The first chapter, or at least first part of the first chapter. The ______ is where the main character's name is supposed to go. Hopefully it is not too jarring.
—-
Chapter 1
This place did not look like a school. It looked like many things, but a school was not one of them. The floors, lightly curving into the walls in a very un-school-like manner, too clean for anyone actually walking on them; The florescent lighting illuminating absolutely everything, leaving no shadows in sight; everything felt too sterile. Not even sterile, because sterile implied that it had been meant to be used in the first place, that there was a reason for keeping it clean.
On my first impression I had decided this place had no windows, but that wasn’t actually true. Real windows started low, so it was easy to see through them, to look to the outside so you could remember it was still there. The windows here, though, were the sorts in doors, so one could peer in or out of rooms, but these windows were too high for any given person to peer through at their leisure. I could, but only because of my height, and even then when I tried, I had to stand too close for support, my own eyeglasses clinking against the door’s glass.
My mind had blacked out the windows because these windows did not look like windows. They showed off the same cold, off-white color as the walls, the only difference being that the windowed walls had thin lines of wire running across them.
I had the feeling, the image, the glass shattering, blown apart, the pressure inside throwing glass in my face. I blinked. That was a morbid thought, and places like these were not the best places for morbid thoughts. But, it told me, this place, this didn’t remind me of a prison or an old sanitarium. The point was that it had no windows, no windows of any consequence, and there was no way to tell how deep we were below ground. Or perhaps we were above ground. I had not remembered the number of stairs I had gone up or gone down across multiple stairwells. The path here had seemed almost genuinely put together to completely disorient me.
I had no idea where I was.
“____?”
“Hm?”
“Do you see your things?”
At that point all I could see was blood, then glass, then pain, then nothing. I was blind.
“Your trunk should already be in there,” she said.
“Oh.” With unsighted eyes I tried to look down, having to stand up on tip-toe to get a good look at the floor. By the bed lay my dark red trunk. “Yes, I think that’s it.” I said this despite the fact that several thousands of identical trunks must have been made to look exactly like mine in whatever factory had built it.
“Everyone else is gone for the weekend,” she said. She was the woman who had led me here. Girl, actually. Perhaps. It was difficult to tell with the way she dressed, the way she made up, the way her hair covered her eyes. It was almost as if he did not have an age at all.
“This is my room,” I said.
“Yes,” she said, reaching into her pocket and taking out a ring of keys. As she thumbed through them, I saw that her fingernails were too long — not just long in the sense that women sometimes wore their nails long, but her nails were just too long. She unwound a particular key and pressed it into my hand, the intimacy of the gesture unnerving. Perhaps she had known — noticed the blinding feeling. It had not quite passed.
“Um. I have a question,” I said, taking the key, blinking more than usual, trying to shake off the feeling. It was almost gone, but tendrils of it still remained. I cleared it with this thought:
I had a key. This was not a prison. This was not punishment.
“I told you that you could ask questions any time,” she said. I realized that I had forgotten her name already. At first I thought that maybe perhaps she had never given me a name, but no, she had, and I just couldn’t remember.
“I noticed,” I said, “I notice that the door to my room has a window.”
“It has been repurposed,” she said, “and you can cover it, if you like, with paper, or even a curtain if you have some home improvement skills. It is ill-advised, though.”
“Why?”
“The restroom is down the hall. There are signs. It’s difficult to get lost on the way to them.”
Apparently being allowed to ask questions at any time did not necessarily mean that I would get answers.
“There are showers there, too,” she said.
Showering seemed like a far-away prospect, for whatever reason, despite not having actually showered in… three days, now. I wondered if I smelled.
“Why is it ill-advised to cover the window?” I glanced behind me to the space across from the window, but near the ceiling. I didn’t know what I expected to see. A security camera? No. The space where the wall met the ceiling was bare and white and low and ever-so-slightly curved. Also, the particle concrete from wall to ceiling was completely unbroken. But, cameras could be made awfully small these days. The fact that I could see no sign of anything watching did not make the chance that there was anyone watching me any less.
“Dining is a bit more difficult to find,” said the woman-girl, whose name was becoming even more distant, “It’s on the second floor.” That was meaning less and less, too. “Also, if you want something that’s not the usual, and have a bit of cash, there’s a Starbucks by the library.”
That fact was at the same time startling and entirely unsurprising. So much so that it almost derailed my train of thought.
“The window, though…” I tried again.
“It’s reinforced,” she said. “So I don’t think you have much to worry about. As I have said, everyone else is out for the weekend. The best idea for you right now is to settle in and get comfortable. Classes start on Monday. You should probably take some time to walk your schedule before then.”
I had not received a schedule. I had the vague idea that I was supposed to be learning something here, but the thought that I had actually supposed to be actively pursuing something like that and had failed to do so caused a vague feeling of dread to wash over me.
“You say walk,” I said, and even as I spoke I was forgetting about things like sunlight. That dread was becoming less and less vague. “And I didn’t see any elevators on the way here. Are there elevators?” On the way to this room, time had stopped. This point could not be the furthest point from an honest window. I had not yet reached the belly of the beast.
“You made it here fine,” said the woman-girl faculty-student, “So I do not think you should have any problems. Because they break down so often, using the elevators is ill-advised.”
At least there was a reason for that, though it did sound unfortunate for any handicapped students.
“I shall leave you to your things,” she said, “unless you have any further questions?”
So many things danced on the tip of my tongue, but I just shook my head.
“I suppose I can’t request for you to enjoy compulsory education, but I hope you find this place not too terrible.”
“Thanks,” I say, grasping my key tightly. I would need to find a ring for it or something. I didn’t want to lose it, not in this place.
The woman-girl faculty-student with too much hair and fingernail simply nodded, and then turned and left, the heels of her shoes tapping lightly on the floor. For a very long time, I could watch her walk down the seemingly endless hall, until she turned into little more than a brown smudge on off-white, and then turned down another corridor.
...the fuck? The random Starbucks really threw me, just when I thought I was getting a feel for it. But, why should magic give a flying shit about human sanity? It's... magic.
Not sure if review is bad or good...
![[up]](https://static.tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pub/smiles/arrow_up.png "[up]"){kind=icon}
Primarily confused, but essentially optimistic. When I say the random Starbucks "threw me", I meant that in a good way.
edited 2nd Feb '12 8:36:51 PM by KillerClowns
I see.
Confused and optimistic.
I am wondering what direction I should go with the mindscrew levels, and whether such a first part is offputting.
Also, names. Any suggestions? I'm still looking :<
Edit: For names, I am either thinking of Soren, or Adam. I kind of think both of these names are terrible ideas, but I can't think of much else.
edited 3rd Feb '12 12:39:40 PM by ohsointocats
I've settled on Soren.
I should do some research on Kierkegaard or something though.
Why is Starbucks jarring? Will having anything modern here be considered jarring?
It's not Starbucks specifically. It's just the sudden normality — "oh, by the way, there's a Starbucks if you want a coffee" — that puts everything else into sharper relief. It gives you a measuring stick made of normal to realize how WTF-y the WTF is. Or as you described it yourself in story:
Because the first thing the guy does in the next chapter part whatever is plug in and turn on a laptop in his room.
Again, I have finally given the MC a name, Soren. In this case, blanks are names that I haven't figured out yet again. I just really hate coming up with names. Suggestions would be nice.
[edited for formatting issues] —-
Chapter 2
The first thing I did was find the laptop from the trunk. It had been a gift only a month before. A laptop here was supposed to be better, if I could afford one, and I couldn’t, but fortunately enouhg I knew someone who could. The desktop I had had become obsolete anyway — it was so old the files from it would not run at school.
However after having it for only a month I knew it would be the first thing I wanted to take out, so I had packed it on top in the trunk. The room had a brownish rug on the sloping floor, sloping walls, a bed with white sheets, and then my trunk. I counted three power outlets. The ceiling was too low. If I stood on my bed, I could touch the light fixtures. There were more shadows here than out in the hall. Rooms were supposed to have shadows. This should have made this room seem more comfortable. Objects had shadows, and rooms had objects. But the sudden reappearance of them was unsettling, along with the faint smell of smoke and debris.
I plugged the laptop’s cord into one of the many outlets to choose from, set the laptop on the bed and began to boot it up, laying out on the fitted sheet.
The smell was slight, a whisper of something long, long ago that shouldn’t be there. I should have been distracting myself. That was the best way to get this, the imminent past blindness and plaster particles in my lungs, out of my mind completely and most likely forever.
But making this place seem more like home seemed like a futile pursuit, and the computer was still booting up. Fans whirred and the bed heated up. I didn’t bother kicking off my shoes. The bed should have made me feel the need to do so, but it didn’t. It was a bed that was not a bed.
The computer made its booting chime. I sat up, lungs stinging, watching as the background loaded. It even detected a wi-fi connection after a few seconds. Even a place like this had easy access to wi-fi. I would not have to go and find that Starbucks to find one.
I couldn’t tell whether this was a good thing or not.
- ——-: hey
Maybe there was a schedule in my inbox.
- ——-: hey
- ——-: you’re finally on
- ——-: aren’t you?
- ——-: what’s up? talk to me.
I tried to open the browser and just ignored the messaging client making noises at me and flashing. But, as it turned out, my email’s inbox was empty of anything resembling a schedule — it only had junk from things I had regretted giving out the address to.
- ——-: you are there and this isn’t some computer thief right
- ——-: please talk to me
- ——-: no one knows where you went.
- ——-: I’m worried about you.
Schedule. Had there been a schedule tucked in that folder I had been given the day before? Had it come in an envelope weeks before? Had I chosen it? Had I forgotten to choose it?
After another scan through the inbox (oh God, what if I had deleted it as junk?), I finally pulled up the client.
- sØren: what
- ——-: oh good you’re alive
- ——-: I thought you might have ended up at St. _______’s again like last year.
I almost shut down the client right then.
Nobody had called me since I had been pulled out of my classes nearly two weeks ago. I hadn’t really thought anything of it then, that maybe these people did not want to talk to me for whatever reason. I had been busy. There wasn’t too much spare time for me to notice these things to worry about them.
But the last time I had taken an extended time from school… I had not intended on letting anybody know the reasons for it, but it leaked out anyway. I didn’t know how. I hadn’t said a world about it to any of my classmates. Perhaps someone in the student body had guessed and had managed to get all of the details right. Maybe someone there was a psychic and had managed to pluck the information right out of my brain without my knowledge, and actually they belonged here instead of me.
There was no use for speculation. Speculation didn’t ever go anywhere useful. I took a deep breath. These people, the ones on facebook and on skype, were nominally friends. I would have to explain what had happened to me eventually.
Or not.
I didn’t have to do anything.
In all likelihood, I might never see these people again. I could block and defriend them, not pick up the phone when they called, eventually switch my number. I might see them around town when I came home, at the grocery or the mall, but I didn’t have to actually talk to them. I could pretend I didn’t notice them. I could pretend they weren’t there.
The person messaging me on the client would be even easier to shove out of my life. I could just block her. She had no other way to contact me. The end.
This was another one of those morbid thoughts that I should have tried to keep myself from having.
- sØren: I’m not. It’s complicated.
- ——-: did you have your computer privileges revoked or something? I understand.
- ——-: I just worry about you sometimes, you know
- sØren: I know
I did not tell her how close I was to blocking her. She probably knew that also. I had done it before, and promised not to be so touchy.
- ——-: So you weren’t at St. ______'s and aren’t drugged out of your gourd?
- sØren: no
- ——-: because you’re really terse right now.
- sØren: I’m sorry.
- sØren: I just don’t really want to talk right now.
- ——-: I’ll stop bothering you then
- sØren: no don’t go
- sØren: send me pictures of cats or something
- ——-: lol seriously
- ——-: ok, you asked for it!
The box flooded with links to pictures of cats. As the screen crowded with new windows with captioned cats pictures, the room didn’t really feel any less empty. The links kept coming long after I had stopped opening them. She must have gotten at least a hundred or so for me.
- ——-: is that enough?
- sØren: for now, I think so
- ——-: Ok
- ——-: are you sure you don’t want to tell me what happened?
- sØren: yes. Maybe I will later. It is complicated.
- ——-: are you at least enjoying the cats?
- sØren: yes, they are very cute.
- ——-: Ok
- ——-: I need to go eat, but don’t be a stranger, okay?
- ——-: bye
- sØren: bye
And she was gone, and I was alone, again, with lots and lots of cat photos all over my screen. In retrospect, it probably wasn’t a good idea to try to open all of them in different windows. But, they were kind of cute. And I wasn’t thinking about the smoke in my lungs or the glass in my eyes anymore.
Eat. She mentioned food. I looked at the corner of the laptop’s screen. 12:40. Was I hungry? No, not really. I tried to remember th elast time I had eaten, but I couldn’t. It had to be this morning. I couldn’t figure out anything beyond that.
But that wasn’t really important.
The question was whether I wanted to venture out into the building when I had finally gotten my first taste of normalcy in at least two weeks, and I would be abandoning it for parts unknown.
And I was going to block her.
God, I am such an asshole.
I got off the bed, and walked over to my trunk at the foot to open it up again. In the top was a comforter. Mom had packed extra sheets even though we were told that sheets would be supplied. The ones in the trunk smelled like fabric softener and faintly of human use. The bedsheets already here had no such smell, not even the smell of trying too hard to smell clean at St. _____’s. Not even a factory smell. They must have been brand new, taken out of the packaging long ago and stretched over the mattress, just waiting for someone to lay down on them for so long.
The floors underneath my feet were of-white, yellow enough to make a contrast with the sheets, and I was wearing dark-soled shoes. The rug barely covered a sixth of the floor.
I pulled out the comforter, which smelled like home. The juxtaposition was nearly overwhelming. I moved the laptop to the floor and aired out the comforter over it, the closest I would ever get to making the bed all semester, and then put the laptop on top of the trunk so it would not overheat and catch on fire.
Color was slowly spreading from the trunk into the room, deep red, like blood. Violent conquest. These possessions did not seem so threatening when I bought them.
Maybe I would try to sleep without the comforter tonight.
edited 7th Feb '12 9:47:32 PM by ohsointocats
I am wondering, does Søren sound overly feminine?
Trainee Tactician
Yes, it does, to be honest. I don't think your problem is the character's voice, but rather that you've chosen an ambiguous name. I understand that it is a masculine name, but you'd have to know about the philosopher, the video game character, or have the cultural knowledge to know that. Or so I believe.
Also, you've kept all hints about the character's gender to a minimum. Maybe use some physical description? Unless I've missed something in my skimming - I was looking specifically for tone.
Also, random critique: The word juxtaposition really doesn't belong there the way you've used it, and feels a little pretentious. I'm guessing you want to sound like a teenager, so it's a little off.
edited 10th Feb '12 6:11:09 AM by SCBracer
Currently cursing my way through Radiant Dawn Hard Mode. Give it a look!
Yes he does sound overly feminine, but then he doesn't? Well, which one is it?
Trainee Tactician
The first part was me explaining that he doesn't sound overly feminine. The latter part was me trying offer a suggestion as to how to avoid the confusion that your beta experienced. Sorry if that was a little unclear.
edited 10th Feb '12 6:31:29 AM by SCBracer
Currently cursing my way through Radiant Dawn Hard Mode. Give it a look!
It was unclear because the post just above it was "does this person sound overly feminine" and then your post started with "yes he does." So I thought, "Yes he does, but it's the name? It's not like I named him Ashley!" blah blah blah. But what you say makes sense.
Anyway. I think the only physical description of him that I managed was that he's taller than most people and wears glasses. This leans towards male, but I guess he could just be a really tall girl. Maybe I could slip something else in there. I don't know.
Also the juxtaposition shit was something I threw in because I noticed in the rough draft I had used contrast twice in two sentences referring to different things. I guess I wasn't really thinking about it. Do you have a better word? I was kind of under the impression that he didn't sound much like a teenager anyway, or not like a modern teenager. The only male viewpoints I've read for like the past year or so have been from books written before about the 30s, so I was guessing that that might be influencing my writing too much.
Trainee Tactician
You probably need to fix his speech so that it sounds like a normal person who happens to be a teenager speaking. Have him speak the way you would have in a conversation with another person. If he's supposed to be creepily precocious, then that's a different thing, but otherwise, his tone, language and diction is supposed to feel "young". I honestly can't advise you better than this, but I would read some modern non-YA literature that portrays a young protagonist. Actually, Harry Potter does it pretty damn well. I've leave physical description to you, because it's in your head, not mine.
Every action he narrates or describes has to characterise him in some way - that's the beauty and difficulty of the Po V you've chosen. At the moment, you sound like a 3rd person narrator who's shoehorned in the 1st person pronoun.
As for juxtaposition... er, if I were to rewrite that bit:
That's how I'd do it, but it's your writing, so I really shouldn't intrude. Ideally, you should rewrite that entire passage though. Anyways, I hope this isn't too rude or anything, but I thought you'd appreciate a good, honest feedback without any gushing.
Currently cursing my way through Radiant Dawn Hard Mode. Give it a look!
I will look at your edit in more detail later, as I am on my phone.
Creepily precocious?
Hm. He is supposed to be a bit, but not to the extent you're describing. Usually the first few chapters are off-model for me anyway because I am still finding the character's voice.
Let's see, actually the last book I read with a modern male viewpoint was the first book of the Dresden Files. It was a promise that I would write Urban fantasy from a non-snarky viewpoint but I probably strayed too far in the opposite direction.
Harry Potter did a good job of being neither. Any other recommendations, though? I don't have my HP books with me as I'm at uni.
edited 10th Feb '12 7:53:53 AM by ohsointocats
That One Guy
I'd look more into the Dresden Files series, those are pretty good examples of this. I'm sure others have better suggestions, though, and non-fantasy ones at that.
And yeah, your dialogue could use quite a bit of polish, but that's what constant re-writing is for, eh?
edited 10th Feb '12 8:37:02 AM by Firebert
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Did you miss the part where I explicity did not want to sound like the Dresden Files?
Urban fantasy is overpopulated with one type of protagonist. I want this protagonist to be different. While right now he isn't exactly good, he is different, and I would like to make him good while not compromising the different part.
That One Guy
I saw that, yes. I just assumed you could use it as a reference for how to write dialogue and such from a first person perspective and then just not use snark in your writing. You don't copy the work and its themes, you just learn from how it's written.
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What exactly do you not like about the dialogue? Can you be more specific?
That One Guy
To be honest, Bracer said it better than I could. I guess my problem with the dialogue is it doesn't sound natural to me, especially considering this is supposed to be a teenager talking, it shouldn't be so stilted. Dresden Files probably isn't very good for helping with this, actually, considering the protagonist's age, but it would help with the narration at least, which currently seems out of place with the first-person dialogue.
And a little nitpick, but Soren still doesn't come across as a masculine name, at least not readily or without knowledge of the philosopher. You might want to change the name or at least make him more obviously male.
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So it is only Soren you have issues with, none of the other characters in dialogue, right?
That One Guy
I think the problem is the character, then.
I don't know what to do now.
Because my project of doom broke TV tropes, I've created the second project — Cats' Project of Joy and Wonder. Which is really the same project with a functioning page.
This is the story that I've tried to describe as "Harry Potter as written by Franz Kafka." I am not sure if that's entirely accurate, and I'm not sure whether I will continue posting this publicly after the first few chapters, but here we go.
Updates go here
Also, I am currently looking for a name for my MC. Any help would be, well, helpful.
edited 7th Feb '12 9:45:01 PM by ohsointocats