EDIT: Okay, I was *THIS* close to completely removing my story, but I thought "What the hey? It's already out there so..."
So I guess I'll just have to man up. This story is half finished, you'll be left wondering WTF? at the end, and that's because I have literally -12 hours to finish it. It has a 'The End' at the end, but its not really finished.
In the end, the story contains too few words for me to craft the original storyline I had in mind, instead it suddenly changes focus towards the end, and well, It's weird.
I expect the wooden spoon this time around
And Good job to those that did put in the effort.
---
- kHz: Kilohertz -
By Anthony Smith (Vyse)
Written for ‘Write With Your Power 6’
For www.smashboards.com
(Please excuse my Australian spelling, you’ll find that S = Z where I come from)
---
They say sometimes that things ‘sound worse than they are’. They could be the words of a banker selling a first buyer’s home loan to a new couple, or the second hand car salesman making his own sales pitch on behalf of a car that would only survive the next two weeks of its road life. Usually, it is said to comfort its receiver, to make an excuse for some short coming, but as I found out on a particular day, late in the winter season, that statement can also be used to describe the world in a literal sense.
It was sometime in February, towards the end. Winter had begun its transition into autumn, and that’s why when I saw her approach the bus stop, I couldn’t help but stare. Looking at her, she looked like she was in her early twenties, shoulder length auburn hair and despite her nice figure, I was drawn to something else about her.
‘Earmuffs?’ I thought, why would she be wearing earmuffs at this time of year? Neither her turtle neck sweater, nor her jeans really matched it. It wasn’t particularly cold that evening, even as we sat in the middle of the city waiting for the bus.
I tilted my head, “Are you cold?” I asked inquisitively, letting curiosity get the better of me. At least I sounded sincere enough to get civil response. She turned to me, a little startled, “Hmm…No, not really,” she responded, placing a hand on one of the muffs. “Ohh!” she quickly wrapped her hand around the earmuffs and took them off, placing them inside one of her grocery bags, “I uhh…” she giggled, “A friend gave them to me, said my sister should have them, my friend’s moving away soon you see,” she explained this with a smile to compliment the small talk she had burst into. I simply nodded, giving an “Oh, okay,” where appropriate.
I decided to introduce myself, “My name’s Soren,” I put out a hand, which she considered and shook with her own, “Abigail, but my friends just call me Abby”. Without her earmuffs on, something about her hair caught my attention. Her hair seemed to be cut at just below the ear, at that length in front of the ear and her face. The rest of her hair covered her ear and behind her head down to the shoulder. To me, it just seemed odd that she would choose a hairstyle like that.
“I’m studying to become a doctor one day, like my grandfather,” the small talk continued, neither of us taking much notice of the car labouring up to the traffic lights. It was a beat up old Ford Mustang without matching side panels, or paint for that matter. The engine betrayed a medical history worse than most patients I had ever looked at and the muffler rattled with enough intensity to make one question how long it would remain attached. The lights turned green, and the Mustang misfired twice before accelerating onward.
I was bewildered to say the least, the first misfire made Abby clutch her head with a yelp, and the second had her almost falling off the bench we sat on. I leapt up from where I was sitting and stood over her as she screamed, “I’ve been shot, I’ve been shot!” whilst clutching her side with her hands.
”H, hey, calm down now,” I made to examine her side, but evidently there was no wound, at least not a gunshot wound. All I could do was try to cradle her by moving to the other side of her and propping her up against me. I made some “Shh,” sounds to calm her down, and her wailing subsided into crying.
Now that she was reasonably under control my mind was trying to figure out what had happened. I have made some pretty bad first impressions on women before, but I was pretty sure that I had never made one cry before.
“What’s wrong Abby? What happened,” I asked with a genuine concern for her. She quickly sat up from me, doing her best to stifle her tears and sobbing, and turned her body around to face me.
“It’s…I’m sorry…It’s very personal,” she let another tear escape the wells in her eyes.
“Hey, it’s okay,” I moved my hand up to caress her face, my thumb wiping away her tears. Incidentally, as I did this I brushed away her hair and noticed something very peculiar. She must have been very conscious of what I had uncovered hiding under her hair as her eyes followed my hand.
“Earplugs,” she spoke before I did, “They’re ear plugs”. Her tone became explanatory, overriding her previously emotional state. “Is it…a medical condition?” I asked, wondering as to wether it was an infection in her ear of some kind, “Like hypersensitivity?”
“No,” she cut me off, “It’s not that,” she absently grabbed her side again, and averted my gaze. “So then…” I paused before I finished my question, I had a bad habit of prying in people’s business, it’s what grandpa Raphael believed would make me a good doctor.
“So then…it’s not a physical...?” I trailed off, and her eyes roamed upwards to meet mine. Our eyes locked for a few moments, and then she exhaled, looking down again, “…I don’t like loud noises,” she turned away from me.
“So then…it’s a phobia?” I deducted.
She nodded, “Phonophobia”
Phonophobia, the fear of loud noises. After a little research I later found that usually this kind of phobia is not driven psychologically like Claustrophobia or Agoraphobia. In most cases, Phonophobia is conditioned into people that have hypersensitive hearing. They are repelled by the pain caused by listening to loud noises, and eventually it becomes a phobia.
Abby supposedly did not have hypersensitive hearing; on the contrary, her hearing was probably just fine. That fact made it all the more harder to figure out why she was Phonophobic, why she was Phonophobic would later become obvious.
She decided to put her earmuffs on again, I guessed she must have worn them to help reduce the noise around her, but I doubted they would be effective enough to stop loud bangs like the ones that came from the car exhaust.
“Are you okay?” I asked, although I should’ve been able to judge her current level of wellness myself, I felt I had to say something to bridge the gap she had created.
“I’ll be fine,” she looked up at me, and must have thought me to be a non-believer, “Really; I’m used to it,” she put on her smile again, its effect somehow diminished after all that had happened. I felt like I had to help this girl somehow, it was the same reasoning that led me towards becoming a doctor.
“C’mon,” I said, standing up, “Let me buy you dinner, I’ll pay for a taxi afterwards,” I held out my hand. She looked sombre again, considering the hand I extended to her, contemplating the consequences to be had by accepting or rejecting it. Finally, she decided to accept it, at the same time off loading one of her grocery bags onto me. I scoffed, “What’s this?” I asked jokingly. “You want a dinner date? You’re carrying my bag,” she declared, waiting for me to lead the way. That was something I hated, people who expect other people to just help them without any exchange taking place before hand. Even though the liberty she took by handing me her grocery bag was a reasonable one by our society’s standards, I still felt annoyed that she didn’t at least let me offer to carry them first.
We began walking, and our conversation ceased. It was awkward, but I think she wanted silence more than anything. The lonely ambience of the city that night, never seemed more overwhelming.
I led her down the street, towards a small diner on the corner of Althusser and Gabranth street, its 1950’s inspired LED light sign ‘Klein’s Kitchen’ setting all objects within a 10 metre radius aglow in its warm red light. The sign out front guaranteed customer service, but I wasn’t sure of what brand it came in, which is something that annoys me. Not the false promise given by the diner, but the lack of customer service.
Fortunately though, there wasn’t anybody inside, save for a middle aged lady with her orange hair excessively bunched up in a tower, wearing a red uniform and glasses behind the counter. Her name badge indicated her name was Charlotte, but I knew that wasn’t her name badge, Bev, I was sure had another job and she probably forgot her name badge on her way here from her other ‘workplace’.
“’Allo loves, what’ll it be?” she asked in her motherly voice, which then heightened in volume when she realised it was me. “Soren!” she bellowed, to which Abby winced, “’Oos this lass?” she asked, appraising Abby with an ‘up-and-down’ scan.
I shushed her with my index finger, “This is Abby,” she smiled at Bev, but then looked away from her, off at some random spot on the ground.
Once we had made our order, she chose a booth by one of the large windows in the front, giving us a view of the intersection outside. She became distant again, finding the near broken streetlight standing outside more interesting than her company, another thing that annoyed me about her. I can’t stand people who don’t focus their attention where it should be held, especially if that person was treating them to dinner and a free taxi ride.
“So…have you always just been afraid of loud noises?” I began, not really knowing how to begin the conversation. I figured a question like that would snap her back to reality. “No…I’ve had it for about ten years now,” she looked back to me, and I gave her a look that said ‘keep going’, so she continued. “My mother,” she bit her lip, “I watched my mother die. She was shot twice, both hitting her torso.” She looked into her lap, her hair falling down and covering much of her face. “It was a break-in and the robber panicked when he found us still at home,” It visibly pained her to dredge up these memories, as she rubbed one of her arms. All I could do is give her some kind of condolence, “I’m sorry…I have no idea what that’d be like,” I was a sincere as I could be.
My seat also had a view of the diner entrance, which at that moment had opened to allow entry to a man wearing a black hooded jumper. He went straight up to the counter and pulled out a small handgun on Bev who couldn’t help screaming at the sight of the gun, “Shut the **** up *****!” he yelled, gritting his teeth as he did. Bev took several steps back and leaned back on the bench behind her, screaming help.
Her screaming alerted both Abby and I. Abby did not make to even consider the scene before he, she instead covered her ears as hard as she could and hid under the table, repeating something over and over.
“I said shut up!” He fired a shot, and immediately regretted it, “****!”. The shot he fired sent Abby into a panic attack like before, she collapsed onto the ground in the middle aisle, gasping for breath and holding her side, as though trying to apply pressure to an invisible wound. I went straight to her side, trying to comfort her despite being at the scene of an armed hold up.
It looked as though the man was going to threaten us as well, but he turned back to Bev, he didn’t have time to waste. I stood up, and he swung around, pointing the gun at me, “Get the **** down, don’t try anything with me or you’ll be dead!” I had to do something; Abby was hyperventilating, and would cause serious damage to herself if she continued. I gulped, “I’m just pulling out my wallet,” I said with one hand outstretched, and the other reaching for my wallet in my back pocket. I bought it around and opened it, revealing a wad of one hundred dollar bills. “Just take the money and leave,” I glanced at Bev, “Please”. He snatched the wallet with his free hand, and managed to remove the seven hundred dollars worth of bills it contained. He pocketed the money, threw the wallet at my feet and back out of the diner, his gun’s target swapping between Bev and I a few times before he took flight down the street with his quarry.
Both Bev and I gave a sigh of relief, and I turned to Abby on the ground who was drenched in her own sweat and shivering. I held her up, “Are you okay?” I asked for the second time inside that diner. I thought she would latch onto me, but instead she gave me an offended look and pushed me aside, getting up on her own.
“Get away from me” she spoke in a low voice as I stood up.
“Hey, what’s this?” I laughed, “You should be thanking me,” I made to put a hand to her shoulder, but she batted it away.
She seemed to blink a few times, and tilted her head slightly, as though trying to explain something that wasn’t getting through to me. She raised a finger, “None of this would have happened if you had of just butted out of it, this is all your fault,” she turned and headed for the door, “Goodbye,” she let herself out and began walking back towards the bus stop.
After standing bewildered for about fifteen seconds, I ran out onto the footpath outside of the diner, “I just saved you from that I guy!” I shouted at her, Abby already 50 metres down the road turned around. “What the hell’s your problem?” I shouted with emphasis on the last word.
“No! What’s your problem!” she yelled back, “Just leave me alone!”, and she kept on walking.
This god**** society of ours makes absolutely no sense. I went out on a limb, offered this girl dinner and a free taxi ride, and when that robber came, I thought of only her safety, and here she was walking out on me. I couldn’t believe it; it made my blood boil after all I had done.
I walked back inside and sat down. No doubt Bev had called the police, who would probably want to hear my statement. “You should have let him just take what was in my till, I didn’t have mu..”
“Now you don’t start too!” I snapped before she could finish. “I just gave him about seven hundred dollars, and I haven’t heard even one thank you yet!”
People just don’t value you, no matter what you do. I’ve had to put up with this kind of bull**** for my whole life, people using you, receiving no praise whatsoever. You would think one little thank you wouldn’t be hard. It’s as though it sounds worse than it actually is.
- End
---
Whew! I hope you enjoyed it.
Given extra time, I would have used Demoncaterpie's always sagely advice and used a second draft to 'Show' more than I told. I just gave it a once over and realised there is ALOT of work to be done with this one, but it's Christmas eve right now in Aus, and I have other present related matters to go to sleep early for.
So I guess I'll just have to man up. This story is half finished, you'll be left wondering WTF? at the end, and that's because I have literally -12 hours to finish it. It has a 'The End' at the end, but its not really finished.
In the end, the story contains too few words for me to craft the original storyline I had in mind, instead it suddenly changes focus towards the end, and well, It's weird.
I expect the wooden spoon this time around
And Good job to those that did put in the effort.
---
- kHz: Kilohertz -
By Anthony Smith (Vyse)
Written for ‘Write With Your Power 6’
For www.smashboards.com
(Please excuse my Australian spelling, you’ll find that S = Z where I come from)
---
They say sometimes that things ‘sound worse than they are’. They could be the words of a banker selling a first buyer’s home loan to a new couple, or the second hand car salesman making his own sales pitch on behalf of a car that would only survive the next two weeks of its road life. Usually, it is said to comfort its receiver, to make an excuse for some short coming, but as I found out on a particular day, late in the winter season, that statement can also be used to describe the world in a literal sense.
It was sometime in February, towards the end. Winter had begun its transition into autumn, and that’s why when I saw her approach the bus stop, I couldn’t help but stare. Looking at her, she looked like she was in her early twenties, shoulder length auburn hair and despite her nice figure, I was drawn to something else about her.
‘Earmuffs?’ I thought, why would she be wearing earmuffs at this time of year? Neither her turtle neck sweater, nor her jeans really matched it. It wasn’t particularly cold that evening, even as we sat in the middle of the city waiting for the bus.
I tilted my head, “Are you cold?” I asked inquisitively, letting curiosity get the better of me. At least I sounded sincere enough to get civil response. She turned to me, a little startled, “Hmm…No, not really,” she responded, placing a hand on one of the muffs. “Ohh!” she quickly wrapped her hand around the earmuffs and took them off, placing them inside one of her grocery bags, “I uhh…” she giggled, “A friend gave them to me, said my sister should have them, my friend’s moving away soon you see,” she explained this with a smile to compliment the small talk she had burst into. I simply nodded, giving an “Oh, okay,” where appropriate.
I decided to introduce myself, “My name’s Soren,” I put out a hand, which she considered and shook with her own, “Abigail, but my friends just call me Abby”. Without her earmuffs on, something about her hair caught my attention. Her hair seemed to be cut at just below the ear, at that length in front of the ear and her face. The rest of her hair covered her ear and behind her head down to the shoulder. To me, it just seemed odd that she would choose a hairstyle like that.
“I’m studying to become a doctor one day, like my grandfather,” the small talk continued, neither of us taking much notice of the car labouring up to the traffic lights. It was a beat up old Ford Mustang without matching side panels, or paint for that matter. The engine betrayed a medical history worse than most patients I had ever looked at and the muffler rattled with enough intensity to make one question how long it would remain attached. The lights turned green, and the Mustang misfired twice before accelerating onward.
I was bewildered to say the least, the first misfire made Abby clutch her head with a yelp, and the second had her almost falling off the bench we sat on. I leapt up from where I was sitting and stood over her as she screamed, “I’ve been shot, I’ve been shot!” whilst clutching her side with her hands.
”H, hey, calm down now,” I made to examine her side, but evidently there was no wound, at least not a gunshot wound. All I could do was try to cradle her by moving to the other side of her and propping her up against me. I made some “Shh,” sounds to calm her down, and her wailing subsided into crying.
Now that she was reasonably under control my mind was trying to figure out what had happened. I have made some pretty bad first impressions on women before, but I was pretty sure that I had never made one cry before.
“What’s wrong Abby? What happened,” I asked with a genuine concern for her. She quickly sat up from me, doing her best to stifle her tears and sobbing, and turned her body around to face me.
“It’s…I’m sorry…It’s very personal,” she let another tear escape the wells in her eyes.
“Hey, it’s okay,” I moved my hand up to caress her face, my thumb wiping away her tears. Incidentally, as I did this I brushed away her hair and noticed something very peculiar. She must have been very conscious of what I had uncovered hiding under her hair as her eyes followed my hand.
“Earplugs,” she spoke before I did, “They’re ear plugs”. Her tone became explanatory, overriding her previously emotional state. “Is it…a medical condition?” I asked, wondering as to wether it was an infection in her ear of some kind, “Like hypersensitivity?”
“No,” she cut me off, “It’s not that,” she absently grabbed her side again, and averted my gaze. “So then…” I paused before I finished my question, I had a bad habit of prying in people’s business, it’s what grandpa Raphael believed would make me a good doctor.
“So then…it’s not a physical...?” I trailed off, and her eyes roamed upwards to meet mine. Our eyes locked for a few moments, and then she exhaled, looking down again, “…I don’t like loud noises,” she turned away from me.
“So then…it’s a phobia?” I deducted.
She nodded, “Phonophobia”
Phonophobia, the fear of loud noises. After a little research I later found that usually this kind of phobia is not driven psychologically like Claustrophobia or Agoraphobia. In most cases, Phonophobia is conditioned into people that have hypersensitive hearing. They are repelled by the pain caused by listening to loud noises, and eventually it becomes a phobia.
Abby supposedly did not have hypersensitive hearing; on the contrary, her hearing was probably just fine. That fact made it all the more harder to figure out why she was Phonophobic, why she was Phonophobic would later become obvious.
She decided to put her earmuffs on again, I guessed she must have worn them to help reduce the noise around her, but I doubted they would be effective enough to stop loud bangs like the ones that came from the car exhaust.
“Are you okay?” I asked, although I should’ve been able to judge her current level of wellness myself, I felt I had to say something to bridge the gap she had created.
“I’ll be fine,” she looked up at me, and must have thought me to be a non-believer, “Really; I’m used to it,” she put on her smile again, its effect somehow diminished after all that had happened. I felt like I had to help this girl somehow, it was the same reasoning that led me towards becoming a doctor.
“C’mon,” I said, standing up, “Let me buy you dinner, I’ll pay for a taxi afterwards,” I held out my hand. She looked sombre again, considering the hand I extended to her, contemplating the consequences to be had by accepting or rejecting it. Finally, she decided to accept it, at the same time off loading one of her grocery bags onto me. I scoffed, “What’s this?” I asked jokingly. “You want a dinner date? You’re carrying my bag,” she declared, waiting for me to lead the way. That was something I hated, people who expect other people to just help them without any exchange taking place before hand. Even though the liberty she took by handing me her grocery bag was a reasonable one by our society’s standards, I still felt annoyed that she didn’t at least let me offer to carry them first.
We began walking, and our conversation ceased. It was awkward, but I think she wanted silence more than anything. The lonely ambience of the city that night, never seemed more overwhelming.
I led her down the street, towards a small diner on the corner of Althusser and Gabranth street, its 1950’s inspired LED light sign ‘Klein’s Kitchen’ setting all objects within a 10 metre radius aglow in its warm red light. The sign out front guaranteed customer service, but I wasn’t sure of what brand it came in, which is something that annoys me. Not the false promise given by the diner, but the lack of customer service.
Fortunately though, there wasn’t anybody inside, save for a middle aged lady with her orange hair excessively bunched up in a tower, wearing a red uniform and glasses behind the counter. Her name badge indicated her name was Charlotte, but I knew that wasn’t her name badge, Bev, I was sure had another job and she probably forgot her name badge on her way here from her other ‘workplace’.
“’Allo loves, what’ll it be?” she asked in her motherly voice, which then heightened in volume when she realised it was me. “Soren!” she bellowed, to which Abby winced, “’Oos this lass?” she asked, appraising Abby with an ‘up-and-down’ scan.
I shushed her with my index finger, “This is Abby,” she smiled at Bev, but then looked away from her, off at some random spot on the ground.
Once we had made our order, she chose a booth by one of the large windows in the front, giving us a view of the intersection outside. She became distant again, finding the near broken streetlight standing outside more interesting than her company, another thing that annoyed me about her. I can’t stand people who don’t focus their attention where it should be held, especially if that person was treating them to dinner and a free taxi ride.
“So…have you always just been afraid of loud noises?” I began, not really knowing how to begin the conversation. I figured a question like that would snap her back to reality. “No…I’ve had it for about ten years now,” she looked back to me, and I gave her a look that said ‘keep going’, so she continued. “My mother,” she bit her lip, “I watched my mother die. She was shot twice, both hitting her torso.” She looked into her lap, her hair falling down and covering much of her face. “It was a break-in and the robber panicked when he found us still at home,” It visibly pained her to dredge up these memories, as she rubbed one of her arms. All I could do is give her some kind of condolence, “I’m sorry…I have no idea what that’d be like,” I was a sincere as I could be.
My seat also had a view of the diner entrance, which at that moment had opened to allow entry to a man wearing a black hooded jumper. He went straight up to the counter and pulled out a small handgun on Bev who couldn’t help screaming at the sight of the gun, “Shut the **** up *****!” he yelled, gritting his teeth as he did. Bev took several steps back and leaned back on the bench behind her, screaming help.
Her screaming alerted both Abby and I. Abby did not make to even consider the scene before he, she instead covered her ears as hard as she could and hid under the table, repeating something over and over.
“I said shut up!” He fired a shot, and immediately regretted it, “****!”. The shot he fired sent Abby into a panic attack like before, she collapsed onto the ground in the middle aisle, gasping for breath and holding her side, as though trying to apply pressure to an invisible wound. I went straight to her side, trying to comfort her despite being at the scene of an armed hold up.
It looked as though the man was going to threaten us as well, but he turned back to Bev, he didn’t have time to waste. I stood up, and he swung around, pointing the gun at me, “Get the **** down, don’t try anything with me or you’ll be dead!” I had to do something; Abby was hyperventilating, and would cause serious damage to herself if she continued. I gulped, “I’m just pulling out my wallet,” I said with one hand outstretched, and the other reaching for my wallet in my back pocket. I bought it around and opened it, revealing a wad of one hundred dollar bills. “Just take the money and leave,” I glanced at Bev, “Please”. He snatched the wallet with his free hand, and managed to remove the seven hundred dollars worth of bills it contained. He pocketed the money, threw the wallet at my feet and back out of the diner, his gun’s target swapping between Bev and I a few times before he took flight down the street with his quarry.
Both Bev and I gave a sigh of relief, and I turned to Abby on the ground who was drenched in her own sweat and shivering. I held her up, “Are you okay?” I asked for the second time inside that diner. I thought she would latch onto me, but instead she gave me an offended look and pushed me aside, getting up on her own.
“Get away from me” she spoke in a low voice as I stood up.
“Hey, what’s this?” I laughed, “You should be thanking me,” I made to put a hand to her shoulder, but she batted it away.
She seemed to blink a few times, and tilted her head slightly, as though trying to explain something that wasn’t getting through to me. She raised a finger, “None of this would have happened if you had of just butted out of it, this is all your fault,” she turned and headed for the door, “Goodbye,” she let herself out and began walking back towards the bus stop.
After standing bewildered for about fifteen seconds, I ran out onto the footpath outside of the diner, “I just saved you from that I guy!” I shouted at her, Abby already 50 metres down the road turned around. “What the hell’s your problem?” I shouted with emphasis on the last word.
“No! What’s your problem!” she yelled back, “Just leave me alone!”, and she kept on walking.
This god**** society of ours makes absolutely no sense. I went out on a limb, offered this girl dinner and a free taxi ride, and when that robber came, I thought of only her safety, and here she was walking out on me. I couldn’t believe it; it made my blood boil after all I had done.
I walked back inside and sat down. No doubt Bev had called the police, who would probably want to hear my statement. “You should have let him just take what was in my till, I didn’t have mu..”
“Now you don’t start too!” I snapped before she could finish. “I just gave him about seven hundred dollars, and I haven’t heard even one thank you yet!”
People just don’t value you, no matter what you do. I’ve had to put up with this kind of bull**** for my whole life, people using you, receiving no praise whatsoever. You would think one little thank you wouldn’t be hard. It’s as though it sounds worse than it actually is.
- End
---
Whew! I hope you enjoyed it.
Given extra time, I would have used Demoncaterpie's always sagely advice and used a second draft to 'Show' more than I told. I just gave it a once over and realised there is ALOT of work to be done with this one, but it's Christmas eve right now in Aus, and I have other present related matters to go to sleep early for.