25 july 2022

i dreamt this and i knew it HAD to be written. enjoy. (yes, I named him after the mitski song)

"Actually, I do want to take my bag. You can go ahead." I tell the others and head back to the door I just walked through. My friend follows me - nobody questions that, nowadays we spend most of the time together.
We take the elevator to the 6th floor, to the apartment we spent the past weeks in. While she inserts the code, I take out my phone and quietly inform her that I will text Andy.
"You didn't tell me anything about texting him. Do you truly trust him?" she asks, skeptically.
"Of course I do" is all I tell her.
The truth is, even though I don't think he would hurt me, I also doubt that he will help me this time. In the end, I never paid him back for what he has done for me. I doubt even that he will answer my text.
"I have to try. We will have a lot more chances of escaping if someone from outside helps us" I say.
So I open the chat with Andy and take a look at and last texts, which were sent over a year ago:
ME: I'm terrified of everything. I'm so scared of being here. I'm being watched and used.
ME: I'm sorry for everything, Andy.
ANDY: Call Mrs. Elizabeth. Maybe she'll have the resources to get you out of there. I hope you remember her number.
ANDY: I know you've never met her, but she wouldn't be reluctant to lend you a helping hand.
I remember her number, of course I do. I never replied to Andy, and he never texted again, but after that conversation, I inserted Mrs. Elizabeth's number in my phone over and over again, but I could never bring myself to press the call button.
To get help from someone starts with knowing what you need to be helped with. But that's something that I'm afraid to tell. My friend knows, and so does Andy. But I don't think anybody else would believe me if I told them. So I never actually called Mrs. Elizabeth.
I take a deep breath and start typing.
ME: Andy, I really need your help.
I send him my location.
ME: Please get me out of here.
I take another breath and f**k my dignity:
ME: I'm begging you.
As I send the last text, my friend unlocks the door and she goes in, but as I stand up, I realize that my knees are trembling. I take my bag and walk around the apartment, looking mindlessly for stuff we might need that I didn't yet get.
I walk around until my phone lights up in my hand.
ANDY: Damn.
ANDY: Call Mrs. Elizabeth.
I let out a groan of frustration and start sobbing in my arm. We might escape, but it will be difficult to impossible to live in the normal world, and we might end up forced to come back here.
"Did he say no?" when I don't say anything, she continues "We don't need him. We don't need anyone."
She takes the phone from my hand and reads the texts: "Who's Mrs. Elizabeth? If you really want help, why don't you call her?"
"If I really want help? Is it really that hard to see that we both need it? We need it! We are not part of that world! How are we supposed to go about it?" I snap at her.
"Then why would you make me think we'd be fine? Why didn't you talk to your precious Andy any other day?" she asks, sounding pissed. "And, more importantly, why would you think he would ever help you? I doubt you mean anything to him! Look at how he texted you before! Look at how he replied now! He doesn't give a f**k about you, he doesn't even want to handle you, so he tells you to call someone else and leave him the f**k alone!!!" she yells. "You talk of him like he's some kind of savior, and maybe he was to you once. You were an accident that came into his path, and he felt obligated to help you! Why would he ever help you, when he could sit comfortably at home? He doesn't give a s**t that you're fighting for your life over here! Get over it! Make plans where you rely on yourself." she continues in the same tone.
"You're so wrong for that!" I hiss.
"Then prove me otherwise, for f***s sake!"
That's when I realize that I finally believe everything she just said. I have thought this, but all this time I did my best to convince myself that it's not right. But with this in the back of my head, I could not bring myself to text him.
I take my phone and lock myself in the bathroom, where I start sobbing and write Mrs. Elizabeth's number once more on my phone and, for the first time, I call her. The phone rings, and rings, and rings, with no hope of hearing anyone on the other line.
I want to text Andy, to curse him or to tell him that his beloved Elizabeth isn't answering, or beg him again.
But I won't do that.
I start scratching the skin on my arm until my nails touch flesh and blood starts pouring and the pain is the only normal thing in this situation, making me feel better. Ultimately, I stand up, wash my wound and my hands, put some ointment all over the cut and stick some toilet paper to it, then roll my sleeve down.
When I get back into the living room, my friend is standing on a chair. Seeing her there, I realize that she desperately wants to leave, even with somebody like me.
"Let's go," I tell her and put my backpack over my shoulder. She nods and does the same.
We leave the building in silence and go through the bushes that separates our building - a part of the forest - from the main road. This forest is on the right side of a seemingly endless street, and it is separated by it by bushes. Between some bushes, there are gaps - these gaps hide living places. Like the residence we left, or the one we're supposedly moving into. There is one important rule: don't leave your residence bush unless you're moving - you might get lost or attacked by other people or animals living in the forest. When you move, you must always do it in big groups. Both people and animals are scared of big groups.
They left me and my friend to go alone for one reason - Him, the "God" of this forest, loves me. He's in love with me. He watches me every time he's free, he used to take me on dates and give me gifts. Made me have sex with him. At first, I hated it. I felt abused. But then I began to enjoy being craved this badly, to have someone so on his knees for a simple kiss from me. I began to enjoy the sex and everything He did for me. He was not a human, but around me, he always seemed to be one.
But the only thing He would never give me has always been the freedom to leave this forest.
I asked Him once that "If you love me so much, why won't you let me be happy? I will never be happy unless I leave this forest. I'm just asking to be allowed to leave, but I'll always come back. Why won't you let me have the only thing that will ever make me truly happy?"
To which He said "Because your place is here. I don't want to keep you tied to this forest, but it's just where you were born to live. I know you won't trust me when I say this, but if you're not happy here, you won't be there either. Doesn't everyone want what they can't have?"
I could have asked so many questions, but what I did ask was "What do you want that you can't have?"
"You" His answer was like a breathless whisper, and it made Him seem more humane than ever - there was a hurtful genuineness to His words, which left me kind of speechless for a moment.
"But I'm here," I said, trying to hide the strong emotions I was feeling inside.
"But do you love me?" he replied, a slight tint of hope in his voice.
I didn't reply. I never did when he asked that. I almost could feel how that little hopefulness shattered inside of his chest, and I almost felt bad, then I remembered that he is not a human, he can't feel like humans, but then I remembered that he actually does - he loves, he cares, he feels sadness, anger, disappointment - and he feels them all just for me. And then I did feel bad, but I still couldn't lie to him.
So we left the bushes, alone, and immediately started running. I once got out of the bushes and ran to my right, and got somewhere - a huge city where I spent the first week or so trying to find food and sleeping on the streets until somebody found me, a man who just used me as a punching bag. Then he tied a rock to my ankle and threw me in a river. I was too weak to even try to swim...
Then Andy, who enjoyed cold morning swimming, found me, saved me, and took care of me. Showed me how to live, how the world works. Andy, who's like 10 years older than me, but who became a "father" to me. Andy, who tried his best to protect me, but ultimately failed.
Andy, whom I lived with for half a year, until his house got raided and I got kidnapped and thrown back into the forest. I could never feel the same around the "God" - Him - again. I could see how much it hurt Him, but I also knew that He knew how much it hurt me.
I once rebuked Him "I was doing well outside of your stupid f*****g forest! I despise you! You are ruining my life." For a moment, I could see tears prickling in His eyes, but then He blinked and they were gone.
Then, to my immense surprise, He whispered almost inaudibly "I'm sorry." And He started sobbing quietly, turning His back to me. And I felt bad. Really bad. Not necessarily about Him, not even about me - but about the whole situation. Without realizing it, tears started pouring down my cheeks, and I felt so weak, so useless, so helpless, and I wanted to hug Him just to have something to cling to, but I didn't. I turned my back and walked away.
He never tried to talk to me again. And I didn't either. I knew He felt bad, I could see it in His eyes whenever I caught Him staring at me. On bad days, I would hold His eyes from a distance, but on good days I would simply look away.
And so me and my friend ran and ran. No one attacked, no one was in our way. I'm certain that He cleared my way the first time because even if He didn't want me to leave, He preferred me to be alive and away from Him than dead. And I'm certain that this time He felt guilty for dragging me away from my happy life, so He let me get away smoothly.
We keep running until it hurts, but even when it hurts we continue. After running for as long as humanly possible, we kept on walking. An unspoken rule of this forest - if you do get out, never stop walking.
Night comes, night goes. Morning comes, morning goes.
It's somewhere around noon when we get to the first sign of the outside world - a gas station. When I saw it the first time I ran away, I was flabbergasted. Now, all I can feel is a huge relief.
But what do I feel when I see that in the parking lot is Andy's car? Anger? Even more relief?
Both.
My friend, who is seeing a gas station for the first time, doesn't know how to react. I take her by her wrist and start walking toward his car. "Andy's car" I whisper to her when we get there. I let go of her arm and sit down, my back against the left side of the car. My head feels heavy, so I also let it rest against the cold metal. Without knowing it, I pass out.
When I wake up, it's because I feel a hand on my shoulder. It takes a while for my eyes to focus, but when they do, I see Andy. The first thing I notice is that he cut his really long hair to his shoulders, still shining blonde. The next thing I notice is that he's wearing a black suit, which I've never seen on him before. Then I see his blue eyes. Then, finally, his worried expression.
I try to say something, but can't. My throat is too dry. As if he read my mind, he hands me a bottle of water, but when he sees that my hands are too shaky and weak to open the cap, he opens it for me and puts the bottle in my mouth.
"Why do you hate me?" is the first thing that leaves my mouth.
The way his eyes widen and genuine confusion spreads over his face makes me feel safe for the first time in over a year.
"Why would you say that?"
"You didn't want to save me. You wanted to make me someone else's burden. That's why I didn't want to call Mrs. Elizabeth. When I realized that you don't actually like me, I decided that I'd very much rather die in that forest than make myself a burden." I look down at my hands because I can't stand to look at those familiar blue eyes.
"It's not like that. It really isn't. I understand why you feel this way, but the only reason I directed you towards Mrs. Elizabeth is that she was able to provide you with the help I ad no means of giving you. I'm so sorry!" Andy starts crying, and I cry too, because how could I make someone who only wanted the best for me cry?
"The moment you texted me, I left work and started making my way here. You know where I live - it took forever. But I don't regret it. And I forgot my phone at my f*****g office. I stopped at this station to buy some stuff for you, and then I was gonna come. By the way, is this your friend?"
I smiled "Yes, she is."

Reviews

[JayG]

Because you said you’re currently working on a novel, and because the problems noted are fixable, I thought you might want to know that the approach to writing that you use here — the nonfiction skills we're given in school — doesn't work for fiction, for reasons invisible to the writer.

The killer is that for the author, who begins reading with full context, backstory, and more, it works perfectly. And who fixes the problems they don’t see as being problems?

The thing we pretty much all forget is that they offer degree programs in Commercial Fiction Writing. Would they do that if what they teach wasn’t necessary?

To better understand the problem, look at the opening section as a reader or acquiring editor must:

• "Actually, I do want to take my bag. You can go ahead."

When you read this you know where we are in time and space, who’s speaking, and why. But to the reader? Someone unknown is replying to a question that someone unknown asked, for an unknown reason, in an unknown place.

Beginning with dialog is a mistake unless the context to make it meaningful to the reader is inherent to what was said.

These unknown people should “go ahead?” With what? You know. The people in the story know. The reader? Not a clue. That’s why, on entering any scene, we need to address where we are in time and space, what’s going on, and whose skin we wear, so the reader has context to make the words meaningful.

I push this so strongly because were this a submission to a publisher, here is where the rejection would come, with no more read. And your story deserved better than that.

• I tell the others and head back to the door I just walked through.

What others? And why wasn’t there a comma at the end of the dialog, to connect to this and make it meaningful?

And, given that we don’t know where we are, what the door led to (and came from), or WHY this unknown person would want, or need to go back, the line is meaningless to the reader, who's wondering what's going on. For you it works perfectly, because you have context before you begin reading. Doesn't the reader deserve that? After all, you did write it for them.

• My friend follows me - nobody questions that, nowadays we spend most of the time together.

Did you EDIT this? “My friend?” We know nothing of the gender, age, or situation of the speaker OR the “friend.” So for the reader this is meaningless as read. Remember, we don’t know why anyone would “question” them being together. We have no clue as to what’s going on, or ANY of the backstory that would give context.

Next, you’re using an unnecessary comma splice which is, in and of itself a rejection-point.

And you’re using a dash where an M-dash belongs (it’s as wide as the letter M, and used when inserting parenthetical information).

• ME: I'm sorry for everything, Andy.

Another rejection point. That is not how dialog is presented.

Here’s the deal: They’ve been developing and refining the skills of fiction for centuries. And like every other profession the skills and specialized knowledge of fiction must be acquired IN ADDITION to the general skills of school. There is no way around that and no shortcut. If your intent is to write prose that the reader will enjoy you must first BECOME a fiction-writer.

Not good news, I know. But it is the world we work in. Readers can’t see the tools in use as they read, but they’ve chosen only fiction that was written with the skills of the profession since they learned to read. And they expect to see the result of using those skills. Anything that wasn’t will be rejected before the end of page one.

But...when you do master them, you’ll find that the act of writing becomes a lot more fun. And, learning something you want to know is never a chore.

So...try this: Grab a copy of Debra Dixon’s, GMC: Goal Motivation & Conflict from the archive site I link to below. It’s a warm easy read, and will give you the tools with which to add wings to your words.
https://archive.org/details/goal.motivation.conflictdebradixon/page/n5/mode/2up


An while I know this kind of thing can really sting, Don’t let it throw you. Hang in there and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
Articles: https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/
Videos: https://www.youtube.com/@jaygreenstein3334

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“It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.”
~ Mark Twain