Side-by-side, a wrinkled old man and a younger one sat in front of a bookshelf.
The bookshelf extended all the way to the ceiling of the old, brown room. A side of it was illuminated by a faint ray of sunlight drifting in from a single window. When a soft wind blew, the bookshelf creaked long and sad. Then the air settled back into a steady silence.
“You never told me about those things,” the old man mused. The silence screamed and faded.
The young man stared at the bookshelf in response for a while. On the cracked shelves, there were faded plastic toys, pieces of glinting stones, containers of baby teeth, knives — everything that ranged from ashes to glass ornaments. A wooden bird without its beak rolled to the side limply with a breeze.
“They’re things that I search for, then keep,” the man finally responded. The old man stiffly supported more of his weight on his walking stick. When he did so, the young man glanced over at him. “Doctor, you know that I’ve got to keep things that I like.”
The old man’s foggy eyes slightly lost focus in thought. He tapped a finger against the chair that he sat in. “Well,” he finally said, “how did you get them?”
Crossing his arms lightly, the man leant against one wall and raked his gaze over his collection of objects. A layer of fine dust blew into his face. “Homeless people. Beggars. Children. Sometimes cemeteries or corpses.”
Slowly, the old man slid his eyes shut, then reopened them. They were narrowed, as if in pain.
“I offered them money,” the younger man continued mindlessly. His light amber eyes gleamed softly, pushing against the sunlight. “Asked if it was for sale.”
He then stopped. Waited.
“What it it wasn’t?” the elderly doctor inquired after a while.
The man half-lidded his eyes in visible contemplation. “I mugged them. Threw them in a ditch. A hole. A grocery-shop. An empty house. Then I took the thing and put it here, like this, as you can see,” he spoke, sweeping his hands widely around him.
With a slightly trembling hand, the old man rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. “Why would you take it if it wasn’t for sale?”
The other man’s eyes glinted sharply, piercing through the air in front of him. “Then they should have sold it when I asked and while they still could.” For a moment, the old man’s eyes and the younger man’s connected. When they did, the brighter, colder pair curved softly in a smile. “Right?”
Exhaling, the old man disconnected the gaze. He shakily brought himself onto his feet. The young man simply watched, unmoving from his spot on the wall.
“Remember to think about other people’s emotions,” the doctor wearily advised. He took a curt glance at the objects in the bookshelf, and, just as quickly, looked away. “If they really say no, you shouldn’t continue.”
“Got it.”
A shadow of exhaustion flashed across the old man’s eyes. “I’ve been working with you for too many years,” he muttered, half to himself, then coughed into a tight fist. “I’ll just hope the best for you, now.”
“God bless you too,” the man beamed.
Quietly, the old man pointed a bony finger at the bookshelf. “Why did you keep those for so many years?” he faintly wondered. “It’s unlike you.”
“They’re special things,” the man responded, shrugging. “That’s why the previous keepers all ended up underground. They just wouldn’t sell it.”
“Ren, there’s something more.”
A moment of silence followed the old man’s words.
Then the younger man finally said, “Well, I wanted to see if things that are special to other people could become special to me. That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Is emotion a thing?” Cocking his head to the side, the man began to drum his fingers against his thighs.
The old man shifted his body toward the door a little more. “And what if it is, Ren? What will you do then?”
Ren’s fingers paused, and he laughed brightly to himself. His eyes lightened up into a paler amber. “Then I’ll offer the owner money. Ask if it’s for sale.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, the old man put more of his frail weight onto the walking stick. “And what if it’s not?” he inquired the same question from before.
“Then I’ll take it and put it here, of course.”
“Why would you take it if it isn’t for sale?”
Gently, Ren smiled again. “Because I can, Doctor.”
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139,363 Literary Works • 672,540 Reviews
Hello, Wasabi. This story was oddly confusing to me. What I can assume is that maybe the man has a mental disorder, or something of the likes. That is why there is a "doctor."
After reading the story, I was confused on why he would take the items. He asks about emotion, so the conclusion I came to is that maybe the man's disorder affects his emotional state. He might collect the items because he believes that if they are special to the other person, they will be special to him, and thus make him feel happy, or some other type of emotion.
Here's one sentence I did notice, however:
“What it it wasn’t?” the elderly doctor inquired after a while."
This should be "What if it wasn't." I'm not sure if anyone has already stated that, but either way, you might want to go back and fix that. It's a simple mistake, so don't worry about it too much.
Other than that, it was written perfectly, though the meaning behind it is kind of unknown. I can only assume so much. However, I think you attended it to not have much of a "meaning." It was a really interesting read. That's about as much as I can say,
~Prez. T
Hello, Wasabi! Happy review day.
This is definitely not what I expected when I saw that it was categorized under humor. Unless you were going for a certain kind of hidden, sadistic humor. But I really liked this! It's simplistically written but very philosophical and there seems to be a lot more to think about this short story of yours.
I like how you've begun with a description of the setting and the occupants of the room. There was a great deal of alliteration in the first paragraph and that was really great. There was one line that threw me off though:
The silence screamed? That phrase is contradictory in itself and while I usually like it when there's some kind of subtle imagery involved, I don't think that phrase really works here. Maybe you could think of changing it? It just seems to be strained and not exactly fitting into the flow from the first paragraph.
I found it really interesting when you described the old man. He's obviously some kind of a psychologist/psychiatrist but he seems like one who would have retired and is reaching the final stages of his life. It's intriguing how he's still seeing Ren after so many years. It seems like there's some kind of a connection between them just because they've known each other for so long. But if they have known each other for this long as is stated by the following line
then how come the doctor doesn't know about Ren's obsession with taking these items already?
Also, the tone of conversation between the two doesn't really seem to suggest a doctor-patient relationship.
This line struck me as quite odd. I know for a fact that doctors don't directly advise their patients, especially when their patients are borderline psychopathic like Ren here. So I'm really curious to know your reasoning behind this.
There seems to be a lot of emphasis on the fact that the doctor is incredibly old with those references to him coughing and the walking stick and everything else. It leads me to wonder about the significance of his age. There seems to be something more to it but it doesn't really come across clearly. Maybe you could touch upon that a bit more and make things a bit more elaborate and possible for the reader to understand?
The ending is really thought provoking and I love the way you've written it. It's quite ironic that Ren wants to just TAKE emotions from people because if he could just take emotions then he'd realize how cruel he's being to them. And maybe that would lead to him developing a conscience. If he does develop a conscience, then that could lead to guilt about what he's done to the ones who refused to sell him the things. But what's ironic is that that was the method he took to get the emotion as well. I don't know if you intentionally made this so twisted but I really absolutely love the ending.
You could probably change the category under which you've filed this short story. You could put it under satire or something for it's definitely not the kind of humor that people come to this tab to read.
I'd like to read more of Ren's story, especially to understand those things I mentioned above. There are quite a few holes in this piece but that would make sense if you're planning on posting a companion piece to this which explains everything else. I strongly recommend you do, not only because this seems to have been left hanging, but also because I really love the underlying themes of this story.
If you'd like to discuss this, feel free to leave me a message or post on my wall!
Hello there. In my opinion you wrote a very interesting piece and overall I enjoyed it. There are a few problems I must state though. First of all this doesn't seem like a short story as it is way to short. This is something known as a short short story, but due to the fact that this site doesn't have that as an option, I won't blame it on you. Secondly, you put this piece under humor. I am sorry, but I do not see any humor in this whatsoever. It seemed to be a bit thought provoking and interesting, but not funny. It also seemed that you repeated the first half twice, but with different wording. It wasn't awful, but I certainly think it should have been in another category as well as expanded rather than repeated. Nice job.
I liked the setting with the silence and the old wooden bookshelf. It gave it that kind of rustic/steampunk feeling, if you know what I mean.
"“What it it wasn’t?” the elderly doctor inquired after a while." I think you mean "What if it wasn't?"
I have a few questions about this; Why is the man addressed as "Doctor"? He doesn't sound like a doctor at all. And one more question; Is Ren like the "Doctor's" apprentice or something? Because it sure sounds like it.
Will there be anymore of your story called "Ren" coming out? I really like it. I hope you write more of it!
Happy writing!