The film footage faded away and, from behind it, the real City appeared, older larger, murkier.

“We’re arriving. What a hell of a place, isn’t it?”

A polyphonic beep was coming from above, as the high-pitch lady-voice propagated through all the train.

“Oh, listen to their talk! So formal, elegant and polite!” He then proceeded to the voice’s impersonation. “Esteemed customers, our next stop is… City. This is our final destination. Thank you for choosing us for your… travel business.”

As were heading out the railway station gate, a group of very respectful men in expensive long, black coats slithered upon us.

“Number?” they asked Edgar, who replied, “Thrasher, this my daughter Lark. Here, these are our CheckMe’s.”

The two characters handed back the documents to Edgar, then gestured for us to move along.

“What are they?”

“I’ll tell you when we get home.”

I looked up to him, I don’t want any trouble.

“One thing you’ll learn in the City is that when you run from trouble, trouble finds its way back to you.”

From the gate, a stale light had permeated through the sliding doors. The sunset sky was now barely visible, way behind the mixture of bright lights, smoke and skyscrapers pouring till the horizon. What in the world…

“Is this?”

“This is it!” announced Edgar.

Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I had never come to this place. Would it be better to stay out in the fields, playing with Barbara and learning about the city bit by bit as though they wanted us to learn… or giving all of that in exchange for a bit of risk and fun behind the city light?

On the one side of the street, shop windows that portrayed rags, gadgets and delights in colourful yet subtle scenes. On the other side, black shadows crawled, shifted, bulged next to the pavement. In front of us, unidentifiable people barely cornered us in a mass of tight clothes with messages printed, such as “Born again”, “Downright mindful” or “You only know when it hits you in the face!” Behind us, not much could be seen, for the dense, dark-grey fog hid everything and everyone away from public contempt.

Now doubt this was new to me, and amidst the filtered light and intensified smells, there was something purely fascinating about it. As I observed the shadows morphing, the people wandering out of character, the billboards sucking in everything near, hearing the syncopated sound of steps, smelling the spicy air, flickering with the nauseating strobe of screens, signs, and placards — I went from upright amazement to insatiable excitement. This was not my place, yet this was my place!

The sky was dark-clear orange when we entered the shopping centre. Edgar addressed the shop assistant in the following way:

“Good afternoon! I’d like a phone for my daughter.”

“Tensors well telescopy affectation paraffin applet chimp else.” He went to shop window, brought a huge flat brick, held it in front of us like cotton candy. It was clay-red and had obscenely bulging from the very bottom of the trapezoid screen a single carrot-shaped button. “He ask well uTelephone!”

“I’m sorry, but I’ll have to say no. You see, we need something really doing what it says on the tin. That is, a Zotran.”

“Ooh Zotran? Demand comprising…” He went to a pile of packed boxes on paper-shouldered basket in front of the balcony and searched till he managed to get the one stuck in the bottom. “No see haven mugs dwells ninja mads. Ten Chicago reals Z71513!”

It was a new Edgar, very pleased with himself after examinating the large box, who exclaimed, “ Whaddaya think, larkie-thing? I think we’re gonna take it!” He said something else to the shopkeeper, but I wasn’t paying muc attention, though. To be honest, I was much more busier staring at all the bits and bots laying across the room, before I discovered, between two shelves and through the fudgy glass of the shop window, I was delivered the sparkling sight of a bookshop at the end of the corridor in the corner. Had not Edgar finished paying the expensive gadget I was already sighing, “Okay, so where to go next?”

Edgar was baffled at the name of the section where we had penetrated. “Fantasy: do people still dream in the City?”

“Let’s see…” I picked two or three books and sat on a bench in the opposite corner of the room.

“I’ll be…” Edgar gestured he would be close to the entrance, finding more interesting books (for himself, that is).

The first book was about two different creatures from two different places that, by refusing to belong to their roles within their communities, decide to join forces to start a third one. Their names were extravagant and the plot wasn’t compelling, so I moved on to the second book. Two young boys, living two centuries apart get switched in the time line, so they discover in the journals each hid under the pillow every night. One day, one of them finds a way to bring things back to normal. Sad story! I wish today there would be some way to get things back to abnormal…

Oh well, as I’m peeking into the third book, someone sticks their finger right in the middle, literally, and pushes down my book with some mighty fussiness. I look up to him, and I observe the young boy (clearly younger than me, of course) pointing out the notice “No reading allowed.”

“Why are they making books that cannot be read?” I wail.

“I think… er… you oughta… buy them first…”

“Oh well! I wasn’t reading this book anyway.” So I raised the book and put it back on the shelf — Needless to say, exactly in the place where I got it from (just like Edgar had taught).

“Why were you looking for that book?”

“Oh! Me? I saw an advertisement somewhere near the entrance.”

“You didn’t see the game?”

Who dares to talk of games in a bookshop? “What game?”

“How can you not know yet?!” hw had to take a deep breath so he would keep being polite even though I was a complete stranger. “They’ve made the book outta the game.”

“No way!” I gaped. “But even still, I think the book would be better…”

“What?! No, you’ve got to try it. You can interact with the characters… and then there’s… there’s lots of bonus levels? What am I saying, you’ve really gotta try it out.”

I looked back at Edgar. He was visibly pleased with a big book he had picked. Sure I shouldn’t disturb him now — Would it be really worth it?

“Before the book, right?” I didn’t need to hear back his word. I glided to Edgar and said to him, in my most unmistakable voice, “Let’s go!”

“But… go where, now?”

“Finding games, Edgar… Matching games!” But first we needed to find a shop. “Oh, which way now?” Luckily, there was another shop just in front. Edgar was turning blue, as the shopkeeper explained the total of our necessary expenses.

“But, but… Larkie-thing?!”

“I want it, Edgar. I really, really want it!”

“She really, really wants it,” mocked the shopkeeper, half condescending, half second-intended. Edgar was trying to give me some advice first, but I wasn’t needing any advice — and he knew it!

I looked back to the bookshop — I had completely forgot to show him the matching book! Just midway back through my dashing, I started to feel weak and crampy. Edgar would call my name, but I couldn’t even stand on both feet. The boy of before was freezing pale in front of me. Behind, Edgar skipped towards me, as everything was becoming staggering bright, blurry and flickering. The shop windows reflected more light than they could let through, so I felt spotlighted by the intense LED beams above my head. Then everything turned white, and I was a swan dancing and dandling on a borderless stage.

[The City is a mix of smoke, light and skyscrapers in the late sunset]


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Sun Apr 03, 2016 6:54 pm
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BluesClues wrote a review...



Here I am!

All right, so a couple of things about the first section. First of all, "whinnied" and "brayed" as dialogue tags. Oh, my. Once in a while that's okay, but both words in the same section of the same chapter was a bit much, especially since one character's last name was actually "mare." I was just picturing them as a horse and a donkey, respectively, which, I mean, if they were then I guess it's fine. But they were wearing clothes and I'm pretty sure they were supposed to be human, so...I'd at least change the "whinnied" to something else so readers don't picture M. Mare as a horse (unless she is a horse, in which case you might want to clarify that).

The other thing that really got me about that section was the fact that Lark described everyone's clothing for no apparent reason. If a character is a fashion designer or very interested in clothes, or maybe if she judges people based on the clothes they wear or is feeling self-conscious about her own outfit, I can see her describing other character's clothes. But Lark just kind of happened to mention them in passing--and not only was there no reason for it, but I also still have no idea what any of the characters' clothes look like beyond a vague impression of color. I'd skip it.

This paragraph felt at odds with Lark's voice in the rest of the chapter.

Oh, I’m tired of leaving this chapter unfinished! And I’m also tired for other reasons. I don’t. Wanna. Die out. In these pages — I must insist. But how? I guess going straight on through to the end of the damn thing isn’t really my thing, but we’ll only know when we get to it.


I can't quite explain why; it just jarred me. Unless it was actually you, in the middle of the chapter, bemoaning the fact that you were having trouble finishing the chapter.

The descriptions of the City were interesting. I didn't get much specific detail, yet I felt like the world was built up enough that I had a good impression of what it was like. Oh my gosh, I was SO confused when that first person on the train or wherever started talking to Edgar, like, "What the heck kind of dialogue is this?" But then Edgar mentioned Lark not speaking Lite, and I understood it was just a different language or dialect. That was done well.

BlueAfrica




Lorelie says...


Heyo, Blue Africa!

I'm so happy you approved of my descriptions *claps hands, does a pirouette and stretches wide arms*

About the confusing bits, I'm going to keep the low profile and just say you're getting there, slow but steady.

Spoiler! :
Please just be careful what you wish for. As much as I can remember, in the previous chapter you were complaining I didn't characterise much of my characters ;)


I'll just say it loud and I clear: I needed this review. There must be a reason you're one of the few that reviewed every chapter of mine... Thanks for sticking in (:

Cheers!
~ Lorelie



BluesClues says...


Probably I did (I don't remember that far back), but clothes on their own don't characterize people, at least not without a detailed description of the clothing...but that has to be handled carefully. Anyway, if that's what you're referring to!



Lorelie says...


Yes, it is. It is likely something to do with the family portrait. To me, it was the same using the word "dress" all the time. You're right, the piece of clothing really doesn't say much about the person.. unless you want to picture her in the first place.



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Sun Apr 03, 2016 3:30 am
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Ivywater wrote a review...



Hello Lorelie, Ivywater here to review your story for review day.
Team Ochre Orchids for the win

Anyways, I really loved your story. Barbara Bitch is probably the best name I've ever heard.

Grammar

Two minutes is nearly half nothing … Do you know how the world is beyond that mountain? Edgar was the only one who knew … There was a telly … I will kill you… unless you switch to Zotran mobile … I already know what I want for my birthday … What?! You don’t even have a phone …The world beyond that mountain. I want to learn …The only thing I had learned was to envy my playmates … Roger … I just stood there staring at him during school break … He reminded me of a hero cut out of one of those films … The bus stop … is a waypoint … a journey to a better world, perhaps the one I can find only in my dream … I look behind, but no sign of him … I’d had something for all eternity … and it is lost! … He picks up a scribble pad. I’ve got nothing to tell…

I like the way you used "..." but it made it kind of hard to understand what was happening. I recommend you use the comma instead, but it's just a suggestion.

Spelling
is a waypoint

I believe waypoint is spelled as "way-point", but that might just be how I spell it.

So yeah, that's it.
Good luck on your story and happy writing.




Lorelie says...


Maybe, it's just me, but I think you're spelling it wrong. Please take a look at: http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/waypoint

Spoiler! :
I'm not being funny, but I was expecting a bit more from my first review than quoting the first paragraph and making up a mistake. If you look below, there's someone who read the whole chapter, made a thoughtful appreciation and didn't even tick the "Is this a review?" box. Yet you did. Seriously, do you think this review will help me?



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Sun Apr 03, 2016 12:10 am
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I love that the main characters closets friend is Barbara Bitch. I do have one question do all of the characters have the initials like C.C. B.B. or L.L.? I wish you the best of luck in writing your novel but, You should try some verity of names.




Lorelie says...


They were initially meant to be called just by their surname. Any suggestion you make can be taken on the next revision of the chapter. Cheers!





How about Nancy cow or, Candice nanny



Lorelie says...


Wouldn't that be easier?





Most likely



Lorelie says...


There you go (:




Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.
— Carl Sandburg