A curious omission: Part 7 (Conclusion)
September 22, 2008
(CONTINUED FROM PART 1 and PART 2, PART 3 , Part 4 , Part 5 Part 6)
There are no defining moments; no happy endings, only skilful cuts and fades from instants of our choosing. We are all worse than our best intentions and better than our failings allowed us to be…or could have been. The least, and only, legacy most manage is a partial impression…that lingers.
Tom lied the way birds sang: lilting and possessive. He announced, and made it true through tone and repetition.
“Easy, Chief…it’s this bitch’s fault you’re rotting away the afternoon. Are you going let that slide” Tom said. Clearly unwilling to let it slide.
I rowed the question through my brackish thoughts; the harm was clear, but there was no wound. I knew I was gone, for the most part, so what did it matter? There wasn’t enough left to attach blame.
“I’m done” I said.
The stop motion slowed to a flipbook pace, shifting static pictures I could hardly make sense of. I thought I had found my end. Then Tom continued.
“You’re not done, chief…we’ve barely got you started, and there is a long night ahead of us” Tom said.
Again that air of secret knowledge, and command. How had he never paid our bills on time? It was galling. I’d always had poor taste in roommates and women. The thought of either stirred something in my gut.
“I have to go” said the girl from The Gap.
She moved away from Tom. Away from me. Her warmth evaporated immediately. Tom loomed in the periphery of my one good eye; his grin failing, hardening into a hostile smirk.
” Sit down.” Tom said, reaching into the darkness and retrieving the girl, depositing her hard beside me.
“Relax”.
Her voice, moth soft and fluttering, shook the fade around me. Had I known her?
“What going on?” she asked. Panicked.
Tom moved easy through the frozen scene, stealing frames; he seemed the only real thing. A blade appeared in his hand.
“Nice girls stay for dinner” said Tom.
His hideous leer reappeared, grimmer and less congratulatory. The girl’s heat drew at some empty part of me; sharpened the absence. I felt lessened by the moment and sure of awful things to come. The girl plead: with her eyes, and words, and outstretched hands.
Tom was unmoved.
“How did you think this was going to go? You’d just show up, make your apologies, and be done with it? You didn’t ding a car, darling…it’ll take more than your smile to make this right.”
Tom took her throat in one big hand, his weight pushing the couch off its castors. The hardwood squealed in protest. Those floors were new, damn it! I felt her heat against me, and his. The wicked urge peaked and suggested something vile. I had my own few thoughts.
I tore off a watch with my first grab; the links bursting like a candy bracelet. I secured Tom’s wrist with my second; his free hand pounded my face with ashtrays and insults. Can hands talk? My numb grip purpled him above the wrist (silent now) and held him fixed beside me. The girl retreated to the door, smiled thanks, and parted a stranger to us both.
It took days for Tom to pass; his death more painful than my own. He warred against his captured arm, breaking and tearing it, blinding me further, until I gathered the second. He begged with words I couldn’t understand; slept and woke against me; wept away his water: desiccation marched his breath dry and cells to collapse. Though I’m sure he wouldn’t agree: the heat was comforting.
Even after he cooled I smiled for his company. A corpse, unlike a person, always belongs. Somehow that mattered.
***
THE END
September 22, 2008 at 10:03 pm
Tom had it coming.
September 22, 2008 at 10:57 pm
“Her voice, moth soft and fluttering, shook the fade around me. Had I known her?”
I found this oddly romantic. There were some symmetry problems from one episode to another, but there are some very good bits in here. Keep at it.
September 29, 2008 at 11:07 pm
I just keep thinking about how it is a strangely waning AND waxing morality caused by being dead which allows our hero to be able to kill and kill cruelly…
From pt6: “A thoughtless urge built in my chest; a crawling, ancient, thing.” From pt7 “The wicked urge peaked and suggested something vile.”
This man might have known this ancient urge before, he might have been capable of killing before but it is being dead which seems like it permits the slow, cruel sapping of Tom’s life… It is a balanced, litarary death – suitably vengeful given Tom’s character flaws (ahem) but it really is that someone must be themselves dead to see it through that way that I’m groovin’ on…
The editor in me wants to slave drive you through funky honing rewrites to make it all even better than it already is (smile) but the rest of me just wants to say thank you – some truly beautiful, evocative language and very compelling storytelling my friend…
September 29, 2008 at 11:18 pm
Thank you, Sulya…and Funky honing rewrites are in the works. Sequential stuff I put up on the site always suffers from inconsistent tone and pacing. Often story goes in a stylistic direction I didn’t expect, but since the early parts are posted I can’t rewrite quite as freely as would were it safe on my hard drive. The end result being the later parts often feel a bit mismatched with the early ones.
I usually rewrite it as a whole piece, and occasionaly submit it as such (as is my plan with this one once I put it through the wringer).
And any editorial suggestions are always appreciated: I’m still at a very early point in the writing curve, so I have no illusions about how polished my skill is.
October 4, 2008 at 1:43 am
The point you occupy on the writing curve is not nearly so nascent as you presume. However. I appreciate the desire to polish. I actually love editing. I get a little too enamoured of it actually, as it often stops me from letting go of things. As to editorial suggestion – I am always happy if I can find someone who doesn’t scream, yell or fling epithets when I raise my voice/hand/pinky finger with a thought or question or idea about their work – so thank you for letting me participate. Again, it’s my pleasure.