Slow Motion (630 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.61 on 16 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by ghola (View user info) at 2009-06-05 11:43:52 EDT
He tells her, "If you watched your entire life in slow motion, you'd probably kill yourself."
"I've been watching you in slow motion for years," she says.
He lights a cigarette, takes a puff and throws it down. By the time he lifted it for the second drag the whole thing would have burnt up and shriveled to nothing. It's the same with food. Apples rot before he finishes them and milk sours while he's drinking it.
"I hate it when you do that," she tells him.
She picks the cigarette up from the carpet. There are bloody smudges where he'd held it. Red streaks stained into the white, but not enough to drip off. Maybe not enough to rub onto her fingers or lips while she smokes it. And if it rubs off, it wouldn't be enough to make her sick. Not like he's sick. If it's contagious.
"You're doing it again," she says.
He's staring at her. Probably thinks they were talking but that's all in his head. Whole conversations that never happened and no way to tell the difference. Maybe in his head he is noble and shining and good. Maybe they have inside jokes and he sometimes wraps himself in a blanket, pretends he is a fuzzy caterpillar and crawls across the floor toward her. Instead, there is just staring and clipped sentences that she either pretends to understand or doesn't.
"I'm sorry," he says.
She tosses the cigarette butt back down.
"It always feels like you're visiting me," he says. "Like you aren't here to stay and you have somewhere else to be."
His room is all black smudges and dried blood. Old blood smeared onto the walls and carpet and formerly white bed sheets. Window blacked out with filth. Scum flaking off the ceilng. Bright new blood on his fingers and toes. As soon as it smears off it's gone. Hard to see in all the old blood and ash and dirt.
"Sometimes I think of setting you on fire," she says. "This whole room. So it'd be clean. Charred and new. But then the rest of the house would go."
"You love this house," he says. He isn't looking at her. He's forgotten again. Maybe he doesn't know he's talking out loud. She once thought of recording their conversations so he could play them back later and know what was actually said, but he explained that he would only imagine other recordings and not know which recordings were real.
The rest of the house is clean. Pristine. Marble counter tops and all stainless steel appliances. Paintings commissioned by local artists. She likes to sit in the middle of the kitchen floor, where she can't see down the hallway because the cabinets block her view. If she can't see down the hallway, she can put more distance between herself and this room.
"Will you get gloves?" he asks her.
She doesn't answer, but gets up and stands by the door. The door knob is so caked with blood and filth that it no longer resembles a door knob. It isn't even vaguely circular in shape. Instead it's angled and bumpy with cracks and crevices running across it.
He's slow to stand, but she waits. She shifts her weight away from the door and leans back a little, but doesn't turn to look at him. She can hear the shuffling dragging noise. She can imagine the way his body slumps and sways as he walks. She hears a thud. He'll fall at least two more times before he reaches the door. Maybe he'll crawl part of the way, but still, he'll fall. When she hears him just behind her, she closes her eyes while he opens the door for her.
She grabs a pair of gloves from the kitchen drawer and comes back. Already, he is asleep.
"Hey," she says.
He opens one of his eyes. One eye, full open, wide.
"Close the door," she says.
He closes the door and does the same painful shuffle back across the room to the bed. She stands with her eyes closed until she hears him plop onto the bed.
She crouches next to him, being careful not to touch the mattress, and pulls the gloves onto her hands.
"Do it both ways," he tells her.
They hold hands. One hand, they link fingers and the other they grip sideways, no finger linking.
If not for the blood he would look clean. None of the dirt or ash or dried blood sticks to him. So he is white and smooth like an infant. Even his hair stays clean. Long and flowing and black, nearly halfway down his back. She quit cutting it when she realized it wouldn't get dirty.
"Are you asleep?" she asks.
She untangles her hands from his.
"Wake up," she says.
He opens just the one eye again.
"You should quit coming," he says.
More shuffle-walking-dragging to the door. He opens it, she leaves and he shuts it. She hears him flop to the floor on the other side. He'll sleep there until she comes back. Too much trouble to drag himself to bed again.
She turns her bedroom lights off and gets in bed. Smooth white sheets wrapped tight around her. Three pillows under her head and the soft whirl and clicking of the ceiling fan. Her legs ache from squatting and standing in his room. Her hands feel cold and she lays face down with them pressed against her belly to warm them. Then, sleep.
She dreams that the house is very hot. The walls radiate heat like the inside of an oven. Even the floor is steaming. The air sizzles and cracks. It's hard to breathe such thin air. Then there's smoke. Thin grey wisps of it first, then a dark cloud that she can't see through. Then the flames engulf her, swallowing the whole house up until her flesh burns away and even her bones. The only thing left is his pale body, studded with bumps that are bones trying to protrude from beneath the skin. He curls up on the floor and sleeps, waiting on her to come back.
She wakes and jumps out of bed. Runs to his door.
"Are you okay?" she asks through the door.
She fidgets and asks again, "Are you okay?"
"Do you want to come in?" he asks.
"No," she says.
She sits on the floor next to the door and leans against the wall.
"Are you asleep?" she asks.
"I can stay awake," he tells her.
She's quiet for a moment and knows he is asleep again. She slumps a little and closes her eyes. In her dreams, the house is always hot, always burning. Burns everything but him, but he doesn't know it. After it is all burned away, he sleeps. Never wakes.
User Reviews
Submitted by sage104 (user info) at 2009-06-08 13:31:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuunh!!
I like it like that
She workin' that back
I ain't know how to act
Slow motion fo me
Slow motion fo me
Slow motion fo me
Slow motion fo me
~Juvy
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2009-06-08 11:52:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
it's ok g. written in the submit box, for fun
Submitted by monkeyswithguns (user info) at 2009-06-08 10:41:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
I don't get it, and so if fails to entertain, but it looks as though you put some effort into it.
Submitted by icarus1987 (user info) at 2009-06-06 21:40:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Sentence* not sentenance, damnit.
Submitted by icarus1987 (user info) at 2009-06-06 21:39:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Technically correct, but to be honest, this comes across as a thirty-year-old woman striving to write like an angsty 14-year-old girl who cuts herself in completely non-fatal ways while listening to whatever's considered emo these days.
As the 'man behind the curtain' is revealed, the magic of the creative writing process is lost, and the edgy/surreal mood you're going for comes across as jilted and unnatural. I'm not sure what to suggest as I'd likely ditch this work altogether, but I suppose if you focused more on things like motivation, dialogue, and critical detail, and less on making every other sentenace a description of blood on <insert noun>, you might have something more readable.
Submitted by Merlina (user info) at 2009-06-06 05:19:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Lib (user info) at 2009-06-06 00:18:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I saw a lot of things,but I can still see the door knob. Thanks : )
Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2009-06-05 22:11:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I'm at the NIN Jane's show and its intermission and I just saw someone who reminded me of you I wish it was you cause that would be awesome ooh here comes Perry
Submitted by Yozz (user info) at 2009-06-05 15:07:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This hurt my thought meats.
Submitted by kaos-king (user info) at 2009-06-05 14:52:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2009-06-05 14:18:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Show me your h
Sorry. Never mind. Already seen it.
Submitted by sage104 (user info) at 2009-06-05 13:43:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by c1ndy (user info) at 2009-06-05 12:17:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by RoadSong (user info) at 2009-06-05 12:02:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Needs talking rabbits.
Submitted by skrapmetal (user info) at 2009-06-05 11:56:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I read this twice and liked it a lot both times.
Submitted by EmissionImpossible (user info) at 2009-06-05 11:54:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
dunno about him, but i fell asleep