Simple Stuff



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Cassette-Disk

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This first part is called bad ideas because I wrote it all in one sleep deprived morning and it was probably a bad idea for a number of reasons.
It also probably has something to do with how the character acts, I guess. Let me know if any part of it is hard to follow for whatever reason, I'm trying to see what works and what doesn't.


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01: Bad Ideas

The world is full of important things. People who solve impossible issues, machines that produce essentials needed for the human race to survive, and ideas that revolutionize the entire world in such a simple way, such as creating a smart phone that can connect to the world wide web wherever it happens to find itself. Then there are the unimportant things. People who look at impossible issues and say “meh.”, machines that produce nothing but headaches, and ideas like “wow, my smart phone can connect to the world wide web no matter where I happen to find myself!”. This is story is about a man in the latter category who, no matter what predicament he might find himself in and no matter how hard he tries, will ultimately be of little or no consequence. Unless the consequence is a bad consequence brought on by poor timing, lack of intelligence, lack of proper judgment, or any combination of the three. And like all stories worth telling, this one starts in the bathroom. Specifically, one with a clogged toilet.

Alexander Blanket was, understandably, slightly upset. There was a problem, and he’d be damned it if was his fault. Despite the fact that he had decided against his doctor’s prescription to ingest an entire bag of spicy poppers, as well as the hurtle of him being unable to understand the prescription in the first place, and even though near the end of the night he vocally said “Screw it, I’m eating these anyway.”, there was no way in his mind that he was to blame for the clogged toilet. Since it wasn’t his fault, then obviously it was the toilet‘s fault, which is something Alex kept telling it with every ill-thought-out thrust of the plunger.
“Stupid toilet, clogging up on a Saturday…” He grunted before stopping to whip his brow. “Shouldn’t have gone with a low-flow.” Alex jingled the handle and peered into the bowl as nothing happened. He sighed, but wasn’t disappointed. Five minutes ago he had tried the same thing with more explosive results. The man put the plunger in the nearby bathtub and rubbed his weary eyes. He then made a disgusted noise as he rushed to the sink.

“Sod it.” He told his reflection a few seconds later. “You’ll deal with it later, alright? We’ll go out, finish up some errands, get some Chinese food, then fix up the toilet.” He nodded at his reflection, his reflection nodded back. He quickly changed into slightly less foul-smelling clothing, walked outside his house, locked up, and made his way to his car. Pulling out the key, he inserted it into its slot and opened the door. He was about to enter the vehicle , but he hesitated. “This is not a good idea.” Something inside of him said. He held the car door open as something inside of him also said that a much better idea would be to go right back into his house, turn on his computer, and watch the remaining season of a show he had started just the night before while he enjoyed a bag of spicy poppers.
“That’s a good idea.” Alex confirmed out loud. “But then I would have to worry about the toilet some more, and I’m not in the mood for that.” The same something inside of him was about to begin explaining to him that the toilet was all grown up now and could take care of itself, but something else distracted him. That something happened to be a rather large truck with the words “AXEL GREASED PLUMBING” scribbled on the side going well over eighty miles an hour in Alex’s residential neighborhood that also just happened to collide spectacularly with Alex’s car, destroying it outright save for the single door that Alex was now helplessly clutching with fear in the same position he was just in two seconds ago. The truck skidded to an impossible stop, parking expertly by the sidewalk. A hubcap landed by Alex, who was still holding on to the car door with unhinged panic as his brain tried desperately to interpret what the hell just happened. Currently it was beginning to understand that the car that was just in front of Alex was no longer anything at all.
“’Ello!” Came a female voice from the inside of the driver’s seat of the truck. Alex vaguely made out the sound of a door opening and closing as his brain began to scream “TRUUUUCK.” The owner of the voice made her way towards Alex.
“Hello?” She repeated.
“Car?” Alex asked simply.
“No,” The girl answered back. “I’m not a car.”
“My car.”
“I haven’t seen it.” The girl held out her hand, offering Alex to shake it. He offered her a car door.

“Sorry, who are you?” Alex asked as the girl began walking to his house. He followed her.
“Lucy.” The name made him squirm. To him it was always a name that invoked mystery and uncertainty.
“Okay.” When they reached his door, the redheaded girl reached for the knob and turned. To his surprise, it opened with no resistance and she walked in. “Sorry,” Alex asked again, “who are you?”
“Lucy.” She repeated.
“No, I mean who in the world are you? You destroyed my car with your truck and waltz into my home like it’s no big deal.”
“Truck?” Lucy asked. “What truck?”
“The big one. With the Axel Greased Plumbing written on it.”
“Oh!” She stated, clapping her hands once. “That’s not my truck though.” Alex was getting frustrated.
“That’s not the point.”
“Then why bring it up?” She had made her way into his kitchen and began searching for…something.
“I didn’t bring--look, the point is you wrecked my car and I would very much appreciate if you at the very least gave me your insurance information. And kindly leave my house.”
“Okay.” She said as she opened a cupboard and looked as if she was disappointed to find nothing but plates. “Why don’t you own any fruit?” She added.
“What?”
“Fruit.” She closed the cupboard. “The stuff that grow from trees.”
“I know what a fruit is. I keep some bananas in the oven.”
“Why the oven?”
“Because I never use it. And I don‘t own a fruit bowl.”

Lucy opened the oven and grabbed two slightly mushy and blotched bananas.
“We’re going to need these.” She said as she gave one to Alex.
“What?”
“We. That means the two of us, or all of us depending on the context.” The man sighed. He should have just stayed inside and tried to finish up with his toilet business.
“I think you mean you. I don’t need a banana. My potassium intake is fine. The doctor told me so just the other day.” She ignored him.
“Come on.” Lucy told him as she walked back to the front door. Something was bothering him. The girl in general seemed…off to him. Almost unsteady, like a top that’s been spinning for well over a minute and had began to wobble but kept going anyway.
“Are you sure you’re not just the plumber who’s come to fix my toilet?” He asked hopefully.
“No.” Lucy chimed as she opened the front door. “Why would you think that?”
“No reason.” He answered as the girl walked outside and, for whatever reason, Alex followed. “Well, actually, I’m starting to think you think I’m someone else.”
“I think you’re Alexander.”
“I think I am too.”
“Then you are who I think you are.”
For a moment, Alex thought about closing the door and going to bed. Maybe when he woke up, none of this would have happened. He would wake with a stomach cramp just as he did today, and he would make sure to leave the house early to avoid this collision introduction. Instead, he walked outside, banana in hand, and locked the door.

Meanwhile, just down the road a bit, a much more important man named Alexander Bane was waiting furiously for the arrival of a large truck with the words “Axel Greased Plumbing” written on it, unaware that the truck had stopped elsewhere and was not going to pay him a visit.
 
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KingdomKey

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Re: Simple Stuff - Bad Ideas

This has a Alice in Wonderland type feel to it. The beginning threw me off, because it was hard to hold my attention, until I read further along to see what it was about. This girl Lucy, is extremely peculiar and odd. I like that. I'm really curious to see where this goes with Alex and Lucy. :D I wonder what the banana is for? [For something written in a deep deprived state, its really well done, and didn't notice any errors, or grammar related problems. Kudos to you, CD Man.]
 

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Re: Simple Stuff - Bad Ideas

Similar to KitKat, I didn't get much from the beginning. I understood by the end of the first paragraph ("And like all stories worth telling, this one started in the bathroom") that it was humorous, but the humor didn't really catch for me until you got to the dialogue.

The dialogue is great--the surreal content and frantic pace match the scene perfectly as the main character tries to keep up with this bizarre intruder ransacking his house. I think that context is what is missing in the first four paragraphs however--there are some funny lines in there, but nothing to really connect to. You're introducing us to the protagonist, but there's nothing that interesting (or humorous) about him before Lucy barges into his life. Just as an experiment, you might try rewriting the first four paragraphs "straight," toning down the humor until Lucy makes her appearance and the madcap dialogue begins.

Just a few thoughts.
 

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Simple Stuff - 02 Trading and Entering

Sorry for not responding to your posts. I meant to do so when I posted this next piece (which I had planned to post way earlier) but that took longer than I expected to. I want to try and update more often instead of once a week, but we'll see. Anyway,
@KitKat: I had to edit the mistakes I had made. There was a few of really silly ones, including having the character's names change about three times.
@Hidden: I'll try that out sometime. While writing this next part, there were moments where I could feel myself wanting to just push the story along and just blazing through to get to the next part. As small as the first paragraph about the truck is, it's still more than I had originally planned to post. That's something for me to work on, I guess.

It probably isn't a good sign to apologize right off the gate, but: Sorry, this next part is kind of short and not much actually happens. I'm working on the next write already though so I can get the ball moving.


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02: Trading and Entering

The truck was surprisingly roomy. Alex had expected it to be filled with plumbing equipment, but there wasn‘t a single wrench or plunger to be seen. He would have commented on this, but he was too preoccupied with chewing on a banana.
“So,” he said between bites, “when are you going to tell me where you’re taking me?”
“We’re going to the theme park.”
“Okay.” He patted his pockets, checking to make sure he had his wallet. “You know, that’s not something you just decide in one day.”
“It isn’t?”
“No. You have to plan for these things. Save up some money and set up a specific date for it.”
“I did set up a specific date for it.” Lucy countered. “I picked today.” She made a wide turn that felt a bit too reckless for Alex, who clawed randomly at his side of the dashboard, hoping to find something to hold on to. “And I don’t think we’ll be needing any money.” Before he could bring up another point, Lucy popped open the glove department and pulled out a small book titled “101 Ways to Stay Occupied” and handed it to Alex. He opened the book and found the pages to be blank.
“I don’t understand.”
“Keep reading.” She told him. He flipped a page only to find the next page was also blank. Alex stared at it for a few seconds before turning to the next page. And then the next page. This went on for what felt like seconds to him, but when he looked up he was surprised to find himself in the main driveway of the theme park.

Lucy parked the truck in the dense parking lot. Alex worried about being able to find the van when they were finished, and tried to commit the area to memory. Two minutes passed as they crossed the parking lot, and he had already forgotten. He turned around and began walking backwards in order to keep an eye on the truck, but neglected how dreadfully crowded the location was, and stopped after he tripped over a small child. The wonderfully colorful park entrance soon loomed over the pair, and the added screams and laughter coming from within only made the prospect of entering the artificial fun-land much less welcoming. The sun was facing towards the two, which caused a heavy shadow onto the entrance, and a silhouette of a clown at the nearby booth only made things worse . Alex shivered at the sudden shift of mood.
“Safe ‘N’ Sound.” he read the name on the sign aloud in an attempt to lighten things up. “I used to come here with my parents as a kid sometimes. Somehow I always managed to get on the fastest roller coaster after eating lunch no matter how I tried to prevent it. We stopped going after a while for obvious reasons.”
“Fascinating,” she lied as she walked away from the entrance. Alex followed confusedly.
“Uh, hey. Hello?” He said, trying to match her quick pace. “The entrance is right there.”
“I know.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Because I’m not sure.”
“I am very sure.”
“Okay.”
“We’re using a different entrance.”
“Yeah, you know that’s something you probably could have told me earlier.”
“Are you sure?” She asked.
“Yeah.”
“Because I’m not so sure it would have mattered.”
“I’m pretty sure it would have.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”

Lucy led Alex near the back end of the amusement park’s tall circular walls, which had small pictures of musical notes and smiling balloons drawn on them. They bothered Alex deeply, though he couldn’t figure out why. Lucy walked to the wall and tapped on a musical note, then a balloon. She touched a few more in a sequence Alex didn’t bother to follow and, to his surprise, a black rectangle formed on the wall in what appeared to be ink. With a strange honking sound that sounded as if it came from a bicycle horn, the sudden darkened patch smeared away from reality.
“What?” was all Alex could say. “What.” He repeated when Lucy didn’t answer. Instead she walked into the newly formed doorway and he reluctantly followed, holding his arms tightly as if they could give him comfort. The hallway was far too dark for his liking. He could barely make out Lucy’s silhouette ahead of him and was grateful when they reached a small plain circular lit room. His gratefulness was slightly dampered when he saw another door. It was brought down further when the door opened and a rather large man with a rather large mustache walked in.

“Hallo.” the man said in what Alex assumed was a Russian accent. “Hao are ve today, hmm?”
“Hello there.” Lucy said cheerfully. When Alex didn’t say anything, she gave him a sharp nudge with her elbow.
“Uh, h-hey there.” He muttered. The redhead walked towards the large man as Alex took in his surroundings. Or at least, whatever surroundings he was surrounded by. The room was unimpressively empty and the floor was concrete while the wooden walls looked as if they belonged in a musty forgotten cellar instead of the back of a theme park. When he looked back at the mustached Russian, he saw that he was holding on to a mushy banana and that Lucy was staring at him. “What?” He asked.
“Give him your banana.”
“What?”
“The thing we got from your oven. The fruit.”
“Oh that. I ate it.”
“What?”
“I ate my banana.”
“Why,” She hissed, “would you even do that.”
“It’s a banana.” Alex shrugged. “That’s what we do with bananas. We eat them.”

“Is good.” The mustached man said as Lucy crossed her arms, hoping to avoid any type of argument. “Does little man haf peel?”
“What?” Alex asked.
“A peel is--”
“Yes, thank you Lucy. I have it in my pocket. I was gonna trash it later.”
“I take peel.” The Russian said happily. “Is just as good for me. Makes your job easy.”
“Hey alright.” Alex said smugly as he smiled at Lucy. He handed the man his banana peel, who promptly put it in his mouth and swallowed it whole. Alex was stunned. “Why did…what?” He blurted.
“Banana is for eating, dah?”
“Y…yeah. Okay.” The Russian stood aside and Lucy took this as her cue. She grabbed Alex’s arm and led him through the door uncontested as the large man brought Lucy’s unpeeled banana to his mouth. Alex looked away and cringed as they passed through the door. “What,” Alex blathered out to Lucy after they put some distance between themselves and the Russian, “the actual hell.”
“It was a code.” Lucy explained. “Kind of. We needed to give him a banana to let him know who we were.”
“Because everyone knows about the secret entrance with the secret combinations, right?” He said sarcastically.
“Right.” She responded, which made Alex sigh.
“Well why a banana?”
“Because who in their right mind would bring fruit to a theme park?”
 

KingdomKey

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Re: Simple Stuff - 02 Trading and Entering

Towards the end, I laughed really hard. Bananas as a password is amusing. I really enjoyed this update, CD Man. I like how descriptive you were, and find Alex's thoughts on the amusement park interesting. To think, I actually thought Lucy was a plumber from the start. Boy was I wrong. This has joined the group of original stories, I like to read, and happened to favor.
 

Cassette-Disk

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Re: Simple Stuff - 02 Trading and Entering

Hey thanks! I've always been told that doing humor is easy, but getting people to actually laugh no matter what the medium is was difficult, so getting a real laugh is always great.

Also, you're doing god's work, Kitkat. I noticed you not read most of the posts here, but give some input as well. I'm sure everyone who posts here appreciates that.
 

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Re: Simple Stuff - 02 Trading and Entering

Hey thanks! I've always been told that doing humor is easy, but getting people to actually laugh no matter what the medium is was difficult, so getting a real laugh is always great.

Also, you're doing god's work, Kitkat. I noticed you not read most of the posts here, but give some input as well. I'm sure everyone who posts here appreciates that.
You're welcome, CD-Man! I know the feeling, but really, I like all forms of your writing. Both here, and in the Persona rp. :D Always an entertaining read.

Awe, that's so kind of you to say that, CD-Man. I try my best, when it comes to input, but I like leaving reviews, whenever I get around to reading something new. I know how much work goes into writing in itself, and think it's important to do what I can to let you guys know, if I like it or not. Honestly, you guys should give yourselves a round of applause for working so hard.
 

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Re: Simple Stuff - 00 Unassorted

Hello again. It's been well over a month since my last update, so I feel like to need to explain the situation. I started this story on a whim one early morning and planned many things for it. I have a rough estimate of the rising actions, climax, falling actions, and all that other stuff they teach you in high school. The problem has been putting the thoughts and ideas into coherent words. Simple Stuff is, as I'm sure for those of you who have read the first two chapters, anything but simple. All together it is a lighthearted and humorous story (or at least, that's what I've been aiming for) that will lead into a serious-ish story line while keeping the lighthearted and fun wordplay. So then, what am I bitching about? For the past month I've found it hard to concentrate on the funny. Everything I've written for this story has been dull and entirely unimpressive, and I refuse to submit something like that for this story. It bums me out to say it, but I've basically hit a wall before I even got started with the important and interesting bits of this story.
But. I don't plan on abandoning this story. Instead, I will focus on different stories and writings in hopes that I will come back here in a few weeks or days and pick up where I (literally) started. For the mean time, I plan on writing something entirely different. But I didn't come empty handed. I decided to post the very beginning of Simple Stuff, back before it was called that silly name. "Unassorted" was my first attempt at this story, and as a result it has a much different tone. Unlike Alex, Richard--the main character--has known lost and he himself is dying. Lucy would have crashed into his life in a similar manner as she has in Alex's to like, remind him of having fun or something? I don't know, this was an entirely different concept at the time (about six to seven years ago?) But anyway, yeah.
We're not dead, just taking a nap.

---
00: Unassorted

I could hear the ever familiar slow beeping by my bedpost, as well as feel the weak but warm streaks of sunlight that reached my bed from the window above my head. Endless chatter filled the hall leading to my room, and as usual I could not make sense of any of it. The door opened and I lifted my head in time to see a man in a white coat holding a clipboard enter.
"What's the news, doc?" I asked him.
"Still no change." Dr. Feliz told me with his routine sympathetic smile.
"Bummer. Can I go home now?"
"Sorry, Richard but we need to keep you indoors for a while. You can get back on your feet in an hour or two."
I didn't want to admit he was right, but I knew he was. I had just woken up and felt extraordinarily light headed. I hated getting put under, it was like getting hit in the head with a club, except without the giant bruise to prove it. The doctor left telling me he'd have a nurse being up some breakfast, but I didn't really care too much. The food tasted pretty bad and I usually left everything alone except for the Jell-o. I stared at my heart monitor for a few seconds trying to remember what my dreams for the night were. I never could recall them, and on the lucky mornings when I could, it would just be little blurry glimpses of them, like the first time you opened your eyes underwater and were so surprised by the burning of chlorine you shut them back closed. That small watery burning vision was all I ever got from my dreams, and I hated it. The creaking noise of my room's surprisingly old door opening shocked me out of my train of thought. A woman walked in holding a tray of food, but I barely paid any attention to her. Without saying a word, she moved the bed table nearly on top of me, placed the tray on it, and pushed a button making the bed rise up. I looked at my food with near disgust. Mashed potatoes, corn, some sort of biscuit, blue Jell-o and meat that looked like it came straight out of a TV dinner, complete with brownish water that I'm guessing is supposed to be the "juices" of it. She left as soon as she could, still not saying a word.
Not that I minded.

I finally got fed up with the horrid basic cable television they had set up in every room so I tried to check myself out. Unsurprisingly, Doctor Feliz caught wind of it by the nurse who was to sign me out and told me to stay in my room for another half hour so he could do one more test to make sure I was fine. So I marched sluggishly back into my room, shutting off the television I had neglected before. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen. I then began writing a letter to no one, a series of words scrawled across the page, destined never to be read by anybody. I was nearly finished when the doctor walked in to perform his little test. Like all of the other tests of my current stay at Red Port Hospital, this wasn't the first time I've had this one. It was a simple test really, just to check to see if my brain was working right…mostly with balance and simple brain functions. As long as I could walk in a straight line without falling, I considered myself alright. And even if I couldn't do that, they could just ship me off with a cane instead of having me waddle around like a newly born giraffe. Once that was done I was released to go about my business. It would seem a bit odd to most people to leave hospitals after a series of tests, but it wasn't that way for me. Not since I've been doing it for as long as I could remember. You would think that, at the very least, I would know everyone in the hospital since I've been here for a good chunk of my life, but that was not true. In fact, with the exception of Dr. Feliz, I didn't know the name of anybody working at RP Hospital, and even then I didn't know his first name.
Not that I minded.

A cold wind blew across this old decrepit city. Whatever rays of sunlight that had reached me in the hospital were wasted, replaced now with chilly clouds cornering whatever part of the sky they could. Across the road from the hospital I could hear the sound of waves crashing against the wave breakers and docks. Why a hospital was built so close to the sea was beyond me; I often found myself silently wishing for a large enough wave to come and engulf it with me inside. So far my guilty desire has not been met. As I walked I could see the bright light of the lighthouse swirling about, sending messages to far-off boats of the promise of home, or if not then at least a safe place to rest for the night. I always wondered what it was like to be inside of the light house itself. I always just watched it from afar as the bright beacon brought back numerous ships from their voyages from faraway places. It was the highest point of this town, save for the mountainous region to the north. I envy the sailors who left Red Port. They were free to do as they please--really free. Not this nonsense that was forced on myself. Everyday I watched on from my bedside with a handful of grapes as gulls fly off into the distance. All the while I wished I was proficient with a bow and arrow. They were allowed to fly alongside the sailors as they crossed the sea, whom of which were nothing more but disgruntled men with no real future to speak of. Why is it that they could leave while I am stranded in this god forsaken town with nothing or no one to call my own?
Of this, I more than minded.

I made a side trip toward the previously mentioned lighthouse on a whim. I wasn't sure what I expected to find there. Maybe the door for it would be miraculously unlocked for a change, allowing me to explore the inner workings of the boat saver. The ever-looming lighthouse drew nearer with every step I took, and for some reason it seemed somewhat ominous, like a twister that began in Earth and was slowly making its way into the Heavens to wreak havoc up there, thereby doing the bidding of those below. The light itself was shut off for the day, resting up for the long night ahead of it. When I reached the lighthouse, I was put off by the frighteningly red color scheme that it bore. I could never get used to how the color shone out at me, like a disgusting curse word written in crayon on a white canvas. I reached out my hand toward the steel blue door's handle and turned. Unsurprisingly, I was met with resistance and was rejected for the umpteenth time. I walked passed the house and neared the edge of the concrete below my feet before peering down to the wave breakers down below. I spotted the iron ladder that had once saved my life and climbed down, onto a wave breaker itself. From my bag I produced the letter I had written earlier and, using the many days and weeks of practice prior, folded it gently into a paper boat. I waited patiently for the ocean to calm down and placed my boat into the water. Much to my surprise, the little boat swam out into the sea, defying all odds and nearly making it passed the buoy. However, the boat's luck had run out, and I watched on with a heavy heart as it was violently beaten by the waves, forced to sink to the bottom.
I sat there for a while, near the ladder on top of a wave breaker thinking of the letter to no one, which would never reach its destination.
Of this, I more than minded.
 

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Re: Simple Stuff - 00 Unassorted

A different concept is really refreshing to read. C: I've told many others recently, that they shouldn't worry about it if, they can't write something after awhile. Sure, months may go by, but you can always come back to it later, if inspiration strikes. Just take your time. Writing is meant to be fun.

Now onto this current story you've got going. I was really surprised to see Richard in a hospital. Makes one wonder, what it could be that ails him to be there in the first place? And why doesn't he have any family or friends? Further along, I think it was actually unique to see him describe certain parts of the story with 'Not that I minded.' and 'Of this, I more than minded.' Thus making it unique and different, which suits this story perfectly. Richard is an interesting fellow, who comes off as ordinary and eccentric at the same time. A part of me thinks he's the type to keep to himself, and likes having a routine of sorts; while wishing to break free like a bird, and fly away to places left unexplored. And I happen to wonder, what would of happened, if his letter had made it and defied the odds of sinking? A great story to read indeed, CD-Man.
 

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Re: Simple Stuff - 00 Unassorted

For sure. Like I mentioned, I'm totally gonna keep going with this, but my main focus is going to be something else for a while.

When I started thinking of an answer for some of your questions, I remembered that I had actually written a small amount more at a later date. I had to look for it in an older computer, but hey there it was, and it kinda answers a few questions even though it's rather short and ends a bit abruptly.

---
00.5: Unassorted


I’m not sure why I expected to find you waiting for me home. It has been at least two years since we had last spoken, but whenever I open the front door, I still expect to see you looking out the opposite side window with a handful of blackberries in your hand. A look of agony was always on your face when you did this, but I never questioned it. I always just imagined it was because you were thinking of something that had happened to you as a child, something you would rather not share with the world. That look would always change when I made myself known, replaced with what I always thought was happiness. All I see now when I open the front door is a large empty space where only the clouds greet me as I enter. I remember spending an entire day standing where you always stood, eating nothing but blackberries. I admired you for always being there as I entered, but was also puzzled as to how you did it. Eventually my legs, unaccustomed to standing in a single spot for long, locked up. When I tried to move, I fell to the ground and landed face up. I watched the ceiling fan twirl about for a while before losing myself in thoughts about how you were suddenly gone. Looking out the window did not show me anything but the sky, so what did it show you all those times?


A dull cry snapped me out of my delusions as I quickly slammed the door shut. Once again the space in front of the window was bare. The cry of the ambulance got louder, and memories shrouded my mind like a terrible fog on a rainy day. Memories of being rushed to the hospital after the stupid stunt I tried to pull after drinking too much. Memories of my fallen mother at her last, after I had found her shortly after her heart attack. And of course, memories of you. I ran to the television set and turned it on, bring the volume up until it forcibly drowned out the cries.
 
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Max

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Re: Simple Stuff - 00&00.5: Unassorted

Hey, CD-Man. I want more, right now. I want more Simple Stuff, it is so interesting and I just need to be able to know what is going on. Also, I really really want more Unassorted. Iknow you said it was an early different concept, but it was just so freaking good and I'm really happy you decided to share it.
 

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Re: Simple Stuff - 00 Unassorted

Kind of a sad, heart breaking story this one was. I liked reading it. You can feel this person reminiscing those they've lost, and leaves you wondering, if they'll ever find hope again. If I'm not mistaken, this person is referring to two people, and only mentions their mother. I'm going to take a leap and guess, the narrator is Richard himself. I could be wrong, but the 'hospital' being mentioned makes me think so. Still this story is shrouded in mystery, and leaves you wanting to know more.

Just to ask, do the black berries symbolize anything in particular? A part of me thought perhaps, they weren't really black berries at all. :3
 

Cassette-Disk

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Re: Simple Stuff - 00&00.5: Unassorted

Oh yeah, sorry, it is Richard. I have some ideas to maybe conclude this little story, so I'll probably post that whenever it gets finished. I also have typed out a good portion of the next bit of Simple Stuff, so that will probably come out sometime in the coming days. Unless something supernatural happens.

The blackberries are just blackberries, but from what I remember they did symbolize the female character's youth because she picked them as a kid. Essentially, when Richard spent the day eating blackberries he was also trying to capture her very image. He failed at it though.
 

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Re: Simple Stuff - 00&00.5: Unassorted

I have some ideas to maybe conclude this little story, so I'll probably post that whenever it gets finished. I also have typed out a good portion of the next bit of Simple Stuff, so that will probably come out sometime in the coming days. Unless something supernatural happens.
Bring it to me baby, I'll ward off the supernatural for as long as I can for you
 

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Re: Simple Stuff : -1 Unassorted

Numbers mean something. Another sleep deprived piece of work while the site was down. This isn't exactly what I told Hidden I would do on the day the interview was posted (that should be up sometime soon, go check it out for some fun times), but I got in the mood to write this, so it's what I did. Sorry if there are any spelling/grammar mistakes that I overlooked, by the way. I also feel as if I ended a bit weakly, but that's just something for me to work on.
edit: yup, right after I posted this the interview went live. Go check it out!

---

I lost track of time. The window that had only moments ago greeted me with cloudy skies showed me nothing but darkness now. I felt a familiar dull pain from the back of my head as I began to rise. Things were not getting better. I walked past the spacious living room and into the kitchen. Opening a cabinet, I grabbed a small transparent orange bottle and popped the cap off. A practiced motion, one that was years in the making. It was, at first, very difficult for me to open the prescription bottles. The first time in particular, I was so shaky that I ended up causing the pills inside to scatter when I did manage to pry the lid off. I feel to my knees and broke down then and there. You were not with me then, and I thank the heavens for it. You did not see me when I hit the bottommost part of my life, just as I never saw you during yours. Part of my soul wishes you had, however. Part of me wanted to show you my weakest moments, but how could I? You were the one person who stayed with me, and for that I could not afford to worry you more than necessary.


I placed two small capsules in my mouth and cupped my hands under the faucet after turning it on. After ingesting my medication, I sluggishly moved to my bedroom. Though the entire house was now under my name, I still refused to take the master bedroom. I felt as though doing so would be under minding the life of my parents, in particular my father. He had worked his entire life to gain everything a father would want only to be taken from this world right as he was beginning to enjoy it. The room itself was left undisturbed. I made it a point to leave that sanctuary exactly as they had left it, to the point where I locked the door from the outside and hid the key. It's been such a long time that even I have forgotten its location. The house felt, as a whole, empty. Everywhere I looked I found nothing but memories. My bedroom was no exception, but it was different in the fact that the memories there were my own. Everything there belonged to me and me alone. From the stereo system I bought for myself with the money I earned from my first job, to the countless books that lined the shelves.


Though I could not see it directly from my window, I could still make out the rays of light the lighthouse bore. I stared at my ceiling from the comfort of my bed as every few seconds, the light shone brilliantly against the side of the house. It always comforted me, almost luring me to sleep much like a baby who is gently rocked against his mother's body. Despite this, the dull ache from behind my head kept me awake. I turned to my side, hoping that refusing the area contact with a surface would elevate the pain. My wishful thinking was unmet, however, and I sat upright, staring out the window. The ever twirling streak of light merrily flashed past me. I rose from my bed, unsure of what to do. Letting my body carry me, I found myself exiting the house and retracing my steps from earlier that same day. A light drizzle fell from above as my shoes clacked nosily against the damp concrete. I restlessly rubbed my head, hoping for a small amount of relief, knowing full well how futile the action was. It didn't take long for me to reach the lighthouse. The soft pattering of raindrops hitting the surface of the ocean guided me through the dark as I made my way to the door. I stopped suddenly, gripping furiously at my head as an intense and sharp pain roared through my cranium, causing me to drop to my knees.


I will not lose to this.


The pain halted as quickly as it had came. I slowly began to stand, and was grateful to find that the previous pain had also subsided. I timidly reached for the door to the lighthouse a second time and pulled. To my surprise, the door slid easily, granting me access to whatever secrets it held. The sound of turning gears reached me as I entered, climbing up the spiral staircase leading to the uppermost area. The inside was mostly bare, save for a single mighty pillar that rotated clockwise and the staircase, of which I was now reaching the end. A small metal ladder met me. It was propped against the wall at the end of the stairs and right above it was a hatch. Opening the hatch revealed the very top of the lighthouse, exposed to the elements. I made my way up, taking care to take hold of the railing in case a rouge gust of wind came. The light shone brightly against my face, causing me to shut my eyes.


When I reopened them, I found myself somewhere else entirely. The sound of rain had been replaced by aquatic ambiance, and my surroundings where tilted in a dark blue. Something bumped against the top part of my head and, facing towards it, I was surprised to see a small paper boat roll off of me. I vaguely made out the shape of the rotating light in front of me, and it again blinded me. Once I composed myself I again found myself in a different place. A green meadow stretched out before me. A wooden picnic table stood in the distance as a soft breeze blew against me. Though I could not make out who they were, I saw two children sitting on the table. Once more, the light passed against my face and I found myself standing in front of you. You wore the same smile you always did when you saw me. Your hair was just the exact shade of brown that I remembered, and your eyes were still the same bright emerald green that they were when you were alive. You gently grabbed my head and pulled me towards you, so that our foreheads connected. A sudden flash of light robbed me of what was to come, and instead I was leaning against the railing of the lighthouse.


I stared at the void below me and made out the concrete below. Near the door, I saw the silhouette of a man's body lying on the floor. The light once more brushed passed me, racing against my back, but nothing changed. I realized in an instant what the truth was, and was unsure of what to make of it. A warm hand touched my own, and I knew instantly it was you. No one attended my funeral, but that was only because there was no one left. In a twist of irony, the man who was given the shortest amount of time was in fact, the last of us left. And he is gone now. Though in my own life I was nothing but a bystander who only watched the world around him, It makes me happy to think that somewhere--somehow, in a different life, we might just be together. Together we would change the world, leading strangers to happiness and the promise of home, much like the lighthouse that watched over this city.
 
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Re: Simple Stuff : -1 Unassorted

Wow CD-Man, that was a little depressing. You turned a sad ending into a somewhat uplifting though, he was no longer alone, no longer tied to this world. This has been a great little short story, I'm pretty pleased with the ending.
 

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Re: Simple Stuff : -1 Unassorted

I can actually understand what its like to not want to let those, who you hold dear see you at your weakest. Trying to appear strong for their sakes instead. At the same time, I think its important to show that side of yourself, because it means you trust that person to see how you really feel, and give you a shoulder to cry on, when you need them more then ever before. Getting a little sidetracked here, but I can admire Richard for that.

I'm actually taken by surprise to see Richard died. At first, I thought he was just seeing someone else instead of himself on the concrete floor. For someone who didn't want to lose to his pain, he ended up dying anyhow. I want to say I feel sorry for him, but I can't. Not when he's finally at peace and with the woman he loved most. (I'm assuming its either his wife or his mother.) And the way it ended overall was beautiful and poetic. Just cause your life ends doesn't mean its truly the end, and really a new beginning. Or at least I want to believe that's true to some extent. More like wishful thinking.
 

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Re: Simple Stuff : -2 Unassorted

-2: Sorting the Unassorted

You were always there for me. That is something I will never forget. The first visits to the hospital were the most influential, for those were the ones where the doctor explained to you in great detail about my condition. Though I expected you to become lost during the elaborate and lengthy discussion surrounding my grey matter, you astounded me in how easily you understood the complexity that had, until then, eluded me. You put it into words that made far more sense than anything the doctors could ever conceive. You held my hand the entire visit, squeezing tightly, almost as if you could chain me to this world simply by having you by my side. I remember the strained look you gave as the doctor explained how the clot in my brain could—at any moment-- become a fatal catastrophe. You had given another squeeze at that exact moment, and I distinctly remember squeezing back. That would be the first time I began returning all the emotions you had been showing me. It was from that moment that I knew I would not need to face this alone. Even with Daniel by my side, I had always felt an immense feeling of isolation. But with you, it was as if an entirely different world was open to me. Where Daniel could only offer words of encouragement and sincere empathy, you offered much more. You stood beside me like a lighthouse to a shored city, always watching. Always protecting.

My thoughts, usually of deep resentment and sorrow, were replaced with hope and something I liked to believe was joy. Where I would usually harshly dislike entering the aforementioned hospital, I would now meet it with a head held high and fingers interlocked with yours. It was during one of these ever present visits that we were given the most unexpected news. In what most people would call a fateful day, the doctors told me I had only months to live. The clot had increased in size and should it grow any larger my brain would suffocate from the lack of oxygen. I took the news like I took everything else in my life: indifference. If I was to die, then so be it. So long as you were alive and lived in relative happiness, nothing else mattered to me. But your reaction changed that; it shook me to my very core. You wept. You clinged to my chest tightly and embraced me even tighter. I had never cried before. Never shed a tear for myself nor did I ever do so again. But for what was yet another first, I wrapped my arm around you, dug my head into your shoulder and cried. The mere thought of leaving you in such a state was more than I could ever hope to bare. We asked about treatments: there were none. The clot was far too deep and far too close to safely operate on, and even if they managed to remove it, that would only serve to treat the symptom, not the underlying cause of my genetic disorder. I held your hand as I told you everything would be fine. We would spend the rest of our time together in happiness, live out my remanding weeks as something for you to remember and cherish. You convinced me otherwise. You told me such an idea, though considerate, was also selfish. You had told me that a happy memory of us during the darkest times would be more painful than a rusty nail to the temple.

Though highly evasive and dangerous, you talked the doctor into performing the surgery. It was classified as an 'experimental procedure' in order to even get approved by the committee. The chances of my survival were slim, but if the surgery was successful, I might be able to place this behind me. The clot that had been my birth brother might be removed, and there might be no sign of his return, genetics be damned. The very motion of being rid of a pained head—to never again suffer the dull ache that served as a constant reminder of my condition—was something that had never crossed my wounded mind. The chances of my death were high, but as you sat next to me while I was being prepared for surgery, there was no doubt I would come out of this alive. As the mask was placed over my mouth, I quickly realized how much of a beacon you had become to me. The doctors had claimed this surgery too dangerous, but it was I and I alone who refused to take part of it. The doctors themselves easily folded into performing the surgery. Had I simply brought it up, I am almost positive they would have agreed to operate. You had given me the courage to go under, and I found myself clawing for your hand as the anesthetic had begun to shut me down, Your fingers interlocking into mine, along with a wet tear drop upon my wrist were the last things I felt as darkness surrounded me.

Isabelle:

I met with Allen. He served me tea and inquired of my condition. In an attempt to repair the bridge between us, I indulged him, and even informed him of the surgery. I ignored the pity in his eyes as I drank. They reminded me of the same look you had given me when we had first met, and I could easily see how you two had been so close in the past. However, despite his kind words and remarks of condolence, it was not hard for me to see the bitterness that bubbled under the surface. I had planned on staying for an hour, but his harshness and general disdain for me cut my plans into a half hour venture. Before I parted, I asked him for your scrapbook. The glare he had given me was more than enough to realize it was a mistake, but to my surprise he went up to his room and retrieved the aged red book. He shoved it into my arms and asked me to leave. I have left the scrap book in our bedroom; under my pillow. I know I shouldn't think like this but if the surgery were to take me from you, I, at the very least, wanted you to have your memories in tact. I understand the photos of your family are important and this is the very least I could do for you.
Yours,

--Richard

Bright light etched in front of me. I felt as if I was looking up from the bottom of a well, and could make out faces at the top looking down. You were one of them. The doctor moved the small flashlight from one eye to the other, checking to see if my pupils responded. I began to stir, but a hand on my chest pushed me back down and I was instructed to remain still. I could feel the bandages upon my forehead, wrapped around my cranium, almost as if it alone was stopping my head from splitting into two. I was given a series of tests as I was informed on the surgery. The surgeon had removed the clot, only for it to slowly reform as soon as they began cleaning. Though at the time it was small, the doctors could already trace its growth. It seems my genetics refused to let me loose of its death grip. The particular vein the clot resided in was damaged. Surgery had shown there would be no repairing it, nor would there be any treatment. Judging by the growth of the clot, the doctors gave it a year for it to return to its previous size, as well as my most likely time of death. Though I had managed to survive, the operation was a failure.

We did our best to return to normal. You happily showed me images from your scrapbook. You told me your fifth birthday was the most memorable as you pointed to your younger self whom was sitting proudly beside her cake. You went through every photograph, going into great detail about the events that transpired during its taking. You hesitated as you reached photos of Allen before calmly removing them from their plastic bindings and throwing them into the trash. As you returned, you sat next to me on the couch and embraced me. You told me how unfair the world was, and I agreed with you as I ran my fingers through your hair. I wondered what it was like to live free of pain as my hand held the back of your head. What was it like to never sit beside Death every waking moment? I felt a familiar dull pain in the back of my head as your tear stained cheek swept past my own. We stayed like this for a while, unmoving. Almost as if we could stop time simply by refusing to go along with it. Finally, you pushed me down and laid beside me, making due with the small amount of room the couch offered. I held on to you tightly as you did the same, and we fell asleep in each other's arms as the rotating beam of light from the nearby lighthouse rounded past the window, lulling us away from our consciousness.

Though neither of us acknowledged it, we had quickly made our way to the dreaded second year since the surgery. I had neglected to return to the hospital two weeks prior to the beginning of the year, but according to my last visit the progression had continued as expected. I packed the map we had acquired into my bag before setting foot into your car. We were to visit your mother; you wanted to finally introduce me as well as give her the scrapbook. Daniel, having just finished his nursing program, was to be assigned to the hospital near your mother's house, and as a result asked for permission to join us so that he might become familiar with the area. He had packed his medical bag as well, claiming that he needed to make sure his personal equipment was up to par with what was expected from him. Though our coastal town was frequently cloudy and overcast, it seemed as if we were to be accompanied by a rare clear blue sky. I should have known better than to see this as a good omen.

As you pulled into the freeway overpass, Daniel informed me from the backseat of his excitement. Despite gaining access to the hospital in our own small town, he yearned for a large temple to hone his skills, as did you. Though while Daniel practiced medicine, you instead made your way through the world with a camera as your tool. The usual cloud-stricken state of our home was without a doubt the main reason you had decided to move to Red Port. To the people who lived there it was nothing but another reminder of how dark the world could be, but you saw more than that. You saw the opportunity for light to be shed and pierce through the darkness. You saw hope where others saw despair, you saw the chance to lift burdens from the shoulders of others. You saw life. I often wonder if that was the same reason you were drawn to me. We had passed through a tunnel as the freeway border ended.

By the time Daniel yelled out, it was far too late for you to maneuver the car to safety. I clung desperately at the dashboard as you clenched your teeth and pressed down on the breaks while turning the wheel. It was not enough, however, and the renegade car heading toward us tracked your movement as if the heavens themselves willed it. I could see the driver's face as time seemed to slow. I will never forget his face: pale, shaved head, black baseball cap, and covered in sudden realization and horror. There was a terrible lurch as the two cars collided, stopping us dead in our tracks.

You had once told me that, as a child, you often picked wild blackberries. You would gamble on them, hoping the ones you picked were ripe and sweet. It wasn't until a few summers of this you realized even the bitter ones were full of flavor. You told me that not everything one expected from this world was sweet. Instead, the bitterness we experience only helped us enjoy the sweet moments all the more. But where was the sweetness in this? How can one look back on their most bitter and hated memories and grow stronger from them? I know you can tell me the answer, so please. Isabelle, please.

A terrible shock coursed through my body, jolting my chest upwards. Another came a few seconds later, and I briefly heard Daniel's voice through the darkness. A third shock thundered past my heart as my eyes opened. A bright blue sky welcomed me along with the smell of smoke and Daniel's tear-filled voice. I sat upright in a daze, trying my best to take in my surroundings. Your white car. His red truck. Daniel, one black eye and medical bag opened as he held on to his small defibrillator, the wires of which were strapped to my exposed chest. The driver of the truck, nearly ejected from his seat, had broken his windshield and his upper body lay across the destroyed hood, his head a bloody mess. I couldn't see you. I asked Daniel, but he only shook his head. I staggered to my feet and limped my way around the totaled vehicle. I froze as I rounded to the driver's side. Daniel had at first, pulled you from the wreckage and laid you on the floor. He checked your pulse, but said you were already...

He pulled my body next, saying that I had suffered trauma, though not as severe as yours and managed to pull me back from the brink. I kneed beside you. I held your hand. I wept. Aside from a cut across your forehead, you looked perfect. I saw no ill marks or bruises, not a single indication that would let me believe you to be gone. You looked as if you were asleep, but already your hand was so cold. The sounds of sirens filled the air as I looked up at the clear blue sky. It was almost mocking me.

We were rushed to the hospital. The same damned hospital I had been condemned to since the day of my birth. The doctors informed me that the impact hit you the hardest, causing instant death. Had Daniel not been with us, I most likely would have followed suit. Instead I only had a broken arm and bruised ribs. They told me I was lucky. I disagreed. They told me the driver of the truck was drunk. I disagreed. I refused to believe that something like this would take me away from you. It had to be some higher order, it must be! He was not drunk, Isabelle! There was no way something like this—a random act of chaos—would take you! I cared not for his name, nor did I care about his fate, all I cared for was knowing the truth. I rejected the notion of whims and luck and instead spiraled into my own mind.

I had done this. Had I not asked Allen for the scrapbook. Had I not asked about your family. Had I not been born with this cursed disorder you would still be here. It should have been me. Given the chance, I would—in a heartbeat—trade my life for yours. I knew this was not to be, however, and could do nothing as the days ticked down to your funeral. It was another cloudless day as your coffin sat on the green grass. Why had the universe decided this? Were they acknowledging your loss as their gain? Had they picked you in greed and stolen you away from me? I met with Allen again. He attended the funeral and I could not ignore the rage that flashed behind his eyes. He too, saw me as the culprit. As he approached me, I expected to receive a blow to the face and was not disappointed. I tried not to flinch, but instead I nearly fell backward as his fist connected with my jaw. He walked away from me without saying a word and sat in his seat, staring at your coffin. In my mind, he had every right to be upset with me. Why should I be the one left to live?

It wasn't until your coffin began lowering that I realized my folly. This last year had showed me happiness. It showed me what it meant to be a part of something larger than myself. I learned how to live. How to love. I raced past memories of us as your coffin touched the Earth. Of our first meeting near the lighthouse. Of how you orbited around me despite my pushing you away. Finally allowing you access into my life. Moving in together. Seeing you just come out of the shower, your hair still wet. Sharing a seat among the coast as the tide threatened to wash us away. Our first kiss under the moonlit shore. The first time you accompanied me to the hospital. The warmth you had provided during the cold winter. The way you always stood across the front door, looking out the window with a handful of blackberries as I entered our home. The pained look on your face I always wanted to ask about, but never found the courage to do so. Your fingers, interlocking perfectly between my own, as if they were designed for one another.

The doctors said that the clot that had threatened my life had miraculously shrunk after the accident. I have no proof, but I am certain this was also your doing. Giving me more time seemed as if it was something you would do. You always worried about the welfare of others more than your own. You were—and still are—my beacon in this world. Much like the lighthouse that never rests, you still protect me and show me the way forward. I will never stop believing you. I will never stop loving you. I know you are still out there, watching over me and I look forward to the day I join you, my Isabelle.

---

I wanna talk about this. Unassorted has probably been the best thing I've written so far, and I want to break it down. Obviously, the last entry was what I had used for KHI's CW Shipping Contest, but it is still very much an extension of Unassorted.

The story as a whole needed to have a depressing feeling to it, almost as if the character was alone in the world. It's for that reason that there is no dialogue in any of these pieces, save for the first paragraph which I'll talk about later. I also wanted a lot of things to be left open for interpretation. Richard's condition was never supposed to be identified to the reader, nor was his lover's name ever supposed to be known. They were just things that were thrown at the reader for them to digest and think about. What was killing Richard? It wasn't important: He's dying. Who was Richard's lover? Her name doesn't matter any more: She's gone. All these things were also hinted at to invoke a sense of mystery. Why does Richard need to take pills for his condition if it was just going to kill him anyway? What events transpired to his lover that causes him to have a panic attack at the sound of sirens while thinking of his lover? Were they married? Did she leave him before she passed away? The idea was to make the reader think about the happenings and make their own conclusions. It might be a lot to ask for in a small medium (the original place I had posted this story had an even smaller reader's base than KHI), but it was what I wanted to do. Sorting the Unassorted obviously flat out told the reader everything, from his condition, to his lover, it even showed that Richard had acquaintances outside of his lover. I feel as if it should be read weeks or even months after reading Unassorted so the reader can go "Oh yeah, I remember this. So that's what happened." It also has the side effect of shattering the whole "open to interpretation" idea. I'm not sure how I feel about it, but right now I'm content with it.

When I first started writing Unassorted, it was never supposed to be as dark as it turned out to be. It was originally going to be a prototype for Simple Stuff. As a matter of fact, the first paragraph wasn't even the first paragraph. There was a one-sided conversation before it that took place as Richard slept from an unknown entity that even I've forgotten about. He talked about portals opening and closing as people slept, which led to different worlds. This idea was scrapped as Unassorted became more focused on Richard and his past, but it will make an eventual return in Simple Stuff in a different manner. Speaking of starting off, the first paragraph completely destroys what this story is about. It shows Richard joking with the doctor about his condition ("Bummer. Can I go home now?") which leaves the reader a more whimsical idea of how the story is going to play out. This was, again, because Unassorted was going to be much more lighthearted and humorous. I plan on redoing the first and maybe second paragraph to reflect the rest of the story at some point in the future. It isn't until the third paragraph that things follow through with the more serious tone. Also, repetition was very important. "Not that I minded" was supposed to show how Richard hid his true feelings about his condition from the hospital staff, and possibly himself as well while "Of this, I more than minded" was him showing how he truly felt about the situation. The paper boat probably also had some importance, but I've forgotten what it was. Whoops. It would eventually appear later in the story (Simple Stuff's prototype) to serve a plot point, but aside from that I've completely forgotten.

Richard was destined to die. That was the whole point of his character. But in the prototype, his cause of death and events surrounding it would have been much more different (another thing that will eventually make it's way to Simple Stuff). Instead, I used his death as a chance to add more imagery into his past, as well as leave more things about his past unanswered for the audience. There underwater location, the meadow, and Isabelle were all things he saw as he died. Why? 2DEEP4U THAT'S WHY. There was also Isabelle's entire character. Aside from the small interactions in Sorting the Unassorted, the reader is given very little information about her. Richard recalls moments from her past during her funeral, but they aren't given in any real order. I wanted to give something people would think about as they walked around living their lives. Hopefully that's what I did.

Also, new Simple Stuff this week! Probably!
 

Max

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Re: Simple Stuff : -2 Unassorted

This was great to read over dude, I love hearing your thoughts about the story and how much it transformed as you wrote it. I also feel like I totally connect with you as an author about the whole "open to interpretation" thing. You and I had talked about it before, and I really appreciate it when stories allow me to try to figure it out myself, and discuss with other people what we believe is going on.

But then with "Sorting," it's like you said, coming back from a break after reading Unassorted, it's great to start to remember those moments in the original story and Richard's vague past that we had to fill in ourselves. I liked that you made me interpret the story myself, sit on it a while, and then allowed me to look at the story in the way you, the author, would look at it.

Thanks for posting your thoughts on this man, it was very enjoyable to read. I'm really looking forward to more Simple Stuff (I'll probably reread the first couple chapters again since it's been a while).
 

KingdomKey

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Re: Simple Stuff : -2 Unassorted

MAJOR QUESTION OF THE DAY! How do you know so much about medical procedure? Are you going to be a doctor someday?

Richard wasn't married to Isabelle. When I first started reading this story, I had thought he was. Looks like I was wrong. I'm curious if Allen was related to Isabelle; after retrieving her scrapbook from her bedroom. On the other hand, I felt like he could of been a potential lover of hers. Whom was stolen from him and Richard ended up whisking away. Sort of like a love triangle. Ah, imagination at work since, you gave me a lot to think about and look at from a different perspective. You know what takes me by surprise the most? Richard didn't blame the driver whom crashed into them. Or let grief consume him entirely at her funeral and was more concerned of what Allen thought of him too. I feel like this is something you'd see in real life, or a true story that actually happened. I guess this leaves me askin, did he commit sudoko in a previous chapter?
 
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