IanSMcCormick
05-28-2012, 11:08 PM
“Any more notes class?”
The teacher looked around, to the bored room.
“No? Okay then, Gary. It’s a workable story, but I think that you’ll need to play around with the ending and establish the characters earlier. It’s close.”
The circle of students looked around the room, scanning to see who was paying attention.
“Okay Michael, it’s your turn.”
Michael looked up in embarrassment. He had considered not coming in.
“I was working on something else and accidentally handed in the wrong piece.”
“Well, let’s just take a look at what we’ve got here. Why don’t you stand up and read the first few lines to ‘Goodbye, Evil World,’ to refresh our memories.”
He slowly stood up. His voice cracked with rust from lack of use.
“To whom it may concern. I didn’t want it to come to this, but I just can’t hold out any longer. If you’re reading this, then the weight has rolled off my shoulders. I’m sorry. I suppose that it all could have been avoided, all of this, if I’d just had the chance to say-”
“Okay, that’s probably enough, Michael. It’s interesting. Very different. It sort of reads like a thesis or a manifesto. Class?”
A heavyset sophomore, in a flannel shirt looked up.
“It’s very notish.”
“Yeah Nate, it does read a little bit like a note. But more blown out.”
A larger black woman, who has been returning to class after putting two kids into high school, took her turn.
“I’m a little confused about where it was going. He references ‘the end’ or ‘how it all had to end,’ but I don’t get it. What was ending?”
“Good point Sara. It’s an excellent use of foreshadowing, but we’re a little unclear with what ‘the end’ really means.
“I think…”
A mousey girl in oversized glasses, pauses to frantically flip through her copy of the story.
“I think that it has something to do with when he says ‘when I was alive’”
“Yes, yes, yes. Great point Veronica. He said that a lot didn’t he? What does it mean when the character says, ‘When I was alive’?”
“Maybe it has something to do with losing touch? On the third page…”
The class flips to the page in unison.
“…it says ‘the louder I scream, the more they tune me out. When I try to fit in, I vanish altogether.’”
“That’s wonderful imagery. Michael, what did you mean by that passage?”
Michael looked up, unsure if the attention of the class was upon him. As he opened his mouth to explain, the teacher corrected herself.
“On second though, don’t answer that. There’s no reason that the author should let us off the hook so easily, is there class. Ideas?”
“Maybe it’s how we’re all unable to express ourselves?”
“Maybe it’s a commentary on how society has lost the ability to see that which lies before it.”
“I think on a second reading it’s a little sexist. But this time it’s men who are being objective. It’s a little female chauvinistic, if such a thing exists.”
The teacher nodded faster with each incoming result, to the point of head banging to the class.
“Wonderful, yes. Are there any other notes?”
There was a pause, while a new rhythm would have to be established. An over-pumped former high school nose tackle cleared his throat.
“It might be a little long?”
“I was thinking that as well. I has assigned everybody 5-7 pages and this is one…two…34 pages long.”
“Yeah and there’s that point where the character goes on to describe his neurosis like parents, and then his fears.”
“Yeah, Veronica, that goes on for five and a half pages, when he could probably pare that down to a couple of sentences. I just don’t see them as that big of a deal to the character.”
“Well-“
“Michael, please. We’ll give you a chance to speak at the end. Are there any more questions class?”
“This is probably nothing, but what is the character’s name?”
“Oh excellent. Yes, class, who is this voice. The writer gives us a lot of clues.”
The mousey girl looks up.
“I think it’s a metaphor for growing up. First he mentions when he’s ‘alive,’ and then he’s talking about ‘the end,’ but what’s in the middle?”
“Interesting translation. So you don’t think that is about anybody specifically?”
“Not really.”
“I don’t either.”
“Okay class, but could this be about the author himself?”
The class turns to Michael who looks up from the floor. They wait for a moment as if he is about to say something, before all agreeing that it was not about the writer at all. Michael raises his hand.
“Don’t worry, Michael. We’ll give you the floor in just a moment. Hey, what’s that on your arm?”
The loose fitting sleeve on Michael’s hoodie had fallen reveling an oversized bandage trailing down the wrist.
“Oh, I accidentally cut myself.”
“Wow, that looks serious. How’d it happen?”
Michael looked down at his notish manifesto, and took a deep breath.
“Just an accident. I haven’t been able to sleep much lately.”
“Ha, say no more. I used to have the same problem. I really find that what helps is a bottle of wine and a warm bath. Sometimes I feel like I’ll never get out of the tub.”
“Thanks.”
“So before we let you explain away all the mystery, I was just wondering if you were looking to get this published or if this was more of a pet project. Who’s reading this?”
“I guess I want my family to read it when it’s done.”
“Okay, well that’s good, because I’m not totally sure where you would even get something like this in print. Also the class wouldn’t know this but on the original PDF, he’d included a title page with a thumbprint in blood.”
“Oh, so it’s more like an art piece?”
“Yeah, and I guess I just want to see more of that. Could you do that for me?”
“Fine.”
The teacher looked around to the class who had lost interest in discussing the piece.
“Okay, why don’t we let the author discuss-”
A beeping sound started pipe out of the teacher’s purse. She pulled out her cell phone.
“Oh frick. Looks like time got away from us. Well anyway, I think we really worked that one out. Michael, keep working on this. I really want to see what you come up with.”
The teacher looked around, to the bored room.
“No? Okay then, Gary. It’s a workable story, but I think that you’ll need to play around with the ending and establish the characters earlier. It’s close.”
The circle of students looked around the room, scanning to see who was paying attention.
“Okay Michael, it’s your turn.”
Michael looked up in embarrassment. He had considered not coming in.
“I was working on something else and accidentally handed in the wrong piece.”
“Well, let’s just take a look at what we’ve got here. Why don’t you stand up and read the first few lines to ‘Goodbye, Evil World,’ to refresh our memories.”
He slowly stood up. His voice cracked with rust from lack of use.
“To whom it may concern. I didn’t want it to come to this, but I just can’t hold out any longer. If you’re reading this, then the weight has rolled off my shoulders. I’m sorry. I suppose that it all could have been avoided, all of this, if I’d just had the chance to say-”
“Okay, that’s probably enough, Michael. It’s interesting. Very different. It sort of reads like a thesis or a manifesto. Class?”
A heavyset sophomore, in a flannel shirt looked up.
“It’s very notish.”
“Yeah Nate, it does read a little bit like a note. But more blown out.”
A larger black woman, who has been returning to class after putting two kids into high school, took her turn.
“I’m a little confused about where it was going. He references ‘the end’ or ‘how it all had to end,’ but I don’t get it. What was ending?”
“Good point Sara. It’s an excellent use of foreshadowing, but we’re a little unclear with what ‘the end’ really means.
“I think…”
A mousey girl in oversized glasses, pauses to frantically flip through her copy of the story.
“I think that it has something to do with when he says ‘when I was alive’”
“Yes, yes, yes. Great point Veronica. He said that a lot didn’t he? What does it mean when the character says, ‘When I was alive’?”
“Maybe it has something to do with losing touch? On the third page…”
The class flips to the page in unison.
“…it says ‘the louder I scream, the more they tune me out. When I try to fit in, I vanish altogether.’”
“That’s wonderful imagery. Michael, what did you mean by that passage?”
Michael looked up, unsure if the attention of the class was upon him. As he opened his mouth to explain, the teacher corrected herself.
“On second though, don’t answer that. There’s no reason that the author should let us off the hook so easily, is there class. Ideas?”
“Maybe it’s how we’re all unable to express ourselves?”
“Maybe it’s a commentary on how society has lost the ability to see that which lies before it.”
“I think on a second reading it’s a little sexist. But this time it’s men who are being objective. It’s a little female chauvinistic, if such a thing exists.”
The teacher nodded faster with each incoming result, to the point of head banging to the class.
“Wonderful, yes. Are there any other notes?”
There was a pause, while a new rhythm would have to be established. An over-pumped former high school nose tackle cleared his throat.
“It might be a little long?”
“I was thinking that as well. I has assigned everybody 5-7 pages and this is one…two…34 pages long.”
“Yeah and there’s that point where the character goes on to describe his neurosis like parents, and then his fears.”
“Yeah, Veronica, that goes on for five and a half pages, when he could probably pare that down to a couple of sentences. I just don’t see them as that big of a deal to the character.”
“Well-“
“Michael, please. We’ll give you a chance to speak at the end. Are there any more questions class?”
“This is probably nothing, but what is the character’s name?”
“Oh excellent. Yes, class, who is this voice. The writer gives us a lot of clues.”
The mousey girl looks up.
“I think it’s a metaphor for growing up. First he mentions when he’s ‘alive,’ and then he’s talking about ‘the end,’ but what’s in the middle?”
“Interesting translation. So you don’t think that is about anybody specifically?”
“Not really.”
“I don’t either.”
“Okay class, but could this be about the author himself?”
The class turns to Michael who looks up from the floor. They wait for a moment as if he is about to say something, before all agreeing that it was not about the writer at all. Michael raises his hand.
“Don’t worry, Michael. We’ll give you the floor in just a moment. Hey, what’s that on your arm?”
The loose fitting sleeve on Michael’s hoodie had fallen reveling an oversized bandage trailing down the wrist.
“Oh, I accidentally cut myself.”
“Wow, that looks serious. How’d it happen?”
Michael looked down at his notish manifesto, and took a deep breath.
“Just an accident. I haven’t been able to sleep much lately.”
“Ha, say no more. I used to have the same problem. I really find that what helps is a bottle of wine and a warm bath. Sometimes I feel like I’ll never get out of the tub.”
“Thanks.”
“So before we let you explain away all the mystery, I was just wondering if you were looking to get this published or if this was more of a pet project. Who’s reading this?”
“I guess I want my family to read it when it’s done.”
“Okay, well that’s good, because I’m not totally sure where you would even get something like this in print. Also the class wouldn’t know this but on the original PDF, he’d included a title page with a thumbprint in blood.”
“Oh, so it’s more like an art piece?”
“Yeah, and I guess I just want to see more of that. Could you do that for me?”
“Fine.”
The teacher looked around to the class who had lost interest in discussing the piece.
“Okay, why don’t we let the author discuss-”
A beeping sound started pipe out of the teacher’s purse. She pulled out her cell phone.
“Oh frick. Looks like time got away from us. Well anyway, I think we really worked that one out. Michael, keep working on this. I really want to see what you come up with.”