Immortals

They are out there folks...they are out there.

   It was a morning just like any other. I was sitting on my couch, sipping a cup of coffee and reading about the latest political misadventure in the paper. The clock on the VCR told me that I had roughly thirty minutes until I had to somehow pry myself off of the couch and get to work. However, as it stood, I sat there just enjoying the moment of solitude and quiet comfort.
     Maybe that's why I was so annoyed when I heard the doorbell ring. Now if you're like me, in the early morning, the only thing that pisses you off more than having to leave a comfortable couch, coffee, and a paper, is having to do it for some moronic solicitor or religious nut who seems to always show up to interrupt the few quiet moments of our lives. I stood slowly, not at all eager to face the b*****d at the door. However, I was getting my best lines ready to hurl at this interloper. Maybe I'd use the old, "Hi, I was wondering if you'd be interested in buying one of these lovely doors" routine. Always shook them up.
     My hand fell on the polished brass knob of my door and I had a sense of foreboding. You know the type. One of those little chills that starts at the base of your spine and runs down, spreading an icy chill through every one of your nerves. My mom always said it was someone walking over my grave.
     I shook myself. Portland was always cold that time of year. Dense cloud cover, proximity to the ocean, stiff winds carrying Canadian chill, rain that drove down harder than most hail, the works. Not foreboding, lack of central heating, that's all. I turned the knob.
     I was ready to start up my reverse salesman pitch, but the words died in my throat as I looked at the guy on the other side of the door.
      He was remarkably average. His hair was an odd mixture which represented brown, blonde, and red equally, and was clipped close to his scalp in that oh-so-professional style so often worn by middle-management cubicle rats. His features were bland, almost devoid of distinguishing features. But the eyes were what made me stop. They were brown, but not that soft doe brown. No, these were that inscrutable brown like the bottom of a muddied river. You could almost feel the secrets they carried.
     He was dressed immaculately in a sharp two-piece suit. Not a hair out of place. He carried himself upright, dignified, and confident. Perhaps that's why I listened when he spoke.
     His lips parted, giving the faintest impression of perfect white teeth. "Good morning, sir. I apologize for the hour of my visit, though I'm sure you'll understand the urgency."
     I was taken aback. His voice was cultured and free of the rushed tone of your average salesman. However, I still steeled myself against a religious nut.
     "I'm not interested in a change of religion."
     He chuckled, a sound like the slow migration of ancient glaciers. "I'm not here to make you question your faith, sir."
     I'm sure my face betrayed my puzzlement. "Then what are y--"
     He held up a long-fingered hand to stave off my reply. "Sir, may I have five minutes of your time?"
     I have to admit that I was intrigued. Whatever it was he was on about, I was ready to bite. And so I spoke those fateful words. "Yeah, sure."
     His eyes fluttered closed for just a moment and a serene little smile broke across his features. Then his eyes snapped open so quickly that I almost jumped. "Thank you."
     And then without another word, he turned around and strode smoothly down my front step and angled right down the street. I watched as his form retreated into the distance, turning onto another street to disappear behind a stand of pinetrees.
     "What a nut." I muttered to myself.
     I wanted to turn and sink back into my couch, clutch my coffee, and take up that paper again. But I stood there, looking after him.
     Now maybe I was the nut...because I felt just a little bit older.

Reviews

[Kaitlyn M.]

OOOOOH creepy! It reminds me a bit of that Truman Capote short story we read about the guy who stole dreams. I really do like it for its abrupt end and lack of a lot of description. Minimalist fiction at it's best: a point to share without meddling within details that have no immediate consequence to the plot (because we know I couldn't do it). I really do love this though. You do a short story collection, and it's going directly on my shelf.

[Magnolia Belle]

Shawn � hi! It's me again. I have an in-depth review for you, if you're interested. Please remember, it's just my opinion, so take whatever works for you and toss the rest.

Overall, you set the tone well. I can see coffee steam headed for the ceiling and the frown on his face at the doorbell's ring. The twist at the end is good, too. Just what the heck does that guy want? It most definitely carries the reader to the next chapter.

For details, though, you'll see where I suggest changing passive to active voice. (I've underlined some of the passive verbs to make them easier to see.) I've also highlighted in red places where you use the same word consecutively (in the same sentence or paragraph).

Your work is above, with my rewrites following on a paragraph-by-paragraph basis.

Hope this helps!

Belle


It was a morning just like any other. I was sitting on my couch, sipping a cup of coffee and reading about the latest political misadventure in the paper. The clock on the VCR told me that I had roughly thirty minutes until I had to somehow pry myself off of the couch and get to work. However, as it stood, I sat there just enjoying the moment of solitude and quiet comfort.


The morning started like any other, with me on my couch, sipping coffee and reading about the latest political misadventure in the paper. The VCR clock told me that I had roughly thirty minutes until I needed to pry myself off the couch and get to work. But for now, I sat there, enjoying the moment of solitude and quiet comfort.


Maybe that's why I was so annoyed when I heard the doorbell ring. Now if you're like me, in the early morning, the only thing that pisses you off more than having to leave a comfortable couch, coffee, and a paper, is having to do it for some moronic solicitor or religious nut who seems to always show up to interrupt the few quiet moments of our lives. I stood slowly, not at all eager to face the b*****d at the door. However, I was getting my best lines ready to hurl at this interloper. Maybe I'd use the old, "Hi, I was wondering if you'd be interested in buying one of these lovely doors" routine. Always shook them up.

Maybe that's why the ringing doorbell annoyed me so much. Now if you're like me, in the early morning, the only thing that pisses you off more than having to leave a comfortable couch, coffee, and a paper, is having to do it for some moronic solicitor or religious nut. I stood, getting my best lines ready to hurl at the b*****d. Maybe I'd use the old, "Hi, I was wondering if you'd be interested in buying one of these lovely doors" routine. Always shakes them up.


My hand fell on the polished brass knob of my door and I had a sense of foreboding. You know the type. One of those little chills that starts at the base of your spine and runs down, spreading an icy chill through every one of your nerves. My mom always said it was someone walking over my grave.


When my hand fell on the polished brass doorknob, I had a sense of foreboding. You know the type. One of those little chills that starts at the base of your neck runs down, spreading ice through every one of your nerves. My mom said it was someone walking over my grave.


I shook myself. Portland was always cold that time of year. Dense cloud cover, proximity to the ocean, stiff winds carrying Canadian chill, rain that drove down harder than most hail, the works. Not foreboding, lack of central heating, that's all. I turned the knob.

I was ready to start up my reverse salesman pitch, but the words died in my throat as I looked at the guy on the other side of the door.

I shook myself. Portland always felt cold that time of year: dense cloud cover, proximity to the ocean, stiff winds carrying Canadian chill, rain that drove harder than most hail, the works. Not foreboding ― lack of central heating ― that's all. I turned the knob.

My reverse salesman pitch died in my throat as I looked at the guy on the other side of the door.


He was remarkably average. His hair was an odd mixture which represented brown, blonde, and red equally, and was clipped close to his scalp in that oh-so-professional style so often worn by middle-management cubicle rats. His features were bland, almost devoid of distinguishing features. But the eyes were what made me stop. They were brown, but not that soft doe brown. No, these were that inscrutable brown like the bottom of a muddied river. You could almost feel the secrets they carried.

He seemed remarkably average, his features bland. His hair, an odd mixture of brown, blonde, and red and clipped close to his scalp, sported the style worn by middle-management cubicle rats. The eyes, though ― the eyes made me stop. Not a soft doe brown, but an inscrutable brown, like the bottom of a muddied river, hinted at the secrets they carried.


He was dressed immaculately in a sharp two-piece suit. Not a hair out of place. He carried himself upright, dignified, and confident. Perhaps that's why I listened when he spoke.

Dressed in an immaculate, sharp two-piece suit, with not a hair out of place, he carried himself upright, dignified, and confident. Perhaps that's why I listened when he spoke.



I was taken aback. His voice was cultured and free of the rushed tone of your average salesman. However, I still steeled myself against a religious nut.

His cultured voice, free of the average salesman's rushed tone, surprised me. However, I still steeled myself against a religious nut.


I have to admit that I was intrigued. Whatever it was he was on about, I was ready to bite. And so I spoke those fateful words. "Yeah, sure."

I have to admit I felt intrigued, and so I spoke those fateful words. "Yeah, sure."



And then Without another word, he turned around and strode smoothly down my front step and angled right down the street. I watched as his form retreated into the distance, turning onto another street to disappear behind a stand of pinetrees. [Pine trees is two words.]

[Shawna Johnson]

well done. now excuse me, there's someone at the door........

[M J Moore]

Hmm... ok, you have my interest, that's for sure.

I'm curious to see where you take this. The voice in this is great so far!

[Beth Elaina]

I decided I needed to make this one of my favorites. :)

[Creepy Swine Guy]

"Now if you're like me, in the early morning, the only thing that pisses you off more than having to leave a comfortable couch, coffee, and a paper, is having to do it for some moronic solicitor or religious nut who seems to always show up to interrupt the few quiet moments of our lives."

You sir, are preaching to the choir.

"His features were bland, almost devoid of distinguishing features."

I notice the same word repeated in close proximity.

HEYYYY !! Did that B*****d take 5 minutes from your mortal life?

That was devilish of you.

[Caroline Tigeress]

That is brilliant.

[Beth Elaina]

"Not foreboding, lack of central heating, that's all."
When I read this line, I had to struggle to keep from laughing out loud and awakening my poor roommate...
VERY intriguing concept...yes, worth pondering...

[Beth Holian]

Very interesting...Do continue. :)