Mannequin Row - WritingForums.com - Writing Forums, Writing Challenges, Critiques and Help for Writers

Dr. Apopolus · 11-16-2008, 07:45 AM

Manny was a mannequin. He stood, tall and proud, in the window of Saville Row in the main square. Carved from the finest Redwood in the country, each of Manny's limbs moved smoothly atop well-oiled joints. This is more than he could say for the other mannequins in town whose jealousy he was more than aware of.

Come night-fall the other mannequins would slip beneath the hum of the street-lights and shuffle over toward Manny's residence. They'd press up against his window and make rude gestures. Given inherent vocal constraints they'd spell out obscene words with their bodies. Through all of this, Manny would simply rap his fingers slowly across the glass, displaying his dexterity and mocking their lack of adjustable digits. This would outrage the mannequins who, in turn, would karate-chop their still-born hands against his shop window.

Things would go on like this for an indeterminable period of time - Mannequins didn't own calendars nor could they make sense of one if they did. All these mannequins knew was the hatred in their freeze-framed torsos. Quite frankly, the only constant that existed in their pitiful little lives was mocking Manny.

However, one fateful Summer night, the mannequins did not come out to play. The street stood still, and all that could be heard was the incandescent buzz of the street lamps and the fleeting roar of nomad crickets.

The following night, the same - Empty tiles, not a movement in sight. Again and again, night after night, the street stood still and Manny cried out, rapping his fingers against the glass, then his fists, then his head. Harder and harder Manny banged, splintering shards of wood off his immaculate, perfectly spherical melon. Suffice it to say, if Manny had tear glands, or eyes for that matter, he would have cried the good-cry at the night like an infant into a monitor.

The next evening, unwilling to be alone any longer, Manny slipped out into the street and made his way toward the other shop keeps. As he came within clarity's length, he found that he could not make out a single mannequin. Not one. He knocked against a window, to which came no reply. Manny was perplexed. He knocked on a second, again no reply, and then they grabbed him.

The mannequins pulled him into the darkness and away from the comfort of the street-lamps. Two silhouettes with molded hands locked into clasped positions came at him with axes. Whack! Deep into his torso went the first hatchet. Then came the second strike, severing his right hand completely. Manny lunged forward in silent avail, begging them to stop. But they did not, instead they severed his other hand, and all-together they began to beat him. They kicked him and dragged him through the mud, rubbing dirt deep into the inner-workings his joints. And, as the first glimpse of light came over the horizon, they scattered back to their respective stores as if nothing had happened.

However, Manny did not get up, for without his hands he was no good. He simply sat, back to a tree, shoulders slumped, staring at the ground. In fact, he sat through the entire Summer with his back against that very tree. He slummed-it through rainy nights, horrendous storms, blistering afternoons - he just sat. Right through all of it, feeling sorry for himself.

At one point he'd thought of returning to his store but as he neared the window he realized he'd been replaced by a slightly newer version of himself. His replacement stared out at him, rapping his digits mockingly against the window. And that's when Manny felt the hatred. He realized that he did not blame the mannequins for what they had done to him. They'd planted a seed and left him to mature. Here he was, a fully-fledged, mammoth. They'd succeeded.

As he headed back toward the woods he saw a group coming toward him. At first he became fearful, and thought of running, but when he realized they had no reason to be jealous he realized he had no reason to fear them anymore.

They neared him and drifted to a pause. Manny too stopped dead in his tracks. The crowd parted and somewhere from the back came an older mannequin, dripping in cobwebs, burrowed right through in some parts by termites and faceless beasties. The elder held out two hands for Manny who, with the help of the others, secured them to his wrists.

Each of them, at one time or another, had been top dog. But compassion is a hard thing for a mannequin to comprehend. Hatred is easy.

SparkyLT · 11-16-2008, 11:23 AM

Quote:

Come night-fall the other mannequins would slip beneath the hum of the street-lights and shuffle over toward Manny's residence. They'd press up against his window and make rude gestures. Given inherent vocal constraints they'd spell out obscene words with their bodies. Through all of this, Manny would simply rap his fingers slowly across the glass, displaying his dexterity and mocking their lack of adjustable digits. This would outrage the mannequins who, in turn, would karate-chop their still-born hands against his shop window.

Please, don't use karate chop...maybe it's only because I take martial arts, but to me it sounds ignorant and juvenile.

Quote:

However, one fateful Summer night, the mannequins did not come out to play. The street stood still, and all that could be heard was the incandescent buzz of the street lamps and the fleeting roar of nomad crickets.

'Summer', and other seasons, are not capitalized.

Quote:

But they did not, instead they severed his other hand, and all-together they began to beat him. They kicked him and dragged him through the mud, rubbing dirt deep into the inner-workings his joints. And, as the first glimpse of light came over the horizon, they scattered back to their respective stores as if nothing had happened.

The first comma in this quote should be either a semicolon or a period. Also, I don't hink you need 'respective' in the last sentence.

I can't find anything else, but I admit I'm not trying very hard. I really like this story for some reason. I have one question: Are there actually mannequins with posable finger? Because I've never seen one, and when I realized Manny had them, I was a little confused.

Olly Buckle · 11-16-2008, 05:26 PM

I also like this and can find little to criticize, the repetition of "realized they had no reason" "realized he had no reason " could easily be rephrased and avoided, especially with the use of "realized he did not blame" in the preceding paragraph, rather a lot of realizing. I think I would have stopped after the first sentence of the last paragraph, drawing morals is always more effective if you leave the reader to do it for themselves and the message is plain enough for those who might wish to see.