Living The Life

For my Intro to Professional Writing class this semester, I'll be frequenting this blog once a week! So get used to seeing me around more often.

 The next Tobias Wolff story is called "Next Door." It's only five pages, and he does a phenomenal job of enticing you in during such a short amount of time.

The story opens with a couple, who've been awakened in the middle of the night because their neighbors are fighting. The neighboring couple is screaming at each other, and all the lights in the house are on. The baby cries, and the dog barks, and the man strikes his wife. We never learn any names. 

The couple witnessing all of this is used to it. It happens often. 

The wife asks what’s on TV, and the husband reminisces about how he brought the TV into their bedroom in the first place because his wife used to be sick.

“It sits between our beds on a little table I built,” he explains.

With the imagery of separate beds and a past illness, this appears to be a couple of seniors.

The husband refers to sexuality with geographical terms. When his wife comes to visit him in his bed, “old Florida begins to stiffen up on me,” he thinks. “I put my arms around my wife. I move my up onto the Rockies, then on down across the plains, heading south.”

“Hey,” the wife says. “No geography. Not tonight.” Clearly, she knows what his narrative sounds like in his head.

They watch a movie called “El Dorado” about explorers looking for the city of gold. 

The husband returns to thinking about the couple next door. 
“I think about the life they have, and how it goes on and on, until it seems like the life they were meant to live. Everybody always says how great it is that human beings are so adaptable, but I don’t know.”

I think that thought about a life seeming like the life we were meant to have is the thesis of the story.

It’s an odd little moment of the lives of two couples, but the way it’s told is so enchanting. So much is left out that your imagination wonders. Wonders if you’re living a life or the life.

The Quiet Race

I was driving home from a friend's tonight, and I started thinking...

What if we lived in a world where communication was limited to only three basic messages? There were no stories, movies, songs, books, conversations, sentences, or even words. Only three feelings.

1. On - This symbolizes everyday life. No one pays any mind to this message because this is what we have come to expect from each other. Compared to modern day conversations, this would be the obligatory "How are you?" "Oh, I'm good" exchange. The initiator doesn't care about the answer and the responder doesn't really tell the truth.

2. High beams - This would fill in for anything out of the ordinary: excitement, anger, grief, joy, happiness, fear, surprise, anticipation, shame, love, envy, or confusion. But the catch is, no one knows which emotion. He or she knows only that it means something more than apathy.

3. And finally, off. - This is the dangerous one because it means this person has nothing to say, feels nothing. The message can change back to on, if done quickly. But if not, with no purpose, the message stays off. Death.

**In case you haven't figured it out yet, this is a metaphor for driving a car a night and the brightness of headlights.**

It all began because a woman took a drive one night to clear her head. She realized that without the constant jabbering of the world's media - TVs, radios, advertisements - and people - her husband, her kids, her mother, her best friend: she could finally think. With all of that deep thinking, came a deep understanding of herself and what she truly wanted. She discovered that while those noisy people and things sometimes brought her pleasure, a greater portion of the time they provided only distress.

Without them, she could think freely. She could pray. She could imagine. She could dream. She could do many other things that society has been suppressing for years. And she liked it.

But a world without people or emotions would be a sad and lonely one. So she resolved not to be alone, but, instead, to have quiet.

Upon returning home, she removed a headlight from her car and affixed it to a strap around her shoulders like a shoulder-bag. She wrote a note to her family explaining her new endeavor and asking them to try it, too. She explained the lights with the three categories, and began her new life - dedicated to the peacefulness of the human mind.

Of course, her family thought she was crazy. Who wouldn't? I do. You know, you do too. But there is also a small part of me that would love for society's noise to just leave me alone. So that I could pray, imagine, and dream.

And when her family tried the new calm system of communication, they found that they, too, liked it. One woman's plea for quiet in a world brimming with noise, became the cry of an entire generation. And person by person, family by family, city by city, and country by country, everyone became quiet.

Until the only sounds on the whole earth, were the noises of the animals and the hum of electricity coursing through the power lines.

In the beginning, everyone was overjoyed, and they used their high beams so much that everyone's eyesight faded just a bit. But as the silence began to take it's toll, most autopiloted to simply "on."

As the quiet race had children, their children became quiet and their children after that. Until as a collective race, we all forgot how to speak. And there were only quiet lights throughout the whole world.

To be continued...

The Guardian Fairy - Chapter One

After rereading my story "The Guardian Fairy" nearly two years after writing it, I am incredibly impressed with the writer I was even then. Really, I edited only the grammar and reworded a few confusing sentences. The physical plot of my story is relatively simple, but the writing is beautiful. My story rests at 7,000 words long so I won't post the entire piece here. But I'm going to post the prologue and the first chapter - in order to draw you in. 

"The Guardian Fairy"

By Alissa Lindsey

Prologue

            A glinting knife flashed, piercing the victim’s breast. Blood spurted on the pale-papered walls and over the mahogany floor. At that moment, the room exploded with light, brightening the features of the murderer and the crumpled fairy. The following thunder seemed to ignite a grin of triumph on the fairy slayer’s face. A baby began to wail and the winner of the duel strode to the bassinet and cradled the crying child. With the babe in the shadow-clad figure’s arms, the figure opened the door, and slithered away, leaving the body sprawled on the floor.

            On this night, the very sky was appalled at the evil happening in Winchel. The town was governed by King Foster and bordered by a dense forest filled with Ice Imps. The community’s population of fairies, dwarves, and humans lived peacefully together, until now.            

            The duel had left the room in a shambles. The jungle green front door hung bent from its only remaining hinge. Spells had up-ended chairs and potted plants. A slit in the wallpaper, above where the fairy lay, gaped open, streaming several inches. The lifeless woman faced the ceiling, her previous terror printed upon her dark gray eyes. The handle of the murder weapon was visible, protruding from her chest. Her pale green, feathery frock had turned a stomach churning brown from all of the burgundy fluid seeping around it. Her nearly transparent wings were torn into pieces and scattered around her. She had been a Guardian Fairy…

Chapter One - Resolved to Find and Punish

            As I strolled up the walk, I hummed quietly to myself. I hadn’t been to see my sister, Maythene, in almost a week and it was high time we caught up on things. My humming ceased, and the peachy snapdragons I held slipped and fell to the ground - crushed. My emerald eyes began to well up, impairing my vision, as I streaked into the disaster scene. I fell to my knees and collapsed over my sister’s body. My only relation - dead.

-One Week Later-

             I would stand being cooped up in my cottage no longer! The bright walls were soon to suffocate me, the light from the fireplace - soon to envelop, singe, and discard me. I unhooked my shabby shawl from its perch on the back of a chair and wound it around my spry shoulders and the base of my violet-tinted wings. I grabbed a clamshell clip from the hall table and twisted my shoulder length red hair into a bun and secured it.

            I was escaping the cheerfulness. I had no idea where I was escaping to, considering I didn’t fancy talking to anyone, but this thought didn’t slow me down. I banged the door shut and powered down the walkway. A neighbor’s curly-haired head popped out of a kitchen window to inquire about the noise, but I was already too far away to hear her concerned words.

            My feet moved, hastily, one after the other. I wasn’t traveling to anything - only away from something. I was moving away from the heart-splitting pain, face-scarring tears, and ear-cracking sobs. I knew deep down that all of those things were inside of me and would thus follow me wherever I fled, but my heart was stronger than my mind and pushed me onwards, farther and farther until I realized I had absolutely no idea where I was.

            I’d never been to this place before. I didn’t know if I should stop or continue on and on forever until I eventually walked around the whole planet of Rindiano. My legs were tired of carrying me, which caused them to shiver and drop me to the ground. I was by a rock-bedded lake. The rocks were sharp and stung my skin. The water was green and foul smelling. A shabby sign told me that I had arrived at Cadmium Marsh. I’d found the perfect place - a place full of pain that flowed over top of my sorrows so I could quit focusing on them. This distracted my overworked brain. It forced me not to think about my sister’s death.

            People thought that since my parents died when Maythene and I were young, that we were the best of friends. But our opposite coping mechanisms - mine of voicing all my thoughts, hers of saying nothing - had ripped our relationship a part. As a result, we built interior walls and merely put on an act of companionship for the outside world. We pretended to each other as well. In truth, I didn’t know much about my sister.

            On top of everything else, my sister had been a Guardian Fairy. The human child she had protected, a baby girl named Lillia, had been kidnapped after my sister was murdered. Lillia’s parents, Emden and Aniece, were on vacation and knew nothing of what had happened yet. The Guards of Winchel, who King Foster commanded, had found no clues about the murder or the kidnapping. This meant there was nowhere for me to find the answers I craved.

            I raised my body to a sitting position and attempted to penetrate the deep water with my gaze, to examine what was beneath the surface, to find the solutions I didn’t have. A great sigh escaped my lips and surfed to the water where it rippled and dissolved. I rose to my full height, average for a fairy but small compared to a human, and straightened my pink V-neck blouse. Turning away, I began to trudge back to my life.

            Once in the market, the loud bustle of excited voices jogged me from my thoughts. Merchants called to their customers about current sales, and the flurry of feet on the unpaved roads caused dust to circle in the air. I passed the bank where Winchelos could save their wins, the town’s currency, and ambled by the post office. The kind-hearted and round-bellied postmaster smiled at me, but I kept walking.

            I ended up in front of the dress shop I owned. I peered in through the windows. The human girl, Keira, I’d hired four months ago, who almost never said anything, was arranging scarves on a rack. Her brown, chest length hair had fallen in her eyes, but she was so intent on her task that she didn’t notice. I’d sent a message to her that morning and told her to open up - she’d be in charge all day. Keira’s Guardian, a male dwarf named Nehudu, slouched in a corner, amusing himself with a captive spider.

            I decided working was the only thing that could help me and pushed open the door. The young fairy girl who also worked for me started to sing, “Welcome to Roxanne’s Dresses! Today-” She stopped her tune when she saw who I was and slumped over grumpily on her stool. Keira glanced up, the noise rousing her from her thoughts, and nodded. I strode to the counter, opened the coin drawer, and began counting that day’s profits. The sun beamed its rays through the windows and illuminated the mocha walls. Normally, this charmed my heart, but today, my surroundings were merely blasé. 

            Working had definitely helped me. I had caught myself smiling a few times. Keira had been as quiet as ever but had hugged me on her way out. I was alone now and wished for the company of others. I’d realized that grieving alone would simply tear me apart. I needed to be distracted by work and by my boyfriend, Alexander. I shook my head, as if to shake away the past week’s dismal memories of how I’d treated Alex. I had sat there boiling in survivor’s guilt, hating myself. I had lashed out at each person who had tried to comfort me.

            But I had no desire to be like that anymore, and I knew Maythene wouldn’t wish that life for me. I was the surviving sister, and I needed to live like it. The self-berating would stop. I would make a point to be cheerful and thankful of the consolations I received. Now I needed to visit Alex. I borrowed a cloak from a rack and fastened it around my neck, smoothing the folds over my ruffled gray miniskirt. Then I locked the door and pocketed the brass key.

            While I walked the two blocks to Alex’s, I continued to ponder the contents of my head. I wasn’t anywhere near being ‘over’ my sister’s death. That wasn’t something I could ever get over. A sudden thought occurred to me, if I could find her murderer, establishing a cheerful life again might be easier. I made a promise to myself and my sister’s memory that I would find and punish whoever had taken her from me. I would do it no matter the cost. As I rounded the corner to the apartments Alex lived in, my eyes found him in the living room. The candle light illuminated his figure. His face held sorrow, but it was masked by pleasurable distraction. He must be reading, a favorite pastime.

            I fixed myself in the lane, staring through at him for a full five minutes. I was rather worried he wouldn’t forgive me for pushing him away. If he rejected me, it would be truly just. But was love just? As I stood, I felt a wide smile envelop my face, just at the sight of him. Suddenly, he raised his head and his eyes locked onto mine. I held my breath as he gazed at me. And then he jolted up, his chair tipping to the floor, and flung open the door. He could tell I was emotionally improved, and he held no grudge. He picked me up and spun us in a circle. His pale green wings towered over my dainty purple ones. I laughed and kissed him.

            “I’m sorry! I was awful.” I was a stubborn fairy and hated apologizing but his caramel eyes had coaxed the words from me. He laughed.

            “How did that taste?” I made a face. He knew me too well. “But I understand that you were grieving. I knew it wouldn’t always be like that. I knew you just needed time and space to think. Turns out, I knew right.” He winked. “Are you hungry? I was about to start down to the Night Market…” I took his hand, and we walked to the market together.

*

            “Alexander! You cannot tell me what to do!” It was the next day and he had surprised me with a picnic of sugary treats he had made at his bakery - a picnic that had gone sour with the talk of my sister’s murder.

            “Roxanne… what do you really think you can do? The Guards of Winchel didn’t even find anything! If you go poking your nose into dirty business, that’s what you’re going to find!!”

            “So I’m incompetent at being a good sister? My sister is dead, Alex! Dead! How can I do anything less than find out why?” I stood and began to walk away from him.

            “Roxanne! Wait!” He charged after me, his inky curls jostling as he grabbed my shoulder. I shook him off. “You know I didn’t mean what I said like that. I only meant that trained professionals gave up! How do you propose to outdo them? And I couldn’t imagine losing you, Rox. I don’t want you hurt! I don’t want you in this!” His voice rose to a pronounced shout toward the end.

            “She’s my sister. I can do better than anyone can. And regardless of what you want, I’m in this Alex. I’ve been ‘in this’ since the moment I found my sister’s cold body lying on the floor! I’m doing this with or without your support.” I wasn’t permitting myself to listen to any more of what he had to say, so I withdrew.