ghost of kindness- 4 - Writers Forum

cellardoor · 01-10-2006, 10:49 PM

Michael and Zach and Brian were still running away from the deer on the ground in front of me. I couldn’t move, I just crouched and stared at the body. This deer, which we had thrown rocks at for no reason, was dying. The train rolling past me paid no attention to its accidental victim, this bloody, mangled deer that had been so unbelievably alive just a few minutes ago.

Clear dots appeared in the blood covering the rocks. My tears flowed out as steadily as this deer’s life was flowing out, mixing with its blood. It lifted its head up and looked at me. I choked back a sob and stared into the endless eyes as it breathed red fog that vanished in the frozen air. The deer went into a sudden seizure as the last bit of life flew out of it, to “deer heaven”, my mom would say. Its head hit the ground with a solid, wet thump that splattered some blood on my outstretched hand, one of the hands that had caused this deer’s death. I had tried to help the deer by putting my jacket on its wounded neck, but the blood had just kept coming.

Now that the deer was finally dead I could cry. I couldn’t cry while the deer was alive, watching me, but now that all hope had gone, I wailed and howled and screamed, pleading with God to put the life back in this deer. Nothing happened. I screamed at the grey sky above me, offered God my life for this deer I had helped to kill, but nothing happened. All my screams were drowned out by the train that kept on rolling past me, the cars flashing blue and red and yellow. On one of those cars, a dark blue one with C&C painted on the side, there was a great big wet red splatter.

The end of the train came into sight and vanished behind me. Four of the five killers had left the scene.

There was a crunching behind me that got louder as the train got softer. I spun around, expecting to see a policeman coming to arrest me.

There was a person walking up to me, silhouetted against the sun behind his head. I could see jeans, and a black shirt, and the word “red” written on his arm in red, and long hair, but I couldn’t see his face. He towered over me, his a dark oval in the sky. He walked next to me and knelt down by the deer’s head.

He whispered, “What happened?” His voice sounded like the wind.

I sniffled and gulped a few times and tried to explain. “Me and Brian and Michael and Zach were walking on the tracks and the train came so we got off and then this deer came and we threw rocks at it and it got scared and ran into the train and Brian and Michael and Zach ran away but I watched it die.” The image of the deer smacking into the train, that sick slap, played over and over again in my mind.

“Why did you watch it die?”

“Cause it’s some of my fault that it’s dead. And I couldn’t let it die alone. You know?”

The older boy next to me nodded. “I know.” He stood up and looked down at me with his shadowy face. “What are you going to do?” he asked.

“I… what should I do? I dunno what I should do.”

“We should bury it. Get a pointy rock.”

“I can get a shovel my house is across the street!” I pointed.

The boy nodded. “Go get a shovel then.”

I checked the street for cars and ran across, into my backyard, and grabbed the old shovel out of my shed. When I got back to the boy, he was scraping at the cracked ground between the road and the rocks around the tracks. “Here’s the shovel!” I handed it to him.

“Ok, thanks. Go clear a path in the rocks between here and the deer.” I nodded and began shifting the rocks that led from where he was digging to the deer’s body.

We worked in silence for a long time, the only sounds the scraping of dirt and rocks and the occasional car driving slowly past, its occupants gazing at the windows with their mouths open like stupid fish and their eyes locked onto the deer.

He finished the hole about the same time I finished the path and walked over to me as I put the last rock down. I looked up at his face, expecting a shadow, but I could see him now. He was smiling down at me with his entire face. I could even see his eyes now, through his blue glasses.

He grabbed the deer’s back leg and started dragging it over to the hole in little jerks, panting, his breath fogging up the air. Eventually he got it moving steadily and dragged it in one continuous motion, trailing a steaming bloody line, like in the movies. I followed the boy as he dragged the deer to the hole, like a two-man funeral procession. He pulled the deer into the hole with a thump, and we piled dirt and rocks on it in silence. As the deer’s body disappeared bit by bit, my own body felt lighter. By the time we covered it up, I felt like I could fly.

There was a small hill covering the deer’s body now, dirt with some rocks on top to protect it from dogs. “That’s gonna grow some gorgeous wildflowers a few years from now,” the boy said, wiping his forehead. “Put some color in this place.”

“Why?”

“Cause of the deer. It’s going to rot in the ground, and plants are going to use his body for food. They’re going to grow huge. Have you got some wood? We can make a sign.”

I ran back over to my house and grabbed a piece of wood from the backyard, a white board from our old shed, and came back to the boy. “Is this good wood?”

He laughed. “That’s perfect.” He pulled a marker out of his pocket, a big fat orange one, and held it above the board. “What should we name it?”

“Ummm… Deer Hill?”

He laughed again, and I grinned. I didn’t understand why he was laughing, but it felt good to smile. “That’s a great name,” he said. He wrote DEER HILL on the piece of wood, in huge letters. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Andrew Jacobson.” He wrote AJ on the board in small letters, then next to that he wrote gok. I shook my head. “What’s gok?”

“That’s me. Ghost of kindness.”

I looked at him quickly. “You’re not a ghost! You liar!”

He laughed again. “You’re right, I’m not a ghost. But call me gok, little man.”

I shrugged. How was gok any weirder than Andrew? “Do you want hot chocolate, gok?”

“Sure.”

“Come on then.” I grabbed his hand and pulled him across the street to my house.

cellardoor · 01-10-2006, 10:52 PM

narrator is a little kid, obviously. it may seem weird that i made his toughts so grownup, but i think little kids think just as smart as we do, but they don't have the power to express it like us. but their feelings are the same.
what i really want to know is, how is the dialogue? does it seem like a little kid?
and i know, i know, the end isn't as good as the rest. let me work on it, i'm in a bit of a drought lately. weird things happening that take away from my inspiration.

first three:
www.writingforums.com/showthread.php?t=52024
www.writingforums.com/showthread.php?t=52121
www.writingforums.com/showthread.php?t=52238

kalibantre · 01-10-2006, 10:59 PM

I liked it, but untill the ghost entered the narrative it didn't have the same feel as the others. I was a little confused to start with as t what you were doing with the style. But it works, by the time you hit dialogue.

I didn't realise that it was a small boy untill the end, I did question you're listing of the names and why he said his full name but that's become apparent when you think this is just a kid.

I still liked.. a hell of a lot. If this ever gets published at least one copy will be on it's way to merry ole England.

mjk · 01-10-2006, 11:07 PM

another excellent one.

here comes the nitpicks:

Quote:

I couldn’t cry while the deer was alive, watching me, but now that all hope had gone, I wailed and howled and screamed, and begged God to put the life back in this deer.

a great line, but do you think it would work better as "...and screamed, begging God..."?

Quote:

There was a crunching behind me that gout louder as the train got softer.

oops! i assume you know what i'm pointing out...

Quote:

but i think little kids think just as smart as we do, but they don't have the power to express it like us. but their feelings are the same.

i agree completely. in fact, kids are probably much smarter than adults.

another great installment/chapter/episode/what-have-you. i'm impressed by your grasp of language and flow.

as for the dialogue, yes, i got the definite impression this was a little kid. his run-on explanation to the ghost of kindness is particularly captivating of childhood speech.

i don't know if i'll agree with you on the ending. i think it works well, especially since gok is dealing with a younger character, so his actions should work in accordance with that, and it did.

on another note, i am so intrigued by your use of color in this story. most of the content is grey, but then you'll throw in a color that just smacks the reader on the head. i love it. the train cars going by, the marker on the arm...

i'll be looking forward to the next one. thanks for posting it.

cellardoor · 01-10-2006, 11:09 PM

kalibantre
thanks a lot. i'm not done with it, of course. i'll definitely work on the style, definitely try to make him seem younger.
thanks especially for "If this ever gets published at least one copy will be on it's way to merry ole England."

mjk
everything you ever say is correct. hahaha. i love being critiqued by you. edited version will be up sometime tomorrow, probably late.

mjk · 01-10-2006, 11:09 PM

ahh yes, and another piece of advice. whatever is going on in your life, use it for your writing. be a shameless artist. take every last bit of feeling/thought/mood that you're going through and channel it into your work. that is the only way i have found that validates the "weirdness" of life.

kalibantre · 01-10-2006, 11:11 PM

You have greatness in you cellar. Even Tolkien thought you were a beautiful thing.

mjk · 01-10-2006, 11:18 PM

ooh, and kitty gets the imaginary bonus points!

ross · 01-10-2006, 11:19 PM

Another interesting encounter with our new ghost.
All I'd add to the above is I think the character is more powerful when used sparingly as you did in the others.
He kind of unsettles the status quo and opens the minds of the other protagonists that there may be more to life than there here and now. The G.O.K. knows something they don't, something wholesome and good.
It jarred (for me at least) when he introduced himself though. He didn't have to do that.
Great theme. We're all enjoying it.

cellardoor · 01-11-2006, 05:18 PM

thanks everyone.

kalibantre · 01-11-2006, 05:19 PM

Its well deserved praise.

Raging_Hopeful · 01-11-2006, 05:28 PM

This is a great piece. It is definitely different from th e others... but it was sooooo profound and filled with imagery that really illustrates the contrast between life and death. I think you did a really good job of capturing the childlike innocence, and the kid's horror at the realization of death. I'm also glad the G.O.K. took the time to make him feel better.

I think this is great and interesting that it didn't end with the gok leaving the scene. I can't wait to see what you do with it! Keep writing!

cellardoor · 01-11-2006, 06:25 PM

thanks a lot. i like the differences between this piece and the others, i didn't want to go through the same formula every time, but i wanted each piece to be able to stand by itself.
it's nice to be praised somewhere.

mjk · 01-11-2006, 07:41 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by cellardoor

mjk
everything you ever say is correct. hahaha. i love being critiqued by you. edited version will be up sometime tomorrow, probably late.

somehow i missed this, i don't possibly know how. from this moment on, whenever people get pissy with me, i will simply send them to you so you can tell them that. haha. thanks for boosting my already inflated ego. (kitty, will you please keep me in check, i have a feeling i might get pretentious.) cellar, i hope your words never come back to bite you in the ass.

your works are a joy to critique, as they are thoughtful, well-formed, provocative and more often than not free of typos and grammatical errors. they are always a pleasure to read. keep posting and i will continue to read.

cellardoor · 01-12-2006, 01:31 PM

thanks. once this marker wears off i'll write another story