Martini
01-03-2009, 10:07 PM
Just a little exercise in showing not telling.
On January 3, 2009, I decided that I didn’t want to live anymore. Life was no more satisfying than a momentary roller coaster that is exciting and fun only the first three times but then loses its flare rather quickly. The group you’re with has decided to embark on the adventure. You begin to sweat; stutter a bit and feel your fingers rub against a moist palm. You arrive at the ticket booth; you hesitate at first but then stand tall and feel ready.
You cough up, “One, please.”
You take the ticket and walk slowly through the maze. Your eyes become cloudy, watery; all you see are the legs of other people moving before you. You realize it will be over sooner than you think and everything will be fine. This thought calms you for a moment. You’re still shaky. Anxiety explodes as you cross the turn style and approach your friends at the dock. Above your fear, you hear laughter and chatter.
“I want the first car” a young girl declares.
“They haven’t tightened the screws on this thing since 1976,” another one shouts.
“How long is this ride?”
“Did you hear that?”
You stare straight at the man sitting behind the track lever and watch him pluck food particles out of his teeth. He doesn’t seem concerned, and you rationalize that he’s pulled that lever so many times before that his experience should bring you confidence. It doesn’t.
The coaster cars pull in, riders jump off, some look sickened and startled by what they’ve just endured. Others are hyper and giddy; excited to be alive.
You lift one leg over the step and slide into the car. You’re overly joyous friend’s smile is wide and exaggerated.
“Ready for this?” he asks.
“No!” you say as the cars begin to chug forward.
They want to hit you first with the most extreme drop and the journey upward is slow. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick… You can’t count how many clicks till the top. The sound just blends over the next and your heart is beating. You wish you never got on. You regret accepting, in some ways you believe you had no choice; that no one asked you first.
As you reach the top, your car peers over the edge and the bottom looks too deep to survive. You wiz through, and notice you have not fallen out. Your relief allows you to enjoy the next, milder drops. It’s over; that fast.
You come through the tunnel and park at the dock. You understand it now. It’s all a calculated ride; set up to thrill and terrify you. You feel strong and pleased with yourself. You made it through and it was in fact, fun.
You do it over and over again through out the summer. Each time feels like the first again. By the fifth time, you can’t bear it again. You decide it’s too much for you and that you are not as brave as you thought. This time, you decline and turn around.
On January 3, 2009, I decided that I didn’t want to live anymore. Life was no more satisfying than a momentary roller coaster that is exciting and fun only the first three times but then loses its flare rather quickly. The group you’re with has decided to embark on the adventure. You begin to sweat; stutter a bit and feel your fingers rub against a moist palm. You arrive at the ticket booth; you hesitate at first but then stand tall and feel ready.
You cough up, “One, please.”
You take the ticket and walk slowly through the maze. Your eyes become cloudy, watery; all you see are the legs of other people moving before you. You realize it will be over sooner than you think and everything will be fine. This thought calms you for a moment. You’re still shaky. Anxiety explodes as you cross the turn style and approach your friends at the dock. Above your fear, you hear laughter and chatter.
“I want the first car” a young girl declares.
“They haven’t tightened the screws on this thing since 1976,” another one shouts.
“How long is this ride?”
“Did you hear that?”
You stare straight at the man sitting behind the track lever and watch him pluck food particles out of his teeth. He doesn’t seem concerned, and you rationalize that he’s pulled that lever so many times before that his experience should bring you confidence. It doesn’t.
The coaster cars pull in, riders jump off, some look sickened and startled by what they’ve just endured. Others are hyper and giddy; excited to be alive.
You lift one leg over the step and slide into the car. You’re overly joyous friend’s smile is wide and exaggerated.
“Ready for this?” he asks.
“No!” you say as the cars begin to chug forward.
They want to hit you first with the most extreme drop and the journey upward is slow. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick… You can’t count how many clicks till the top. The sound just blends over the next and your heart is beating. You wish you never got on. You regret accepting, in some ways you believe you had no choice; that no one asked you first.
As you reach the top, your car peers over the edge and the bottom looks too deep to survive. You wiz through, and notice you have not fallen out. Your relief allows you to enjoy the next, milder drops. It’s over; that fast.
You come through the tunnel and park at the dock. You understand it now. It’s all a calculated ride; set up to thrill and terrify you. You feel strong and pleased with yourself. You made it through and it was in fact, fun.
You do it over and over again through out the summer. Each time feels like the first again. By the fifth time, you can’t bear it again. You decide it’s too much for you and that you are not as brave as you thought. This time, you decline and turn around.