Post by goten0040 on Sept 8, 2008 15:39:38 GMT -5
So yeah... I have an English paper due soon - and I need to get some major critiques to fix some things. So I'm going to post it here and hope you guys can help. Be harsh if you have to. I can take it.
---
A young man gazed around a dark room, his head against the wall; his feet sprawled out before him. He couldn’t have been any older than thirty. He looked; however, as if age itself had weighed down upon him, leaving him crippled and unable to move from the corner he sat in. Next to him sat a child with a mop of black hair on top of his head and the bluest eyes one could ever see. He sat rather nonchalantly next to the man, smiling every once in awhile, though he truly didn’t have very much to smile about.
“Hey, Bruce,” the child said. “You’re really quiet today.”
Bruce sighed in reply. “Yes… yes, I know.”
“Why?” The child looked up at him with bright, unknowing eyes. “You usually talk a lot.”
“Things are getting to me, Jack. I don’t know how much more I can take.”
Two months ago, Bruce’s expecting wife had died in a car accident. He had spoken about this to Jack, but the child either didn’t understand the severity of the statement or was just too young to let it affect him much.
“Hang in there, Bruce,” the child said. It seemed like empty advice.
“Enough about me,” the man said after a long pause. “How are things for you at home?”
“I don’t know,” Jack said softly, his tone finally changing. “They’re not much better. Mom’s gone now. Dad says she went to an awful place. I don’t know where though.”
Bruce failed to mention the large cigar burn on the child’s arm, but he did take notice of it. The child acted as it never even existed. Of course, with the many bruises, cuts, and scrapes, the child may have very well gone numb. Jack pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. His eyes glazed over for a moment, almost as if he was waiting for a better thought to come to him.
“What will you do?” Bruce asked, feeling his heart hammer against his ribs for some reason.
“Endure, I guess.” Bruce had never met a child of six that knew the word endure. Jack was ridiculously smart. Bruce couldn’t remember how smart he was at six.
“My sister and I went to the zoo today,” Jack said. “We saw some really cool animals.”
“Oh, did you?” Bruce indulged him. He found it odd that the child could mention something so horrible then go on talking about the zoo.
Jack nodded, taking no notice of Bruce’s odd reaction. Bruce always found children rather disturbing in that notion. Innocence was almost a sort of ignorance in his eyes. He knew that Jack’s innocence had been tarnished somewhat, but he often wondered how the child would react in future situations. He certainly wouldn’t talk about the zoo.
“How’s your father?” Bruce asked, almost a bit bitterly.
He felt terrible. He had to get the kid to talk about his hell at home in order to feel better about his own life. Still, he forced the question on the child.
“He’s not very happy.” Jack unintentionally grazed his fingers across a particularly bad burn on his face, close to his ear.
“Is he still hurting you, Jack?” Bruce couldn’t understand why his brain forced him to ask these horrid things to the young boy.
“Yes,” he said. “He is, but it’s because he’s sad. It’s okay. Mom’s gone. He just wants her back.”
“You… you can’t validate that!” Bruce exclaimed suddenly, his voice gruff. “You can’t. He’s hurting you because he wants to. He wants to make you unhappy!”
Jack looked to Bruce with wide, sapphire eyes. “But… he loves me.”
“No, Jack. No, he doesn’t.” Bruce crossed his arms and glowered at the opposite wall. He felt dirty and nauseous.
Jack stared at the floor, almost perfectly submissive. Bruce ran a hand through his midnight hair, closing his eyes slowly.
“I’m sorry, Jack.”
“It’s okay,” he said rather sweetly. “You don’t mean it either.”
“I’ve been where you’re at, Jack. I know how much it hurts to know your father doesn’t love you. I want you to realize that so you can move past it.”
Jack looked to Bruce with a questioning look, and for the first time, he appeared fearful. “Did you move past it?”
Bruce swallowed thickly. He couldn’t answer the question. He knew he hadn’t. His hand crept to his pocket, clasping around a bottle of Vicodin that he’d stolen weeks ago. He rattled the pills in his pocket worriedly.
“Did you?”
Suddenly, a knock on the door rang throughout the apartment. Jack didn’t noticed, but it made Bruce very aware of how much color the room had lost. When his wife had been there, it had been so golden and beautiful. Now, it seemed as if it seemed completely desaturated.
“Bruce? Bruce, open up!” came the muffled sound of his sister’s voice.
Bruce’s eyes burned. He looked to Jack. “Don’t let her in.”
“Let who in?” Jack questioned. Bruce shook his head. It didn’t matter.
“Bruce, please!” his sister, Laramy, begged. “You shouldn’t be left alone right now!”
“Laramy’s trying to get in,” Bruce said.
“Who’s that?”
“She’s my sister,” Bruce said, pulling the Vicodin bottle out of his pocket. It contained twenty pills.
“Did she ever take you to the zoo?”
“Once,” he replied, “After Mom killed herself.”
“Your mother killed herself?”
“She liked her drugs more than she liked being alive.”
“She took drugs?”
“Yes, Jack. She took pills just like these.” He indicated the bottle in his hand.
“Why do you have them?”
“I don’t know. I’m starting to understand why she took them. She hated being alive. She hated everyone around her. She hated me; she hated Laramy; she hated Dad. It’s not surprising why she did what she did.”
“Bruce, let me in!” Laramy cried through the door. “Don’t let this end you, Bruce! You can rise above it!”
Jack swayed his feet slightly, smiling to himself a bit. “Do you really want to let her death be yours too?”
Bruce gazed at the wall with glassy, tearful eyes. “I don’t know what else to do.”
Suddenly, a different voice emanated from Jack. “Do you want these bad things in your life to define you, Bruce?”
He turned to Jack, recognizing the voice.
“Why do you sound like that, Jack?” he stammered.
The child looked to Bruce, suddenly baring the wisdom of a man three times his age. His eyes lacked the sparkle they had just moments before; his face seemed to age before Bruce’s eyes.
“Don’t you understand, Bruce?” Jack’s voice grew deeper as he stood and walked across the room, his face hidden from view.
“Bruce, let me in! Oh, God, Bruce, please…” Laramy’s voice began to strain. Bruce knew she was crying. She probably thought he’d already done himself in.
His eyes moved the bottle of Vicodin.
“You know you can hear her, Bruce,” Jack said.
Suddenly, Bruce realized where he had heard Jack’s voice before. It was his voice. He broke down, the bottle rolling across the floor.
“I don’t know what to do,” he sobbed. “I can’t take it!
He looked up for a sign – anything from the child that had accompanied him the past few weeks. He realized then, that he didn’t know where Jack had come from, or why he was there. Jack had just appeared one day. He’d been sitting at the kitchen table and the child had started to talk to him.
“Jack,” he whispered. “Do you go by your middle name?”
“Yes,” he replied softly, almost childlike again.
“What’s your full name, Jack?” Bruce swallowed again, his face feeling hot and sticky with tears.
He turned to Bruce. “Bruce Jackson Miller is my full name.”
Bruce looked up. Jack was gone. Laramy continued to pound on the door, but seemed to be giving up. Bruce looked at the pill bottle against the far wall, the orange standing out against the gray world he’d come to experience. He stood up.
“Do you want these bad things in your life to define you, Bruce?” he murmured to himself.
Jack’s question rang through Bruce’s ears. Bruce wiped the tears from his cheek with the palm of his hand.
“No, Jack,” he stated, a new found strength in his voice. “I don’t. I won’t let these horrible things define me.”
He moved to the door, his feet feeling oddly lighter. He slowly undid the locks and opened the door. Laramy looked up at him from the floor, eyes wide and sorrowful.
“Bruce…” she gasped.
He looked down at her with a look of love, sniffing a bit.
“Laramy, can we go to the zoo?”
---
A young man gazed around a dark room, his head against the wall; his feet sprawled out before him. He couldn’t have been any older than thirty. He looked; however, as if age itself had weighed down upon him, leaving him crippled and unable to move from the corner he sat in. Next to him sat a child with a mop of black hair on top of his head and the bluest eyes one could ever see. He sat rather nonchalantly next to the man, smiling every once in awhile, though he truly didn’t have very much to smile about.
“Hey, Bruce,” the child said. “You’re really quiet today.”
Bruce sighed in reply. “Yes… yes, I know.”
“Why?” The child looked up at him with bright, unknowing eyes. “You usually talk a lot.”
“Things are getting to me, Jack. I don’t know how much more I can take.”
Two months ago, Bruce’s expecting wife had died in a car accident. He had spoken about this to Jack, but the child either didn’t understand the severity of the statement or was just too young to let it affect him much.
“Hang in there, Bruce,” the child said. It seemed like empty advice.
“Enough about me,” the man said after a long pause. “How are things for you at home?”
“I don’t know,” Jack said softly, his tone finally changing. “They’re not much better. Mom’s gone now. Dad says she went to an awful place. I don’t know where though.”
Bruce failed to mention the large cigar burn on the child’s arm, but he did take notice of it. The child acted as it never even existed. Of course, with the many bruises, cuts, and scrapes, the child may have very well gone numb. Jack pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. His eyes glazed over for a moment, almost as if he was waiting for a better thought to come to him.
“What will you do?” Bruce asked, feeling his heart hammer against his ribs for some reason.
“Endure, I guess.” Bruce had never met a child of six that knew the word endure. Jack was ridiculously smart. Bruce couldn’t remember how smart he was at six.
“My sister and I went to the zoo today,” Jack said. “We saw some really cool animals.”
“Oh, did you?” Bruce indulged him. He found it odd that the child could mention something so horrible then go on talking about the zoo.
Jack nodded, taking no notice of Bruce’s odd reaction. Bruce always found children rather disturbing in that notion. Innocence was almost a sort of ignorance in his eyes. He knew that Jack’s innocence had been tarnished somewhat, but he often wondered how the child would react in future situations. He certainly wouldn’t talk about the zoo.
“How’s your father?” Bruce asked, almost a bit bitterly.
He felt terrible. He had to get the kid to talk about his hell at home in order to feel better about his own life. Still, he forced the question on the child.
“He’s not very happy.” Jack unintentionally grazed his fingers across a particularly bad burn on his face, close to his ear.
“Is he still hurting you, Jack?” Bruce couldn’t understand why his brain forced him to ask these horrid things to the young boy.
“Yes,” he said. “He is, but it’s because he’s sad. It’s okay. Mom’s gone. He just wants her back.”
“You… you can’t validate that!” Bruce exclaimed suddenly, his voice gruff. “You can’t. He’s hurting you because he wants to. He wants to make you unhappy!”
Jack looked to Bruce with wide, sapphire eyes. “But… he loves me.”
“No, Jack. No, he doesn’t.” Bruce crossed his arms and glowered at the opposite wall. He felt dirty and nauseous.
Jack stared at the floor, almost perfectly submissive. Bruce ran a hand through his midnight hair, closing his eyes slowly.
“I’m sorry, Jack.”
“It’s okay,” he said rather sweetly. “You don’t mean it either.”
“I’ve been where you’re at, Jack. I know how much it hurts to know your father doesn’t love you. I want you to realize that so you can move past it.”
Jack looked to Bruce with a questioning look, and for the first time, he appeared fearful. “Did you move past it?”
Bruce swallowed thickly. He couldn’t answer the question. He knew he hadn’t. His hand crept to his pocket, clasping around a bottle of Vicodin that he’d stolen weeks ago. He rattled the pills in his pocket worriedly.
“Did you?”
Suddenly, a knock on the door rang throughout the apartment. Jack didn’t noticed, but it made Bruce very aware of how much color the room had lost. When his wife had been there, it had been so golden and beautiful. Now, it seemed as if it seemed completely desaturated.
“Bruce? Bruce, open up!” came the muffled sound of his sister’s voice.
Bruce’s eyes burned. He looked to Jack. “Don’t let her in.”
“Let who in?” Jack questioned. Bruce shook his head. It didn’t matter.
“Bruce, please!” his sister, Laramy, begged. “You shouldn’t be left alone right now!”
“Laramy’s trying to get in,” Bruce said.
“Who’s that?”
“She’s my sister,” Bruce said, pulling the Vicodin bottle out of his pocket. It contained twenty pills.
“Did she ever take you to the zoo?”
“Once,” he replied, “After Mom killed herself.”
“Your mother killed herself?”
“She liked her drugs more than she liked being alive.”
“She took drugs?”
“Yes, Jack. She took pills just like these.” He indicated the bottle in his hand.
“Why do you have them?”
“I don’t know. I’m starting to understand why she took them. She hated being alive. She hated everyone around her. She hated me; she hated Laramy; she hated Dad. It’s not surprising why she did what she did.”
“Bruce, let me in!” Laramy cried through the door. “Don’t let this end you, Bruce! You can rise above it!”
Jack swayed his feet slightly, smiling to himself a bit. “Do you really want to let her death be yours too?”
Bruce gazed at the wall with glassy, tearful eyes. “I don’t know what else to do.”
Suddenly, a different voice emanated from Jack. “Do you want these bad things in your life to define you, Bruce?”
He turned to Jack, recognizing the voice.
“Why do you sound like that, Jack?” he stammered.
The child looked to Bruce, suddenly baring the wisdom of a man three times his age. His eyes lacked the sparkle they had just moments before; his face seemed to age before Bruce’s eyes.
“Don’t you understand, Bruce?” Jack’s voice grew deeper as he stood and walked across the room, his face hidden from view.
“Bruce, let me in! Oh, God, Bruce, please…” Laramy’s voice began to strain. Bruce knew she was crying. She probably thought he’d already done himself in.
His eyes moved the bottle of Vicodin.
“You know you can hear her, Bruce,” Jack said.
Suddenly, Bruce realized where he had heard Jack’s voice before. It was his voice. He broke down, the bottle rolling across the floor.
“I don’t know what to do,” he sobbed. “I can’t take it!
He looked up for a sign – anything from the child that had accompanied him the past few weeks. He realized then, that he didn’t know where Jack had come from, or why he was there. Jack had just appeared one day. He’d been sitting at the kitchen table and the child had started to talk to him.
“Jack,” he whispered. “Do you go by your middle name?”
“Yes,” he replied softly, almost childlike again.
“What’s your full name, Jack?” Bruce swallowed again, his face feeling hot and sticky with tears.
He turned to Bruce. “Bruce Jackson Miller is my full name.”
Bruce looked up. Jack was gone. Laramy continued to pound on the door, but seemed to be giving up. Bruce looked at the pill bottle against the far wall, the orange standing out against the gray world he’d come to experience. He stood up.
“Do you want these bad things in your life to define you, Bruce?” he murmured to himself.
Jack’s question rang through Bruce’s ears. Bruce wiped the tears from his cheek with the palm of his hand.
“No, Jack,” he stated, a new found strength in his voice. “I don’t. I won’t let these horrible things define me.”
He moved to the door, his feet feeling oddly lighter. He slowly undid the locks and opened the door. Laramy looked up at him from the floor, eyes wide and sorrowful.
“Bruce…” she gasped.
He looked down at her with a look of love, sniffing a bit.
“Laramy, can we go to the zoo?”
