Post by readilygrey on Jul 29, 2012 22:27:48 GMT -5
This is a short story I wrote for my creative writing class. Scribbliz gave me some good feedback that I haven't had time to implement, but I thought I'd go ahead and post a few stories so people would have more to read. Any feedback is welcome. Nitpick away 
“Ben, honey,” Ben’s mother said. “There’s something I need to tell you.” Her eyes were too bright and her fingers shook as she returned her phone to her purse.
“What?” He’d overheard just enough of her side of the conversation to know that someone was hurt, probably badly. His gut twisted but he forced himself to take a slow breath. If Jessie had done something stupid, because of a joke, there was no way it was his fault.
“One of your friends was hurt.”
Friend, as if he would ever call Jessie that. Especially not now when, instead of just taking the hint and manning up like any other guy would, Jessie tried to take the easy way out. But his mother could never tell the difference. She thought since they’d grown up next door to each other that automatically made them friends.
“…Adam is going to be ok, but he’s in the hospital,” she said, jarring him back into the conversation.
Adam? “Wait, what?”
“At his dad’s shop.” She hesitated. “I don’t know the details yet.” She averted her eyes as if she did, but thought that at sixteen he was still too young to handle them.
But he said nothing. Just endured the hug she gave him and mumbled something about needing air or some crap. As soon as he was outside—and out of sight—he lit a cigarette.
He’d had this feeling all day, or more specifically, since shop class, that something bad was going to happen. But he’d thought it would have to do with Jessie and his reaction to what they’d left in his locker—not that it would be their fault. Jessie brought it on himself. Seriously, if a guy keeps a doll in his locker bad shit is going to happen to him eventually.
“I know what happened,” a thin, high voice said from beyond the fence.
Ben jumped and nearly dropping his cigarette. He tried to play it off as if he’d meant to do it, turning it into a stretch, but he suspected it looked more like an abbreviated seizure. At least it was just Sara. With her black clothes and partly shaved head she was every bit as weird as Jessie, her brother. All that was visible of her now was a single eye staring through a gap in the boards.
“Good for you.” Ben stuffed his lighter back in his pocket and slipped his phone from his pocket. He’d see if Josh cared if he came over.
“I bet I know more than you do.”
“So you’re psychic now?” Ben thumbed through his contacts. Josh was the smart one. He’d know how to find out what happened to Adam.
“Adam got his sleeve stuck in one of those grinding machines at his dad’s shop.”
Ben’s thumb was hovering over Josh’s number but instead of selecting it he paused to look at Sara.
“It pulled his arm in.” Her voice was warmer than it was the moment before. “He tried to free it with his other arm but then it got that one too. Ground them up, all the way to the elbows. There was so much blood the first worker that got to him threw up before even turning off the machine.”
“That’s bullshit.” The back of Ben’s throat burned as if the acid in his stomach was trying to crawl its way into his mouth.
“There wasn’t even enough left to reattach.”
“Just shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
What little of her was visible moved as if in a shrug. “He deserved it.”
“What the hell?” If the fence hadn’t been there Ben would have punched her, regardless of whether she was twelve or a girl. “How could he possibly deserve that? Because of what we did to that faggot’s doll?”
“Jessie.”
“What did you expect to happen? You’re the one that told us where it was.”
“It was mine. I made it, not Jessie.”
“What?” Ben put the phone back in his pocket, its purpose forgotten.
“He’s not dumb enough to bring something he spent weeks creating to school. A friend put the one you found in his locker. You should have been suspicious when I was the one to tell you about it, when I know that you’ve been bullying Jessie for years.”
“Whatever, the way he is he’s going to get picked on, whether it’s by us or not.”
“I didn’t put as much effort into making mine, not the outside at least.” She moved her head so that he could see her mouth and that she was smiling. The expression sent slivers of ice through his veins, traveling dangerous and cold through his chest. “The hardest part was getting your hair, all three of yours, so I could stuff the body cavity with it.”
When they’d cracked the porcelain open they’d found the hair. They’d made jokes about Jessie picking it out of the drains in the school showers. It had been funny then when they didn’t know who it belonged to. It wasn’t so funny now.
He wanted to get away from her, even though he knew there wasn’t anything she could actually do to him. She wasn’t a real threat, just a creepy little girl.
“Just remember, whatever happens to you, you did it to yourself. That’s how the doll works.”
That was crazy, the kind of voodoo crap that happened in movies. She was probably lying about what happened to Adam’s arms. Ben began to walk away, selecting Josh’s number and pressing send.
Still it was eerie that she knew Adam was the one that ground off the doll’s arms.
The call went straight to Josh’s voicemail as if the battery was dead.
Ben needed another smoke and walking to Josh’s house would give him just enough time to have one.
When Ben arrived he was half way through his second cigarette. He extinguished it and placed it in a pocket before knocking.
Josh’s aunt answered the door and told him Josh was in the garage.
The music coming from the garage was so loud he didn’t think Josh would hear if he knocked so Ben let himself in.
The Camaro wasn’t up on the braces anymore. That was good, maybe Josh was finally done with the damn thing and they wouldn’t have to walk everywhere anymore.
But when he moved around to the front of the car he saw that it wasn’t finished at all. The front wheels weren’t even attached. The car had dropped and Josh was lying in front of it. Or at least half of him was. His legs disappeared beneath the body of the car that was nearly flush with the concrete floor. He wasn’t moving.
Ben must’ve gone back to the house and told Josh’s aunt, but he didn’t remember doing it. Someone had called an ambulance. Maybe the aunt or a neighbor, or maybe he did.
Ben sat on the curb, trying to breathe and for once not caring how he looked. He overheard the paramedics talking. Josh was alive. The weight of the car had acted like a tourniquet. Josh’s aunt was crying. He heard someone mention amputations.
But Ben didn’t feel sorry for Josh. Or Adam—he believed Sara now about his arms. But he didn’t feel bad for either of them. So what if Josh never walked again? That’s what wheel chairs were for. And Adam could get a pair of prosthetics limbs. It sucked sure, but they would adapt.
Ben was the only real victim. He wasn’t going be able to adapt. After Adam ground off the doll’s arms and Josh smashed its legs, Ben had gone after what was left. He was the one that smashed the body, giving them all a good laugh about what was inside. But first he’d taken his time with a blow torch, slowly working over the tiny features until all the paint and hair were gone from the charred and blackened head.
And there was no way he was going to recover from that.
“Ben, honey,” Ben’s mother said. “There’s something I need to tell you.” Her eyes were too bright and her fingers shook as she returned her phone to her purse.
“What?” He’d overheard just enough of her side of the conversation to know that someone was hurt, probably badly. His gut twisted but he forced himself to take a slow breath. If Jessie had done something stupid, because of a joke, there was no way it was his fault.
“One of your friends was hurt.”
Friend, as if he would ever call Jessie that. Especially not now when, instead of just taking the hint and manning up like any other guy would, Jessie tried to take the easy way out. But his mother could never tell the difference. She thought since they’d grown up next door to each other that automatically made them friends.
“…Adam is going to be ok, but he’s in the hospital,” she said, jarring him back into the conversation.
Adam? “Wait, what?”
“At his dad’s shop.” She hesitated. “I don’t know the details yet.” She averted her eyes as if she did, but thought that at sixteen he was still too young to handle them.
But he said nothing. Just endured the hug she gave him and mumbled something about needing air or some crap. As soon as he was outside—and out of sight—he lit a cigarette.
He’d had this feeling all day, or more specifically, since shop class, that something bad was going to happen. But he’d thought it would have to do with Jessie and his reaction to what they’d left in his locker—not that it would be their fault. Jessie brought it on himself. Seriously, if a guy keeps a doll in his locker bad shit is going to happen to him eventually.
“I know what happened,” a thin, high voice said from beyond the fence.
Ben jumped and nearly dropping his cigarette. He tried to play it off as if he’d meant to do it, turning it into a stretch, but he suspected it looked more like an abbreviated seizure. At least it was just Sara. With her black clothes and partly shaved head she was every bit as weird as Jessie, her brother. All that was visible of her now was a single eye staring through a gap in the boards.
“Good for you.” Ben stuffed his lighter back in his pocket and slipped his phone from his pocket. He’d see if Josh cared if he came over.
“I bet I know more than you do.”
“So you’re psychic now?” Ben thumbed through his contacts. Josh was the smart one. He’d know how to find out what happened to Adam.
“Adam got his sleeve stuck in one of those grinding machines at his dad’s shop.”
Ben’s thumb was hovering over Josh’s number but instead of selecting it he paused to look at Sara.
“It pulled his arm in.” Her voice was warmer than it was the moment before. “He tried to free it with his other arm but then it got that one too. Ground them up, all the way to the elbows. There was so much blood the first worker that got to him threw up before even turning off the machine.”
“That’s bullshit.” The back of Ben’s throat burned as if the acid in his stomach was trying to crawl its way into his mouth.
“There wasn’t even enough left to reattach.”
“Just shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
What little of her was visible moved as if in a shrug. “He deserved it.”
“What the hell?” If the fence hadn’t been there Ben would have punched her, regardless of whether she was twelve or a girl. “How could he possibly deserve that? Because of what we did to that faggot’s doll?”
“Jessie.”
“What did you expect to happen? You’re the one that told us where it was.”
“It was mine. I made it, not Jessie.”
“What?” Ben put the phone back in his pocket, its purpose forgotten.
“He’s not dumb enough to bring something he spent weeks creating to school. A friend put the one you found in his locker. You should have been suspicious when I was the one to tell you about it, when I know that you’ve been bullying Jessie for years.”
“Whatever, the way he is he’s going to get picked on, whether it’s by us or not.”
“I didn’t put as much effort into making mine, not the outside at least.” She moved her head so that he could see her mouth and that she was smiling. The expression sent slivers of ice through his veins, traveling dangerous and cold through his chest. “The hardest part was getting your hair, all three of yours, so I could stuff the body cavity with it.”
When they’d cracked the porcelain open they’d found the hair. They’d made jokes about Jessie picking it out of the drains in the school showers. It had been funny then when they didn’t know who it belonged to. It wasn’t so funny now.
He wanted to get away from her, even though he knew there wasn’t anything she could actually do to him. She wasn’t a real threat, just a creepy little girl.
“Just remember, whatever happens to you, you did it to yourself. That’s how the doll works.”
That was crazy, the kind of voodoo crap that happened in movies. She was probably lying about what happened to Adam’s arms. Ben began to walk away, selecting Josh’s number and pressing send.
Still it was eerie that she knew Adam was the one that ground off the doll’s arms.
The call went straight to Josh’s voicemail as if the battery was dead.
Ben needed another smoke and walking to Josh’s house would give him just enough time to have one.
When Ben arrived he was half way through his second cigarette. He extinguished it and placed it in a pocket before knocking.
Josh’s aunt answered the door and told him Josh was in the garage.
The music coming from the garage was so loud he didn’t think Josh would hear if he knocked so Ben let himself in.
The Camaro wasn’t up on the braces anymore. That was good, maybe Josh was finally done with the damn thing and they wouldn’t have to walk everywhere anymore.
But when he moved around to the front of the car he saw that it wasn’t finished at all. The front wheels weren’t even attached. The car had dropped and Josh was lying in front of it. Or at least half of him was. His legs disappeared beneath the body of the car that was nearly flush with the concrete floor. He wasn’t moving.
Ben must’ve gone back to the house and told Josh’s aunt, but he didn’t remember doing it. Someone had called an ambulance. Maybe the aunt or a neighbor, or maybe he did.
Ben sat on the curb, trying to breathe and for once not caring how he looked. He overheard the paramedics talking. Josh was alive. The weight of the car had acted like a tourniquet. Josh’s aunt was crying. He heard someone mention amputations.
But Ben didn’t feel sorry for Josh. Or Adam—he believed Sara now about his arms. But he didn’t feel bad for either of them. So what if Josh never walked again? That’s what wheel chairs were for. And Adam could get a pair of prosthetics limbs. It sucked sure, but they would adapt.
Ben was the only real victim. He wasn’t going be able to adapt. After Adam ground off the doll’s arms and Josh smashed its legs, Ben had gone after what was left. He was the one that smashed the body, giving them all a good laugh about what was inside. But first he’d taken his time with a blow torch, slowly working over the tiny features until all the paint and hair were gone from the charred and blackened head.
And there was no way he was going to recover from that.
It was really weird writing from the point of view of a bully 
