veli

I wrote this bizarre thing in an afternoon, and I experimented with two different styles, never quite figuring out which to go with. You'll probably notice where the change of style is. Any hints would be appreciated...... sorry if it's too long.

The Truth
A. David Henderson


Reid Briggs was a man older than his years, and even as a child, had been a man. He held rigid structure above everything. The man didn’t know enjoyment, only satisfaction. He had children, and loved them in his way, but they were a grave disappointment to him. It appeared that they were frivolous things, and were seldom serious about anything whatever. It was a good thing that he was never frustrated, as he would have had a stroke once his eldest, Donald, reached the age of two.
To call Donald a miscreant would be a gross understatement; he smoked at the age of twelve (and nothing sensible like a pipe, Donald preferred cigarettes), drank profusely, and swore. Donald hated his father intensely, especially his tendency to give a one word maxim for everything. “Concision” in speaking and writing. “Tenacity” in business, Etc. Donald also hated his mother, Mrs. Briggs, but only because she was so demure and obedient to Sir Briggs, the name by which Donald knew him. It wasn’t until their obituaries were printed that he actually learned their names.
Sir Briggs and Mrs. Briggs were found murdered in their twin beds, dead of arsenic injestion. The shock that was evident on the faces of the other two Briggs children was nowhere apparent on young Donald’s. He was never considered as a suspect, as he was very drunk, and ruled incapable of the crime. For years after, the Briggs children would find the scents of mint and pipe tobacco synonymous with their Father; curiously, none of them had any recollection of Mrs. Briggs.
The Briggs children went on to become very respectable and productive, and had Sir Briggs lived to see them, he would have been satisfied. After all “Productivity” was one of the most important things to strive for in life. Sir Briggs would not have been impressed with Donald at all, however. In fact, had he been alive, he surely would have hovered over Donald, looking down on him sternly over his moustache. He may even have had a few stern words for his young son.
Donald pictured his father in this way and shook his head, a smirk on his lean face. “Bastard” he thought as he mounted his motorcycle and turned the key. The loud rumbling of the engine drowned out the towering image of his father, regal and Edwardian, a pillar of overbearing. Donald looked at his face in the rear-view mirror, and was proud of the five-o’clock shadow that hung on his sunken cheeks, as well as the untrimmed nose hairs which he knew would have dismayed his father “gravely”.
Donald accelerated quickly, swerving to hit an oncoming squirrel. Nonchalantly, he glanced at his watch, which he noticed had stopped over the last couple of days. Not that it mattered; it was two time zones behind when the battery had died. Couple this with the fact that he habitually set clocks ten minutes ahead, meant that every time he needed the time, a calculation needed to take place. “Fuck it.” Donald figured he was two hours shy of Portland, and realizing this, he sped up sharply.

~
Grace sat in a corner booth in the far end of Billy Reed’s, a steak/pub joint in Portland. She was clearly scowling, and it wasn’t hard for the casual observer to note that she had the face of a woman who was about to lop off someone’s penis, for display in a jar. Normally, she couldn’t be somewhere five minutes without a man approaching her, but today was an exception. She was gorgeous, though, even if she was enraged.
The waitress approached for the third time that evening, but given a glare unlike any she had ever received, stopped short of the table and pivoted like a marine. She determined to come back only if beckoned, and even then, would have to summon no small amount of courage. She had taken to calling her “the psycho” to all the regulars at the bar.
“She’s been here for two hours, you guys! Wouldn’t you think she would give up by now?” asked the waitress. “This guy must be something else to keep such a pretty girl here for so long.”
“He’ll be something else when she’s done with him, that’s for sure.” Replied the burly barkeeper. He looked Grace up and down, whistling quietly through his teeth and shaking his head. “Poor schmuck!”
As if on cue, in walked Donald and all eyes fell on him. He wore black from head to toe, save the red piping on his leather jacket. In an exaggerated movement he yanked off his sunglasses, and looked around the bar. The barkeep couldn’t contain his laughter at the excessive bravado, but Donald didn’t seem to mind. As he strutted towards the table in the back, not seeming to mind Graces agitation, the bartender chuckled again. “What a schmuck!”
“What the hell is the matter with you?! Do you know what time it is?” Grace throttled his chin, a big roundhouse for such a svelte girl. For the first time since walking into Reed’s, he was visibly shaken. The scene was watched by everyone, and they were all pretty glad that she had thumped him a good one. No one was braced for the counter attack, however. The man in black leaned back, and delivered an absolute hay-maker onto the unsuspecting girl, sending her sprawling backwards over a table.
This scene had started so quickly that no one really knew what to do. Every one was stunned, including the bartender. He was the first to recover, though, and he leapt the bar like a rodeo clown, grabbing Donald by the collar of his jacket. Donald was then pummeled severely, and by the time the police arrived, his breathing was a faint rasp. The bartender was promptly taken to the station, and Donald was rushed to the hospital. Two hours later, the other Briggs children were informed of the third violent death in their family in under a decade.

~

Donald never once saw anyone he knew in the hereafter until he was summoned by God to choose his next incarnation on Earth. Once in the reception area, he took a seat next to Sir and Mrs. Briggs. They were called into Gods office as a group, and seated in front of his imminence were the other Briggs children, having died in an intentional fire set by Donald’s little brother Robert.
This time around, Reid decided to relent being a harsh father, as he didn’t have any great success in that role in their last life. Instead he thought it might be nice to be the easy-going, liberal minded father. “It may even prevent blood-shed” He commented.
Mrs. Reid liked the idea as well, and let’s face it; anything would beat her last life. She decided that her name would be Alice, and she would be on the forefront of women’s rights. She could even be on the P.T.A. in the children’s school.
Donald settled on being the same he had been in his previous life, as he had in all previous lives. It was more fun that way, and the big guy didn’t care anyways, as long as it entertained him.
Most mortals don’t realize this aspect of life, and they always ask questions like “why, if God exists, is there strife and suffering on Earth? How can he let this continue on?” The answer is very simple. How entertaining would our existences be if everything was copasetic and nothing happened? Would God let the Earth exist for its own benefit? I highly doubt it.

Caria

The first part was very narrative which can be hard to read and hard to suck readers into.

I liked this part
"“She’s been here for two hours, you guys! Wouldn’t you think she would give up by now?” asked the waitress. “This guy must be something else to keep such a pretty girl here for so long.”
“He’ll be something else when she’s done with him, that’s for sure.” Replied the burly barkeeper. He looked Grace up and down, whistling quietly through his teeth and shaking his head. “Poor schmuck!”
As if on cue, in walked Donald and all eyes fell on him. He wore black from head to toe, save the red piping on his leather jacket. In an exaggerated movement he yanked off his sunglasses, and looked around the bar. The barkeep couldn’t contain his laughter at the excessive bravado, but Donald didn’t seem to mind. As he strutted towards the table in the back, not seeming to mind Graces agitation, the bartender chuckled again. “What a schmuck!”
“What the hell is the matter with you?! Do you know what time it is?” Grace throttled his chin, a big roundhouse for such a svelte girl. For the first time since walking into Reed’s, he was visibly shaken. The scene was watched by everyone, and they were all pretty glad that she had thumped him a good one. No one was braced for the counter attack, however. The man in black leaned back, and delivered an absolute hay-maker onto the unsuspecting girl, sending her sprawling backwards over a table.
This scene had started so quickly that no one really knew what to do. Every one was stunned, including the bartender. He was the first to recover, though, and he leapt the bar like a rodeo clown, grabbing Donald by the collar of his jacket. Donald was then pummeled severely, and by the time the police arrived, his breathing was a faint rasp. The bartender was promptly taken to the station, and Donald was rushed to the hospital. Two hours later, the other Briggs children were informed of the third violent death in their family in under a decade. "

because you stopped telling me the story and started showing me what was happening.

I like the ending, I think it is unique.

veli

I'm glad you noticed the difference in narratives, most people don't. I have a tendency to write with the former style, rather than the latter. Thanks for the input; maybe I'll rewrite it in the more objective style.

__________________
"I'm an occational drinker, the kind of guy who goes out for a beer and wakes up in Singapore with a full beard."
--Raymond Chandler
"The King in Yellow"

Kitten Courna

Definitely a change in a narrative! Perhaps not for the better. If you could blend it in a little more with your previous style, insert an odd action here or there, it'd be more successful.
You tried a pretty daring style in the beginning, it's hard to hit the odd tone that the specific type of humor requires. Though you were on the mark here and there your switch of character was rougher than it could of been, and you tended to be just a tad too long or too short in your descriptions. It was a funny kinda middle-way thing that set the flow of the piece off.
You had the right idea with it, though. I suspect a push more towards one style or the other would make it easier to read. I would suggest you accent the bizarrenees *grin* it was well done.
This was a good read, and an interesting idea. Unexpected ending, too! Bravo, there, I think that was my favorite bit. I liked the story, but I wish there was just one style in it, or, at least, a fine distinction between the two.
Well done!

-Kitten
(and if you haven't seen it, I suggest the movie The Royal Tenenbaums.)

__________________
Cadmus: Poor child, like a white swan warding its weak old father, why do you clasp those white arms about my neck?
Euripides; 'The Bacchae'

veli

I did love "The Royal Tenenbaums" especially Gene Hackman.
Thanks for the input, though. I have no real ambitions with this story, it's just a fun little thing. I think I will adjust anyways, however.

__________________
"I'm an occational drinker, the kind of guy who goes out for a beer and wakes up in Singapore with a full beard."
--Raymond Chandler
"The King in Yellow"