Dennis Raveley - chapter 1

I posted a bit of Wilby Lake a while back, and then suddenly something about the Hunger Games, and now this, to make a sincere confession, I'm rather disorganized when it comes to my imagination; an idea would occur, and the next day I would have no inspiration for that idea, but an inspiration for another idea. So I end up with more ideas than stories...well, I guess I'll be juggling a few stories all at once.

Anyways, beside the point. Onwards with the story!

The eyes of Dennis Raveley are a dark grayish color, they display an air of coolness; of forbidding; of calculating venom few humans in the world possess, it is a gift from nature, or perhaps a gift of the devil. Either way, those dark grayish eyes have emerged him the victor in numerous staring contests, against the bully of a new neighborhood, teachers, principals, cranky elderly citizens, police officers, and just about many more who crossed paths with him. This winning streak trained him not to look away when eyes lock; he may have never achieved such results intentionally, but he learned to use it to his advantage, he knows, the eyes speak the first word, if he looks long enough.
Behind those dark grayish eyes is a version of himself few are familiar with. He has yet to find himself reflected fully in those dark grayish eyes, like a swordsman who has yet to master his weapon. Somewhere in himself protected by those dark grayish eyes is a bemused youth who possess less seriousness than one would perceive upon sight; a lack of complete certainty and control; a sense for humor where least appropriate. He is in no hurry to adapt to the version of himself put forth by his looks, however, he may be ushered to confront his outside self much sooner than he envisioned.
Dennis can see himself reflected in the rear mirror of the slick black car gliding silently on the country road, the outside scenery nothing but a blur of heavy blue, indigo and pitch darkness with an occasional burst of yellow, distorted by the misty downpour smearing diagonally down the windows, drumming the windshield in a low hum. The driver, hunched over, wearing a dirt coloured trench coat steers the four-wheel drive without dialogue, as silent as the surrounding countryside in the wee hours of morning. Dennis does not want to make conversation, he is depraved of sleep and has been so since several hours prior, when he was woken up and put into this car, but there is much to ask and no one except the driver to propose these questions. So far, the inquisitions proved fruitless; the driver is either deaf or is trained so well to ignore his passengers, and only hit men of the mob receive such training.
'For the thirteenth time, where are we going?' Dennis asks, regarding his reflection in the rear view mirror, directing his dark grayish eyes at the driver, who does not meet his stare. He admires such people who ignores or answers at will, or on orders? They are disciplined, organic machinery. Dennis does not wish to be in the shoes of one such men, but he finds their composure impressive nevertheless.
'We are passing the third county, are you taking me to my father?' Only his father would arrange for a reunion as arcane as this, and Dennis has never gotten to figure out why, or cared enough to investigate deeply into the matter. He is content in his own thoughts, and now he is being depraved of them as his mind is occupied by the situation unravelling before him.
The car stops, and the driver exits the car as swiftly as the wind, he opens the back door at Dennis' side. Dennis only gazes for a moment, shrugs, and exits the car. As soon as Dennis is standing, the driver takes out a band of cloth from somewhere within his coat, and as suddenly, Dennis' vision is overlapped by darkness. The rain is pouring lightly, and the night is without disturbance, something tells Dennis that they are soon to arrive at their destination. With his sight now gone, the driver arranges Dennis carefully back into the backseat, gets in, and the car is off once again.
Dennis finds it very surprising that sleep comes to him sooner with a blindfold across his vision, listening to the light hum of the rain against metal and glass, and all this while he does not say a word. He dozes off soon enough.
When he wakes, he finds a hand on his shoulder, the hand of the driver, without doubt. He is led off the car, onto a ground of pebbles, and marches into the loom of a ceiling with the guidance of the hand. The floor is carpet, the light is dim but none reaches beneath his blindfold. Dennis marches with the driver, turning several bends, up several cases of stair, and through several doors. At his best guess, he would say that he is in the third level of the building, in the east wing of what feels to be an old, grand mansion.
Through one last door, and he is pressed into a cold, smooth leather seat, situated with back turned towards the entrance, in a study.
The driver leaves, and shuts the door quietly behind his departure.
'Have I arrived?' Dennis declares, he imagines what it would feel like to sit at this seat in fear, and not dry amusement; what he is feeling.
'Of course you've arrived. I'd tell you to take off that blindfold, but that would ruin many surprises. I hope you do like surprises.' The voice in reply is deep, masculine, yet not quite natural, as if spoken by an actor.
'Not much opinion on that.'
'Not much? Your journey here was pleasant? If I may assume.' The question is interrogative.
'It wasn't eventful.' A beat. 'Was the driver a deaf?'
'No, he isn't.'
'He didn't speak a word to me.'
'I believe you'd like to know why.'
'Exactly.'
'People such as that driver, they are paid to drive, not to speak.'
'Oh, I see...or rather, I hear.' Dennis gives sound a small hoot within himself, it appears his father is finally unveiling the curtain.

Wilby Lake

By G!

There's a lake at Wilby Lake.

There's a town called Wilby Lake that used to be right next to Wilby Lake. Now, Wilby Lake is at the bottom of Wilby Lake. Because some years back, the St. Lawrence River got so high, the town built in the lowlands two kilometers away, flooded.

There’s rumored to be zombies in Wilby Lake; zombies of the inhabitants of the now underwater Wilby Lake.

There's a bus stop that stops right at the fringe of Wilby Lake, that bus stop has stopped there a long time ago, but busses don't stop there anymore.

Confusing, eh?

“What we’ve got here is a failure to communicate.” – Luke Jackson

People have always had trouble understanding me. It began I think when I was four years old, or maybe five, I can’t remember; it was sudden and totally uncalled for. As I was told, one day, I walked into the kitchen in the morning and told my mother I’d like pancakes for breakfast. My mother told me she just stared at me then because she couldn’t understand what I was talking about, and she asked me to repeat the sentence, I did, and she failed to understand what I said, again. I didn’t understand how my mother did not understand the sentence “I’d like pancakes for breakfast please”, I still don’t. It turned out to be, as she explained after she told me I had to get the pancakes myself from the pan for her to get what I was going at, that she did not understand the way I said “I’d like pancakes for breakfast please”. It seemed odd, and it has been so ever since.

It’s not that I don’t think properly, or that I have trouble forming comprehensible speech; the problem seems to be the fact that to everyone’s ears except my own…well, an example then, since I don’t even believe such nonsense myself: when I think “I was talking” and I say “I was talking” and to my own sound ears I hear “I was talking”, to other people (so they say), it would sound something along the lines of “Talked ised me.” If you didn’t understand that transition, neither did I and neither did the fifty or so speech therapists my well-to-do parents took me to who all exclaimed in horror at my horrid speech patterns (actually, they told us my speech lacked pattern, that was apparently the problem) which I did and do not feel I actually have. I was at a complete loss; it was clear to everyone that I have trouble speaking English properly, everyone that is, excluding me! I am the only person in this whole world I live in who does not have trouble understanding me, or rather, me speaking, but since people are society animals and talking is in the fundamental genes, talking weird makes communication a heck lot difficult, for everyone but me, that is. So here’s my conclusion: I understand my thoughts, I understand what comes out of my mouth in words because I hear it in my head as I’m quite everyone does in theirs, and nobody else understands what I say, and later, what I write. What may look and sound like “I have to go to the washroom” sounds like such incomprehensible syllable mash-up gibberish to other people I gave up trying to find out what other people are hearing of my words in kindergarten. I chose to speak as infrequent as humanly and communicatively possible.

All this happened before Simona was born, so everyone in the family took some time getting used to my apparently sudden and mysterious speech change except her. She listened to my so-called difficult speech growing up while I babysat her and thank heaven and earth she didn’t copy my speech and grow up to speak just like I do (or so they say I do). My grandmother was especially horrified to learn of my inability to communicate verbally with people, she had high hopes I would become a senator in the parliament, which would require a lot of public speaking chops. Well, when her hopes were dashed she had a heart attack soon after; she joined my grandfather, who I had never known in the Sims family plot down in the cemetery. My ever-supportive parents were quick to assure me I had nothing to do with the cause of my dear grandmother’s heart attack and ensuing death, though I’m quite sure if it weren’t for the extra large inheritance she left behind they’d loath me quite badly. Fortunately, the outcome of events was most well in my parent’s favor they forgave me for bearing such a fatal flaw (so they say), while I swear on my own grave in the future, I DON’T HAVE A SPEECH PROBLEM…well, depends who you trust more, the narrator or the characters.

‘Okay, so what do you do when you see a stop sign?’ Simona asks me.

‘That’s easy. I stop the car.’ I reply.

‘Did you mean you’d stop the car?’ She asks.

‘Yes.’ I clarify.

‘Next question, what do you do when you turn right at an intersection, that doesn’t have signal lights?’

‘I stop at the stop sign if there is one, I stop if there isn’t one anyways, I look right and left for pedestrians and incoming vehicles, and then I turn right.’

‘Um, can you…say that in a few sentences?’

‘Sure. First, I stop at the intersection. Second, I look for pedestrians and other cars. Third, I turn right.’

‘I think you forgot one technical detail.’

‘Hum, let me think here…oh yeah right, I have to flash the tail light, gee, always forget that part!’

‘Um, what do you mean by…turning car rear light bulb on slash off?’

‘Did I say that?’

‘It sounded like it.’

‘Geez! Okay, what I meant was I need to flash the lights at the rear side of the car, to signal to the car behind me that I am turning right.’

‘Okay, I get it. Let me write that down here…’ My sister keeps a notebook - or several for that matter - and records all of the gibberish I say that she can’t comprehend; the next time I say something along such lines, there’s the notebooks for reference.

 ‘How long do we still have until the exam?’ I ask; I never carry around a watch with me.

My sister checks her watch. ‘Oh my gosh! I think we went overtime!’

‘What’s the time?’

‘It’s already ten o clock. Don’t you have to be there by ten thirty?’

‘Holy darn, you’re right! I got to get going, wish me luck!’ I sailed out of the front doors in a matter of minutes, turned back in a great frenzy to blow Simona a kiss, and took off for the bus station as quickly as humanly possible. In that instant I looked back, I saw Simona standing on the porch, looking slightly confused. Well, I guess she didn’t get my good bye phrase. I didn’t have time to check if she is writing whatever I said down in the notebook – the vocabulary dictionary of Simcoe Sims, isn’t that just daisy?

It took me little more than no time to get to the bus station, just in time to see the bus leaving it. I ran after the bus all the while screaming at the summit of my lungs. The bus did not slow down in response, which it did not give, so I picked up a chunk of gravel off the road and hurled it at the bus in a fashion that might have impressed a shot put athlete. The gravel connected with the rear of the bus, shattering its tail light, and that action and result must have made considerable impact on the driver, because the bus grinded to a halt. I ran up to the sliding doors before the driver can exit and discover what damage I had inflicted on his bus and was let in.

‘What was that noise? Did you see? Did the exhaust backfire or something?’ The driver inquired as I entered.

‘Never mind that, take me to the driver’s school.’ I said, panting.

‘What’s that you say? I didn’t catch it.’

‘Never mind that.’ I said, and I fed a ticket into the slot and parted to the rear for a seat.

Thoughts

when a thought tries to exit my brain,
onto a sheet of paper, a keyboard,
a sheepskin even,
when that thought is in its prime,
still fresh, still very young,
it is the best opportunity,
to get that thought out and going.
when that epiphany strikes,
it is sadly unfortunate,
that I must always be occupied,
by mountains, called work.
work, the mountains are called,
because there's mountains of it
work, it is the harbinger of stress
it distracts the thoughts
work, though it is necessary
more often not than are
and work, it does borrow thoughts
but not in any way
beneficial to thoughts
for work mostly works for itself
not for thoughts

Heat Lightning

Our English classes are performing a drama play. My group decided to do an adaptation of Heat Lightning by Robert F. Carroll, a play which I found to be way too serious in tone and not quite to my taste, so I rewrote it, adding characters, adding lines, and giving the Narrator a personality. Here's the masterpiece:

Heat Lightning

Adapted from the play Heat Lightning by Robert F. Carroll

Adaptation by G!

Characters

Narrator, Man, Girl, 2^nd Man, 2^nd Girl (The Narrator and the 2nd Girl are characters not in the original play)

Scene: Bus station

Narrator – early summer, it is a stormy day, and lightning flashed and thunder cracked, and the rain is mighty. Outside the lone old bus station, it looks like midnight, but actually it’s only eleven pm, anyways, beside the point, here we go with the story. In the station, this well dressed, thirty-something year old Man (the man enters from the Man’s room) is alone; he’s wet from the rain, so he’s drying himself off.

A twenty-something year old Girl bursts into the station from the main entrance, dragging her companion, another Girl of similar age and appearance behind her. They are both soaked through by the storm, and quite disheveled. The first Girl slams the door behind her and puts the bolt over the door, locking it. The Man observes this scene without moving.

            Girl – Thank God! You’re here! Thank God!

            Man – What-what is it? What’s going on?

2^nd Girl – (to Girl) Will you calm down? (To Man) Look, sorry about this… (Tries to calm her friend down)

            Girl – Help us! Please help us!

            Man – Gee, you guys are in a terrible state. What happened?

            Girl – Don’t let him in! Please. He’s after us! Please don’t let him in!

            Man – Who’s after you?

            Girl – He’ll be here any minute. Help us!

2^nd Girl – (tries to calm the girl down) She’s in a state, I’m sorry. She said she saw something terrible…

Man – I see. (To Girl) Now please, try to tell me what happened. You’ve locked the door. No one can come in. now try to calm yourself. (This has no effect on the girl, who continues in a state of hysteria)

2^nd Girl – you’re waiting for the bus, aren’t you?

Girl – please don’t leave us!

Man – there, my dears. Of course I won’t leave!

Girl – The bus, what time-tell me it will be here soon!

Man – the last one’s due any time now. The storm has probably slowed it down…

Narrator – the storm has worsened, and it’s quite a strain on the power lines out in the roads, I think they’ve already gotten hit by lightning a few times…

Man – (To narrator) I’m not finished!

Narrator – well what am I supposed to say? Give me some credit! They hire me to every play that’s ever been made and what do I do? All I get to do is deliver the damn introduction!

Man – okay, but this scene is vital to the development of this story, can you come in at a…more appropriate time?

Narrator – fine, fine, and fine! Go back to where you left off, I’m listening.

Man – okay, (to both girls) now listen to me, I shall do whatever I can to help, but you must tell me what has happened.

2^nd Girl – we were at a party, and my friend here decided that we shouldn’t stay for the night. She was going to drive us both home because she enough she had enough gas…

Man – where do you live?

2^nd Girl – about eight miles from here (the Man nods), and a mile from here, her car ran out of gas, so we decided to walk down the road and catch the bus, and then we’d go back for the car later. She took the flashlight because it was getting really dark and all, I guess she got ahead of me when I stopped to tie up my shoelaces, and it’s really dark, suddenly I couldn’t see her anymore, so I stayed put since I don’t have a flashlight. A while later, she’s sprinting and screaming back in my direction and dragged me running all the way here…

Man – (to the Girl) what did you see?

Girl – I - I must have walked ahead of her - just a little way - I don’t know - and I noticed a car pulled off into a lane. I thought I’d call to them and ask if they could help us-if they might have some gas.

Man – did you?

Girl – no – I – I didn’t get the chance. I walked near enough to the car to be heard, but – before I could call out, I saw someone. The front door of the car was open and someone – a man – he was – he was pulling something out of the car. I couldn’t see at first – and then the lightning – and I – I saw her hand – and then her head – her hair was light and long and it dragged in the mud!

Narrator – the thunder is now even louder!

Man – yes, thanks for the description but you’re ruining the suspense.

Narrator – fine, fine, fine! It’s not like I don’t know the cue or anything. Gosh!

Man – (Back to the girl) did the man see you?

Girl – maybe my flashlight – maybe I screamed – I don’t know – I don’t think so, I was too frightened. I dropped the flashlight and started running, I ran back to my friend and we ran off the road. I could hear him chasing us, we ran into the woods and I think we lost him…wait, he’ll be here! I know he will! Oh, God I’m scared!

2^nd Girl – so all this time this is your story? I don’t believe it, how… (Trails off)

Man – (to 2^nd Girl) I think she’s telling the truth. (To Girl) The bus will be here soon and you’ll be alright. Listen, you’ll have to get to the police as soon as possible.

Girl – No – I couldn’t. I don’t want to – it’s that – I don’t have any evidence, I don’t even remember, I can’t go back. I’m afraid.

Man – I’m sure you will remember something, the flashlight, you could identify that, couldn’t you?

Girl – yes, but –

Man – there, you see! Now look, (points to the ‘Women’s’ room) go in there, dry your eyes and fix yourself up. You’ll feel much better. (To 2^nd Girl) I think you should go and help her a bit, she’s very upset.

2^nd Girl – you won’t leave, will you?

Man – of course not, my dear. I’ll be right here.

The Girl starts for the Women’s room, and suddenly she sees a man’s face pressed against the glass outside. She screams. The door rattles viciously.

Man – (pushing the girls into the women’s room) Get in there. Stay until I tell you to come out.

2^nd Man – let me in! Open this door! Let me in!

Man – (alone in the main lodge) what do you want?

2^nd Man – I want to get out of this storm. What the hell do you think I want?

The man unbolts the door and the 2^nd Man enters quickly.

Narrator – the second man, a nondescript sort of person, tall, nice looking and about thirty years of age, he is soaked through by the storm and…

Man – thanks, but we can all see clearly what the 2^nd Man looks like, you don’t need to read off a description.

Narrator – fine, fine, fine! Well I gotta do something, right?

2^nd Man – (continues where he left off) you’ve got no right to lock that door – keeping people outside in this kind of weather. Has there been a bus?

Man – no – not yet.

2^nd Man – Late, huh? Good.

Man – why?

2^nd Man – why? I’d have missed it if it were on time, wouldn’t I? There are other people here, right?

Man – what do you mean?

2^nd Man – I saw someone – two girls, when I looked in.

The two men stare at each other for a moment. Then the man goes over the women’s room and knocks, on the other side, a conversation is happening.

            2^nd Girl – so what do you think of the man?

            Girl – he seems trustworthy, what do you think?

            2^nd Girl – (shrugs) it’s too early to judge, wait, he’s knocking.

The Man opens the door and the girls come out, the Girl appears frightened to see the 2^nd Man. The 2^nd Girl is surprised too. The Man brings a finger to his lips, indicating silence.

            2^nd Man – I thought you said-

            Man – I didn’t say anything.

2^nd Man – you tried to tell me there was no one else here. I knew there were. What was the idea of lying?

            Man – I wasn’t conscious of lying about anything.

            2^nd Man – oh well, forget it. How far you going?

            Man – just into town.

            2^nd Man – and you, Misses?

            Girl – not far.

2^nd Man – (advancing towards the girl) it’s pretty late, isn’t it? I was in luck, don’t you think? I told that to our friend here, but he didn’t get it. (To Man) I bet they’re both smarter than you are.

Man – yes – I suppose they might – be.

2^nd Man – (to Girl) Say, you look pretty nervous about something. Storm upset your plans? If people were smart they wouldn’t be out on a night like this. Just try to get somewhere when it storms – can’t be done – especially if you’re in a hurry.

2^nd Girl – we’re in no hurry.

2^nd Man – well, I sure as hell am – and there’s nothing I can do about it. (Notice the Girl’s increasing nervousness) say, you’re really upset aren’t you? Has somebody been bothering you?

Girl – it’s – it’s just the storm.

2^nd Man – afraid of storms?

Girl – yes – I – am.

Man – hey, she’ll be alright, why don’t you leave her alone?

2^nd Man – Yeah! Sure!

Man – (walked to the girl) here! Have a cigarette. (The Man lights a match)

2^nd Man – don’t mind three on a match, do you?

Man – of course not (gives him a light). (To 2^nd Girl) Do you want one?

2^nd Girl – no thanks, I don’t smoke.

2^nd Man – God! What a night! Always wonder what brings people out on nights like this. Wouldn’t catch me out if it weren’t pretty important, (to Girl and 2^nd Girl) how about you two?

2^nd Girl – we were visiting – with friends.

Girl – I should have stayed the night.

2^nd Man – Oh! You’re not together then?

Man – er – no.

2^nd Man – I see. (To 2^nd girl) How far did you say you were going?

2^nd Girl – not far – about eight miles.

The 2^nd Man notices the Girl distancing herself from him, he looks puzzled.

            2^nd Man – I never saw anybody so afraid of a storm.

            Girl – It’s the lightning – I –

2^nd Man – lightning. I used to be afraid of it, when I was a kid, but I got over it. All by myself too. (Takes Girl to the window) look! Come and I’ll show you. Watch the sky next time there’s a big flash. One of the really beautiful sights in this world if you look at it right – like a great big Fourth of July. (Lightning flashes) Look! See, what did I tell you? (Girl breaks away) you wouldn’t even watch it. You’ll never get over being afraid of things if you won’t face them.

Narrator – The sound of a motor in the distance, gradually coming closer through the heavy rain.

2^nd Man – I guess that’s it – yep – looks empty.

Girl – Empty!

Narrator – and the sound of breaks…

2^nd Man – well, are we going?

Man – no.

2^nd Man – what?

Man – I’m not going.

2^nd Man – why?

Man – I don’t suppose it’s really any of your business.

2^nd Man – no, I guess you don’t at that. (Looks at the girls) In that case, I guess we’ll keep each other company, won’t we?

2^nd Girl – come on, let’s go. (To second man) Yeah, we’re coming.

The Girl looks stunned; she looks at the Man who is standing behind the 2^nd Man. The Man shakes his head and only she sees.

            Girl – no, I don’t think I’ll go either, I’ll wait…

2^nd Girl – what? What are you talking about?

2^nd Man – I think you’d better come on, your friend is coming and we got the bus all to ourselves.

Girl – no, no, I won’t. Leave me alone. I’m going to stay here…with him.

2nd Girl – what are you doing? Get over here! This is the last bus of the night! It won’t do any good to stay. Wise up, it’s time to leave!

Narrator – the sound of a horn can be heard from outside.

2^nd Man – leave them be. (Looks from Girl to Man) I get it. Waiting for a bus! (Laughs) No wonder you had the door locked! Come on, looks like it’s just you and me.

2^nd Girl – (to girl) I guess I’ll see you at home…later

The 2^nd Man and Girl exit the bus station. The girl rushes over and slams the door behind them.

            Girl – thank God! You had let him in! Why?

            Man – he was making a racket out there. Besides there was really no way to tell for certain that –

            Girl – I guess it wasn’t, no, I somehow don’t think it was…

            Man – you remember something, then?

            Girl – I seem…no, no...

            Man – Yes, yes you do! You know that wasn’t the man! Why? I knew it would come back to you!

Girl – no, only that he left…he left…

Man – first, you would say that wasn’t the man because I remember, and then later, that was the man because I remember. Yes. You would remember!

Girl – No! Oh no! The light!

Narrator – the light is about to go out.

Man – don’t worry, dear. You’ll have light. (Takes out a flashlight from his pocket, the very same flashlight the Girl had dropped when she witnessed the murder)

Narrator – what a twist! Look who’s the killer turned out to be!

Man – I’m sorry, Narrator, but you’re spoiling the thrill.

Narrator – what? You’d at least have the decency to let me explain some plot points the slower audiences would not understand at first, wouldn’t you?

Man – the point is, you’re interrupting –

Girl – Narrator! Help me!

Narrator – what am I supposed to do, I’m the Narrator; I don’t participate in the story.

Girl – but you can! Please help me!

Man – oh come on! Get real! Can we go back to where we left off?

The narrator is in deep thought; he decides to deliver a short speech.

Narrator – audience members, I have been in countless plays, since the early Greek tragedies to the stuff that get nominated for Tony Awards today, and not once in the history of theater have I actually done anything of value to a play. I communicate what playwrights are too lazy to convey through the play’s actual characters, and this disregard for me, the valueless Narrator, has angered me since the very beginning. Today, on this stage, I have decided against political correctness to do something out of the ordinary. (The Narrator takes a deep breath and walks into the scene)

Man – hey! You can’t do that.

The Narrator is holding a long stage tool. The Man eyes the metal rod nervously.

            Man – what are you going to do with that? Hey! What’s the meaning of this?

The Narrator raises the metal rod and prepares to strike the Man. The Man has lost control of his muscles to bewilderedness; he is frozen in a still position. The Narrator looks triumphant, the Man looks confused, and the Girl looks relieved.

Man- (shocked) I thought you’re only the narrator!

Narrator – Never judge anyone by appearance! (Strikes the Man down with a blow to the head)

A moment of silence hands in the bus station, then the Narrator exits the scene, putting the stage tool back in its place. The Girl leaves through the entrance of the bus station and the Man lies still on the floor.

The end