Isjen
12-20-2013, 07:47 AM
Hi, guys. If you could possibly read my short story (there's no tittle at the moment). It's for my 'school project' and I could really use your feedback as soon as possible. It's based on the tittle 'Caught in the Dilemma of Duty'
Tell me what you think about everything; plot, characters, story line...
Jake
Thursday mornings were always the hardest to wake up to because the boss always kept me in the office the night before filling in some pointless paperwork that the trainees could easily do. I guess it's because he's always had it in for me, he had always wanted my father's post and it was only when he died he managed to get it and I was given the job without questions asked. And he probably won't have to wait till he's dead to be replaced...
I get out of bed, get ready, have breakfast and wipe the morning dew off the windscreen of the car and get on to work. I avoid the morning traffic by getting up that bit earlier. I enjoy my routine morning coffee with a doughnut which Dianne from the canteen brings to my favorite spot in the corner, next to the window, before starting the stressful day of paperwork, interviews and tears, lots of tears which are received with an apology and a tissue.
I must say it isn't the easiest job in the world telling people that their lives are about to fall apart. We often soften this blow with, more times than none, a lie. It goes along the lines of, 'there may be some things you can do to stay,’ but they'll need money for that which in most cases is why they are here in the first place. Don't get me wrong, I do everything I possibly can to get them to stay but I've been doing this job for several years and the turn out in more than half of the cases is a 'get packing'. It was just two days ago I ran out of tissues, which reminds me; I need to get some more, poor guy had been slaving away for thirty years in a factory down town on minimal wage and if it wasn't for some idiot who pulled out with his car at the wrong time and demanded the exchange of details and getting the police involved then he'd probably still be slaving away down town. But it's always better than going back.
I sit at my office chair and find my next case, Kayla Sherzai, 38. The cases which involve women are the most heart breaking sometimes, they always make out that going back is the worst thing but compared to what you hear, it's liberty. But then again you don't know what they go back to. I wonder sometimes what's worse, having to go back when you have just gone through hell getting here or you've been here most of your life and knowing it was all a waste of time.
I only have 48 hours to go and see Kayla before the police release her, I don't know why she's there in the first place some minor misdemeanor surely.
Kayla
As I sit in this stifling, damp cell I begin to wonder why me? Why has it always got to be me? I think the last recorded happy moment in my life was when I had given birth to Nila, even though I was in so much pain but it's the happy pain a mother feels knowing she has just been given a reason to live. I do have those reoccurring happy moments when I'm alone with Nila but it all hides away when her father comes home, as if to cherish the moments and not allow them to be destroyed. It's when I go to sleep every night with just Nila in the cot beside me, because I don't remember the last time my husband hadn't fallen asleep in front of the television, that I wonder if this is all life is meant up to be. Are our lives pre-planned before we are born? Or is this the way God meant it to be? And is there something wonderful waiting for me on the other side? I find it baffling when I see other women my age, the way they act and live. Maybe because this is the only life I have ever known, I have never had it any other way.
I know Nila will be all right with Sue, one of my closest friends I've managed to make. She understands why I can only see her at work or for an hour on our day off. Yes, Nila will be safe. I didn't call my husband because I'm scared, I have heard stories about this happening to people but it was just another worry in mind, but now it's happening to me I know I'll have to suffer the consequences.
Jake
The drive isn’t long, about 5 minutes from the Transamerica Pyramid where I work. The Central Police Station is a colossal ugly building that unfortunately I’ve seen too many times. It’s a shame because Vallejo Street is quite nice.
I go and park the car, get out and walk the block down. I hate parking in a car park. I see the faces I’ve walked past many times before but we only say a casual ‘hello’ or sometimes just a nod. I have no doubt I’ll get to know them soon like Kyle who used to be a great friend of my fathers. One of the kindest guys I know.
- Hey, Kyle!
- Hey pal! How you doing?
- Not bad, yourself?
- Ah well, you know, catching criminals and that.
- Good, good. Do you know where my case is?
- The one with the woman? She’s down the hall in cell 5.
- Thanks mate
- Yeah, yeah. Good luck.
Kayla
As I sit here and wait I wonder what’s going to happen to me, to us. Nila will have to pay for my mistakes she won’t get the chance at a better life all because of me. And my husband? I dread what he’ll do to me. They’ve probably told him I’m here by now.
The immigration officer finally comes in. He presents himself as James Taylor. He looks young, either in his late twenties or early thirties with brown short hair and a stubble that makes him look unusually handsome. He extends his hand for me to shake and I reluctantly do with not much energy because I remind myself why he’s here. He tells me to follow him to a room in which we can talk more comfortably. I feel myself shaking and suddenly reality hits me hard as I sit on the plastic chair, the true consequences of all of this and I begin to cry quietly with my face dug into my hands.
Jake
Dammit, I forgot the tissues. The crying doesn’t usually start this early, it’s often after I introduce myself properly and tell them why I’m here. If you’ve been doing this as long as I have then you will know it doesn’t get easier. Yet I look at her with a forceful look and ask her not to cry and that I’m just here to ask questions, but she knows it’s not just questions. They always know it’s not just questions.
Kayla looks older than she actually is, her hands are worn but tough, and I can’t really see her hair because it’s hidden under her burka but it’s a dark brown, darker than mine. I tell her to look at me, she does and I ask her if she wants a drink, she just shakes her head.
-Good afternoon, Kayla. How are you feeling?
She just looks at me.
-How long have you been here?
-Here? - She gives me a helpless look.
- Yes, here, in the station. – I see she feels relieved that the hard questions haven’t come yet.
-Since this morning.
-Can you tell me what happened, please?
-Yes- She takes a deep breath.
Kayla
He asks me to stop crying. So I bring my hands down and my gaze. Feeling my eyes water, I fight to hold them back and it works. I shake my head to the drink offer and now that I’m looking at him the questions start. I don’t answer the first one because I know he can see it my eyes and they say it better anyway. My heart starts racing at the next, “how long have you been here?” but he reassures me he just means in the station, I tell him since this morning. He then asks me what happened and I begin to tell him.
I was driving down Richardson Avenue but I didn’t realize that they were doing a stop-and-search and before I got to the area I stopped the car and went into reverse but they saw me and told me to stop and so I did. When they asked for all my documentation I handed it all over but they soon realized that there was one very important one missing, my car license. They asked for it and I looked down, they asked again and I told them; I told them I didn’t have one and that I’m sorry. I was never ever good at lying. They asked me why and I explained to them that I never really got around to it and I say sorry to them again. It went on for a while and in the end they told me they’re going to have to take me down to the station. I knew immediately what that meant.
-And that’s what happened Mr. Taylor. –I said looking up at him.
-I see. And did they tell you I was coming?
-They didn’t need to, Sir.
- So you understand why I’m here then?
-Yes. - I begin to cry again.
-I see.
I look him straight in the eye and I render myself. “Please help me.”
Jake
It has been two days since I saw Kayla and I’ve been thinking about those three words she said just before I started telling her about the consequences of someone without a green card, that she openly admitted she didn’t have. She told me about her life and how she came to be here. She lived in a small town, whose name I don’t remember, in Afghanistan and they came here after her husband had got mixed up with some wrong people. They threatened to kill him and his family. They had a son, nine years old, “lovely little boy, my son, always did as he was told.” I let her cry for a few moments and hand her my handkerchief. “He used to do this thing every week where I’d take him to the park on Saturday morning and he’d beg me for a coin to toss in to the fountain so he could make a wish… And now I’ll never know what his wish was.” She then told me how it happened, she was on her way to pick him up from school and she saw him running to her with the biggest smile on his face, suddenly there was one single shot, “the kind of noise that doesn’t leave your mind Mr. Taylor,” they buried their son and left straight after the funeral. They both knew she’d be next and so they fled, fled far away where they wouldn’t be able to reach them, find them, hurt them…
There comes a time in every man’s life when he ponders whether or not he made all the right decisions and if he had, why weren’t they paying off. I remember when I was young and friend asked me, “Where do you see yourself in five years, Jake?” And all I remember was thinking I don’t really know, all I knew was that I wanted to be happy. And so thinking about it now, I ask myself, am I happy? Am I truly happy with my life? I play with my thoughts and eventually let them win; I’ve got nothing to be proud off, no family to go home to at the end of the day, a boss that makes my life hell because I didn’t make it myself, I was one of the lucky ones. All the money I have doesn’t mean a thing, it just reminds me of all the lives I’ve indirectly destroyed, and, so suddenly it dawns on me; I get paid to tell people that they’re going to be left with nothing. I didn’t chose this. At least I thought I didn’t. Who am I to decide whether people can or can’t live where they want? I always thought I was the smart kid and now I feel like the stupidest person in the world.
But then again.
Why should I risk everything for myself for someone I don’t even know? I mean, if it’s not me it’s just going to be someone else anyway. I don’t know these people and yes fine, I do think about some of the people that have left because of me. But we all eventually forget our past, don’t we?
And I’ve definitely not been taking crap from my boss all these years for nothing. Looking at my future, I’ve got it going for me, ok so now it’s not so good, but hell, later will. I haven’t been to the most expensive university and worked my *** off to throw it all away because I’m feeling sorry for someone’s life. Life. Damn, it’s not just a word… I’m just making up excuses to make myself feel better. It is someone’s life. One less that I have to make a living hell. And why? Because I owe it to myself to be good again.
Well, Kayla’s the last straw, I know what will happen to her if she goes back. I’m going to help her.
Tell me what you think about everything; plot, characters, story line...
Jake
Thursday mornings were always the hardest to wake up to because the boss always kept me in the office the night before filling in some pointless paperwork that the trainees could easily do. I guess it's because he's always had it in for me, he had always wanted my father's post and it was only when he died he managed to get it and I was given the job without questions asked. And he probably won't have to wait till he's dead to be replaced...
I get out of bed, get ready, have breakfast and wipe the morning dew off the windscreen of the car and get on to work. I avoid the morning traffic by getting up that bit earlier. I enjoy my routine morning coffee with a doughnut which Dianne from the canteen brings to my favorite spot in the corner, next to the window, before starting the stressful day of paperwork, interviews and tears, lots of tears which are received with an apology and a tissue.
I must say it isn't the easiest job in the world telling people that their lives are about to fall apart. We often soften this blow with, more times than none, a lie. It goes along the lines of, 'there may be some things you can do to stay,’ but they'll need money for that which in most cases is why they are here in the first place. Don't get me wrong, I do everything I possibly can to get them to stay but I've been doing this job for several years and the turn out in more than half of the cases is a 'get packing'. It was just two days ago I ran out of tissues, which reminds me; I need to get some more, poor guy had been slaving away for thirty years in a factory down town on minimal wage and if it wasn't for some idiot who pulled out with his car at the wrong time and demanded the exchange of details and getting the police involved then he'd probably still be slaving away down town. But it's always better than going back.
I sit at my office chair and find my next case, Kayla Sherzai, 38. The cases which involve women are the most heart breaking sometimes, they always make out that going back is the worst thing but compared to what you hear, it's liberty. But then again you don't know what they go back to. I wonder sometimes what's worse, having to go back when you have just gone through hell getting here or you've been here most of your life and knowing it was all a waste of time.
I only have 48 hours to go and see Kayla before the police release her, I don't know why she's there in the first place some minor misdemeanor surely.
Kayla
As I sit in this stifling, damp cell I begin to wonder why me? Why has it always got to be me? I think the last recorded happy moment in my life was when I had given birth to Nila, even though I was in so much pain but it's the happy pain a mother feels knowing she has just been given a reason to live. I do have those reoccurring happy moments when I'm alone with Nila but it all hides away when her father comes home, as if to cherish the moments and not allow them to be destroyed. It's when I go to sleep every night with just Nila in the cot beside me, because I don't remember the last time my husband hadn't fallen asleep in front of the television, that I wonder if this is all life is meant up to be. Are our lives pre-planned before we are born? Or is this the way God meant it to be? And is there something wonderful waiting for me on the other side? I find it baffling when I see other women my age, the way they act and live. Maybe because this is the only life I have ever known, I have never had it any other way.
I know Nila will be all right with Sue, one of my closest friends I've managed to make. She understands why I can only see her at work or for an hour on our day off. Yes, Nila will be safe. I didn't call my husband because I'm scared, I have heard stories about this happening to people but it was just another worry in mind, but now it's happening to me I know I'll have to suffer the consequences.
Jake
The drive isn’t long, about 5 minutes from the Transamerica Pyramid where I work. The Central Police Station is a colossal ugly building that unfortunately I’ve seen too many times. It’s a shame because Vallejo Street is quite nice.
I go and park the car, get out and walk the block down. I hate parking in a car park. I see the faces I’ve walked past many times before but we only say a casual ‘hello’ or sometimes just a nod. I have no doubt I’ll get to know them soon like Kyle who used to be a great friend of my fathers. One of the kindest guys I know.
- Hey, Kyle!
- Hey pal! How you doing?
- Not bad, yourself?
- Ah well, you know, catching criminals and that.
- Good, good. Do you know where my case is?
- The one with the woman? She’s down the hall in cell 5.
- Thanks mate
- Yeah, yeah. Good luck.
Kayla
As I sit here and wait I wonder what’s going to happen to me, to us. Nila will have to pay for my mistakes she won’t get the chance at a better life all because of me. And my husband? I dread what he’ll do to me. They’ve probably told him I’m here by now.
The immigration officer finally comes in. He presents himself as James Taylor. He looks young, either in his late twenties or early thirties with brown short hair and a stubble that makes him look unusually handsome. He extends his hand for me to shake and I reluctantly do with not much energy because I remind myself why he’s here. He tells me to follow him to a room in which we can talk more comfortably. I feel myself shaking and suddenly reality hits me hard as I sit on the plastic chair, the true consequences of all of this and I begin to cry quietly with my face dug into my hands.
Jake
Dammit, I forgot the tissues. The crying doesn’t usually start this early, it’s often after I introduce myself properly and tell them why I’m here. If you’ve been doing this as long as I have then you will know it doesn’t get easier. Yet I look at her with a forceful look and ask her not to cry and that I’m just here to ask questions, but she knows it’s not just questions. They always know it’s not just questions.
Kayla looks older than she actually is, her hands are worn but tough, and I can’t really see her hair because it’s hidden under her burka but it’s a dark brown, darker than mine. I tell her to look at me, she does and I ask her if she wants a drink, she just shakes her head.
-Good afternoon, Kayla. How are you feeling?
She just looks at me.
-How long have you been here?
-Here? - She gives me a helpless look.
- Yes, here, in the station. – I see she feels relieved that the hard questions haven’t come yet.
-Since this morning.
-Can you tell me what happened, please?
-Yes- She takes a deep breath.
Kayla
He asks me to stop crying. So I bring my hands down and my gaze. Feeling my eyes water, I fight to hold them back and it works. I shake my head to the drink offer and now that I’m looking at him the questions start. I don’t answer the first one because I know he can see it my eyes and they say it better anyway. My heart starts racing at the next, “how long have you been here?” but he reassures me he just means in the station, I tell him since this morning. He then asks me what happened and I begin to tell him.
I was driving down Richardson Avenue but I didn’t realize that they were doing a stop-and-search and before I got to the area I stopped the car and went into reverse but they saw me and told me to stop and so I did. When they asked for all my documentation I handed it all over but they soon realized that there was one very important one missing, my car license. They asked for it and I looked down, they asked again and I told them; I told them I didn’t have one and that I’m sorry. I was never ever good at lying. They asked me why and I explained to them that I never really got around to it and I say sorry to them again. It went on for a while and in the end they told me they’re going to have to take me down to the station. I knew immediately what that meant.
-And that’s what happened Mr. Taylor. –I said looking up at him.
-I see. And did they tell you I was coming?
-They didn’t need to, Sir.
- So you understand why I’m here then?
-Yes. - I begin to cry again.
-I see.
I look him straight in the eye and I render myself. “Please help me.”
Jake
It has been two days since I saw Kayla and I’ve been thinking about those three words she said just before I started telling her about the consequences of someone without a green card, that she openly admitted she didn’t have. She told me about her life and how she came to be here. She lived in a small town, whose name I don’t remember, in Afghanistan and they came here after her husband had got mixed up with some wrong people. They threatened to kill him and his family. They had a son, nine years old, “lovely little boy, my son, always did as he was told.” I let her cry for a few moments and hand her my handkerchief. “He used to do this thing every week where I’d take him to the park on Saturday morning and he’d beg me for a coin to toss in to the fountain so he could make a wish… And now I’ll never know what his wish was.” She then told me how it happened, she was on her way to pick him up from school and she saw him running to her with the biggest smile on his face, suddenly there was one single shot, “the kind of noise that doesn’t leave your mind Mr. Taylor,” they buried their son and left straight after the funeral. They both knew she’d be next and so they fled, fled far away where they wouldn’t be able to reach them, find them, hurt them…
There comes a time in every man’s life when he ponders whether or not he made all the right decisions and if he had, why weren’t they paying off. I remember when I was young and friend asked me, “Where do you see yourself in five years, Jake?” And all I remember was thinking I don’t really know, all I knew was that I wanted to be happy. And so thinking about it now, I ask myself, am I happy? Am I truly happy with my life? I play with my thoughts and eventually let them win; I’ve got nothing to be proud off, no family to go home to at the end of the day, a boss that makes my life hell because I didn’t make it myself, I was one of the lucky ones. All the money I have doesn’t mean a thing, it just reminds me of all the lives I’ve indirectly destroyed, and, so suddenly it dawns on me; I get paid to tell people that they’re going to be left with nothing. I didn’t chose this. At least I thought I didn’t. Who am I to decide whether people can or can’t live where they want? I always thought I was the smart kid and now I feel like the stupidest person in the world.
But then again.
Why should I risk everything for myself for someone I don’t even know? I mean, if it’s not me it’s just going to be someone else anyway. I don’t know these people and yes fine, I do think about some of the people that have left because of me. But we all eventually forget our past, don’t we?
And I’ve definitely not been taking crap from my boss all these years for nothing. Looking at my future, I’ve got it going for me, ok so now it’s not so good, but hell, later will. I haven’t been to the most expensive university and worked my *** off to throw it all away because I’m feeling sorry for someone’s life. Life. Damn, it’s not just a word… I’m just making up excuses to make myself feel better. It is someone’s life. One less that I have to make a living hell. And why? Because I owe it to myself to be good again.
Well, Kayla’s the last straw, I know what will happen to her if she goes back. I’m going to help her.