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Shifter
Reverend_Chaos
Registered User regular
Registered User regular
Here is something that I wrote today. I started by describing a man that I saw in a diner a few weeks ago. Then I decided I would write a bit more and kill him off. Once I did that though, the story seemed incomplete, so I kept going, and this is what I ended up with.
Shifter
I was standing in Frankie’s diner, waiting for a seat to open up. It was a cramped place, made from a real railway car. Against the other wall, all of 10 feet away was a small unassuming man. He stood quietly, a serene expression fixed to his face. He had lines around his mouth down either side of his chin that made him look like a puppeteer’s dummy. His hair was dark silver, combed to the side. I got the impression that his hairstyle had not changed in 50 years. I will never know for certain but I assume that he was in the military. His pants were immaculately pressed, his shoes shined and his shirt was freshly ironed. Once he was seated he sat holding his coffee in front of him, sipping contentedly. He ate 2 eggs, hash browns and two strips of bacon. He chewed deliberately, in no particular rush, enjoying what would be his final meal. He paid his check, and left 3 crisp one dollar bills as a tip. He left the diner as I was paying my check. I was putting my wallet away when I heard the squeal of tires, and I looked up, and the man was looking at me. Not just at me, but in me. I could feel his eyes upon my soul. He could see every heroic deed and every horrible sin. I watched as the truck struck him, and ever so slowly he flew into the air. I would swear on my very life that he had a smile on his face. The world exploded forward, the man hit the pavement and bounced as the car slammed into a street light, everything was in fast forward now. I don’t remember leaving the diner, but I was outside amidst broken glass and blood. The old man was dead. His face was serene. Clutched in his hand was my wallet. I reached back and checked my pocket. It was gone. Suddenly I felt nauseous, and the world spun around me a few times before the sidewalk reached up and smacked me in the face.
I woke in the hospital; I am not sure how long I was out. The doctors wouldn’t tell me. I was surprised to find that I was handcuffed to the rail of my bed. The doctors and nurses refused to answer my questions. The next day, I was transported to the county jail and was formally charged with murder. According to the DA, I was driving a 1996 Dodge Ram, doing approximately 90mph when I jumped the curb and struck a man down.
“This is all a misunderstanding!†I told them countless times, but they did not listen. I explained how I had eaten breakfast and had only been at the scene of the crime because I had been trying to help. They shows me pictures of Frankie’s Diner one day. They showed them again in court. According to the prosecution the diner had burned down several years prior, and had never been rebuilt or replaced. All that was left on the property was the length of track that the railroad car had rested. I maintained my innocence. I knew what had truly happened after all. I was found not guilty by reason of insanity, and was remanded to a mental institution. For the first year, I don’t remember much because they kept me heavily sedated. They would wake me up to take pills to help me sleep. And they say that I’m the crazy one. Slowly they cut back on my dosage, and after a while I was able to get up and move around. Most the other people I met regarded me with suspicion, but most of them didn’t strike me as “crazyâ€. I found that crazy is a relative term.
It was a few weeks before any of the other patients even spoke to me. Most of the patients kept to themselves, some regarded me with suspicion. A few of them only came out when the staff forced them out of their rooms. This is when I met Dave, and this is when I learned that I wasn’t crazy, Far from it. I hadn’t killed that man, I had shifted. I didn’t know what the hell Dave was talking about when he first approached me. I was convinced that he was one of the few people who belonged here. He told me that each choice opens up infinite possibilities, which leads to other choices so on and so on. Every time that we make a decision we continue down the path that we have chosen, but in another plane of existence, we chose differently and we live different lives. It is possible to shift to another plane, taking residence in a life that is not truly your own. According to Dave, people do it all the time, but in most cases we only shift to the next strand of possibility, so the life you shift to is not drastically different from your own, and you would never know. I on the other hand had shifted to the opposite end of the spectrum. Don’t worry, it only gets crazier.
Shifter
I was standing in Frankie’s diner, waiting for a seat to open up. It was a cramped place, made from a real railway car. Against the other wall, all of 10 feet away was a small unassuming man. He stood quietly, a serene expression fixed to his face. He had lines around his mouth down either side of his chin that made him look like a puppeteer’s dummy. His hair was dark silver, combed to the side. I got the impression that his hairstyle had not changed in 50 years. I will never know for certain but I assume that he was in the military. His pants were immaculately pressed, his shoes shined and his shirt was freshly ironed. Once he was seated he sat holding his coffee in front of him, sipping contentedly. He ate 2 eggs, hash browns and two strips of bacon. He chewed deliberately, in no particular rush, enjoying what would be his final meal. He paid his check, and left 3 crisp one dollar bills as a tip. He left the diner as I was paying my check. I was putting my wallet away when I heard the squeal of tires, and I looked up, and the man was looking at me. Not just at me, but in me. I could feel his eyes upon my soul. He could see every heroic deed and every horrible sin. I watched as the truck struck him, and ever so slowly he flew into the air. I would swear on my very life that he had a smile on his face. The world exploded forward, the man hit the pavement and bounced as the car slammed into a street light, everything was in fast forward now. I don’t remember leaving the diner, but I was outside amidst broken glass and blood. The old man was dead. His face was serene. Clutched in his hand was my wallet. I reached back and checked my pocket. It was gone. Suddenly I felt nauseous, and the world spun around me a few times before the sidewalk reached up and smacked me in the face.
I woke in the hospital; I am not sure how long I was out. The doctors wouldn’t tell me. I was surprised to find that I was handcuffed to the rail of my bed. The doctors and nurses refused to answer my questions. The next day, I was transported to the county jail and was formally charged with murder. According to the DA, I was driving a 1996 Dodge Ram, doing approximately 90mph when I jumped the curb and struck a man down.
“This is all a misunderstanding!†I told them countless times, but they did not listen. I explained how I had eaten breakfast and had only been at the scene of the crime because I had been trying to help. They shows me pictures of Frankie’s Diner one day. They showed them again in court. According to the prosecution the diner had burned down several years prior, and had never been rebuilt or replaced. All that was left on the property was the length of track that the railroad car had rested. I maintained my innocence. I knew what had truly happened after all. I was found not guilty by reason of insanity, and was remanded to a mental institution. For the first year, I don’t remember much because they kept me heavily sedated. They would wake me up to take pills to help me sleep. And they say that I’m the crazy one. Slowly they cut back on my dosage, and after a while I was able to get up and move around. Most the other people I met regarded me with suspicion, but most of them didn’t strike me as “crazyâ€. I found that crazy is a relative term.
It was a few weeks before any of the other patients even spoke to me. Most of the patients kept to themselves, some regarded me with suspicion. A few of them only came out when the staff forced them out of their rooms. This is when I met Dave, and this is when I learned that I wasn’t crazy, Far from it. I hadn’t killed that man, I had shifted. I didn’t know what the hell Dave was talking about when he first approached me. I was convinced that he was one of the few people who belonged here. He told me that each choice opens up infinite possibilities, which leads to other choices so on and so on. Every time that we make a decision we continue down the path that we have chosen, but in another plane of existence, we chose differently and we live different lives. It is possible to shift to another plane, taking residence in a life that is not truly your own. According to Dave, people do it all the time, but in most cases we only shift to the next strand of possibility, so the life you shift to is not drastically different from your own, and you would never know. I on the other hand had shifted to the opposite end of the spectrum. Don’t worry, it only gets crazier.
Reverend_Chaos on
“Think of me like Yoda, but instead of being little and green I wear suits and I'm awesome. I'm your bro—I'm Broda!”
Posts
Or maybe this is an intended effect, but if that's the case, I think it needs to be justified to the reader somehow.
A couple of specific comments:
Redundancy here. Once he was seated he - by definition - sat. The "in front of him" seems unnecessary. The food enters the scene a bit abruptly; we don't know when or how. Overall, these lines read a bit like a shopping list. I've applied a band-aid, below.
But I'd suggest expanding that part of the text a bit.
This stretches the limits of suspended disbelief a bit too much in my opinion. How does the narrator feel the eyes upon his soul? And how can he know with such certainty what the other man can see? Buffering the imagery with phrases like "It seemed....", "It was as if...", "I could imagine..." could make it easier to digest. Either that, or make it plausible and clear to the reader that the man did indeed see into his soul.
Here your narrator inadvertently turns into a Victorian damsel. I'd use "I kept telling them I was innocent" or "I plead not guilty to all charges" or even "I maintained that I was innocent" instead.
All in all, I think the text needs some work, but I like the idea and the plot is interesting enough to make me want to know more. I'd love to see a fleshed out version of it.
I wrote the whole thing yesterday, in about 20 minutes or so. I usually wouldn't post a piece until I had at least written a second draft, but I really wanted to get some feedback on the idea. I agree completely with everything you said. This piece will be longer, this would just be the intro to this world.
I usually HATE using first person perspective, but I feel it necessary for this piece, so the writing does seem a little jilted to me. I will go back and revise this piece, and possibly write a little more. I was thinking about going to Journal style chapters after this opening.
Thanks again Bliss 101!! I appreciate it.
Edit/ I have begun to revise this. Once it is readable I will update.