#1
So a couple of years ago I used to write "short stories" when I was effed up on pills and alcohol, and they're full of grammatical/tense errors that I don't care to correct, but I decided I'm going to post them for the hell of it. Leave links and I'll repay crits when I can.


last night a homeless man walked up to me and showed me his sign, i couldn't really tell if it said anything or had any lines written on it, but i went along with it anyways. "here." i said as i handed him everything that was in my pockets. "these won't help." he said.
"they help me, they help me, they help me, they help me, they help me, they help me." i says, "so take them." and he did. he's still sleeping in an alleyway and he still has nothing.

...

the man wakes and notices his body is numb; "why the hell did you give me those?" he asks. "anything helps." i says, "would you have preferred money?"

"yeah." he replies. "well get a goddamn job then" i says, and i walked away. i could hear him saying something about something but i had more important things on my mind at the time. on the way home i passed a wishing well, but i had given my dreams to somebody who has no aspirations at all. "he was a mess.", i said, as if i were any better.

i'm not any better, i'm not any better, i'm not any better, i'm not getting better.

...

on occassion i still see that man standing or sitting or laying on some street corner; he always has the same sign. his eyes are always focused on the ground, as if something would spring up in front of him and make everything better, but you only get what you put in, and until you're dead and buried you won't get anything, well maybe some credit or something. something that's not important to anybody or anything, but it helps a little bit.
"you're late." i says.
"excuse me?" he asked.
"you're not deaf, goddamn it, just listen a bit." i says.
"who are you and why aren't you ever leaving me alone?" he yells.
"why do all of my lines blur together? why am i slurring everything? i'm not sober. i'm not sober. i'm not sober. i'm not sober. i'm never going to be sober."
i don't even try and clean up. i don't even try. i don't even.
why should i?

...

what the fuck? i'm awake again. that wasn't supposed to happen. i'm not thinking out loud am i? is anybody listening to me besides that lush? that goddamn homeless man?
"come with me." i says to him.
"where are we going?" he asks.
"you'll see.."

...
..
.

"where the fuck are we?" he demands.
"shut your goddamn mouth and just listen." i says.
"this whole novel doesn't have a happy ending; in fact, it doesn't have any kind of ending. the words just sort of ramble off the page and on to the desk, or maybe that's just our imagination."
" i don't understand what you're saying." he says.
"you will once you shut the hell up and listen.. here; i'll paint the picture for you. we're in an empty field. there are hundreds of bodies beneath us, they're trying to tell us something; just listen."

".."
"..."
"......."
...

"okay, you're finally listening now, right? good. i just wanted to tell everybody that i'm not o.."
an alarm clock goes off.
"what the fuck? i'm awake. that wasn't supposed to happen."

...

"okay, why the fuck did you bring me here?" he says, "i really don't like standing in the middle of graveyards."
"me either." i says.
"well then why the hell are we here?" he asks.
"you don't need to know, i just didn't want to be here alone." i says.
"oh."
"..."
"..."
"...do you hear that?" i ask.

"hear what?"

"..that."
...

"it sounds like a field of static." he says.
and it surrounds and consumes us all. it fluctuates but doesn't for any sort of image. maybe it's afraid, or maybe we're afraid. maybe we're just slurring words and imaginging that everything is picture perfect. maybe.

"don't you understand why we're here yet?" i ask.
"i thought you said i didn't need to know?" he replies.
"i say a lot of things, does anything i say ever make any sense?" i ask.
he laughs and laughs and forgets why we were there, but he finally understood. we head back to the city where the street lights are passing and we lay down in an alley, and the street signs are all creaking and we're still laughing. and we finally had good reason to forget everything, and that's exactly what we did.
we forgot our names, we forgot our faces, we forgot what it was like to be human for a couple of minutes. and when we finally stopped laughing, we remember why we were there in the first place.
"i don't hear it any more." he says.
"we're no longer in a field, the city songs and brilliant streetlights are overbearing and block out the sounds and sights of the outside." i says.
he just nods his head and falls back asleep.
and i start to wonder why i've been walking around backwards this entire time.
and i fall down.
and i fall asleep.
and i don't wake up to the morning rise or the nights defeat.
and that is the whole reason i took that man to that empty field.

...
and the alarm clock goes off again.
"what the fu--, oh, i forgot."
and i get up and go to work.

...

on my way to work i notice the man sitting up on his usual curb. i pulled up and rolled down my window.
"remember me?" i asks.
"no, who the fuck are you?" he demands.
"why the fuck do you swear so much? why don't you remember me? it couldn't have all been a dream." i says.
"listen, either give me money or keep on driving; i don't have to time to waste just sitting here talking with you." he says.
and i laugh a bit.
"but you're always here, every day, every night, you don't ever move. how can you say that you don't have any time to waste? that's all you're doing right now." i says.
"listen.. do you hear that?" he says as he points his right index finger up to the sky, "that's the sound of corporate america. that's the sound of everybody living life. that's the sound of everything."
"i don't understand." i say.
"you would if you were in my shoes." he replied.
i looked down and noticed that the man was barefoot; he caught me in the act.
"focus here." he says as he points his fingers to his eyes, "you've always lived in a nice, warm house, right? i want you to go home tonight and pick up a newspaper. i want you to go outside and lay down on a curb and use that newspaper as a blanket; just for five minutes." he says.
"i wouldn't learn anything from that." i reply.
"exactly. i didn't learn anything from that either, but i'm still reading and upon it and studying." he says.
then he turned his focus back towards the ground, knowing that nothing would ever spring up for him, and i rolled up my window and kept driving. eventually i made it to work, eventually i forgot everything that man had taught me, everything i forgot who i was.
that man spent every walking moment with a newspaper, but when he passes away.. no text will be dedicated to him.
no text will be dedicated to this. no text will be dedicated to this. no text. will be dedicated.

....

to this? to this? what the hell does this have to do with anything?
you don't need to know right now, just look to the ground or look to the sky, or look to anything other than the whites in your eyes. you could see it in my eyes.

"i think i'm going blind." i says to her.
"will you still love me even when you can't see me?" she asks.
"i'd love the very thought of you, but i wouldnt love you. there are things in the way, there are too many things in the way." i says.
"i don't understand." she replies.

"i didn't think you would."
and i walked away. the entire time i was staring at my feet. i wasn't wearing any shoes, she wasn't either; neither of us understood.
why do we walk around barefoot? is it the feeling we get with the earth crumbling inbetween our toes? or is it something else?
it's something else. i haven't even been sober enough to know where my shoes are.

i can be very disappointing. i can be very disappointing. i can be very disappointed. i am very disappointing.

that's just a fact of life. read inbetween the lines. read the hidden text.
it's not something you're going to be able to see, but you'll feel it,
and when you feel it, you'll know what i'm talking about.

it's not the best feeling in the world, but it's damn close.

they help me. they help me. they help me. they help me. they help. they help. they help. they help. help. help. help. help. help. help. help. help. help. help. help.
me.

....

a plea? please. i don't care that much about it; i can handle things by myself. i think.
"you're still here?" i hear the man say.
"where the hell did you come from?" i says.
"oh, you know, i don't often leave my alley unless i need to." he replies.
"oh." i say as i start to walk away.
"where the hell do you think you're going, boy?" he asks.
"i don't know", i says, "maybe somewhere better than here. maybe somewhere worse."
#2
"boy, let me tell you a story 'bout when i was young." he demanded as he grabbed me by the shoulder and sat me down on the snow-covered ground. and he started to ramble on and one about some tired, old song that his mother used to sing to him before he'd fall asleep, but i didn't care enough to listen.

my eyes were more focused on the scenery. the trees and their wintercoat. the lack of life anywhere. it was a pleasant scene. the man was still rambling on about how he was a lush as a teenager and how some things just can't be changed.. but i still wasn't really listening, so i guess he had one part right at least.

"boy, you listening? pay attention, goddamn it." he demands.
"oh, i've been following along the entire time." i says back to him.

he smirked a bit because he could easily tell that i was lying to him, but that didn't stop him from continuing to talk.

he started a story about the love of his life and how she had drowned or something. i don't know if he was simply saying that she drowned her sorrows in random bottles or if he meant it in a literal sense. i don't know, i still didn't care all too much.

this is a long, long story.

i think he was finally finishing his story because he started to talk about how he had found his alley that he calls his home, so i just went along with a few simple good nods and let him continue.

"now, imagine this boy, you're sitting outside with an empty bottle in your hand when somebody comes along and kicks you in the side and tells you to get a life. can you imagine how that feels?" he asks.

i think to myself for awhile before replying.
"no."

he just shook his head and i could tell what he meant, but goddamn, this story was getting too long so i just told him to shut the hell up and he glared at me.

"sorry", i says to him, "i've just got places to go."

i could tell he wasn't buying it. that was the whole point to his story; he knew that i didn't have anywhere else to be, but luckily he just smiled and nodded his head.

sol i got up and i started to walk. and walk. and walk. and i sat down once and all the while i had thought to myself.

"why does life has to have such a distance about it?"
i didn't know, but i just kept walking. and walking. and walking.

...

..and after awhile i finally got to where i was going, and i remember thinking to myself, "goddamn it everybody, stop coming to me. i have my own goddamn problems and i can't even deal with them. how the hell could i even help you?" and i had ten problems in my left pocket at the time.

but soon enough i'd get rid of them all. that's what this whole story is about. are you listening? can you hear it in the static? can't you see any imagine appearing yet?

god, enough with the questions.

and when i looked down i was standing in the goddamn field. the fucking graveyard that i took that fucking homeless lush to. a fucking worthless place where everybody was fucking dead.

am i still slurring? no? not yet, anyway; i need to bite my tongue and get drunk off the blood. i should just cut my damn forsaken tongue out. that way i wouldn't be here to help anybody with anything and i could just worry about me.

that's what this is all about; we're all pretentious, and we're all superficial, and none of us can see that. except for me. and i'm not even the same person because of it. this is all just some lame persona i created for the sake of escape.

just stop questioning it. are you listening? i've told you a hundred times already, you just haven't been listening, that's it.

yeah, that's all this is.
there's still a conclusion to come. there's still something to be scribbled off the page and on to the desk. something that you can only read if you're in the exact same place as me.

but i hope that you're not in the same place as me. the other characters are all imaginary. this is all fake. this is all artifical. this is all delusional. this is all that i am.

"remember what i told you, son?" the lush says to me.
"who the hell are you?" i ask.

and he just smiles and falls back asleep on the ground. or in the ground. or in the text. or on the desk.
he's somewhere in here, just read inbetween the lines.
he's trying to clean up, just give him some time.
some. time. some. time. some. time.

...

sometimes we forget who we really are, or we remember but we make something up to replace who we were. or sometimes we've never really known, we'd just go along with everything and act like we knew.
this is how you define character. this is where the conclusion rests. this is where everything leading up to this starts to make sense. or maybe none of this does.

"i still love you." i says to her.
"i still respect you." i says to him.

they're both on the floor, passed out or dead, or they're just being realistic. that's what life is all about.
the fields of static have always been empty. the ground has always been completely occupied. that's why we're all here, there's nowhere else for us to go.

we'll always be walking and walking and thinking about everything but we'll never make sense of any of it until the very end. "light at the end of the tunnel" is just a saying, we just have to make light of this all, don't you understand yet?

that's what this is all about. somethings you just have to learn for yourself. and when you're self-taught, everything seems more satisfying. or more depressing. or anything that could describe this very feeling.

now, i know what you're thinking, you think i'm slurring. you're not making sense of anything. well that's not my fault. i've tried explaining using random characters and random names and random fields of nothing. i've tried all of that.

there are no spaces between anything, everything in life will just flow together. there's no time to stop and think. there's no time for anything. that's what this is all about.

do you understand now?
good.

cue the curtains, friends; applaud, applaud, the comedy is finished, but there was no comedy hidden within this.

pt. i - over. eleven more parts to come.
Last edited by Final at Sep 10, 2009,
#3
Are you on crack? that is way to long to read

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#7
Took me three nights to read through it, before going to bed. It's not that I didn't want to finish it on each occasion, I just wanted to keep more for the upcoming night.

so that gives you an idea.
#8
I read the first part earlier and having gotten into the habit of stopping at the end of posts because I don't want to know what anyone else has to say before I say my peace, I didn't know it continued until just now. And I like it. I enjoy the confusion I'm in at every paragraph break, wondering what reality I'll be in next, and who might be listening, and I like thinking that I can ask people to listen, regardless of their answer, which I will perpetually assume to be 'no' anyway.

So the homeless lush is both character and audience, and I like the concept of him, though I'm not sure we'd get along in this reality or my dreams. I'm often not the main character in my dreams, but I tend to know a lot less than I do here. 'I' is everyone, especially you.

I don't think 'dismal quality' is an appropriate phrase for this, but I enjoy that which makes it dismal. Swearing in cemeteries always makes me feel better. I like taking naps next to my best friend's grave, in the middle of the day, and this reminds me of that.

Talk to the reader just enough to make him question himself - as he should, because otherwise he's just sitting there, waiting for something to hit him or her like a cannonball, and it so rarely does, so it's good to keep us on our toes. Like kids being born. I want the understanding to be real, to be truthful, but it rarely is. But I can't let them know that, because then I'd keep walking, like you. But now I'm not sure I don't want that.
#9
Thank you guys, if you have anything you want me to read/crit, leave a link, I'll browse through a few pages on here looking for stuff from all of you. I've always been proud of these "short stories" I wrote because they're the most honest things I've really ever put on paper, they all explain how I feel about things in life, so I'll definitely have to type up the other eleven or so parts just for the hell of it, granted they're all riddled with so many grammatical errors.. haha. I really appreciate that you guys took the time to read through this mess of words.
#10
I love this.

I just realized that it's almost 2 AM here.

...I'm still up doing HW, hehe.

There were some parts that threw me off. I thought that some bits like the "boy, let me tell you an old story" were really cliche, but at the same time, it all fit with the character of the piece.

Something you have to know about me is that I never read prose. I read this twice.

I would crit some more and be more specific but my head is KILLING me. Maybe I'll drop back by this in another couple hours.

I've got a piece in my sig. Don't feel obligated to critique it though; I was pretty much useless here. Not to mention, it's already gotten what I wanted it to get.

#11
Thanks. It's my friends birthday today so I'll be hitting up some bars with him and I'll probably be too drunk to return crits tonight, but I'm going to attempt to re-pay some when I get home, if not, I'll be doing them tomorrow. Thanks again all.
#13
Haha, thank you, I used to post pretty damn often but haven't had anything to post in a long, long time. Either way, I want to apologize, I'm pretty sure I'm too drunk to actually return any crits and give any "advice" I can, but I really appreciate all the words you have all posted. I'll definitely re-pay everything I can tomorrow, oh, and, I typed up the second part to this lame story, haha, so I'll probably post it tomorrow, unless I can find the time to type up the third part. Thanks a bunch again, all, I really owe a bunch of crits right now, haha.