Ywrighting: July 2014

The Basic

I turned around from the bar and caught a glimpse of you. You were sitting next to the captain beside the pool, your hair orange red under the sun. The two of you were talking in the wind. I could not make out a word but the waves that were racing the cruiser.

The deck was wet from the morning swimmer. I finished my drink and ordered two more, for you and the captain. I knew I shouldn't be drinking that early in the day, I had promised you, but I just couldn't watch the good wine turn to waste in those Russian's stomach.

On my left, your favorite cocktail, on my right, the captain's water. I tilted my sailor hat at the bartender and gave her a tip. She carried a smile with a mild dimple like you, very lovely.

I got up from my seat and straightened my back, but the world turned dark on me. I closed my eyes and tasted salt, but not the fruity flavors from the wine. Ah, I had been leaning on the marble bar table for coolness, and now my bone's stiff. I should blame myself for not putting down that book last night when you begged me to. How did I not understand your concern about me?

The polished wooden floor felt warm under my bare feet. I trod lightly on the wet surface, and walked briskly on the dry, alternating my pace. You are just the pool's width away, and I did not look at you but at the bodies of the swimmers. Among them were children of different ages, their skins still burning red from yesterday's sun. Floating in the pool, treading water beside them, were their parents, mostly womanly, or rather, motherly figures that had scored a balance between healthy and attractive. My eyes were on those, even though my mind was on you.

For whatever stupidity that was still haunting me from the shore, just as I was closing in, I almost flipped backward as I stepped on a toy, a yellow, plastic duck on the floor. I flapped my hands and regained balance, but the drinks took a beating. I could only tell that no one was watching, or even realize where the contents of my glasses had went. A small amount of colored liquid into a pool of water, no problem.

You smiled when you saw me. You introduced me to the captain and we shook hands. You told him to stay when he politely excused himself. I intervened and told you that the captain had works to do, and your lips were angry. The captain stepped forward and hugged you and kissed you on the hand and say his goodbye and went away. You didn't say goodbye. You were looking everywhere, including the back of the captain, but me.

I held your hand, and we went to the bow to reenact the scene of the Titanic.

Internal Storage Unit

Clock in, clock out. The horde of people chained in cyberspace formed an intangible barrier. Their digital records transferred between molecules cry out for salvation. And their bones crackled in sweat.

Just like everybody else, Jearom Benn practised the way of the cyber. She put her body on lease to Reve Rent three months ago. Not because she needed the credit to appear in her bank account, but for various of reasons that had been buried inside the Non Disclosure Agreement. The moment she had been cybered, as people in her generation say, she was still wondering how her body would react to the foreign data.

It is an undeniable fact that people who rented their bodies to Reve Rent or other cyberspace storage companies, are legally binded to a contract that forbade them freedom to roam in the society. They would have zero access to outside interaction besides with those who were in the same data center facility.

Benn, at her late twenties, had done a dozen jobs and changed her name more than twice. She was eventually tired of evading the the loan sharks after all these loveless years, and decided to hide behind the protection of the data giants.

Reve Rent was the first one that came into her mind. Thanks to the subconscious bombing advertisements and jingles and slogans, Reve Rent had quickly rose from a worthless startup in Nevada to the tech giant located in the thousand acres wonderland of New Mexico, where the sun provided heat energy to its uncountable data center.

The day Benn reported into one of the data center, she was minutely given a set of employee clothing and an injection that soon rendered her operationable. By operationable, it meant she, or rather, her body, has been used as a vessel to carry loads of data from around the world.

If she hadn't thought better, she would think that the area she was allowed to roam was actually quick comfortable and large, about the size of the Central Park with people like her, who had lost control over their freedom but to work day and night in the limited area.

Starting from day one, Benn was assigned the duty to mop the floor with the team A, which at that moment consisted of a group of ten people. Group leader Judy Federals didn't like her at first sight and shoved her away to mop the toilet.

In some sense, Benn was living in a prison without committing a crime but serving the world with her body. The technology that enables people disabled her, but she would gladly accept the work if she was given the chance again. She was making money, minimum pay by doing nothing soul-crashing. She'd waitressed, she'd saloned, she'd even chiefed in a remote diner where customers ate worms and crickets.

She paused on the way to the toilet and looked at the crowd. It wouldn't be odd at all for her to think that everyone around her worked like ants. They were contributing to a central ideas by interacting within a designated area, it wasn't magic at all how the technology worked. It was a thing nature had been doing for thousand and thousand of years, only human didn't harness that knowledge until fairly recently compared to the age of the earth.

Someone grabbed her hair by the root, and pulled hard. Benn cried and felt a hand covering her mouth.

"Now, now, didn't I tell you to mop the toilet?" It was Judy Federals.

"I'm going there," Benn said.

Federals let go of her and slapped her back.

"Aw."

"Don't let me caught you slacking," Federals turned her back and walked off.

Benn didn't understand why Federals hit her on the back. She didn't understand why would the old people hit someone just to make a point. For her, she would just keep her distance and talk until whoever she was talking understand what point she was making, because physical contact was unnecessary and obsolete. She didn't like someone touching her, not even loved one or family members.

Three months in, Judy Federals was removed from the squad without notice, the old lady simply vanished. Benn hadn't seen a shadow of her, nor did anybody. Benn herself had been relocated to a new group, which was responsible for clothes and bed sheet cleaning. It was tedious work, and at the end of the week, she simply flexed her arms and could see the muscles building up. The facility's protocol clearly advise everyone to grow up in size, and Benn figured they must have slipped something in the drinks and foods, besides asking everyone to work progressively toward labor-intensive tasks, to strengthen their bodies.

Last year alone, Reve Rent made up a total of 87% of gross income in the state of New Mexico, it was like the most profitable alternative data farming company in the states. So Benn rationalized that if they were earning that much money, they must be willing to invest in their own labor in order to gain more from the profit margin.

Day in, day out. Benn began to drink less and eat little. She had completely lost her appetite a week shy of five month's working. She looked into the mirror and saw herself, pale but stocky.

Reve Rent suspended her contract when they sent her to the medical unit. Meanwhile, the loan sharks had discovered her location through a leaked employee directory of Reve Rent online.

Unsettled

Not everyone has a heart for charity, and one would certainly find that this is especially true for Jared. For he is the typical homeless person you do not see but know that he has his presence in your surrounding.

He dresses in untidy, unconventional clothing, and has long, tangled hair with hidden treasures embedded inside. He does not look at you when he speaks to you, but his hands would always be moving around your pocket. He is no thief by any tradition, because he steals none of your money but your sympathy. It is totally up to you to decide whether or not to give them what they have been asking for, or just give them a shrug and hasten away from their foul body smile.

Jared is aware of his condition, though he could not do anything about it. You don't have to tell him that he smells like the sewer, or that he looks terrible. No, he knows better than you. The most important thing for him at a daily basis, is that he survives another day. Living under the highway bridge, the back alley, the bench at parks, the street, in front of a closed bar. You name it, he have done it. What unstable living environment taught him is that he knows the boundary. He does not dread on a place if he is not welcome there. Well, sometimes Winters hit hard or a torrent of wind poured down at midnight, he would have to break the boundary and find a place to settle for a short period. In fact, he knows where he's been blacklisted and where he's been allowed to stay on a burning wire-once the spark reach the end, he would have to go. Not a shred of tear would drop, not a moment of reconsideration.

What makes him special is that he lives in a different group. Jared maintained his livelihood a bit different from us. He has got no jobs that earns him a stable residence or regular meal, he has got no personal possession other than those he gathered from the path he crossed since he has started living off from the street. While he doesn't need anything, or anyone, he does have a heart for scold.

How many time do you not hear Jared cursing, or other times, singing off his sorrow, on the street? Alas, this is the way he knows how to express himself, his discontent, his anger, his bitterness.

A child ran toward Jared with a charity box carried around her neck. "Would you like donate some money to help our charity work for the homeless people? Just chip in a little would be a big help, mister."

Jared peered inside the box of money, his eyes fluttering, his cheek shivered. "Why don't you give me the box there and help the homeless right now? Easy, and direct."

The child held the box and looked into it. Then she raised her head with an innocent look, her cheeks pink as roses. "Alright mister, you can have it."

With a soft pop, the child opened the box, and Jared held his hands in midair, formed a cup, and heard the coins clinking against each other, felt the texture of paper money pressed against his palm. His eye shone with hope.

"That's all. What are you going to do with it?" the child asked, her hands at her back, her body twisting around slightly like she is asking her mother for a new boyfriend.

"I'm going to spend like I know how," replied the homeless, unkempt, illicit Jared, "I'm going to buy all the cheap liquor this money can buy and have a fantastic night."

"Don't you want to buy new clothes?" the girl pointed her tiny finger at him, "you could really use a new pair of trouser and a new shirt."

Jared checked his shirt and jean, swiping his hands over his body. "They look fine to me, girl. But if you are buying, that's a totally different story," Jared keeps an eye out for an adult who might be this girl's legal guardian. "Say, you don't happen to have some money on you?"

"I haven't got any, mister. But I do have candies in my pocket. Would you like one? Mom said we were suppose to share the sweet with others."

"Do you see my tooth here?" Jared crouched down with his left hand pressing on the floor, his head leveled with the girl. "Are you see this? This is what eating candies did to me. Do you want to be like this?" Jared put his little finger through the crack of his lost tooth and filled it up.

The little girl let out a shriek and runs away.

Jared, what have you done, again?

River of Happiness

#478966191 / gettyimages.com

By the look of his flimsy eyes, he was ready to go again. Old James gathered his items scattered on the flat rock's surface, and without organizing them, threw them all into his sack with a casual flip of the arm, one after one.

The smoke of his fire had completely gone with the wind when he stepped out of the magic circle. What was before him, he couldn't imagine. He only knew that if he did not arrive at the castle before the Night of the Gale, his only daughter, Sapphire, would be sold to the Empire of the One, or better known as the pirates.

Jumping off the big rock, which had been exposed to the blessing of the moon and the sweetness of the dew, Old James began to count his steps while drawing a crude map of his trails. This could possibly be an important document to the villagers back at Little Rock's Fall because the people there had not yet treaded on the road to the Castle of Gazmore.

The forest surrounding him now, The Dark Beum, also known as the forbidden soil from the bed time stories, had a shadowy presence. Either the giant trees and mosses engulfed the light, creating a darker shades of the path and emanating a sad, dreary smell into the air. Old James watched his steps as he climbed over a small hill.

But he quickly felt uncertain as where he was heading, and had soon lost all sense of direction when he stole a breath from the immediate air and quietly swallowed it. There was no bird or any kind of insect producing noises of the summer, though he could hear faintly the sound of running water. The water supply he carried in his sack could last for three more days, maybe five. Old James thought better of it and went searching for the source of running water. He believed it could lessen the water supply people would have to carry if they ever decided to cross this land after his return.

A cross was drew on the map, an approximate location of where he was. Old James then carefully put his heavily inked feather tips an inch away from the map as he trotted toward the water. He thought it would be a river, possibly with a shallow pond that would allow him to gather fresh water.

The splashing. Old James laughed at the sound of it and hastened forward. His feather was hovering steadily over the sheet of map, dotting at interval to indicate the trail he took simultaneously. Closer, closer, he could saw the waterfall. He was ever closer to the water when suddenly he slipped over an wet cobblestone and took a plunge down into the pool below.

His hands patting water, his legs running air. Old James got himself to the surface with a mouthful of fresh water. It was sweet as the meat from the Farland and pure as the lambs from the Lamberson's farm.

Old James swimmed to the river bank, a mere hand's distance. He could not even touch the stones until he reached for it. There was nothing but water between him and the land. Old James got curious and dived a little bit underwater to see how deep the pond of water gathered, but he could not see the depth of it except for the twinkling, shining reflection of the sun.

Finally he went ashore, left his wrinkled legs soaked in the young water. So much as he worried, he found his sack not in the water, but by some ill luck, hung onto the wild, spikeless vines at the edge where he fell.

He went around the water to find a path to his previous misshapen location but spotted none that wouldn't render a body full of sweat or require a body full of inexhaustible strength. At last, he chose the steep run of the hill, and slowly he went climbing to his sack.

To Be Continued (If I Ever)

REFLECTION

LACK OF DESCRIPTION OF THE ENVIRONMENT IN DEPTH

LACK OF CHARACTER DETAILS

REPETITION, SUCH AS THE PARAGRAPHS THAT MENTIONED ABOUT WATER

SENTENCE TOO LONG, CUT IT SHORT, DUDE

A LOT OF NAME DOESN'T MAKE SENSE, DON'T START OFF CREATING YOUR OWN WORLD IF YOU DON'T KNOW THEIR PLACE IN THE STORY

WHY SHOULD I CARE ABOUT OLD JAMES? HIS DAUGHTER SEXY OR SOMETHING?

SCENE TRANSIT TOO QUICKLY, LIKE HOW OLD JAMES PLUNGED INTO A POOL, SO PLEASE AVOID USING THE WORD 'SUDDENLY' AS IT TEND TO ESCALATE THINGS IN A UNSURPRISING WAY, MOSTLY BECAUSE THE WORD 'SUDDENLY' HAS ALREADY GAVE AWAY THE INTENDED SURPRISE, INSTEAD, TRY TO ILLUSTRATE HOW OLD JAMES GOT THERE, WHAT MAKES HIM SO CLUMSY, AND WHY COULDN'T HE PREVENT HIMSELF FROM FALLING, MAYBE HIS EMOTION?

WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY FLIMSY EYES, SILLY?

FINISH WHAT YOU HAVE STARTED, DUMB DUMB

Longing to Be Here

The Sun above, embraced by masses as we now called cloud, was still teasing Fanny. As she stepped onto the sandy beach, after descending from a long and steep staircase in the chilling shades of mountainous trees, she raised her hands and hovered about her forehead, and said to Danny, "why baby, it's so hot out there. Would we rather not stay inside our hotel room and enjoy our bath in their beautiful pool. I reckon you like that pool just as much as mama do, do you?"

"Of course, of course. I would rather share a warm bath with you in that gigantic hot tub in enormous proportion, than standing here and taste my sweat. But baby, it's not so bad. I just want you to enjoy the sun as we did when we first met. The good old jolly time, remember?"

"Yes, I do, baby. Yes. Why, you must have guessed that I've all forgot about it. No baby, it ain't so," Fanny tilted her head forward and took Danny's hand, "I reckon we would be all jolly and burn after this."

"Not so, not quite so. I've brought this sun cream with me that it will ever, ever work so fine," Danny said and produced the "Sun Scream" from his bag.

"Is it not the one we used last time we were sun bathing?" Fanny asked. Her prints on the hot sand was small as she tiptoes around, with her arms hanging around Danny's neck. She was laughing and he was trying to lift her into his arms. "Hold it, you haven't answered my question yet, mister."

Danny put her down ever so gently. "Why does it matter?"

"Do you not have remember what happened last time I rubbed that on your back?"

Danny shook his head ever so slightly as though a little bit more movement would kill him in an instant. "What exactly happened, baby. Don't scare me, tell me."

Fanny turned to look back where they were coming from, the steep staircase seemed even scarier in the hot shore wind that blew at the trees. "Have you not notice what you back looked like when we went home that night?"

"Not a thing. Honest," he lay the blanket on the sand under the darker shades of a frail tree, and invited Fanny to sit down. "How could I. I was drunk all the way home, wasn't I? And I was sick and vomiting for the next few days as well. Is that what it is? Do you think this sun cream here has something to do with my condition?"

"No, baby. Why would you think that?" Fanny said, and mumbled, "I thought you knew."

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Why, the ocean view is ever so refreshing."

"Does it now? Beer?"

Fanny waved no and set her head on her man's shoulder. "I wish we were out there in a boat. Just you and me, travelling around the world. Just in a boat."

The beer was in his system. "Your wish would come true if you slept on it."

"Don't be ridiculous. What kind of a wish is that if I slept on it."

"A dream," Danny chuckled.

The two burst into laughter. Others glanced at them, thinking them silly couple must be nuts to be sitting next to that frail tree.

"Would you be back soon?" Fanny said, lying ever more closely to Danny, into his bare chest which wasn't sweating.

"What do you mean?"

"Could you not get upset by the officers and that they kick you out for bad behavior?"

"And why would I do that, baby?" Danny sat straight, leaving Fanny sleeping on his legs, looking at the golden horizon.

"Because you need to be with your family?"

"Yeah. My wife's so important that I can't live a day without her."

Fanny pinched him on the knee.

"You now that doesn't hurt a bit, right?"

Fanny pinched again, only lighter.

Danny stroke her hair ever so slightly like the cool breeze.

REFLECTION

INCONSISTENT, DIALOGUE STYLE
PLAIN, DESCRIPTION
UNNECESSARY, FANCY WORDS
BOUNCING, TRANSITION
LONG, UNFOCUSED SENTENCES
INFLUENCE BY WHAT WAS READ RECENTLY, MARK TWAIN
CHEAP, UNRELATABLE CHARACTERS
FORGETTABLE, UNPOLISHED SETTINGS
UNDEFINED, PERIOD
REPEATING, UNINTERESTING, UNCREATIVE, LACK OF, MOVEMENT WORDS

Unanimous Decision

The girl walked toward the double door guarded by an African-American woman. The woman turned and glanced at her when they were standing shoulder to shoulder. The girl, wearing a white, thin T-shirt and jean bummed fist with the women and went in to the dark passage.

Through the second door, music and drinks welcomed her. A two men band played soft lounge on stage at the right, and only a skeleton was running the circular bar table. The girl sat down on the bar table closest to the door she just came in and ordered a chill lemon water with a piece of fresh mint. The bartender nodded ever so slightly and went fetching her the fresh mint.

The light dimmed down as the groovy music turned into a slow jam with the audience. The girl couldn't bear just sitting there waiting for her lemon water. She was sure what was her's would eventually arrive, but she also had a feeling that she would have to wait for an awfully long time. She looked around, finding something to remind her of this place's past. Memory didn't come easily. Not for her.

Years ago, this place, this club, was where she had the proudest moment of her life. Once a professional wrestler, she scored hits and kicks on girls in her weight class. It was not easy then. The trainer she had was tough on her, and her father, her only family had went into rehab because of his long-standing drinking abuse.

Basically, she fought for herself for that period of time. It was a hell of exercise to control her rage and all that anger. The hitting and kicking didn't do the trick to relive her suppressed emotions, but the cheers under the stage.

That guard out there, she was once the girl's toughest opponent. She didn't break no matter how many hard blow the girl gave her at face value, and she didn't react well to take down either. These matter nothing to them as the fight club closed down, and subsequently they were out of the wrestling life.

The girl was standing by the stage, listening to the music. This was her stage, a box that locked her and her opponent, causing them to fight at the beginning and hug at the end. She loved every single second that had eclipsed, but they were the memories she could not recall in the spark of the match. Too many hit on the head.

She was famous back then, back when folks would come down from around the country to see her wrestle. It was never her attention to top the rank in the female group, but she did it anyway. And when she ate defeat in the face or the leg, she was never sad.

People remember her by her smile and her craze. She looked good on camera. Short blond hair and lovely blue eyes, white complexion with a bit of tanned skin. People loved taking photo with her, and she loved her fans. She was the star to them in million ways, and she responded to the their support in showmanship.

The fights had never been dull for the girl. She was strong, stronger than anyone in her weight class. She could take down anyone she like if she wanted to. She never abuse her natural strength though, mostly because her stamina could not keep up with her energy spending.

She used to jump around a lot, walking the walks, moving the moves. Her fists followed where her eyes went, and that led her to many sorrow matches where she suffered more than a hooked trout.

The crowd slowly went away. The music was over and her lemon water with fresh mint hadn't arrived yet. The girl sat under the spotlight and closed her eyes. She could hear the cheers and the roars and the announcers voice, as if she was fighting again. The announcer was about to read out the judge's unanimous decision, and then, snap, the guard snapped her fingers at her ears and startled her. It was gone, everything she had known was no longer there.

Ywrighting

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