Work in Progress: Flash Gordon Wears Green Converse

Young Iraq veteran coping with the aftereffects.

        

                A morning breeze flows briskly through his buzzed hair. A rubbery track springs under his feet. The sunrise, etching its portrait across the dark sky, illuminates his path. Round and round for miles he outruns his demons. Thoughtless and at peace his legs relentlessly pound the track. Driven past exhaustion, he stops. Finding a spot on a cool metal bench he reaches down to tie his shoes. Right foot, covered by a nondescript athletic sneaker. Checking the laces, it is tight. Left foot, a tattered green converse high top clings to his metal ankle. A cable is loose. Pulling up his athletic shorts, he instinctively flinches at the sight of his steel prosthetic biting into his thigh. Sprockets and gears whirring, he adjusts the loose cable, sighs, and walks inside.        

 

     “So, how are you today?” Dr. Hayes asks, peeking up from his yellow writing pad, waiting for an answer. His half moon spectacles reflecting his patient lying on his green leather couch.

             “Fine, Sir.”

             “Now Gordon, you've been saying that you were fine for the past two months.”

             “Duly noted, sir.”

             Slightly flustered, Dr. Hayes set down his legal pad. “Gordon,” he said, “I can't help you if you don't talk to me. Do you want to talk about what happened over there?”

             A pause fell across the room. “No, sir. Now, if you'll excuse me, it's time for my evening run.” Rising from the couch, his steel prosthetic scraping across the couch, he opens the door to leave.

             “By the way,” Dr. Hayes continues, “How do you like your new leg?”

             Pausing at the door, Gordon looks back, “Honestly?”

             “Of course,” Dr. Hayes replies.

             “I hate it.” he said, closing the door behind him

             Sighing wistfully, Dr. Hayes adjusts his spectacles, picks up his legal pad once more, and writes.

 

             Malone, Gordon. Nickname “Flash”. Born 1987. Enlisted July 2006.

 

             Round and round the track. I'll never forget the face of Sgt. Greenly when he asked if I ever thought of joining the army. I was the track star, second in my class, but mom couldn't pay for college on a waitressing salary.

 

             Deployed August 2006. Destination classified.

 

             They wouldn't even tell me where I was going. They didn't tell me where I was until we landed. The past month of hell trained me for this, but I was still scared.

             “Hey Flash, got your lucky shoes?” Bryan, the boy I had to drag though training, asked me. He was only seventeen, lying about his age.

             “Of course,” I replied. Unknown to the officers, I asked for boots that were four sizes to large so I could wear my lucky shoes, a pair of green converses, under my boots. The first few days, I fell asleep with bloody, blistered feet. But it didn't matter, they were my lucky shoes.

 

Author's Note

Could you pick up the change in perspective going back and forth between the doctor writing and Gordon? Was it an appropriate transition? If not, any ideas how I could fix it?

Reviews

[runaway smile_<3]

I find this piece utterly fascinating, and usually I hate third person writing. The perspectives really didn't change much because it's in 3rd person writing, but I could definitely tell when he was about flash and when it was about the doctor. Clear, don't worry about it.
I love the story already, and it's only the beginning. Keep working, you have a great one here. I'm interested in where you'll go with this.

[O. Ragnarok]

I liked the transition, but I wouldn't quite refer to it as a "perspective change". It was actually really obvious, too. Your writing itself is actually very accessible, too. I like this a lot.

As to the plotline? Would I be wrong in expecting a flashback sequence, should this continue into another chapter? Would I be wrong in assuming there would be another chapter? I'd like to see how "flash" lost his leg, yet kept his sneaker. I guess those shoes are really lucky, even if the wearer isn't...