Prelude (1110 words)

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Perpetual Man

Tim James
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At the moment the way life is going, I am finding it harder and harder to find the time to write, let alone edit, redraft and all the other things I hat... I mean love to do. Two young kids and running your own business will do that to you.

So when I have a moment I've been sorting through things and just rereading stuff I wrote years ago.

And so we come to Prelude.

It was written in 1993 (ish), but in a totally different form. I'm not going to say much more about it now, only that I've converted it into a text piece. There are some things that are a trite unusual with it, but it is the start of a bigger work.

Anyway, I'll say more later.


Prelude

The room is silent with the sense of encroaching tragedy.

He sits there in the quiet, head slightly bowed, hands together as though in prayer.

There is an emptiness even though there is furniture. It is the feel of a room bereft of living, as though all but one inhabitant has gone, leaving only echoes and memories.

Perhaps the things before him on the table are physical memories, things to clutch from his past, but in this moment he is not looking at them, his eyes are closed.

His long dark hair is pulled back into ponytail, his square jawed face covered by a beard.

He seems oblivious to his surroundings lost in deep thought or just lost.

The room is a bizarre thing; it has the atmosphere of a place waiting to be filled or half empty as all the life within leaves. That which remains apart from generic furniture is a mismatched collection of things: a plant, a picture, a leather couch.

Hovering in the air is a sphere, a white device the size of a man’s head. The time flashes on the front of it telling the room that it is close to midnight. It glows brightly, illuminating the room with cold, artificial light.The man does not seem to care.

Behind him a series of circular windows look out over the city in which he lives. It is dark and raining, but the night is lit with shots of neon. There is always movement as cars race along roadways and through the air. There is always something climbing higher and higher, or falling in a controlled descent.

No noise penetrates the room and it is uncertain whether the man would react if it did. He just sits leaning on the table as though he is some form of flesh sculpted statue with only the shallowest of breathing showing otherwise.

In his left ear a canine tooth ear ring dangles, it does not even tremble, he is so still.

Before him, on the table there are five items, all as different as possible.

There is a single ring. It is made of gold and looks well worn, a wedding ring perhaps. It is not a traditional band though, rather a ring with a square face, in opposing corners there are two clear gems, the higher of the two is surrounded in a sunburst.

A picture stands there, a simple plastic frame. Within there is an image of the man, but in a different time. He looks happy and relaxed, wearing a casual clothing. He might be a few years from the man who sits there so quietly. Indeed, the breathing man seems to be carrying a lot more weight upon his shoulders, his features heavier, more lines and a few fine scars.

A handgun, a weapon made of some form of ceramic and black metal. It looks well crafted, enhanced by dark rubber and plastics. Despite the fact it could be seen as some form of art it looks no less deadly.

And there is its ancestor. A simple military revolver. A Webley Mk VI, the type of pistol used in the second world war. It looked as though it had seen use, the barrel scratched and tarnished, while the grip is worn smooth.

And then there are a simple pair of shades. It would be easy to see them as a pair of wayfarers or Rey Bans, but they are more than that, specifically made for one individual.


A glass cabinet stand against a wall, it is the only thing that seems out of place, as though someone forgot to empty it. Within there is something that might be body armour, a uniform of some kind. It hangs on hooks, a black rubber-like body suit that would cover everything apart from the head and the tips of the fingers, and then a chest piece, shoulder guards, grieves and patches. All are made from a similar looking ceramic to that of the gun on the table, white with just the hint of blue.

On the front of the chest there is a triangular logo, in which there is a skull, but it is not a normal skull, the canine teeth are slightly elongated. On the left shoulder there is a single five pointed star, black outlined and little more.

The man picks up the ring and looks at it sadly. It might seem that his face is impassive, but there is a hint of something there, a sadness that runs so deep that it dare not be felt. For a moment some light from the outside world just captures the edge of the ring and it glints like a star in the night, then the man lowers his hand and drops it onto the table, where it bounces before settling.

“Lights.” A single word creeps from his lips. It is little more than whisper of sound, no inflection or depth to give it emotion. It carries in the silence though; the glowing heart of the sphere dims and fades, throwing the room into darkness, the only illumination coming from the city outside.

Steadily he reaches forward and picks up the revolver, feeling its cold heaviness in his hand.

He looks at it for a moment, then uses his thumb to pull back the hammer, nods to himself as though accepting what has to be done.

He raises it, placing the barrel to his own temple, then pulls the trigger.

There is a flash like subdued lightning that illuminates the room for an instant; an echo of distant thunder. For a moment it is like a freeze frame. The naked body slumping forward, the table rising into the air. All the items that rested on it thrown up. The ring twisting, the gun dropping like a stone, the glasses at a crooked angle, one arm open the other closed. The revolver is half in and half out of a limp hand. His hair trails out behind him a genuine tail. And the blood, it falls in crimson droplets, some big, some small.

Fall they do, one after another, spattering against the smooth floor like rain. The body hits with a heavy thump, its own momentum making it move from side to side before coming to a rest, sprawled amid small pieces of his life.

The picture lies there, frame buckled, the unchanging face of the man dead on the floor staring through the fractured glass, covered in a slowly growing stream of blood.

The room falls to silence and darkness and although no word is spoken, one hangs in the air all the same:

Why?
 
...because writing can do that to a person?
Seriously, it's intense and dark by nature, and maybe doesn't need quite as many separate paragraphs to make it even more so?
I'm betting that 'flesh-sculpted' needs a hyphen, but that's not something one can look up.
 
Thanks J Riff, I think you are right about the flesh-sculpted.

Probably about the paragraphs too, but that is something I'll address when I talk a bit more about the original.

It'll make sense, honest.

I seem to have made a mistake with the title. It should read words) afterwards!
 
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I almost hesitate to comment.

I feel this piece needs some introduction as to what you are looking for: in posting it here.

Here is why::

I found this neither intense nor dark but rather bland--bereft of emotion.

It might be that you were going for bereft of emotion.

First at best I see the narrator as Omniscient - definitely not subjective mostly objective with several moments of waffling that almost look like an attempt to break up the telling nature of the narrative.

What I mean by that is that I get a sense as though the narrator is a camera panning and zooming in and out at things; but not in a smooth pattern: more jerky like still photos.

The first line though :: The room is silent with the sense of encroaching tragedy.
Seems to belie my previous stated POV of Omni-objective. But only because here the narrator could be the room- it has a sense of encroaching tragedy.

But that would be ridiculous because the next line: He sits there in the quiet, head slightly bowed, hands together as though in prayer.
would mean the room sits there and we know this is not so so I would read too much into it for this to be the rooms POV. Unless we assume that's the room's thought.

In a way I think you are going for disconnection of the central character from what is happening around him; and the problem I have with this is that it is so far disconnected that I can't get a grasp of the POV. It's as though it begs to be his point of view but I'm not buying that because the disconnection looks like some far distant POV taking snapshots around the room and speculating either or's and maybe's about things thrown out like offerings to make the reader feel he has a choice and therefore the tell it's not really all telling.

There is an emptiness even though there is furniture
It is the feel of a room bereft of living, as though all but one inhabitant has gone,
He seems oblivious to his surroundings lost in deep thought or just lost.
it has the atmosphere of a place waiting to be filled or half empty as all the life within leaves.

Eventually we know the POV can't be the man because we see things we are told this man doesn't-can't see.
We in fact have nothing from this man only what the narrator sees; a narrator that is perhaps a camera because we get little else than pictures of the room and the man with an occasional speculation of either or.

For a majority of the narrative there are no sounds, no smells, not tastes, no feeling, only what the POV sees. And after telling us how empty the room is (possibly the only feeling here, but who feels this.) The camera zooms in and out to items that the POV wants the reader to see. Until the man with the impassive face looks at the tableau sadly (which might now become momentarily subjective.)
And finally an echo of distant thunder-how far away is this narrator?

What happens after is neither tragic nor dark or sinister-it just is.

The title should be 'The conundrum' because that's what we have here.
Classic: A story told from a distant point of view and the person being told this is only told what the teller wants them to know and it is just a picture of something happening that leads to a specific outcome that might lead those interested in conundrums with an urge to speculate about what might have occurred based on the description of the set-up.

Often with conundrums there is enough information that when the answer is revealed it all falls together.

So if you were going for conundrum, then you succeeded.

If you were going for lack of sympathy or empathy, then you succeed.

If you are going for lack of conflict and hook and any of those other things we look for then, success.

If the narrator is the room then after the 'why' I expect the room to say, 'I don't know and don't care.' Not so much because it shouldn't care or shouldn't ask why, but because a room wouldn't . I felt like the room at the end.

I hope there might be something in this that helps somewhere; but once again I can't quite determine what you were going for in this piece.

For many: suicide is a difficult task, but from this POV it looked too easy. I can only try to imagine it was more difficult than it looked.

There is no way to guess how much of the setup to get to the suicide might be necessary and how much might be filler, because if this is a conundrum then it all could be important.
 
I like this. Tim: 'Yes daddy loves you, but he's doing rewrites now.' I know it doesn't happen. Priorities and all. This has the potential to be something truly great. But, yeah there's always a but, it needs work. IMHO, it's overwritten and needs some serious rewriting but the premise and deliberate vagueness can be capitalized upon to create magic. When will I find the time, Drof? you ask. Wait till the kids have grown up? Dunno Tim. But don't discard this, it's worth revisiting when you find some time. Time; the great equalizer. Good luck with this.
 
It's nicely written, but to my taste (as a reader) , there're too many deails that seem unnecessary, and it takes too long before anything happens...could be trimmed a bit....
 
Thanks for the words folks, everything you say makes perfect sense.
And I know why as well - especially what Dan says, virtually everything he refers to reflects on how it was originally written.
(I'm going to try and find the original piece and scan it in - it's that old it was done on a typewriter, I might even have the original handwritten piece somewhere)

There were a few things that happened as I started to rewrite it, the biggest being the tense.

But as I say I'll reveal more later, after I've risked the spiders in the cupboard where all my really old stuff is....
 
The room is silent with the sense of encroaching tragedy - how can you have a sense of encroaching tragedy, which I felt was showing and telling - yet, despite this the line did attract my attention.

There is an emptiness even though there is furniture - not good dude! You have a few more lines of a similar nature that didn't work for me and the Omi/Movie director style lacked emotion - and as the others have said. Yet.... I was dragged on all the way to the end despite the problems in the section. The dark mood was good and the foreboding sense of impending doom was very good. As per Droflet, it needs serious work (sell the business, pack the kids off, go live in a cave (with power and internet of course) and get stuck into those overdue re-writes), but I still liked the feel you managed to create. So it wasn't good, but I liked it, which makes me wonder what it could be when you get the time to fix this. This is certainly one of the most unusual reviews I've posted on here. Anyway, good luck with it whenever that is.
 
Thanks for the words Bowler.

Putting aside everything else there is one thing you have said that combines with something tinkerdan put down -

'Omi/Movie director' and 'narrator is a camera'

both have a bearing on the original piece, which I am probably not pulling away from enough. I'm going to risk the spiders this evening and drag the original out and get it up. I think it might be telling.
 
For many: suicide is a difficult task, but from this POV it looked too easy. I can only try to imagine it was more difficult than it looked.

There is no way to guess how much of the setup to get to the suicide might be necessary and how much might be filler, because if this is a conundrum then it all could be important.

I've not responded to this part of the critique, because I really wanted to think about it, and do not want to derail the thread, but I've decided just to address the issue - not disagreeing with Dan, but just looking at my feelings in regard to the nature of the story, and brushing on my own feelings on the subject.

The act of taking one's life is not only a very sensitive issue, but it is a complex one too, and each case is as unique as the individual who decides to take their own life.

In some cases I agree with Tinkerdan, suicide is a difficult task. There are many reasons why somebody might try to end their own life, and unfortunately a lot of these cases are the 'wrong' reason. People driven by fear, or circumstance who feel they have no other choice, or just simply are crying out for help and no one hears. For these people I fear that suicide is a terrible thing, and comes with a lot of doubt and fear. It would be truly terrible to look into their souls in those last moments and just see what thoughts reside there, especially if those thoughts are something along the line of 'I did not mean to do this.'

But there are other circumstances, where various factors have led a person to a place where they feel that suicide is the only viable option. Be it a terminal illness, someone who feels they have done terrible things, someone fighting for a cause they feel is righteous or simply because it HAS to be done.

In a lot of these cases suicide is easy.

(I'm painting this with broad strokes here).

In the instance of the story the main character, puts the gun to his head and pulls thr trigger. It is a simple, easy move and comes across as that.

Although it is not mentioned here, he has been pushed into a place where he feels the only possible recourse is to end his life. (Whether he wants to or not is a different question). When it comes to the moment he is as ready as is possible. The actual act is nothing, it is something that he just does.

But, and this is my failing, the whole thing is meant to build towards his death. The encroaching tragedy is his suicide. Sitting alone and naked surrounded by aspects of his life is his self examination as he prepares to let go of it all. His looking at things is a final goodbye.

Reaching the point of taking his own life may well have been a hard one, but by the time he picks up the gun he is, on the inside at least, already dead.

Pulling the trigger is easy.
 
I agree with Bowler 1 that the posting appears to be the description of an opening panning shot for a film, picking out all the detail. I question whether there is too much detail and I would like to ask whether all the detail will later prove to be necessary. You need to be ruthlessly relevant, and address the details as soon as possible. It will not work if the significance of the picture is only revealed hundred pages from now. Also, I enjoy oblique writing, but “a wedding ring perhaps” and “some form of ceramic and black metal” only works if the POV is an identified character rather than the author. A character in the plot may not be sure about the wedding ring, but the author should know.
 
Thanks for the comments Michael, I find myself agreeing with everything again, which means I definately went the wrong way with this,

However there is a reason for it all and I was hoping to put the original up and talk a bit more about it and why it is the way it is.

But I can`t seem to find it at the moment.

Oh well, there`s always tomorrow.
 
There is some interesting material here, but there is just too much detail before the suicide. Perhaps he can rise from the chair and tour the room. You can portray the man looking at the picture, giving us a few insights into the character in the picture as well as the man with the gun. Tell us more about the ring. The opening seems to be just an inventory of the objects. I feel you are asking too much of your reader. You can offer a few teasers to show the significance of these objects (why two guns?) These are not simply there on the table when he decides to kill himself.

I do not wish to appear negative, because this posting has potential.

Good luck
 
Thanks again Michael, I like what you have suggested above, and welcome to the Chronicles, thank you for showing an interest in this as one of the first things you have done around here!
 
After looking through countless sheets of paper, I eventually stumbled upon the 1992 original. (Well I say original but this is probably not the case. I seem to remember there might have been something older...).

I've also found a lot of other stuff in the process, so am being overcome with a wave of nostalgia at the moment. :D

Here is the original, I was able to OCR it, so any problems are nothing to do with my typing, just the copying process. ;)


Prelude

Paul Redgrave sits naked in his room, beside him there is a table,
the room is lit by a floating computerized drone. On the table there
are the following items:
A photograph of Redgrave. (His hair tied back, no shades, smiling.)
A Wedding ring
A Futuristic weapon/gun.
A revolver (pistol)
A pair of sunglasses
He stares into the gloom.
The drone has the time on its‘ face, it reads 10:20
Concentrate on each of the items on the table)
On the wall there is Redgraves armour/uniform.
He reaches forwards and picks up the ring, and he looks at it.
He drops it back onto the table.
He speaks one word and the lights go out.
He sits alone in the darkness for a moment.
He reaches down and takes hold of the revolver, then puts the
barrel to his head.
The clock now reads 10:23
A tear runs down his face.
He pulls the trigger.
His body falls into the table, and everything flies into the air,
then clatters to the floor. He lies amidst the remains of his life,
and in a pool of his blood.
The photograph lies nearby, the glass cracked and splattered with
blood.

PRELUDE ends
 
Im not sure what the original is meant to be, tim. Is it a complete piece in itself, or the plan (prelude?) to a story you meant to write.

That said, You've transposed pretty verbatim into prose, and all the dots are connected. But the question is still raised for me, why the camera, why not Paul?
The obvious answer for this is that someone is watching, filming it, enjoying his last moments. Some kind of perverse reality TV (heh funny, I've been watching the hunger games series all week, just went to the cinema last night for part 4). And if that's the case, and it isn't a direct narrator, just an unseen de facto-omni POV then I think you might be onto something pretty special with this piece.

However, I thought I read that this was the complete piece, despite being a prelude. Is there mo, do we discover the reasoning that has led to this mention and this action. Like you say, he may well have no choice, but we need to learn of this to be affected by it in the way that you are hoping. Drawing in film tech I picture this as

- prelude - suicide - opening credits - flashback for events leaving up to death - recap on all items and why they are important - cut to end credits before death.

I think it could work really well if handled correctly, and as others have said i urge you to fix the few interstingly unsure lines, such as bowler pointed out, and write the rest.

Good work(y)
 
Thanks Littlestar.

Prelude was the opening part of something a little bigger, followed by a six part/chapter tale called 'Prologue'

The whole thing was in itself an introduction to a bigger work, the first part being 'The Gods of Sand and Stone'

I've been playing with the first part of 'Prologue' called 'Meeting Yourself' and I have not been able to make it work at all, and the reason being is the mistake I have made here with Prelude, in which I have tried to stay too close to the source material. The opening of Prologue, if I went ahead with it, would now be the third chapter rather than what was the first.

There is a point to the way in how it has been written, but I'm sure it does not work in this format, but is in keeping with Dan's idea of it being a conundrum:

Everything has a meaning, and the reader can draw as much or as little as they can from that, but the big question is, as has been brought up, is why did he kill himself.

I'll hopefully make things a little clearer later when I supply the missing link to this whole thing.

Hope all that makes sense!
 
I agree with Littlestar that the POV undermines the power of the scene, which has the potential to be an intriguing opening for your novel.

Your 1992 version calls for you to "Concentrate on each of the items on the table" yet there is no explanation of the purpose or the value of these objects, or even a description of how the man feels as he studies these objects which are clearly important to him. (If not, then why is there a pair of sunglasses on the table?)There are strengths in a oblique opening, but this has simply too many dots that have not been joined. I appreciate that "all may be revealed" in the next few paragraphs, but if not you are making considerable demands upon the reader.

This version appears to be clearer than your initial effort (I liked the tear) but there remain too many unanswered questions.

Good luck, and I hope you will post another attempt.

Peter
 
The prose is fantastic... possibly a little more expositional than necessary at times, but still fantastic. I found the point of view very interesting as well. The whole thing is multi-leveled, which I like. We see this man who seems lost, and we watch it ourselves from an almost disembodied camera... the meta imagery with all that works very well for me, and almost gives us a sense of the emptiness the man is presumably feeling.

Normally I would say, tell me what the character is thinking! Get me in his head! But in this case the silence is almost booming, and I think that works very well for the scene.
 
Right, this should make things a lot clearer, I hope, especially as to why the original and I suppose, the more recent version, were written as they were. It also makes sense of those 'camera' comments.

Prelude 1 (2).jpg Prelude 2 (2).jpg Prelude 3 (2).jpg Prelude 4 (2).jpg Prelude 5 (2).jpg Prelude 6 (2).jpg Prelude 7 (2).jpg Prelude 8 (2).jpg
 
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