Running

You’ve always known they were after you. You just didn’t realise they were so close. The world is closing in. Gathering you feet first into the jumble, the great big mess, the guts of the world. You were always running. You were running before you could walk. Your feet smack the ground with each laborious step, a grunt emits when you land unsteadily but your pace doesn’t waver. Just keep on going, a voice says, you’ve been doing this your whole life.

You enter a park, the same park you cross though every day on your way to work. You give a nod of recognition to the statue of Queen Elizabeth I that is whitewashed, head to shoulders, with bird s**t. The Virgin Queen, she’s standing tall above the alcove in the pavilion where teenagers go to f**k. You once took a girl there when you were fifteen. She had a German name but it escapes you now. She had bottle blonde hair and a bra two sizes too small so you could see the rolls of flesh under the strap like dimpled fingers curling around her torso. You can still taste the cigarette she’d just smoked, a Marlboro Red, stolen from her mother’s handbag and heavy on your tongue. She opened herself up to you and you, you little t**d, were scared shitless. You couldn’t even finish the job. Keep going, the voice says, you’ve been embarrassing yourself your whole life.

You’re beginning to get out of breath. You’ve been running for fifty years, maybe the two pack a day habit is starting to catch up with you. You’ve been getting tired for a while now but you can’t stop, every moment the net is drawing closer. A woman passes you with a pushchair and two tiny blue eyes stare out at you from under the hood. The kid is dressed in a perfect white baby grow with the infamous three letter brand name GAP shamelessly stretched across the chest. The letters are calling out to you and you quicken your pace. The whiteness of the baby grow is terrifying, it is whiter than any white you have seen before. It is almost blinding. You never understood why your wife would dress your daughter in white when she was a baby. The unavoidable stains of s**t and piss and vomit would mark each failure on the bright white fabric. Like you needed any reminder you were a terrible parent. The mother of the GAP baby yells out at you, you don’t quite hear it but you realise you’ve struck the pushchair with your briefcase and the damn thing has popped open. You don’t stop, you flick it closed with your free hand and carry on your way. No need to pick up the papers that spilled from it, they’re useless anyway.

You see Annabel, a girl who works in the McDonalds across the street from your office building. The same one you go to every lunch time to avoid the daily ordeal of having to sit opposite the suits and ties and conversations of suits and ties. You’ve never seen Annabel out of her bland, shapeless uniform. Even when you screw her in the disabled bathroom she keeps her shirt on and trousers pooled around her ankles. Once you tried to remove her black baseball cap with the golden ‘M’ embroidered on it but she batted your hand away and resumed her position over your crotch. She turns to face you as you run past her and if she recognises you she doesn’t show it. She looks different out here. You’re used to seeing her only in the confines of the fast food restaurant, amid a faceless sea of uniforms and rubbery burgers. Her skin always smells vaguely of grease and you favour it to the expensive perfume your wife orders in gallons. She is wearing a pair of jeans and a cheap looking leather jacket. You prefer her in the uniform. Out here she seems real and you hate her for it.

You take the nearest exit out of the park and run along the busy street three blocks from your office building. Here, in the city centre, people descend on you like flies and you swat at them with your empty briefcase. But they are too busy with their expensive phones and their desire to find the nearest Starbucks to notice your red, puffy, disgusting face. You keep hitting at them but realise it’s a futile effort, one that is draining your much needed energy. Keep going, the voice says, you’ve been tired your whole life. You run into a girl with green hair and a nose ring. She falls to the ground, her head striking the pavement. Her skin tight mini-skirt rips at the seam and you see she isn’t wearing any underwear. She doesn’t get up. Instead she carries on talking into her phone, idly checking for scuff marks on her bright white trainers. You jump over her sitting on the pavement into the swarms of tourists and shoppers and you momentarily lose yourself amid the tide.

A little further down the street you’re swept past the book shop where you met your wife. This whole damned city is a constant reminder of the fraud that you’ve always been. You went in there to buy a gift for someone and you managed to impress her with a whole load of bullshit you half though you remembered, half made up about Kafka. It served its purpose, it got her into bed, and you’ve been reeling out the same bullshit ever since. Keep going, the voice says, you’ve been getting lucky your whole life. Sometimes you think she’s onto you. You get the feeling she, along with everybody else, have been laughing at you this whole time. They know you’re faking. Trouble is, when you’ve been lying your entire life you don’t remember what’s real anymore, so you work harder at your disguise. Your wardrobes are home to rows of tailor made Armani dress wear and imported handmade Italian shoes. You have fortnightly hair tints to hide the grey and facial treatments to stave off time rapidly eating away at your forgotten youth. You’re convinced you once loved her but you’ve never really known if this is the truth. She gave you a daughter nineteen years ago and has been slowly working at producing a near perfect replica of herself. You know you love your daughter but you can’t stand to be around her anymore.

It won’t be long before she is married and begins to spawn her offspring into this same world with GAP baby grows and greasy sex in McDonalds. She’ll hire you a home aid and tell you your incontinence is normal for a man your age, that it’s fine but you’ll know it isn’t. She’ll pity you for falling from your stature of some vague importance and greed to a lolling toothless head atop a brittle, bony body. She’ll marry a man and you’ll give him an assistant CEO position, just like your father gave to you. You’ll mould the young, handsome piece of s**t into a perfect copy of the suits and ties that you’re constantly surrounded by and fade away into old age and brochures for retirement homes in Spain. You hope your wife will run off with a new man so you don’t have to go about your dying with her around, but you doubt anyone else will want her.

You leap across the road and a car swerves to avoid hitting you. The driver leans out his window and screams profanities in you direction but you don’t notice, you never do. Your eyes are focused on the enormous billboard ahead. Mind the GAP. You laugh a loud, hacking bellow of a laugh. Now you know for sure they’re onto you. On the billboard is a picture of an undeterminable landscape with a cliff breaking into a ravine on the horizon. Just keep running, it says, we’ve been behind you your whole life. This is what you’ve been running from since the day you were born. You know that one day, any day now, you’ll come upon that cliff and there’ll be no where left to turn.

You can see your office building behind the cliff. You run towards the monstrous building that climbs higher than any of its neighbours and your anxiety begins to seep away. You can already see the faceless suits and identical hairstyles. You can hear the monotonous conversations of Armani dress wear and see the shameless greed that hangs tangible in the air. You’re almost crying as you push through the heavy glass doors. You heave yourself into the elevator just as the doors are beginning to close and someone asks what floor you want. Sixteen, you answer. You made it.

You’re home.

Reviews

[Matt Pellegrini]

"You’ve always known they were after you. You just didn’t realise they were so close." I'm not sure who this "they" is that is being referenced here. Well, I do, but it's not elaborated on later in the story. And what the first two sentences suggest somebody or something is following and chasing down our narrator, the reader instinctively is going to want the answer who/what?

"the net is drawing closer." I'm not sure what kind of metaphor/reference you're making with the "net." Something like a fishing net, closing in, about to capture a bunch of fish? That's all I can think of when I think of nets drawing closer that are following or chasing someone down.

"The unavoidable stains of s**t and piss and vomit would mark each failure on the bright white fabric. Like you needed any reminder you were a terrible parent." Oh wow, this was pretty strong stuff and even a bit uncomfortable to read. I wonder if there's even just a bit more that could follow these sentences. I want to know why he thinks he's a terrible parent maybe. Was there a defining moment that made him feel this? Does he loathe himself for being the parent he is? I think these questions are going to get at a bigger point I'm going to make in the end.

"You see Annabel, a girl who works in the McDonalds that you hide out at every lunch time because you can’t face the confusion and panic of which restaurant is the most fashionable to be seen at." This sentence could use a little restructuring or something. It is a bit awkwardly worded in the first half. Maybe segment it even more. "You see Annabel. A girl who works in the McDonalds. The same McDonalds you eat at every day for lunch, choosing to hide out there instead of making a dining faux pas at..."

"constantly berate you for be handed the job by Daddy." be > being

"Even when you screw her in the disabled bathroom she keeps her shirt on and trousers pooled around her ankles." This was a great sentence. Just the specificity of the disabled bathroom depicts an awfully degrading image.

"Keep going, the voice says, you’ve been getting lucky your whole life. Sometimes you think she’s onto you." The getting lucky thing is definitely a good line that hits on multiple levels for the character. I'm also interested in this "onto you" motif that recurs. This idea of being a fake, a fraud wasn't as clear in the first draft you did, and I think it's something that's vital for understanding why the character is so distraught and upset. Without knowing why he is so conflicted, the story doesn't have as much strength. Working even more with these concepts of faking to the point of not knowing who he really is or was and instead being in disguise and lying his whole life is really the crux of his distress and the materialism and empty living I think you're trying to get at.

"You hope your wife will run off with a new man so you don’t have to go about your dying with her around, but you doubt anyone else will want her." Very nice. Most of the little, small personal stories or feelings that you added in this second draft really make the story better by letting the reader see the main character, flaws and all and understand him a little better.

I still think the story is just missing some clarity in a way. The theme of his job, his business, his office being his "home" isn't much elaborated on, so in the end when he's "home" and safe/comfortable, I don't really feel like that conclusion has sort of a justification to it.

I guess along the same lines you added some smaller details about the man's past, there maybe should be some about how he has interacted and reacted with his job. What choices he had growing up, if he had any. At what age his dad handed him the job. Was he successful at first when he was younger? Did he like it? The success? The money? The importance? Only to realize it was superficial? Did his work slowly become the place he felt was his "home" is what I think needs to be implanted in the story still.

As to the larger point I mentioned I was going to make earlier. I just don't feel this is working to its full potential at its current length right now. Something about what this story tells now just seems incomplete. I think it can really serve as this beginning intro/first chapter/prologue for a much larger narrative. It wouldn't have to be a full length novel or anything, but though there's this semi conflict resolution with the character getting "home," I don't feel the main conflict is ever solved. That he has these paranoid feelings about people coming to get him, coming to expose that he's a fraud, slowly closing in on him, this sense of panic and tension just is only resolved for a temporary time by him getting "home" in his safe place.

Maybe that's what you wanted for this story, but I'm interested in seeing how his conflict is completely resolved and if you had or may get any ideas for that, I'd love to read on and see what continues with this.

[Matt Pellegrini]

"You were running before you could walk." Like this line.

The whole section starting with the Queen Elizabeth I statue and going through the end of the paragraph is fantastic!

"a perfect white baby grow with the infamous three letter slogan GAP brazenly stretched across the chest." baby grow? with the infamous...I think the word grow is a typo here or something. Also, I understand with the theme and feeling of the story that GAP is going to be infamous. Wait, before I continue, I want to make sure I'm thinking of the same GAP. The clothing line right? If so, I would go with three letter brand, instead of slogan. But, I think going into a short quick anecdote or details like you did in the first paragraph where the narrator of the story talks to the character running about why GAP is "infamous" is almost necessary. You should tell the reader why GAP is infamous. Lauded. Hated. So we can agree with the sentiments.

Alright you used baby grow a second time, so I don't think it's a typo anymore, just one of the American English-British English difference again. What is a baby grow? Also, I wasn't sure what a pushchair was, but I'm guessing it is what we would call a stroller here.

I like the repetition of the "Keep going, you've been [blank] your whole life." A nice repetitive motif that you should continue to use if you extend the story.

This definitely has an Easton-Ellis feel to it a la American Psycho, although that is the only novel I've read of his so far. It almost felt like surreal dream too at times. Like a man trapped in a nightmare. The running. The angry people yelling. The clones of people. The woman who gets knocked over who doesn't seem to notice or pay attention to what she should. It was all somewhat surreal. Like the world was a bit off.

I thought one interesting thing was towards the end where they've detested him his whole life. I almost started to think he was somewhat different than the rest of the Yuppies and other people. Possibly more successful, more cruel, more disengaged without humanity, but then I also thought he might be a person that wasn't that kind of carbon copy businessman and that's why he was detested.

The stuff about him getting seated in the back, grown a little too old, floundering at the bottom, being a fraud made me think he was almost faking his existence as a successful person. Like he wasn't one of these people, but thought it was what he wanted, so he feigned the dress style, the briefcase and air of importance. Ran around in the crowd around the business/finance section of the city to fit in and feel important. Again, this may sound very American Psycho-ish, but to me he seemed like a guy who is just in the business he's in to "fit in." I think you could play around with that idea if you wanted to, but I know you were kind of going for something a little bit of a different point with the story.

Getting to what you said in the message, I think I understand where you're coming from saying you feel you didn't pull it off how you imagined. I really think the bottom half of that first paragraph is some really strong writing. If you used a bit of some similar writing throughout it might strengthen the story, but I can also see how that scene, while awesomely vivid and semi-cynical might not fit in with what you want to do with the story. It's almost a different vibe or feel than what comes later in the story. I would definitely understand not wanting to remove it from the story, but it might be possible that it just doesn't fit unless there would be more similarly styled sections written.

I think there's the hint of the idea he hates consumerism and what he does, but not enough to drive it home. Both ideas are there, that he loathes it, but that's what he is and what defines him, but I feel as if neither are fully shown enough to make the ending of the story strong. Again, the part with the Yuppies on the street seems more like a strange surreal dream and less like he finds these people disgusting and awful or sees how fake it all is. The GAP thing is a small thing that points out he hates this consumerism, but I think even that could be expanded a bit. You do mention Armani and Gucci and brand names, but the way you do seems almost like descriptions and doesn't carry the undertone or subtext of this cynical and hateful feeling toward brand names. I'd also suggest adding what company is on the billboard he's running to. Describing some ridiculously sexual or exaggerated marketing ploy. Like a man with some brand name fragrance surrounded by women to point out the ridiculous materialism of it all.

Along the same lines, I don't get the feeling that he's so dependent on his job for his sense of identity. There's very little in this draft right now that gets that feeling across...other than of course, the ending. "You're home."

I just think there has to be more of a contrast built up for that last line to carry as much weight and be the kind of twist you might want.

In your message you mentioned that it's not his family or personal experiences, and while personal experiences might sort of come up in that first paragraph, the idea of family makes no appearance in the story. I think it should be and you could maybe go about it in a couple different ways. If you wanted to set up a big, sudden twist at the end, you could have him running and try and get the reader to think he's running from work, from all he despises and is going to go home to his family, only to have him in reality running from his family to his "home" at work. That's probably the trickier of the two and might not work too well.

The other way to utilize family is to help aid in showing both his detesting of consumerism and his dependency on his work. Sort of have the narrator saying, don't worry about all these angry people, avoid these clones and stuff when he's running, you just need to get home, where you're comfortable or something like that. I guess that could be one way to point out that in the end, it's his work that makes him feel "safe" and at "home" but in a way, that lifestyle terrorizes him.

It's a tricky dichotomy to work with. The best advice I can give on this story now is to make it more clear though that all this name brand, material lifestyle, humanity ignoring stuff is what he fears and dreads, but at the same time, point out how his job gives him a sense of importance, belonging, success, comfortability...what a family should, but his job is doing instead.

Let me know if you got any questions or want me to explain some of these things in a little better if I was a bit hard to understand.