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Writing Machine
Join Date: Apr 2007
Location: Grimsby, England
Gender: Male
Posts: 1,866
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a question of dialogue
A matter of dialogue
three conversation. do my characters sound the same?
Value had afforded her the comfort of a cell to herself, although her many procrastinations had convinced Vern that she would have preferred company. She was around five feet in height and unlike the other inmates, had managed to hold onto a healthy glow: nothing demonstrated this more than her large, ebony eyes which were fixed with intent on Vern.
“What do you care for my health,” she said, her full, red lips moving silkily with each word spoken. “I’m no different from the others here, and I see no concern for them.”
“On the contrary,” Vern said and placed his palms on the glass, “I have my concerns, although perhaps they are of a more practical reason.”
“How is my brother?” Freirolise said, keen on disrupting Vern’s train of thought.
“I’ve not come here to talk about your brother,” Vern said, his words frosting the glass.
“He is alive: that’s all that should matter to you.”
“Then what have you come to talk about?”
“Anything, everything and nothing,” Vern said, turning his face sideways on to the glass. “One word from those sweet lips of yours is an antidote to the sewage I hear from others. The eloquence of your pleas, the river in your voice, the weight of the smallest word.”
“Tell me, Vern…” Freirolise said quietly through the breath holes… “When was the last time you loved?”
Vern turned his back on the glass.
“We are not so different, you and I,” he said and turned back to confront Freirolise. “You are a cruel woman.”
She laughed at that.
“Are you mocking me?” Vern said, suddenly enraged.
“You are mocking yourself,” Freirolise said. “Look at you! The big ‘I am man’ driven to anger by a question of love.”
“Damn you Freirolise!” Vern snarled and banged the glass with the side of his fist. This brought a whimper from the cell opposite. “I could have given you to my son for sport… but did I? I could have lied to your brother… but did I? Why Freirolise, why?”
“Spare me the sweetness, Vern, it doesn’t become you,” she said, looking around her at the cell and its sparse furnishings. “If you had any feelings for me, you would have let me go, instead of keeping me prisoner in this box.”
“I have no choice,” Vern said, still a little angry.
“Oh but you do Vern,” Freirolise said softly. “There is only one jailer here.”
“You make me your jailer,”
“If not a jailer, then what else?”
Vern stepped away from the door, thunder in his face.
“What else?” Freirolise repeated, now putting her two palms to the glass. “You can’t say it, because it is only a wish and will never be anything other.”
“I could take you and use you,” Vern growled, “but I don’t. I could make you my puppet if I wished and make your brother the motive. Do you think he would like our little hotel?” He laughed. “One room available, sir. The previous occupant has no more use for a single bed.”
“Yes you could do that,” Freirolise said confidently, “but that would be the end of us.” She knew the inference would make him believe just a little inside.
“Don’t take me for a fool, Freirolise,” Vern said, turning away, ready to leave. “You wouldn’t be the first love I’ve discarded.”
Freirolise smiled.
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The first thing Nathanial had done when they arrived back at the flat was ring Robert Gingham. However there had been no answer and now he was pacing up and down the living room, closing his mind to everything but the possibility of a friend being dead. Abigail had tried several times to calm his nerves and persuade him to settle beside her on the couch, but he was oblivious. Abigail watched him as he tried yet again to get through to Robert.
“Robert?”
“Is it him?” Abigail said having leapt to her feet.
“Hold on, hold on,” Nathanial said to Robert and then cupping the mouth piece, nodded to Abigail. “Yes, he’s alright.”
“So what happened?” He was back with the phone.
“I don’t know,” Robert said a little shakily. “I was just doing my usual thing on a Saturday night, strolled into the Trawlerman's as usual and Jacob’s was there with—”
“That fool?” Nathanial asked.
“Yes. —this big fuck off bloke, you know the sort, leaves dents in the side of the toilets; you’d sooner be their grannies when they hugged you.”
“Jacobs though, what’s he doing with this bunch?”
“I don’t know what they wanted,” Robert said, finding his own take on the question. “All I know is that as soon as I turned to walk away, they chased me… like a proper chase, you know. I can’t tell you how scared I was… Jesus. They shot goddamn bullets at me down the street, flying all over they were.”
“Are you alright?” Nathanial asked.
“Yes, right as rain. I was a bit scared when they jumped me in the park and I fought them off with a stick, but now I’m sat here talking about it… I feel a bit buzzy to be honest.
“What about your family, are they alright?”
“Move it along,” Robert said. “Water under the bridge and all that.”
“Sorry,” Nathanial said feeling awkward.
“No need to apologise, you didn’t know… Anyway the big bloke, think his name was Butch or something, grabbed me round the waist and was squeezing me like an orange. God I made a mess of his face.”
“What about Jacobs?”
“Let’s just say I’d get a six in cricket.”
“Why didn’t you answer earlier?” Nathanial asked, having take Robert’s chirpiness as an indication that he hadn’t only just cheered up.
“Had my dance music nice and loud, just wanted to shut it out for a while… you know what I mean.”
“I do Rob.”
“Bloody animals eh?” Robert said and snorted. “Who’d have thought that you could get so connected to a creature that it tears you up in side when you think about what they are being treated like behind closed doors. I know it doesn’t bother some people, and sometimes I wonder if I am odd, but you see it everywhere… it’s like the kids can treat anything like a football and the RSPCA are like, ‘oh well, can’t get them all’. It hurts you every time you see it or hear it. Sorry Nat, am I getting a bit maudlin?”
“Not at all, Rob. I was just thinking about why I didn’t just listen to dance music.”
“Still drinking then?” Robert asked.
“Not as much as I used to but definitely too much.”
“Well you know where to come if you need help.”
“I do,” Nathanial said without qualm.
“Look, Nat, I don’t want you to think that I’m being rude, but I’m a bit knackered and I could do with a kip.”
“No problems, of course not,” Nathanial said, his voice finding a slightly higher than normal pitch. “You get off to bed and I’ll speak to you in the morning… okay?”
“That’s a high five from me then, mate. Speak to you tomorrow.”
“Sorry about that, Abigail,” Nathanial said when he saw her sat alone on the settee. “I haven’t seen him in years… and then all of this…”
“No need to explain,” Abigail said and slid to join him as he sat down. “It was good to see you a bit more upbeat for a change. It reminds me of why I found you sexy in the first place.” She giggled and pulled her hair across her eyes.
“Shall we go to bed?” Nathanial asked, and standing up, held his hand out for Abigail to take.
“I suppose if I must,” Abigail said and dragged Nathanial towards the bedroom.
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Nathanial sat at the kitchen table pushing the last of his peas around with his fork. Abigail had laid a spread on that had been fit for a king and somewhat ambitious in terms of quantity. Out of good grace, Nathanial had tried his hardest to finish the whole plate, but his belly was so full that even these last few morsels looked insurmountable. Abigail, who had been less ambitious of herself, was busy at the sink, washing the last of the pots and pans. At last Nathanial conceded defeat and dropped his fork on the plate.
“I just couldn’t eat another thing,” he said and lolled back in the chair.
“You’ve got pudding yet,” Abigail said.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Nathanial said incredulously.
“I am, actually…” Abigail said and laughed. “You look like a beached whale.”
“I feel like one,” Nathanial said, blowing out. “That was fantastic.”
“Thank you,” Abigail said. “If you’re a good boy I might do it again.”
“Oh, please…” Nathanial said and stretched his legs beneath the table… “I don’t even want to think about that at the moment. You could give me a little less next time though.”
Abigail placed her palm on the side of her face and cocked her head to one side.
“I want more of a man than that,” she said, the words skipping tunefully.
“I’ll be more of a man alright.” Nathanial said and patted his bulging stomach.
Abigail went round to the back of Nathanial’s chair and put her arms around him supporting her chin on his shoulder. Nathanial reached up and around her head to cradle it and stroked her nape, enjoying the silkiness of her hair. The two of them indulged themselves for a while, holding on to an intimacy that they were both in need of. Since the images on the video and the phone call, neither had spoken a word of it, instead, Abigail had decided to lose herself in domesticity whilst Nathanial had found distraction in a crossword. But all was still now and both of them knew that at some point – and soon – they would have to face forward. Nathanial broke the silence first:
“I suppose we’d better make that call,” he said and ruffling Abigail’s hair, eased himself up off the chair. “Yes?”
Abigail simply nodded.
Nathanial walked back into the living room and sat on the settee. The phone was where they left it: beside the number on the coffee table. Abigail sat beside him and passed him the phone and the piece of packaging that had the number written on it.
Nathanial tapped in the numbers and waited…
Just a few seconds later it was answered.
“Hello,” came a soft voice from the other end that, although clearly male, possessed feminine qualities. “Who is this?”
“Before I can tell you my name,” Nathanial said into the mouth piece, “you have to tell me yours.”
“I don’t recognise this number,” the voice said and paused for a moment. “What is this about?”
“You sent me a video.” Nathanial said and waited…
“How did you come by this video?” the voice said, sounding surprised.
“I was hoping you’d tell me that,” Nathanial said.
“I need to know how you managed to obtain this video…” the voice trailed off and then: “What is on the video?” it quizzed, clearly uncertain of the situation.
“It’s a video of the Corva Corporation building.”
There was a long silence. Abigail gestured to Nathanial and nudged him. Nathanial raised his finger to his lips and listened intently, waiting for a reply.
“Who are you?” the voice said with great authority.
“I can’t tell you that,” Nathanial said and again waited.
“Then I must hang up,” the voice said…
“No wait… wait…” Nathanial said and placed his hand over the mouth piece.
“He wants to know my name,” Nathanial said to Abigail who simply shrugged.
“It’s Nathanial Crowther…”
“Formerly Thomas Wetherhall?”
“Yes.”
“But it can’t be,” the voice said, “You died in a fire.”
“What do you mean,” Nathanial said. “What fire… where… when?”
“The fire at ‘The Coffee Shop’.”
“Are you sure that’s the name of this place?” Nathanial asked, hope his only saviour from a truth that would destroy Abigail and make her yet another casualty of his own indulgencies.
“It’s down Freesdon street… I watched it burn.”
The words replayed in Nathanial‘s head as if in repetition they would somehow lose their validity, but it was useless. “I’ll have to call you back…” Nathanial said and hung up.
“What is it?” Abigail said as Nathanial walked over to the window.
Nathanial stood before the window in silence looking into the afternoon sunlight that poured in though it and filled the room. Abigail approached him, her own slight figure, eclipsed by Nathanial’s shadow. He could not bear to turn around and face her; he could not even imagine speaking the words she would not want to hear, but he had to, there was no other way. He took her by the arm and guided her to the settee, where she sat, as if the importance of what he was about to say was manifest in his eyes.
“It’s not good,” he found himself saying, the inadequacy of which made him close his eyes… “There’s been an accident.” He chose the words carefully, but doubted them. “At the ‘Coffee Shop’…”
“What about Mr and Mrs Linn?” Abigail said, unblinking.
“I don’t know…” he said, his eyes avoiding hers… “I don’t know.” There was no way he could know for certain that Mr and Mrs Linn were dead, but he felt it inside, like a rock in the pit of his stomach.”
“They’ll be alright,” Abigail said and smiled. “Here… give me the phone, I’ll ring them… they’ll need some help to clean the place up and get it running again… you can help to decorate… ye?” she took the phone from his hand.
Nathanial nodded but with little conviction, feeling the phone slip from his grasp.
“I bet it’s Mr Linn again, leaving the cooker on,” she was saying as she scrolled through the menu and hit call. “Mrs Linn has told him about that loads of times.” She held the phone to her ear, still smiling. “I’ll give them another ring…” She pressed redial. “Come on… come on…” She said into the mouthpiece. She redialled again for a third time, then a fourth, then a fifth… “Stupid me…” she said and laughed. “They wouldn’t have thought about rescuing the phone… I’ll ring to see if anyone knows where they are…” She thought for a moment. “I know I’ll ring Mr Phillips across the way… he’s the butchers.” After a short wait, Mr Phillips answered: “Hello, Mr Phillips? It’s me Abigail… you know from the ‘Coffee Shop’… yes I’m alright thanks… I was wondering whether you know where Mr and Mrs Linn are…” She smiled at Nathanial. “Yes… ahem… that’s okay…” She put the phone down on the table and stood up, walking towards the kitchen, the voice of Mr Phillips still coming from the phone’s tiny speaker.
“Abigail,” Nathanial said unable to follow her.
“How do you fancy and nice cup of coffee?” Abigail said. Nathanial could hear her filling the kettle and taking two cups from the cupboard. “How would you like it… sweet? Yes of course you always like it sweet… I spoil you, you know.” She laughed. “I remember when I first saw you. I thought you were so handsome…”
Nathanial walked into the kitchen, watching Abigail as she went through the motions. She turned and smiled at him, but her eyes were hollow as if a light had been snuffed. Nathanial watched her over the two cups, stirring them with the spoon, first his cup, then hers and back again, over and over, each time the strength in her young shoulders lessening and her hand slowing until finally she let the spoon fall into her cup and just stood there motionless.
Nathanial moved forward and put his arms around her, holding her tightly. Immediately her body began to judder, her head back and her mouth held open in a silent scream. Then it came: a sound that was wrenched from the pits of her being to engulf her; not the typical Hollywood noise of scripted grief, but the ugly, unforgiving din of wretchedness and despair. There were unfathomable words cruelly twisted in her mouth, only one survived: “No…no.”
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waiting to be written on,
see me as a written page
waiting to be photocopied.
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Last edited by Azmakna : 05-14-2007 at 11:26 AM.
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