ConnorSB
First Post
Hi! I'm Connor, I'm a high school senior, and this is the story I wrote for my midterm project in my Creative Writing course. I've self editted it, I'm had my teacher look at it, and (as part of the assignment) a group of my fellow students "workshoped" it, which was basically a round table discussion where I could only listen, not talk, as they discussed my story.
Suffice to say, what you are about to read is draft 5 or 6, and I still don't quite like it, so I'm posting it here in case anyone wants to take a look at it and tell me what they think.
One Caveat: The story discusses religion (one specific aspect), but Morrus already gave me the OK to post it (see this thread: CLICK HERE ), as long as discussion stays along the lines of "what do I like/hate about the story", not "I object/agree with this story's statement."
Anyway, here it is:
"Belief"
“I need to be there in 20 minutes,” Ember muffled through the door. “I’ll be ready in five.”
Brogan got his shoes on and found his keys. He put his wallet in his pocket.
Brogan always brought his wallet when he left the house. He had watched far too much CSI not to always carry ID, just, you know, in case of things. Things, that was a good euphemism for them, he thought.
“I’ll be in the car, Ember.” He grabbed the new Chieftain’s CD from his shelf, and tromped through the house and out the door. He got in the car, put the keys in, twisted them to the accessory setting, and put the CD in.
And still she cried, "I love him the best
And a troubled mind sure can know no rest"
And still she cried, "Bonny boys are few
And if my love leaves me what will I do"
Ember took too long. There were but thirteen minutes left until service when she finally got into the car and closed the door. She was dressed to the nines, blouse and skirt and shoes all shiny and new and spotless.
She turned the CD off. “I don’t like your music,” she acquiesced.
Brogan started the engine and backed out. He had to turn to get out, swinging wide and half pausing for whatever pedestrians might be on the sidewalk. He got out successfully, put it into drive, and accelerated.
The street dropped down a hill to reach the main road, and there was an awkward stoplight there. Brogan saw that light every day going to school, and knew its movements like those of a lover. This light changed like so, that light changed thusly, and then the yellow for those bound for downtown assured him an empty intersection and a clean right turn into the leftmost lane. The headlights of a dozen idling cars lit up the intersection as he turned so. It was a busy night. Brogan watched as across the intersection a jeep ran the red, going the other way. Jerks, he thought.
Now they were on Market street, which shot straight past the old folks in their condos, and the Eucalyptus that had fallen the other day, and crossed Blue Sky Road. Market street was reasonably full- it was rush hour and Blue Sky Road, which intersected Market a few hundred feet ahead, was a major freeway off ramp. The cars were spread thick on the pavement ahead. Ember’s church was a left turn onto Blue Sky, which would take them away from the freeway and hopefully into less traffic. Brogan moved into the turn lane as it broke from his current one. Just before the intersection, a car skittered into his lane, its break lights darting like hornets. Brogan was ready for such tomfoolery, however, and had already slowed.
“God Damn Mongolians.”
“Broge, I don’t think that guy is Mongolian,” his sister subdued.
Brogen sighed. “Its just an expression, Em. Like ‘salvodorican bastard.’ "
“Why do you keep bringing that up? Salvodoreco isn’t a country. You just pretend it is so you can be funny.”
He turned to her. “What, you don’t like my fake Salvodorican accent? What! You think I’m from Mexico! F’ you! I’m Salvadorican! I knife you in the face! We have nine kinds of knives on Salvodorico! But to kill you, I’ll only use two!”
“Green.” The word fell from her mouth like a plate.
“What? Oh.”
He gunned it, accelerating into the turn. In front of Brogan, the taillights snaked off into the distance like the fiery rivers of hell. The traffic appeared to be getting worse, not better. They curved down passed the golf course, across the bridge, past another stop light, and into the straight part of Blue Sky Road that marked the edge of the local campus.
The road was wide and straight and packed with traffic, and the cars sped along like buckshot from a barrel, fueled by the mad need to get somewhere, anywhere. Brogan couldn’t agree more.
One, two, three greens flashed by. The fourth was red. “F’ers.”
“Could you please!” she sighed.
His eyes blasted needles at her. “Am I offending you? Is it against your religion to swear?”
“Just because you don’t believe-"
He finished for her “-mean’s I automatically go to hell. So why not swear?”
“It’s rude.”
“Well, I’m going to hell anyway, aren’t I?”
“No, Broge. Don’t say that.” She looked out the window. A man in a suit was on his cell phone in the next car over. Corporate bastard, she thought.
“It’s true though, isn’t it? That’s what your pastor says?”
She looked back and whispered, “Yes. He says that.”
No one spoke. Suddenly, violently, Ember shot her hand out to the radio, turning it on.
Take a deep a breath and exhale your ex male friend, boyfriend was boring as hell
Now let me listen to the stories you tell and we can make moves like a person in jail.
“Could you not?” he singsang.
“Oh.” She changed it: country, rock, rap again, settling back to rock. She pressed most of the buttons, hunting for the tunes like a hen pecking for corn. Poke-nope-push-nope-peck-yes. It was a quiet song, from one of those frail but strong kinds of women, the kind that play the piano and try to be forward thinking and embrace their femininity in a ballsy sort of way:
When you gonna make up your mind
Cause things are gonna change so fast
All the white horses are still in bed
I tell you that I'll always want you near
You say that things change my dear-
“F’ you!” Brogan shouted, pointing his middle finger at the Honda in front of him. “Monkey spittle bastard!”
“That doesn’t help Broge,” she sighed.
“Yes it does. F’ you CAR!” he shouted, and the light turned.
He whipped his head towards Ember and back to the road. “See?”
“Sure Broge.”
It was quiet again. They sped on through the night. Brogan turned a few more times, left or right. There were more lights, red and green and orange, and Brogan followed their direction, but didn’t really see them anymore. Ember stared out the window, searching the dark. All the while, it was quiet between them.
Finally, Brogan cut the emptiness. “You know what I don’t get?”
Ember leaned back against the seat. Her lips moved dully. “What?”
“Would you say that, statistically, everyone has about the same amount of belief?”
“What?”
“Like, If you could quantify it, everyone has about the same belief in something, right? Its just different for everyone. What they choose to believe in.”
She turned to him. “Broge, I don’t think it is a choice. Not a mortal one.”
“And that’s your belief, and I respect that.”
“Thank you.”
“So why, dear sister, am I not allowed belief in nothing.”
“That’s not good grammar.”
He tapped the break, as they were coming to a stoplight. “Yes it is. I have a stoic and solemn belief in absolute nothingness. There is no god for me, no afterlife, no heaven, no hell, just nothing.”
Ember’s fists clenched. “Don’t say that, Broge! You’re going to go to hell if you keep denying God’s existence.”
Brogan hit the steering wheel with his palm. “That’s just it, Em! Who gave you the right to say that? If everyone’s belief is equal, how come you can just arbitrate other people’s destinies?”
“Its not up to me, its up to God.”
“Dammit, Ember, that’s a copout and you know it. All I’m saying is that if everyone has the right to believe in what they want, it isn’t fair for one religion to deny other ones.”
“God doesn’t deny anything. I support Jews, Muslims, Hindus, everyone.”
“But they don’t believe, so they are going to go to hell.”
She sighed. “That’s my belief.”
He looked at her. “Isn’t that a little presumptuous of god? Of you?”
She was quiet. He looked at the clock. They were late. He looked at her. Ember stared straight ahead, tears dripping from her eyes like dew.
”Green.”
Suffice to say, what you are about to read is draft 5 or 6, and I still don't quite like it, so I'm posting it here in case anyone wants to take a look at it and tell me what they think.
One Caveat: The story discusses religion (one specific aspect), but Morrus already gave me the OK to post it (see this thread: CLICK HERE ), as long as discussion stays along the lines of "what do I like/hate about the story", not "I object/agree with this story's statement."
Anyway, here it is:
"Belief"
“I need to be there in 20 minutes,” Ember muffled through the door. “I’ll be ready in five.”
Brogan got his shoes on and found his keys. He put his wallet in his pocket.
Brogan always brought his wallet when he left the house. He had watched far too much CSI not to always carry ID, just, you know, in case of things. Things, that was a good euphemism for them, he thought.
“I’ll be in the car, Ember.” He grabbed the new Chieftain’s CD from his shelf, and tromped through the house and out the door. He got in the car, put the keys in, twisted them to the accessory setting, and put the CD in.
And still she cried, "I love him the best
And a troubled mind sure can know no rest"
And still she cried, "Bonny boys are few
And if my love leaves me what will I do"
Ember took too long. There were but thirteen minutes left until service when she finally got into the car and closed the door. She was dressed to the nines, blouse and skirt and shoes all shiny and new and spotless.
She turned the CD off. “I don’t like your music,” she acquiesced.
Brogan started the engine and backed out. He had to turn to get out, swinging wide and half pausing for whatever pedestrians might be on the sidewalk. He got out successfully, put it into drive, and accelerated.
The street dropped down a hill to reach the main road, and there was an awkward stoplight there. Brogan saw that light every day going to school, and knew its movements like those of a lover. This light changed like so, that light changed thusly, and then the yellow for those bound for downtown assured him an empty intersection and a clean right turn into the leftmost lane. The headlights of a dozen idling cars lit up the intersection as he turned so. It was a busy night. Brogan watched as across the intersection a jeep ran the red, going the other way. Jerks, he thought.
Now they were on Market street, which shot straight past the old folks in their condos, and the Eucalyptus that had fallen the other day, and crossed Blue Sky Road. Market street was reasonably full- it was rush hour and Blue Sky Road, which intersected Market a few hundred feet ahead, was a major freeway off ramp. The cars were spread thick on the pavement ahead. Ember’s church was a left turn onto Blue Sky, which would take them away from the freeway and hopefully into less traffic. Brogan moved into the turn lane as it broke from his current one. Just before the intersection, a car skittered into his lane, its break lights darting like hornets. Brogan was ready for such tomfoolery, however, and had already slowed.
“God Damn Mongolians.”
“Broge, I don’t think that guy is Mongolian,” his sister subdued.
Brogen sighed. “Its just an expression, Em. Like ‘salvodorican bastard.’ "
“Why do you keep bringing that up? Salvodoreco isn’t a country. You just pretend it is so you can be funny.”
He turned to her. “What, you don’t like my fake Salvodorican accent? What! You think I’m from Mexico! F’ you! I’m Salvadorican! I knife you in the face! We have nine kinds of knives on Salvodorico! But to kill you, I’ll only use two!”
“Green.” The word fell from her mouth like a plate.
“What? Oh.”
He gunned it, accelerating into the turn. In front of Brogan, the taillights snaked off into the distance like the fiery rivers of hell. The traffic appeared to be getting worse, not better. They curved down passed the golf course, across the bridge, past another stop light, and into the straight part of Blue Sky Road that marked the edge of the local campus.
The road was wide and straight and packed with traffic, and the cars sped along like buckshot from a barrel, fueled by the mad need to get somewhere, anywhere. Brogan couldn’t agree more.
One, two, three greens flashed by. The fourth was red. “F’ers.”
“Could you please!” she sighed.
His eyes blasted needles at her. “Am I offending you? Is it against your religion to swear?”
“Just because you don’t believe-"
He finished for her “-mean’s I automatically go to hell. So why not swear?”
“It’s rude.”
“Well, I’m going to hell anyway, aren’t I?”
“No, Broge. Don’t say that.” She looked out the window. A man in a suit was on his cell phone in the next car over. Corporate bastard, she thought.
“It’s true though, isn’t it? That’s what your pastor says?”
She looked back and whispered, “Yes. He says that.”
No one spoke. Suddenly, violently, Ember shot her hand out to the radio, turning it on.
Take a deep a breath and exhale your ex male friend, boyfriend was boring as hell
Now let me listen to the stories you tell and we can make moves like a person in jail.
“Could you not?” he singsang.
“Oh.” She changed it: country, rock, rap again, settling back to rock. She pressed most of the buttons, hunting for the tunes like a hen pecking for corn. Poke-nope-push-nope-peck-yes. It was a quiet song, from one of those frail but strong kinds of women, the kind that play the piano and try to be forward thinking and embrace their femininity in a ballsy sort of way:
When you gonna make up your mind
Cause things are gonna change so fast
All the white horses are still in bed
I tell you that I'll always want you near
You say that things change my dear-
“F’ you!” Brogan shouted, pointing his middle finger at the Honda in front of him. “Monkey spittle bastard!”
“That doesn’t help Broge,” she sighed.
“Yes it does. F’ you CAR!” he shouted, and the light turned.
He whipped his head towards Ember and back to the road. “See?”
“Sure Broge.”
It was quiet again. They sped on through the night. Brogan turned a few more times, left or right. There were more lights, red and green and orange, and Brogan followed their direction, but didn’t really see them anymore. Ember stared out the window, searching the dark. All the while, it was quiet between them.
Finally, Brogan cut the emptiness. “You know what I don’t get?”
Ember leaned back against the seat. Her lips moved dully. “What?”
“Would you say that, statistically, everyone has about the same amount of belief?”
“What?”
“Like, If you could quantify it, everyone has about the same belief in something, right? Its just different for everyone. What they choose to believe in.”
She turned to him. “Broge, I don’t think it is a choice. Not a mortal one.”
“And that’s your belief, and I respect that.”
“Thank you.”
“So why, dear sister, am I not allowed belief in nothing.”
“That’s not good grammar.”
He tapped the break, as they were coming to a stoplight. “Yes it is. I have a stoic and solemn belief in absolute nothingness. There is no god for me, no afterlife, no heaven, no hell, just nothing.”
Ember’s fists clenched. “Don’t say that, Broge! You’re going to go to hell if you keep denying God’s existence.”
Brogan hit the steering wheel with his palm. “That’s just it, Em! Who gave you the right to say that? If everyone’s belief is equal, how come you can just arbitrate other people’s destinies?”
“Its not up to me, its up to God.”
“Dammit, Ember, that’s a copout and you know it. All I’m saying is that if everyone has the right to believe in what they want, it isn’t fair for one religion to deny other ones.”
“God doesn’t deny anything. I support Jews, Muslims, Hindus, everyone.”
“But they don’t believe, so they are going to go to hell.”
She sighed. “That’s my belief.”
He looked at her. “Isn’t that a little presumptuous of god? Of you?”
She was quiet. He looked at the clock. They were late. He looked at her. Ember stared straight ahead, tears dripping from her eyes like dew.
”Green.”
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