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N.F.R. (Some Mature Content/lang) (1 Viewer)

lawrencewalls

Senior Member
O.K. The prologue of this story was initially deleted for content, and thus, got me in some trouble with the administrators lol. I decided to post Chapter 1 instead, which is lighter on the content and language. Also, I've included a short synopsis of the story. There are several more chapters to this tale, but here is a nice sample for everyone to enjoy. Thank you for your time and ENJOY! p.s. My apologies for grammatical mistakes.


{ synopsis} [Somewhere in cyberspace, a sociopath is browsing the faces of a networking site, looking for that special someone. Meanwhile Cece, An "older then she looks" teen is plagued by visions of a past she doesn't know, and a boy she's never scene. As her suburban town gets turned upside down be a series of grizzly, and seemingly random murders, Cece begins to wonder if there is perhaps more to her increasingly vivid and disturbing daydreams.
​Its then that she receives an unexpected friend request from a familiar looking stranger. When his behavior becomes increasingly more bizarre, she suspects he may not be as harmless as he first seemed, and maybe there was something far more sinister behind his cryptic messages.]


Chapter 1​

The sound of a newscaster played in the background as Cece hurried through her morning routine. She hated the morning rush, its only benefit being her increased talent in multitasking. Her balancing act with a toothbrush, a bagel, and an armful of disorganized school work was enviable to even a trained juggler. She flung her papers onto the kitchen island counter, just missing a puddle of orange juice and scooting bread crumbs unto the linoleum floor. Her dawn activities didn't get any easier over the twelve years she had practiced them, but knowing that there was only a few more months left in her senior year was a relief, and she highly anticipated the long break before college. At first glance, the idea of her being a high school senior would be preposterous. She looked no more then 14, no significant difference in her appearance since middle school. A petite little thing, 110 pounds of youth and vigor, with streaming black hair to compliment her tan skin and hazel eyes. She bounced around the kitchen with an unnatural spring in her step, like a wound up toddler on too much sugar. She paused near the fridge, lifting her toothbrush like a finger to halt herself, lost in her self induced confusion. “What the hell was I doing?” she said aloud, trying to regather her buzzing thoughts. “Oh yea.”. She pulled out a stool to sit at the counter, stuffed the bagel into the toaster, then, looking for an adequate place to lay her toothbrush, sighed with reluctance and slid it into the side pocket of her almost uncomfortable tight blue jeans. A stream of orange juice broke free from the stagnate pool and wound its way to the corner of a loan algebra sheet, soaking its lower half before she could stop it. “Shit!”. She snatched it up, holding it like a dirty rag in a halfhearted attempt to dry it out. She turned to the news to calm her frustration, still holding her soggy paper in the air. The television rested on the far corner of the counter, a cute blond talking away on the screen. Cece expected the same old news local news that always aired in her small and mundane town. Something about the local bakery having another E-Coli outbreak from bad cannolis, or another bus driver caught fumbling with a cellphone before rear ending a uptight school mom dropping off one of her snotty brats. But when a picture of a local girl appeared to the right of the newscaster's head, with the title “Local girl murdered” just below it, her interest was quickly aroused. she stretched out her hand to increase the volume. The newscasters voice raised in the room.


“A local girl was found severely beaten in the Green Valley apartment complex near Macomb yesterday evening” she stated,“ Samantha Rossignol, a senior at Wyandott High School, was found brutally beaten when a repair man entered the apartment to perform routine maintenance. The girl, in her late teens, was immediately rushed to St. Johns hospital where she was pronounced dead. Police won't speculate on the motives for the crime, but are currently questioning the buildings tenants to find if anybody may have information on this horrific crime. This is the third attack in recent months to have been committed in nearly the same fashion, the last one being seventeen year old Cindy Bell of Harrison Township in early March. Local police aren't certain if this is the work of a single or multiple attackers, and are warning residents be on guard for suspicious persons in the area."


As the news went on to other matters, Cece sat shocked, the image of Samantha burning in her mind. She knew her, not well enough to consider her a friend, but at very least an acquaintance. A short haired brunette, as slim and frail as she. What sort of bastard could do that to such a helpless girl, too small to defend herself, too young to know such brutality. And to think, this isn't the first case in the area, nor did she think it would be the last. Even in this small town, where neighbors know neighbors by first name, and violence was limited to wives of the drunks and nightly crime shows, no one was safe. Cece was two young to know of the life her parents talked about, when reminiscing of their own childhoods. Of times when it was okay to leave your doors unlocked, and when sending your kids outside held little threat from vicious predators, or perverted old fiends. Still, she questioned if there ever was such a time; and if there was, she knew that such times would never come again. How could the world have gone so wrong so quickly? Could it be, that we are all nothing more then timid fish in an ocean of bloodthirsty sharks? The chilling truth, was always hard to swallow; yet, with a gulp she did, shaking her head in disgust, a glimmer of fear in her otherwise carefree eyes.
They were still glued to the screen when the pop of the toaster broke her trance. The imagery of a dying girl would now have to tag along with her to school, where others would surely be talking; A restless ghost already haunting the hallways, her memory possessing those who scarcely knew her, but would certainly speak of her as an old friend. That girl, unnoticed in life, would be remembered in her horrible death, the focal point in the urban legends that, in time, would fallow. Poor, unfortunate thing. She grabbed up her school work, juice still drying on her algebra. She still envisioned that face of untimely death as she headed for the front door, leaving the bagel behind, a rennet of another hectic morning, uncommon only in its disturbing revelations.


Wyandott high was only around the corner from Cece's house. The neighborhood itself was an ode to suburban monotony and the cookie cutter existence. Each house along the way was a manicured statement of conformity. White sidings under brown roofs, wide porches and arched windows. The cream colored minivans gracing lengthy inclined driveways. Black S.U.Vs parked at short rest beside them, engines still warm, paint glistening with morning dew under the gently rising sun. A few old ladies watched the streets from open garages, pulling their unsolicited surveillance detail; keeping the hoodlums from cutting across the yards and startling their precocious schnauzers, with the crackle of their voices and a shake of their yard wands.
She wasn't alone as she moved along the sidewalks, winding through a web of streets, each as similar as the last; Jackie waited at the nearest corner, looking hip and bubbly in her Forever 21 ensemble. Black high cut Uggs over black leggings, a flowered chiffon top to match her large, floral inspired low hanging earrings and loop printed, dark shades. She fluffed her brown hair, the long curls flying behind her shoulders, before pulling a cigarette and a pink BIC from a bejeweled Tiffany case. When she caught the sight of Cece advancing towards her, she through her arm into the air, sporting a wide and oblivious grin. It was obvious she hadn't heard the news of earlier; Or perhaps she did, and shrugged it off as people often do. A horror close to home, but not close enough to matter to a person with the more important matters of boys and lip gloss on her mind. Cece smiled back, a forced grin to shroud the worry and arrest her now deep seeded alarm. “Hey Bitch!” Jackie hollered, cigarette dancing in the air. “ Sup Slut!”, Cece responded, putting a bit of hurry in her step to catch Jackie just before she lit her smoke. Jackie performed her ritualistic lighter flick , fired up the forward end, inhaled, and blew the smoke inadvertently into Cece's scrunching face. “Damn bitch! Thanks for that.” Jackie waved off the sarcasm as well as the smoke with whimsical swats of her palm. “Sorry. I need to fuck'n quit.” Cece plucked it from her hand to take a long craved draw from it, croaking “here, let me help.” from under her breath. She couldn't help but notice that Jackie was simply her normal self, not so much as a small hitch in her demeanor; She didn't know. Though she could be as shallow, and remorseless, as the rest of her high school equivalents, she couldn’t hide her emotions as well as Cece, nor would she turn away the opportunity to over exaggerate them, if they arose. If she were aware of current events, she might be standing on the corner shedding false tears, turning the death of an innocent girl into a production of a teenage prima donna, grateful only to the fact that, at least, it wasn't her. Instead, she proceeded to apply sparkling lip gloss with the delicate and careful hand of a showgirl. But Cece's eyes still screamed concern, concern that even the ignorant and often inattentive Jackie took swift notice of. She spoke with artificial, but well meaning interest.”You alright girl?”


A flash of bruised eyes appeared in Cece's mind, sending shivers down her arms. The realism of the thought nauseated her, feeling an unnatural connection to the ambient fear those eyes held. She wasn't sure how to approach such a question knowing her true unease would be unwarranted from Jackie's point of view. She chose hesitantly the most appropriate, but least revealing words.


“ Nothing important” those weren't the words she intended. She recanted. “I mean. Just something I heard this morning, but I'm sure your going to hear all about it in class today.” Jackie's love for gossip incited an immediate interest. “ooh, do tell.”


Cece continued, a nervous knot welling in her stomach. “This girl from school, somebody I knew.” She corrected herself. “well, somebody I think I knew. I mean, I heard of her.”


“Come on bitch, dish.” Jackie interrupted. Cece reluctantly went on.“ This girl, Sam Rossignol?” she said, but moreover asked. Jackie laughed, the devious laugh of a humble bully, ready to insult the girls character without any further knowledge. “Oh god, I know that slut.” Jackie looked disgusted as she rambled. “Who'd she fuck this time? Oh my god was it Illy? I fuck'n bet it was Illy! He's such a fuck'n man whore. Seriously, who hasn't she...”
Cece cut her short with a statement that stopped Jackie and her insults in their tracks.


“..She's dead.”


A look of twisted pleasure quickly faded to a dumbfounded look of disbelief.


“Your fucking kidding me.”


Cece's despondent glare spoke for itself, and Jackie suddenly felt an unfamiliar feeling of remorse. “Oh my god! How?” Cece couldn't answer, instead, hung her head low to the ground as if shamed by the very act of mentioning it. People shouldn't find out this way, not on a sunny corner, under cloudless skies, with the scent of Newport in the air. This is news that should be fallowed by a sudden rain and gentle weeping. This is news that should cut to the very core of any feeling being, and the world should shake with the same sorrow and pity as the very soul that dare to speak such awful facts. But Jackie would not be satisfied with silence as a response and pressed Cece for an explanation, using her posture to speak the words her mouth was to awed to communicate. “She was beaten to death, from what I heard. It was on the news this morning. I can't believe something like that happened around here, and to somebody in our school.” Jackie's jaw dropped, but weather from genuine shock, or dramatic effect couldn't be determined. “What the fuck?”. There wasn't much real concern in Jackie’s voice, and Cece didn't expect there to be. She didn't hold it against her though, she couldn't. Jackie was like many others she knew; Hallow, naive, and completely insensitive to the the woes of others. A false, hopeless being. Cece often wondered why they were even friends to begin with, but assumed it was out of pity more so then desire. She couldn't help but scorn her own hypocrisy; as well meaning smiles were often as wrong as those that smiled back with no meaning at all.


The screech of tires on pavement startled them away from the topic. A sleek, smokey gray mustang came to such a sudden halt near the curb, the back end bumped the concrete and hopped the left back tire onto the grass. Out of the sun roof, a wire haired boy sprung up with the foolish grin of a jack in the box. His glazed eyes of a stoner squinted from a grin, before he parodied the old Budweiser commercials with an extended and raspy “WUZUUUUP!”.


“Oh my God” Jackie said. “How fucking played out is that?”


the boy laughed, throwing his hands up to express his lack of care. “I keep it old school hunnie, you know how I do.”


“Hey Matt.” Cece hollered. Figuring he'd have a hard time hearing her over the gangster rap blaring through his stereo. The typical Suburban boy, trying to be something he wasn't. A poser, as Cece would say, who lived the urban lifestyle vicariously through hip hop and sagging jeans. His pale flesh didn't help his case either. This was common around her area, and while his actions may have gotten him beaten to within an inch of his life in other neighborhoods, it earned him a bit of idolization in this one. “Wudup Girl!”.. She giggled to hear him try so desperately to add a little slang to his otherwise scotch Irish propriety. “Ya'll want a ride?”


Jackie was already sliding her way into the passenger seat, and him back into the drivers seat. Cece fallowed suite, shaking her head at his foolishness, as she pushed the passengers seat forward to slip into the back. Jackie was already adjusting the vanity mirror, checking her makeup, and doing another religious lip gloss application as Matt skipped first gear to speed recklessly forward, leaving exhaust fumes swirling in his wake.
 

LaughinJim

Senior Member
Needs Work.

I had a hard time pushing through it. Several spelling mistakes repeated, meaning they were not typos. Hallow is spelt hollow, fallow should read follow and suite is suit. I suspect there are some I didn't catch.

You say you cleaned it up but the language is unnecessarily foul. I understand they are young urban punks but golly!

The description of Jackie grossed me out a little bit. Let me guess, she goes next.

The suggestion of gratuitous violence and sex to come, I'm thinking. With a lot of re-working and cleaning up you might be able to sell it to a skin mag. Stephen King started that way.

The writing, on the whole, is not that bad. You just have to get your mind out of the gutter.

The fact the the excerpt got flagged by admin. should have given you a clue.
 

Potty

WF Veterans
Um, yea OK I usualy don't blush at much but this was a bit much. I think what you have done here is taken a literal conversation from a bunch of "cooler than thou" teens and transcribed it straight into your story. The difference between a conversation and written dialog is huge. Next time you near two people having a chat tape record it (if you can.) then transcribe it straight into words and add some narrative around it to fit the words. You will soon find that it will never work.

Yes younger kids talk like that, but on paper its a bit embarasing to read. And if I was totaly honest, I think even the kids would tone it down a bit more than this!

The other thing I struggled with in your story is how you have formatted it. Big blocks of text are a real struggle to read, its hard on the eye and its sluggish on the brain. Manuscript presentation | Sue Moorcroft writes this link will give you a very good example of how to format your work. (click the large presentation word near the top) this helped me a lot!

One tip to reduce the swearing is just say she/he cursed. Lets take this example from your story:

"A stream of orange juice broke free from the stagnate pool and wound its way to the corner of a loan algebra sheet, soaking its lower half before she could stop it. “Shit!”. She snatched it up,"

Could be changed to:

"A stream of orange juice broke free from the stagnate pool and wound its way to the corner of a loan algebra sheet, soaking its lower half before she could stop it. She swore loudly and snatched it up,"

Your character is still seen to use language without causing the reader to blush!

Other than these two point I actually enjoyed the rest of your story. I cringed a little at the lingo but I would if I heard it in real life as I just find it degrading and embarasing. (I just keep imagining them trying to get a job using that sort of language and it makes me embarased for them!)
 
Personally I wasn't offended by the language, because I've hung out with people like this. But just because teens swear a lot doesn't mean they do every sentence. And since your characters all talk the same, it's hard for readers to think of them as real people.

Also, when you put so much swearing in your writing, the reader starts to get used to it. A well placed swear word can add a lot of tension to a scene, but only if the reader doesn't expect it.

I'm hoping that in the rest of the story we meet some teenagers who aren't heartless monsters. Make sure you explain later why Jackie is desensitized to everything- I've seen so many tv shows where the reason a teen murdered someone is that "kids these days can't feel anything because of ipods".

I did like the prose though. Most of it was very fluid.
 

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