[OOC] Novelisation - Part One
I still don't own the novels, so I listened to the audiobook and typed this out. THE THINGS I DO WITH MY TIME.
The Corvette was old, red and well-preserved. It was not cherry. Time and place required the replacement of non functional parts with more modern components. But thanks to loving modifications, it looked right, felt right, drove right. The hands that picked the dripping wet sponge out of a nearby bucket and slopped soap and water on gleaming fiber-glass did not belong to the owner of the classic car. For one thing, they were too small. For another, their actions and the motivations behind them were indifferent to the work at hand. The eye of the sun was hot and he was glad of the cool water as he worked. He would far rather be out playing but in Frank’s household, his word was law. Unfair law, unreasonable law, but at Jim Kirk’s age, there was little he could do except suffer under it. His stepfather(??) Frank was not a particularly benign dictator. More evidence arrived in the form of a loud disputation that was currently emanating from a nearby farmhouse. The irritated voice of his stepfather soared with a peak of exasperation.
“Big man huh? Go then! Have a nice life out there! You know I couldn’t give a damn.”
As Jim looked on, the front door slammed open and his brother emerged, not walking. Stomping. As the younger boy looked on, George shouldered his backpack and headed right past him down the driveway and out onto the empty country road. Dumping the sponge back in the bucket, Jim followed.
“George! Where are you going?”
“Going away. Anywhere but here, far as I can get,” his brother spoke without looking down, “Can’t take it anymore. Frank, I mean.”
Jim had to struggle to keep pace with his brother’s longer stride.
“But… leaving for where?”
His sibling seemed not to hear, “Gives me orders like he knows who the hell I am. That’s not even his car you’re washing, that was Dad’s car. And you know why you’re washing it?” He finally looked around to meet his anxious brother’s gaze, “Because he’s gonna sell it. Without even telling Mom.”
“You can’t leave!” Jim was growing increasing frantic. The thought of him being left behind was bad enough. The thought of him being left with his mother and stepfather… , “We can talk to Mom about it.”
His brother whirled on him, “You can’t talk to Mom about Frank! I can’t take another five minutes!”
It was then that he saw the apprehension in his younger brother’s eyes.
“Look,” he continued reassuringly, “You’ll be okay. You always are. Frank, he pretty much ignores you, not like me, Jim. Always doing everything right, good grades, teacher’s pet, doing everything you’re told…”
From the house, a distant angry voice reached them.
“When you’re done with the wash, I want a nice coat of wax. You hear me, Jimbo?”
The younger boy looked pleadingly at his brother.
“George… don’t go. Please.”
He held out a floating disc, “You can have my Flo-Yo.”
A hand slapped it away, “Sorry Jim.”
Looking back, George squinted against the sunlight, “This isn’t about toys. It’s Frank. Mom has no idea what he’s like when she’s not here. Do you hear him talking, like he’s our dad?” He shook his head, “You can’t be a Kirk in this house.”
Spinning back around, he lengthened his stride. Behind him, his younger brother slowed…stopped… lost. Then his brother whirled and hurried back, a quick hard guilty hug. Jim clung to him, until at last George pulled away and resumed his march towards the utterly flat horizon. Nowhere to go, lacking any options, Jim watched until the older brother was completely out of sight. Then he turned and ran back towards the only home he had ever known. He took it out on the Corvette, shoving the sodden sponge against the paint as if he could scrub away the recent memory of his brother’s departure, along with the dust and grime. Front hood, front doors, windshield, he was leaning across to wipe away the suds when a glint of metal caught his attention.
The keys were in the ignition.
It was possible that Frank heard the metallic roar of the Corvette’s specially customized replacement engine as it started up. It was possible that the sound caused him to rise from where he had been sitting, engrossed in a real-time transmission of the big game in Cairo. But he did not emerge in time to see the costly vehicle blast out into the road and fishtail as it roared away from the isolated residence. Even if he had stumbled out of the house, early enough to watch the big red roadmachine vanish into the distance, he still might not have seen the driver. After all, that individual was awfully short.
I might type out Chapter Fifteen too which is Jim's magical driving-pseudo SUICIDE adventure. Key points from this were.
-The creators can't make up their minds. Stepfather? OR BROTHER?
-George really was Jim's world. /o\
-Other than a few things said, it's pretty much the same as the deleted scene. I'm sticking to the deleted scene mostly anyway.
The Corvette was old, red and well-preserved. It was not cherry. Time and place required the replacement of non functional parts with more modern components. But thanks to loving modifications, it looked right, felt right, drove right. The hands that picked the dripping wet sponge out of a nearby bucket and slopped soap and water on gleaming fiber-glass did not belong to the owner of the classic car. For one thing, they were too small. For another, their actions and the motivations behind them were indifferent to the work at hand. The eye of the sun was hot and he was glad of the cool water as he worked. He would far rather be out playing but in Frank’s household, his word was law. Unfair law, unreasonable law, but at Jim Kirk’s age, there was little he could do except suffer under it. His stepfather(??) Frank was not a particularly benign dictator. More evidence arrived in the form of a loud disputation that was currently emanating from a nearby farmhouse. The irritated voice of his stepfather soared with a peak of exasperation.
“Big man huh? Go then! Have a nice life out there! You know I couldn’t give a damn.”
As Jim looked on, the front door slammed open and his brother emerged, not walking. Stomping. As the younger boy looked on, George shouldered his backpack and headed right past him down the driveway and out onto the empty country road. Dumping the sponge back in the bucket, Jim followed.
“George! Where are you going?”
“Going away. Anywhere but here, far as I can get,” his brother spoke without looking down, “Can’t take it anymore. Frank, I mean.”
Jim had to struggle to keep pace with his brother’s longer stride.
“But… leaving for where?”
His sibling seemed not to hear, “Gives me orders like he knows who the hell I am. That’s not even his car you’re washing, that was Dad’s car. And you know why you’re washing it?” He finally looked around to meet his anxious brother’s gaze, “Because he’s gonna sell it. Without even telling Mom.”
“You can’t leave!” Jim was growing increasing frantic. The thought of him being left behind was bad enough. The thought of him being left with his mother and stepfather… , “We can talk to Mom about it.”
His brother whirled on him, “You can’t talk to Mom about Frank! I can’t take another five minutes!”
It was then that he saw the apprehension in his younger brother’s eyes.
“Look,” he continued reassuringly, “You’ll be okay. You always are. Frank, he pretty much ignores you, not like me, Jim. Always doing everything right, good grades, teacher’s pet, doing everything you’re told…”
From the house, a distant angry voice reached them.
“When you’re done with the wash, I want a nice coat of wax. You hear me, Jimbo?”
The younger boy looked pleadingly at his brother.
“George… don’t go. Please.”
He held out a floating disc, “You can have my Flo-Yo.”
A hand slapped it away, “Sorry Jim.”
Looking back, George squinted against the sunlight, “This isn’t about toys. It’s Frank. Mom has no idea what he’s like when she’s not here. Do you hear him talking, like he’s our dad?” He shook his head, “You can’t be a Kirk in this house.”
Spinning back around, he lengthened his stride. Behind him, his younger brother slowed…stopped… lost. Then his brother whirled and hurried back, a quick hard guilty hug. Jim clung to him, until at last George pulled away and resumed his march towards the utterly flat horizon. Nowhere to go, lacking any options, Jim watched until the older brother was completely out of sight. Then he turned and ran back towards the only home he had ever known. He took it out on the Corvette, shoving the sodden sponge against the paint as if he could scrub away the recent memory of his brother’s departure, along with the dust and grime. Front hood, front doors, windshield, he was leaning across to wipe away the suds when a glint of metal caught his attention.
The keys were in the ignition.
It was possible that Frank heard the metallic roar of the Corvette’s specially customized replacement engine as it started up. It was possible that the sound caused him to rise from where he had been sitting, engrossed in a real-time transmission of the big game in Cairo. But he did not emerge in time to see the costly vehicle blast out into the road and fishtail as it roared away from the isolated residence. Even if he had stumbled out of the house, early enough to watch the big red roadmachine vanish into the distance, he still might not have seen the driver. After all, that individual was awfully short.
I might type out Chapter Fifteen too which is Jim's magical driving-pseudo SUICIDE adventure. Key points from this were.
-The creators can't make up their minds. Stepfather? OR BROTHER?
-George really was Jim's world. /o\
-Other than a few things said, it's pretty much the same as the deleted scene. I'm sticking to the deleted scene mostly anyway.