Late Blog Entries - Week 12, Entry 2

'He'
Mid-30s
Grew up in a reservation town; Not the one the story is set in.
Father was a hunter, owned a bait shop.
Presently owns/works at a souvenir corner-store shop at a town at the base of a mountain. Lives above the store; Has a problem with the occasional bear sneaking into the trees in his backyard to eat from the garbage of the pizza place next door.
It is not a tasty pizza place, but it'll do.
Very introverted, keeps to himself. Doesn't talk a lot with his customers, except for the occasional direction or conversation about the weather.
Very..Loner-ish vibes.
Short, dark hair on a receeding hairline.
About six foot five. Very tall. Broad shoulders. Well-built, but aging.
Seeing the 'she' in the story; they do not live together.
No children, nor any desire to have any.
Has two older brothers; Sees them once every other year for Thanksgiving. They're moderately successful and wealthy, they get along distantly.
Community college education; associates in business. Good credit, so starting the store was not a problem.
He was a good student, modest grades, made no ripples.
Trades animal skins occasionally, though he himself does not hunt them. He fronts for those willing to sell them in the town, however; No where else wants to do business with them, as they're a bit of a crass bunch. He doesn't mind.
Significant events:
1) His eighth birthday, the first seizure.
2) His twenty second birthday; the last seizure.
3) The loss of his virginity at his 22nd to a one-night-stand. He didn't mind.
4)One significant girlfriend or two throughout college/high school. But, he was too..Boring for them, I suspect.
He enjoys beef jerky and turkey sandwiches, but eats a lot of salad and granola. A product of where he lives- A lot of younger people flock in and don't quite care for local cuisine. That's okay, too, he supposes.

Late Blog Entries - Week 12

Oops! Was having some trouble with blogger. So, here's entry 1:
I'm trying to aim for a sort of ..Surreal story, in which there's a rift driven between the two characters and their reality, their placement in the world. Old thoughts come back to haunt them, and they have to contemplate what is there and perhaps what isn't. The philosophical perspective/tone will probably branch off to lead the reader to it's own conclusion as to weather or not this is entirely accomplished, I pray.
It's still being written-written-and-re-written, so..! There's quite a way to go, yet.
I'd like to expect my reader to be able to analyze and articulate some of the symbolism within some little things within the story, like the setting or the placement, the isolation, the image of the elk itself, but I'm a really analytical reader, and thus tend to expect a lot of that from others as well, though I am well aware it's not always the case.

An Ideal Morning

I'd wake up at seven am to the wallpaper again, after a full night of sleep, feeling rested for once. It'd be warm, naturally, and the room would smell like- What? Soap, I guess. Maybe chlorine. Mint and - What else is it they use? Something. Something nice.
Maybe I'd wake up cool. I'd have a job to do. I'd work with them for once.
Better yet I'd be at the resort with Matt. God, wouldn't that be grand? Our first trip. We'd be up and awake early, have beignets- Fuck, yes, so many beignets! How do you spell that? I don't care. It'd be amazing and warm and my legs wouldn't hurt, and we'd go off to Hollywood Studios and I'd inexplicably know people and we'd ride all the rides and see all the things.
We'd go to Epcot and he'd have to drink Beverly- And I'd laugh at him because it tastes bad. We'd buy all sorts of candy and food, go to Mars- Hell, maybe I'd have a ring on my finger and two kids would be along with us laughing at him because, again, Beverly is awful. It'd be fun. Whimsical. And we'd have all sorts of pictures and memories and we'd be there until one in the morning- And we'd skip to the Magic Kingdom, and watch fireworks with small, sleepy people, and we'd all find a little belief in magic.
That sounds nice.

Another Call - Blog entry 2 week 10

"Miranda? Is that you?"
The other end of the phone held silence, static. The tension was thick as Candace Roberts turned the plastic, heavy, cord-connected phone in her hand, waiting for the answer. There was a noise- It sounded like someone swallowing, hard.
"Yes."
Her voice was clipped and harsh, a little ragged around the edges. Candace breathed out, and hissed,
"Where have you been? It's been months, no one's heard of you! You just skipped out, like that?" She waved her hand, invisible to the woman on the other side of the phone line, miles and miles away, as she whispered in the dark, so as not to wake her sleeping husband and children. Candace's husband would have frowned upon this secretization, this phone call, even. He may even have to have words with her- Words that involved palms and bruises, occasionally fists. But- He wasn't awake now. It was alright.
Miranda shuffled, miles away in the plastic phonebooth on a dingy corner, the streetlamp flickering. She kept putting quarters in, though she hardly had enough words in her to fill the fifteen minute time slot. She exhaled and the plumes of breath rose in the air, like warning signals. She shook her head and replied, tasting grit against her back teeth.
"I- I had ta go, Candance. They were findin' me, you know? They kept callin- And callin'. Shit, I can't stay there like that. I can't have them knowin'."
Candace ran a trembling hand through her hair, waves of relief washing over. Was that it? Was that all really it? Was that what had driven her away- Some phone calls?
"Some phone calls? Well- I mean, I'm sure they stopped now. Maybe they were mistaken-"
"He knew my mothers name, Candace!"
The voice exploded from the end of the phone, and Miranda trembled, the explosion of her scream echoing in her temples. Candace nearly dropped the plastic receptical, and whispered,
"Miranda, we checked- We did! There hasn't been anyone calling-"
"Hold on, Candace-"

Miranda turned the phone over, the busy signal beeping. She pressed a button- The call switched, and the man's voice whispered low across miles,
"Hello, Miranda."
She screamed, and fell against the glass in the booth. Thunder shook the world.

Miles and miles away, Candace's line went dead, and she stared at the phone, wondering what had happened.