What It Means For The Predator To Become The Prey

What It Means For The Predator To Become The Prey


        He is young, and he is dumb, and he is hurt and so he is vindictive as well. He has always been vindictive and the few serious relationships he has had at this point in his life have always been screwed by that or by something else. And that is where he is now, screwing up a relationship he thinks he could salvage just to be vindictive.
        He is 18, a troubled age he thinks, because it's split between the senior year of high school when 18 means something, the same sort of thing that staying up late and drinking means, something inexplicitately good, but at the same time sinful, like having sex with a woman who is not your wife, he assumes, and 18 is split between your freshmen year of college where your age means nothing to no one and suddenly the honor of being 18, the excitement of it is gone. A lot of things are gone with the inexplicately good half of 18, he thinks, most of the friends that he's known for four years, his family, and his hometown, and he knows things will get better but right now, on the verge of losing another relationship, he wishes for that half of 18. He knows things will get better, and he knows even now that he has a good life, or that at least that at times when he tells himself that he has a good life he believes it.
        But he is vindictive and so he feels a slight surge of joy as he waits for her to call, as he has been waiting all day, but never more so than now, when he misses her the most, so when he wishes for her to miss him the most as well. It is dumb, this vindictiveness of his, his need to lash out, when he himself is hurt, it is an animal reflex, but unlike an animal he is smart about how to accomplish it. He knows that screaming at her won't hurt her as bad as feigned indifference so this is the lash that he strikes her with. Each time she calls he ignores her call, then waits for her to call again, like a predator catching it's prey over and over again, he toys with her, all the while knowing that a heart is not something to be toyed with, and knowing that what he does is all the more malicious for his knowledge of it, and all the more bitter because he doesn't even know if he truthfully wants to lose her, but he cares to find out. He thinks that he could stand to lose her, because once where he could only picture himself settling down with her, the two of them hurtling over all the insurmountable obstacles with ease, the troubles of money overcome with poise and self-assurance, the troubles of children overcome with a hardy laugh or an occasional stern word, the troubles of marriage and love never even an issue; three cars at each of their four houses, three children, two twin boys and their helpful older sister, and everything else that the American dream was, little pink houses and s**t, he thinks. He thinks he could stand to be without her, because where this picture used to be he feels only the compulsion to move about on his own, to have the wandering blues, so that there can be another woman to cure him of his wandering blues, but his use of profanity belies the fact that it may be more difficult than just that for him.
        Either way he thinks he could stand to be without her so each time she calls he hits the ignore button, and then hardens his heart for the painful wait for her to call again, always painful because it is always accompanied by the fear that she may never call back. His vindictiveness doesn't bring him the joy he expected it too, which reminds him that it never has, and makes him think it never will, and the vindication and dedication he had has started to dwindle because the joy of her pain is there where he expected it to be, and so he is left with the same sadness that bloomed in him when he saw the hearts she had sent to another man, and that she had called the other man babe, which she had used to call him, and in fact still calls him; he had thought his vindication would choke the weed of this that had bloomed in him, but it didn't, and he knows that it probably only ruined their relationship, and he feels the roots of the sadness tighten, as he imagines the picture of their american dream with this other man's face taped over his, and he thinks he feels that way, suffocated by this other man's face, or submerged maybe, yes he thinks submerged, drowning, suffocated in this other man she loves now. And the roots of the sadness yank on his heart once more as he vividly pictures her f*****g this other man, feeling elation and joy, f*****g this other man whom she now loves.
        Except she is calling him, he thinks, not this other man, and as long as she is calling him then she is not calling the other man, and he wishes for her to call him forever, and when she stops he wants to tell her something to make her call again, either 'I love you', or 'why aren't you calling your new babe?' except he knows he can't because he knows that she is playing this game with his heart too, and he knows what it means for the predator to become the prey.

Reviews

[Raef C. Boylan]

There is something Hemmingway about this, in terms of the circles your narrator's thoughts go around in...or maybe it's just because I re-read a lot of Hemmingway this weekend. Either way, I'm making you a compliment because what I'm trying to say is that I like your writing style. On second thoughts, the long-winded stream-of-consciousness type sentences are kind of the opposite to Hemmingway, sow aht s**t was I chatting...the simplistic content of some of them are akin to his stories though; complex thoughts reduced through repetition to something amusing. This is making no sense. I'll shut up about Hemmingway, maybe, see if it gets us anywhere.
You speak for modern times. I like that. You speak for modern times in a timeless kind of way, your tone of vagueness lifting the characters of whom you write above the tangible world. I admire that. Anyone can be 'modern' - just give all your characters mobile phones and favourite recent bands - but you manage it through atmosphere and thinking processes as well as objects like phones with ignore buttons.
Truly, this is great.
At first we think he's messing her about for the hell of it, to experience an interesting heartbreak and return to freedom or something...but it turns out there is a more solid cause than that; she betrayed him first. The way you relate these events to the reader is really great, it works so well.

I have a lot of praise for your work, as you can see.
It's weary and cynical and yet endearing.

Great write.
Thanks for posting it.

p.s.
a few typos/queries:


"something inexplicitately good, but at the same time sinful" (inexplicitly?)
"like a predator catching it's prey over and over again" (its)
"His vindictiveness doesn't bring him the joy he expected it too" (to)
"the other man babe, which she had used to call him" (she used to)