Prologue to a Short Story

this prologue is meant to be paired with a longer short story, which i have begun to write. these stories are best when read together as a parter peices. this prologue describes the past of the main character in order for the reader to better understand h

 

Prologue to a short story

           

 

            Donald Eitzen’s hands were buried inside his pockets, quietly fidgeting with his car keys, cell phone, and some loose vending machine change.

            He sat, tired, uninterested, listening to the drone of Linda Caros, the office therapist’s voice. Don tried to lose himself in a train of thought. To hide his mind from the pitiful existence he had grown to live with, stuck in the maze of a thousand different cubicles, condemned to live as one of god’s laboratory rats.            

            The woman across from him, in the oversized pantsuit, and outdated hairstyle, was the embodiment of this way of life. Her conversations were just as interesting as listening to a dial tone, stretching on and on and on….. Her jaw moved like some piece of oiled machinery; rattling on about “appropriate behavior in the workplace,” as if she had rehearsed it off a script, her voice echoing off the cold walls. She was speaking out to a dead man, and a dead man didn’t give a flying f**k about appropriate behavior in the workplace. Yet, none the less, Donald kept that “sat on a tack” smile plastered on to his face the entire time.

             Nearing the summit of his boredom, Don began to focus his attention onto whatever small details he could get a hold of, almost as if he was picking out every flaw in her business woman like exterior. A piece of spinach which had wrapped itself around her two front teeth, and a loose eyelash that had become entwined in the thick glob of peach blush on her face, were both prime focuses of his vision.

            Donald nodded and said “uh huh” at all the right moments, but after a while of just staring blankly at her, noticing everything that could be seen, the age spot on her upper left forehead, the fake pearls she had draped across her newly sagging upper torso, the right eyebrow that was slightly higher than the left, he began to no longer see her. Donald started seeing through her. He was still nodding his head to be polite and releasing different emotional grunts to acknowledge her presence, but it was in an almost routine fashion, as if his mind was on auto pilot. He would blink his eyes numerous times, hoping that when he once again lifted the heavy lids of his vision, this pitiful woman, and these cramped cubicles of a company would be, miraculously gone. So he could leave and enjoy another restless day alone, in the calmness of silence. But he knew that Linda deserved to be listened to, she was, of course human, so he didn’t complain.

            After a good 20 minutes Don’s ears had tuned away from the talk, which continued to spit itself out of her crimson colored lips, and focused his hearing towards the more pleasant chirp of a twittering blue jay. This winged creature had proudly perched itself upon a telephone wire outside her cramped office, bathed in the innocence of day. The soft tap of a birch tree’s limb could also be heard, thrown by the wind, against the glass pane of her window, hiding itself behind the horizontal blinds of a lifeless abode.            

 

           Donald would pass the time in her office by focusing on these little inconveniences, day after day, week after week, month after month, some even became distinctly familiar to him, as close to him as his own posessions (what few he had). and each day he would strive to find a deeper meaning within these objects which he so frequently gazed upon (the file cabinet, the candy red desk stapler, the" cat puke" colored carpet with its three mysterious stains, and the garbage can, which received a new inner lining every two weeks). its not that he wanted to look at meaninless office supplies all day, or stay in this cramped room, no, not at all...he was held in this office against his will.. he had been required to see linda ever since his relapse. ever since... he began to remember

          

           yet today was different, something "clicked" in his subconscious something pressed down the trigger, enabling the sights and sounds of the outside world to lull him into there earthly grasp. his mind opened, releasing to him memories, long forgotten. A veil of green draped around him as the chirp of the bird’s song began to echo through his eardrums, lulling him into a daydream where he was lost to the present. A place where time ticked backwards and all sounds faded into the beat of an innocent young heart.

           The heart of little, 5 year old Donnie, in his one-size-to-big overalls, and flannel button down shirt. A past he tried so hard to keep hidden.

 

          His eyes opened wide as his mind awoke to find the lush colors of autumn illuminated all around him.

 It looked as if bright silhouettes had been pained upon the edges of every living thing, a halo of beauty. And there, in the midst of it all was a picture image of himself, 12 years in the past. But before Donald could even shift his direction, the sky grew dark, and as a reaction, all the vibrancy in the world seemed to fade into a washed-out gray. Even though light and movement still filled the day, an unnatural aura had found its way into the world.

            It was 1986 and young Donnie was resting underneath the jagged shade of a bare maple tree.  It was 5 minutes past noon, the sun had just revealed itself from behind the clouds, and the birds were embracing the day.  The green grass was covered, almost to its entirety, in red and brown leaves, what Donnie called “tree hair,”

And Donnie’s brother Buck was nowhere to be found.

            Donnie had sat himself down onto a thick pile of leaves using his tiny arms to huddle them together around his shivering body, into a cluster of a fortress. Donnie’s face was as pale as dead, eyes blank, mouth open; from the top of his forehead to the tip of his nose ran a small trickle of blood. The red liquid had mixed itself with a cluster of maple syrup, tears and perspiration. He had also ripped his good shirt in two places and stained his pants a dark green color.  He had managed to batter himself up so badly while running violently through a gathering of tree branches. This, of course, was after the “monsters” attacked.

           

            This gathering (“optimistically” called a forest) separated his side lawn from that of his next door neighbor’s. It had a width of about a half a mile, and was considered a wonderful hunting spot for fox and some deer. It was also considered according to Donnie, to be haunted. Donald’s brother had always petrified him with stories about what lurked inside its wooden walls, about dead bodies, ghosts and of course, monsters, a subject which Donnie was all too familiar with. Without a doubt his father was one. Donnie’s life, in his own opinion, was a scary story all of its own. And while bucks tales of horror and bloodbaths were enticing enough, Donnie still dreamed in vain, that just once buck could begin a story with “once upon a time.” But even so, buck was Donnie’s best friend, and would remain his sole companion until the day he died.   

             Donnie and his older brother always found the time, while his daddy was at the bar, pretending to be at work, and momma was passed out (bottle in hand), to run and play tag within the seemingly vast confines of the forest. It was a different world, an escape, as close to a fairytale as Donnie would ever get. On this bright autumn Saturday Donnie and Buck entered the shrouded maze of stripped treetops to enjoy the liveliness of the weekend, unsuspecting and innocent.

            While running though the woods, with Buck trailing close behind, Donnie’s foot entered through a mound of soft, bright red leaves only to hit something hard, and metal, what followed was the death of his older brother, his one companion.

           

             Because of Donald’s young age, he did not know much about guns, all that he was familiar with was that they were used by the heroes in old westerns he had seen on TV, and that daddy had lost his hunting rifle in the same woods sometime in the past week. He took his anger out on buck, while Donnie was forced to watch, thus the image had branded itself into his memory. however, unknowledgeable of the mechanics of this weapon he did not comprehend, nor connect the disappearance of his father’s gun, with the strike of hard metal against his foot, the click noise, the loud boom, and, ultimately, the grizzly gash in Bucks leg. All he could do was let out a muffled scream (in fear that his father would hear) and run to the nearest safe spot, underneath the leaves of the maple tree in his back yard.      

             There he sat for about a half hour, traumatized, drowning amongst his own tears. It wouldn’t be until the next week that Mr. Noland, the next door neighbor, while exterminating raccoons, would come across the body. In the past week as buck slept among the trees, his eyes had rolled forwards revealing their ghostly whites, while his body had slumped crookedly into a deep pile of  dark brown leaves (they became a grizzly red nearest to his leg) which was now, due to nature and decay, practically disconnected from his hip and upper thigh.  In a later testimony given to the county police commissioner, Donnie would state that the monsters in the woods ate buck, “they jumped out from the leaves and ate him.” Authorities would later find the abandoned rifle, near Bucks body, discovering the truth behind the small boy’s innocent words. No real charges would ever be filed against Donnie’s parents, the case was ultimately dismissed, a perfect example of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Mr. and Mrs. Eitzen’s new how to pull it together when the cops were involved, but once they had departed young Donald was nothing less than road kill left for the vultures.   

            Donnie himself wouldn’t learn until the ripe age of 12 that he had caused the death of his only brother. After that discovery he would try to run away from home, only to find that the child protective services would beat him to it.

            His fathers loaded gun had been silently lying within the tranquility of day, waiting for Donald’s young foot to kick the trigger forwards releasing the concentrated piece of lead into Bucks knee. It was a one in a million chance, and yet, fate rolled the dice and chose Buck and Donald to be its unlucky winners.

            Buck bled to death within the half an hour in which Donnie sat beneath the maple tree. Listening to his hard deep breaths mix with the chirp of nearby blue jays, joined together in song, while buck spent most of his strength screaming for help to nothing but an empty forest.

            Buck was old enough to understand his father’s addiction, and when daddy brought out the bottle buck made sure Donnie wasn’t there to see it. Buck called it medicine time for daddy…. and afterward, when Donnie asked about bucks bruises he would always lie. It didn’t take long until Donnie caught on to his brothers heartfelt attempts. He was a smart kid, but intelligence didn’t get him anywhere when it came to his father. So he played dumb and hid this truth from buck, it would have killed his brother to realize that all his lies had amounted to nothing.

            By the end of the week Donnie's parents had barely noticed Buck’s disappearance, nor did they care for an explanation to why he was gone. Donnie didn’t speak a word for the next five days, even when his father threatened to beat him. Donnie kept his mouth shut, he was scared, and he didn’t want his father to know that the monsters had got Buck, if he was aware of what happened, he would hurt Donnie twice as much. His father drank excessively when he was angry…. and the pain was always the worst when his daddy took his medicine. Buck would have done the same, he was never afraid of the monsters in the woods, nor the boogeyman under the bed, no; buck was strong, stronger than Donnie could ever be, but when it came to daddy, buck was terrified.

            It was the one fear both boys had in common.

 

 

 

Author's Note

i know that at times, this story can become a bit wordy, but i am open to suggestions, thanks and enjoy!

Reviews

[Kiya]

This is the one you sent me, right? It's a very dramatic story / prologue, which requires great attention to detail. The only thing I found wrong in the grammar sence was Buck's name - you didn't capitalise it in quite a few palces. Just read through it again, and I'm sure you'll find the mistakes. Just out of interest, did you know the meaning of Donald is "World Leader"? :) As I said before, well done and keep it up.

Kiya :)

[nightmask]

nice job :D very nicley written and expressed and I could picture the story perfectly the way you explained it :)

[Lexy]

I have no suggestions. It's awesome!
Now that I've read it more completely, it's easier to picture the scene happening. That's kinda scary that I can see that better than I can remember some of my own memories... anyway, awesome!