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jedusorLet me know what you think (and I don't mean "loved it, good job, ttyl"- I want criticism).
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It’s been two weeks since Jake died.
His family was having new oak banisters put in. They’d already taken out the old metal ones, but hadn’t installed the new ones yet, so when Jake tripped at the top of the stairs, he fell twenty feet headfirst over the edge of the landing. They called 911, but he was dead the second his neck snapped. There was nothing they could do.
I was heartbroken. It was like the world had suddenly switched to black and white, and I hadn’t realized the colors were there until they were taken away. I wasn’t the only one who felt like that, either. Everybody liked Jake. He was the type of person you could talk to and not worry about whether or not he was paying attention to you. That look in his eyes when he knew you needed an ear… it didn’t matter how long you’d known him or how well you knew him: when he looked at you like that, you knew without a doubt that he cared.
A lot of people needed that. Lots of kids didn’t have anyone else. When Jake died, the only person who would listen and never judge was gone. The atmosphere in our small town, at least among us teenagers, was solemn and despondent. Laughter was rare, and sounded odd and misplaced, like a spider’s meow.
Brian was hit the hardest, aside from Jake’s parents. Brian’s mom was an alcoholic, and he’d never met his dad, as far as I knew. I didn’t like Brian much. Not many people did. He was loud and always tried to be the center of attention, even when he had nothing to say. He and Jake hit it off, though, and Brian pretty much lived at Jake’s house. He was there when the accident happened; watched Jake fall and die from the next room; couldn’t move fast enough to save him. I don’t know if the guilt was too much for him to bear or if he just couldn’t live without Jake, but he drowned himself in Crab Creek less than forty-eight hours afterward.
The adults, who had patted each other’s backs and tut-tutted at the unfairness of the world when Jake died, began to get uneasy. They hadn’t liked Brian either- he smoked and shoplifted, and they all considered him a bad influence on their children- but the fact remained that he was the second young person to die in the space of a few days.
When seventeen-year-old Laura Roberts drove her father’s Jeep into a tree, killing herself and her boyfriend in the passenger’s seat, there was practically a riot.
Reverend Miller claimed in his sermon that God was punishing us for our sins by destroying our youth, our future. I didn’t believe that, but I could tell by looking around the unusually crowded church that a lot of people did. Families were getting scared and leaving town. Joe O’Malley’s parents decided to move to New York and take him with them. Joe and I were close, and I was sad to see him go, but I could see his parents’ point of view. My own parents were close to leaving, too. The day before Joe left, he took his girlfriend Natasha aside and told her that he didn’t want to pursue a long-distance relationship and he thought it would be best if they broke up. They spent that night together for the last time, and when he woke up, he found her hanging from a rope in the closet.
I know that because Joe called me on his cell phone half an hour later. I couldn’t hear him very well. At first I thought it was because of all the noise in the background, but then I realized he was sobbing. He had to repeat himself a few times, but I eventually understood what had happened. Once he was satisfied that I had heard him, he said goodbye and hung up. Only then did I realize that the noise had been cars on the highway and that he was about to follow Natasha and the others. I leaped into my car and tore frantically toward the interstate, dialing Joe’s number over and over and getting no answer. On the fourth try, a mechanical voice told me that the number I was trying to reach was no longer in service, and I knew that I was too late. The phone and its owner had been smashed to bits.
I kept driving, searching, my hands gripping the wheel so tightly that circulation to my fingers was cut off. It didn’t take me long to find the five-car pileup, the first two cars splattered with bits of Joe. The police weren’t there yet, so there was no one to stop me from parking and kneeling in the middle of the asphalt, staring, burning the image into my brain. Human roadkill: parts of his body flattened to the ground, parts still formed and grotesquely lifelike.
I got back into my car and drove slowly away from the scene, lost in shock and the few thoughts I could coherently form. It wasn’t God’s punishment. I was fairly sure of that. I’d always believed in a kind and loving God, a God of the New Testament, not one that would do this to people. Perhaps it was a sign. Perhaps we were all to die.
I’ve been thinking about this for several days. No one else has died, but tension is in the air. It is only a matter of time.
It’s been two weeks since Jake died.
I’m sitting on my roof, contemplating a knife. It’s a kitchen knife, sharp and slim with a wooden handle. It would be easy, so easy, to stab myself in the chest. Six others have died in the past fourteen days. That can’t be an accident. Jake’s was an accident, and no one knows whether or not Laura intended to crash into the tree, but the rest meant to kill themselves. Everyone dies sometime- why not now, when so many have chosen to do the same? Why not discover if it truly is a calling, if we are the chosen ones and the ones who stay alive through the signs are doomed?
I take off my shirt and trace the tip of the blade lightly down the skin of my neck, over my collarbone, down my chest, and slightly to the left of the center, positioning it over my heart. So easy…
Then I hear Jake’s voice, asking me what the hell I think I’m doing.
I don’t know if he’s really speaking to me from beyond the grave, or if I’m only imagining what he might say in this situation, but it really doesn’t matter. I listen.
You’re smarter than this. I know you. Just because everyone else thinks Judgment Day is here because I fell off the landing doesn’t mean you have to. There’ll be plenty of time later to find out what happens when you die. Now quit being stupid, put the knife away and go live.
Just on the off chance that it’s not my imagination and I really am being given an order, I do as I’m told. I get off the roof, go inside, put the knife back in the block, leave a note for my parents, get in my car and leave. I don’t know where I’m going, but this town isn’t healthy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A year and a half later, I’m working my way through college in Pittsburgh. I’ve checked back with my parents a few times, and talked to a few other people back home. There haven’t been any more teenage suicides, although Brian’s alcoholic mother killed herself a few months ago. Reverend Miller says it was a warning to us all, but I think it was a combination of coincidence and chain of events. I don’t really care anymore why it happened, though. My friends are dead, and that’s all I need to know. I still think about them, and about how close I got to doing the same thing. The memory scares me, but I don’t block it out. I leave it in my mind as a reminder: a reminder of my own foolishness, of the power of group mentality, and of the overwhelming ease and complexity of death.
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It’s been two weeks since Jake died.
His family was having new oak banisters put in. They’d already taken out the old metal ones, but hadn’t installed the new ones yet, so when Jake tripped at the top of the stairs, he fell twenty feet headfirst over the edge of the landing. They called 911, but he was dead the second his neck snapped. There was nothing they could do.
I was heartbroken. It was like the world had suddenly switched to black and white, and I hadn’t realized the colors were there until they were taken away. I wasn’t the only one who felt like that, either. Everybody liked Jake. He was the type of person you could talk to and not worry about whether or not he was paying attention to you. That look in his eyes when he knew you needed an ear… it didn’t matter how long you’d known him or how well you knew him: when he looked at you like that, you knew without a doubt that he cared.
A lot of people needed that. Lots of kids didn’t have anyone else. When Jake died, the only person who would listen and never judge was gone. The atmosphere in our small town, at least among us teenagers, was solemn and despondent. Laughter was rare, and sounded odd and misplaced, like a spider’s meow.
Brian was hit the hardest, aside from Jake’s parents. Brian’s mom was an alcoholic, and he’d never met his dad, as far as I knew. I didn’t like Brian much. Not many people did. He was loud and always tried to be the center of attention, even when he had nothing to say. He and Jake hit it off, though, and Brian pretty much lived at Jake’s house. He was there when the accident happened; watched Jake fall and die from the next room; couldn’t move fast enough to save him. I don’t know if the guilt was too much for him to bear or if he just couldn’t live without Jake, but he drowned himself in Crab Creek less than forty-eight hours afterward.
The adults, who had patted each other’s backs and tut-tutted at the unfairness of the world when Jake died, began to get uneasy. They hadn’t liked Brian either- he smoked and shoplifted, and they all considered him a bad influence on their children- but the fact remained that he was the second young person to die in the space of a few days.
When seventeen-year-old Laura Roberts drove her father’s Jeep into a tree, killing herself and her boyfriend in the passenger’s seat, there was practically a riot.
Reverend Miller claimed in his sermon that God was punishing us for our sins by destroying our youth, our future. I didn’t believe that, but I could tell by looking around the unusually crowded church that a lot of people did. Families were getting scared and leaving town. Joe O’Malley’s parents decided to move to New York and take him with them. Joe and I were close, and I was sad to see him go, but I could see his parents’ point of view. My own parents were close to leaving, too. The day before Joe left, he took his girlfriend Natasha aside and told her that he didn’t want to pursue a long-distance relationship and he thought it would be best if they broke up. They spent that night together for the last time, and when he woke up, he found her hanging from a rope in the closet.
I know that because Joe called me on his cell phone half an hour later. I couldn’t hear him very well. At first I thought it was because of all the noise in the background, but then I realized he was sobbing. He had to repeat himself a few times, but I eventually understood what had happened. Once he was satisfied that I had heard him, he said goodbye and hung up. Only then did I realize that the noise had been cars on the highway and that he was about to follow Natasha and the others. I leaped into my car and tore frantically toward the interstate, dialing Joe’s number over and over and getting no answer. On the fourth try, a mechanical voice told me that the number I was trying to reach was no longer in service, and I knew that I was too late. The phone and its owner had been smashed to bits.
I kept driving, searching, my hands gripping the wheel so tightly that circulation to my fingers was cut off. It didn’t take me long to find the five-car pileup, the first two cars splattered with bits of Joe. The police weren’t there yet, so there was no one to stop me from parking and kneeling in the middle of the asphalt, staring, burning the image into my brain. Human roadkill: parts of his body flattened to the ground, parts still formed and grotesquely lifelike.
I got back into my car and drove slowly away from the scene, lost in shock and the few thoughts I could coherently form. It wasn’t God’s punishment. I was fairly sure of that. I’d always believed in a kind and loving God, a God of the New Testament, not one that would do this to people. Perhaps it was a sign. Perhaps we were all to die.
I’ve been thinking about this for several days. No one else has died, but tension is in the air. It is only a matter of time.
It’s been two weeks since Jake died.
I’m sitting on my roof, contemplating a knife. It’s a kitchen knife, sharp and slim with a wooden handle. It would be easy, so easy, to stab myself in the chest. Six others have died in the past fourteen days. That can’t be an accident. Jake’s was an accident, and no one knows whether or not Laura intended to crash into the tree, but the rest meant to kill themselves. Everyone dies sometime- why not now, when so many have chosen to do the same? Why not discover if it truly is a calling, if we are the chosen ones and the ones who stay alive through the signs are doomed?
I take off my shirt and trace the tip of the blade lightly down the skin of my neck, over my collarbone, down my chest, and slightly to the left of the center, positioning it over my heart. So easy…
Then I hear Jake’s voice, asking me what the hell I think I’m doing.
I don’t know if he’s really speaking to me from beyond the grave, or if I’m only imagining what he might say in this situation, but it really doesn’t matter. I listen.
You’re smarter than this. I know you. Just because everyone else thinks Judgment Day is here because I fell off the landing doesn’t mean you have to. There’ll be plenty of time later to find out what happens when you die. Now quit being stupid, put the knife away and go live.
Just on the off chance that it’s not my imagination and I really am being given an order, I do as I’m told. I get off the roof, go inside, put the knife back in the block, leave a note for my parents, get in my car and leave. I don’t know where I’m going, but this town isn’t healthy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A year and a half later, I’m working my way through college in Pittsburgh. I’ve checked back with my parents a few times, and talked to a few other people back home. There haven’t been any more teenage suicides, although Brian’s alcoholic mother killed herself a few months ago. Reverend Miller says it was a warning to us all, but I think it was a combination of coincidence and chain of events. I don’t really care anymore why it happened, though. My friends are dead, and that’s all I need to know. I still think about them, and about how close I got to doing the same thing. The memory scares me, but I don’t block it out. I leave it in my mind as a reminder: a reminder of my own foolishness, of the power of group mentality, and of the overwhelming ease and complexity of death.
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no subject
Date: 2005-09-12 10:16 pm (UTC)of course now is the time mother picks to yell at me.
getting into the minds of the characters, and seeing what it was that posessed each individual to do go off themselves would be interesting, but it definitely does not belong in this section.
the one suggestion that i can really think of is that once in a while the narration seems rather...spacey, is sadly the best word i can use for it. it feels like with the events, perhaps a closer feeling, rather than distant tone, would be better...but its stylistic.
wonderful as always dear, and i enjoy it every time.
love you
no subject
Date: 2005-09-13 10:48 am (UTC)Yeah, and one of the complaints Scott had about this was that it didn't go into the narrator's reactions and coping mechanisms at the end. I may rewrite it as a longer, more in-depth thing, but frankly, I suck at in-depth things, so I may not.
the one suggestion that i can really think of is that once in a while the narration seems rather...spacey, is sadly the best word i can use for it. it feels like with the events, perhaps a closer feeling, rather than distant tone, would be better...but its stylistic.
It's hard to do that without specifying name or gender of the narrator, which I made a point of doing. But yeah, this could be approached from a lot of different directions.
wonderful as always dear, and i enjoy it every time.
<33333
no subject
Date: 2005-09-13 08:06 am (UTC)your not a goth, and stay that way.
no subject
Date: 2005-09-13 10:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-14 07:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-14 09:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-09-13 08:06 am (UTC)you should call this something like "the happy pony party"
no subject
Date: 2005-09-13 10:35 am (UTC)