A little ditty... my first short story in a while
He listened to the receiver. He listened to the silence.
“Hello?” He was inquiring of nothingness, but he did not know it yet. “Hello?”
And then the tone. The prerecorded voice. The soft, silent, public-relations voice screaming at him, talking and screaming, telling him he was lost and alone, telling him he was the only one there, telling him to go away, telling him to bury his head in the pillow, telling him he was not good enough. It told him if he wished to make a call, to please hang up and try again. He liked the hang up part of it, but not for his phone. Sure, overreaction, but it happens sometimes. He wanted to string himself up, hang. He wanted to hang.
He clicked the receiver back down, secured, safe, steady, like he wasn’t. He shook a bit and laughed nervously. Heh. Heh, he laughed. He laughed because the whole world was crazy and he wasn’t. He laughed because the whole world shook and he didn’t. He laughed because it all made so little sense and he did. He laughed because he could think of nothing else to do.
His fingers tapped a bit. They tapped here and there. They drummed a little ditty on his night stand, they padded against his pillow and resounded against his headboard.
He chuckled. He chuckled. He smiled. He frowned. He tapped his fingers again and bounced his leg up and down as it rested on his other.
He rolled over and looked at his wall. He did not know how long he did this. Then he rolled over and looked at the other wall. He sat up, he laid down, he turned over twice. He stuck his hands under his pillows and pulled them out again. He ran them through his hair once, twice, tapped his fingers and again through his hair.
He bounced his hand up and down on the mattress next to him. Bouncy, bouncy, bouncy. He chuckled, smiled nervously. His smile faded slowly. He tried not to think, but he thought. He thought. He thought. He thought.
He tapped his fingers against the wall and then stood up quickly. Resolved to go distract himself, resolved to not think but to think, to think not of phones or tapping or thinking. He would think, but he would not think. Oh, he thought, oh, I am sly. Oh, I am sly. Oh, I am sly.
He got up from his bed and paced. He paced. He paced. He traced a path back and forth across the pile of clothing on his bedroom floor. He paced. He paced.
He traced a path back and forth across the pile of clothing on his bedroom floor. He rapped his knuckles against his dresser, the deep mahogany, he rapped. He tapped. He snapped.
He sat down on the edge of his bed and twiddled his thumbs. He twiddled for all he was worth. He twiddled, twiddled, and twiddled. He laughed nervously, then he frowned. He got up again.
Nod. Nod. He nodded. Yes, he thought. Yes. Yes, that is what I will do. Oh, I am sly. I am sly. Oh, I am sly.
He walked over to his computer and sat down. He drummed his fingers nervously on the desk. He drummed a little, and poked a key here. Then he poked a key there. He poked. He poked. Then he turned the computer on.
He turned his head this way and that. He looked at his effects. He looked at his dressers and his bed, he looked at his toys and his lamp. He looked at his TV and his closet. He looked at the pile of clothing on his bedroom floor, a path traced back and forth across it. But he didn’t look at his phone. He didn’t look at his pictures. He didn’t think about his phone. He didn’t think about his pictures.
His head jumped to his monitor as the computer finally came to life, for real. Came to life like he could not. He thought this was funny. He thought this thought was funny. He chuckled. Nervously. He chuckled nervously. Nervously, he chuckled. This thought was funny.
He clicked. He dragged. He typed. He deleted. He typed. He dragged. He clicked.
He chuckled. Nervously. He chuckled nervously. Nervously, he chuckled.
Shake of the head. He shook his head. No. No, it was not working. Of course it was not working. He had not really thought it would help. He did not really think it would help. He was not that stupid.
No. No. He had a better idea. Yes, this one was good. This would work. He did not really think so, but then, what was the harm? This one was good. Yes, this one was good. It was good. It would work. He did not really think so, but then, what was the harm?
He walked over to his bed and laid down. He grabbed his book from the floor. He opened it. He opened it to the bookmark. He opened it to the bookmark and the bookmark fell out. He placed the bookmark on his night stand. He held the book before his face and he looked at it.
He tried to read it. He tried to read it. He tried to read it, but he could not. He looked at the book. He looked at the pages. He looked at the lines of text. He looked at the words. He looked at the letters. He looked at the ink. He looked at it all. He looked at it all, but he did not read it. He did not read it. He could not read it.
He chuckled. Nervously. He chuckled nervously. Nervously, he chuckled.
Shake of the head. He shook his head. Of course it was not going to work, but what was the harm? He looked at the words and thought, what is the harm? He looked at the words. He thought. He thought. He looked at the words and he thought.
He grabbed the bookmark from his night stand and replaced it. He dropped the book on the floor. He laid on his bed. He looked at the ceiling. His fingers drummed against the wall and his feet bounced up and down. He thought. He thought. He thought.
He thought. He thought. He thought. And when he thought he could think no more, when he thought he could think no more, when he thought he could think no more–the phone rang. It rang. It rang. It rang next to his head, and he did not think.
He did not think. He did not think. He grabbed the phone. He placed it next to his ear. He placed it next to his ear. He did not hear. He did not hear. He listened. He listened. And for the first time since he had spoken to nothingness, he smiled. He smiled for real. He chuckled for real. He smiled for real and he chuckled for real.
It was her.
We're rascals, scoundrels, villains, and knaves. Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho.
We're devils and black sheep, really bad eggs. Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho.
Re: A little ditty... my first short story in a while
I don't know which is creepier - The story or being able to identify with it. Only change I would make is to put his thoughts in italics so they're easier to sort out.
As was promised....
Trolo's post was moved to the Fireplace. Doesn't that make you think?
Not to claim the status of a "real professional" in any one endeavor has been a small price to pay for the many benefits and pleasures of trespassing. ~Leo Lionni
Re: A little ditty... my first short story in a while
To comment on the style, it almost had a "Dr. Seuss for grown-ups" kinda feel to it, especially this line:
Quote:He chuckled. Nervously. He chuckled nervously. Nervously, he chuckled.
Just struck me that way.
I get a number of different feelings from this piece, as I read and re-read it... I certainly identify with it, but that's the problem, is that I'm probably not getting to exactly where Trolo was when he wrote it, because my own perception is coloring my comprehension...
The only thing I want to know, was it a good phone call or a bad phone call, Dorothy?
Haunting The Rathe for 3 Years Straight: Baroness Delissandra Splitshadow - Half-Elven Assassin - For Hire Grandmaster Poisoner (250), Master Potter (183), Grandmaster Lush (200)
"Society produces rogues, and education makes one rogue cleverer than another." - Oscar Wilde
xeras of zeb Registered User lvl2
Posts: 4
(4/10/03 5:16 pm)
Re: A little ditty... my first short story in a while
I really enjoyed your story, Trolo. For me the best part is your wonderful use of repetition without always restating it the same way. Also, I just can really get a good feel for the atmosphere of your story. Keep up the great work.
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