So...
Im writing a short story, heres the beginning
Counting Backwards
By: Ben Maddison
X
What’s his number! The man demanded in a loud voice, booming off the tiled floor seeming a harmonic tone with the numerous fluorescent lights. What’s his number? Don’t make me ask again! Two doting nurses bustle out of the room, as the man’s face turns red. What is his fucking number? I swear if I don’t get answers, you’ll have hell t’pay! The light flicker, a slight rustle is felt and then calm comes over the man. At that moment, just as the wave of calm passes through the room, a small mousy woman enters the room. Tired and dressed in a hospital gown, she slowly walks over to her inebriated husband, drunk off the smell of ammonia and 409. She takes his hand, and the wave seems to have crested, beginning to break. What’s his number darling? I’ve asked everyone and no one will tell me? She takes his hand. Don’t worry, she says, it’s just a number it’s not important. The wave hit the shore and consumed by the sands of discourses. Not important! Just a number! The man resumes his fury as his face turns a darker shared burgundy. The tirade lasts longer this time. GIMME A FUCKING BREAK! YOU KNOW AS WELL AS I DO IT’S NOT JUST ANOTHER FUCKING NUMBER! IT’S LIFE. LIFE CONIFED TO TWO SINGLE DIGITS! He walks over to a counter, rustles the contents, and in anger screams, WHAT (pause) IS (pause) THE NUMBER? Simultaneously, a glass beaker whirls across the room, shattering against the sterile white wall, the woman begins to cry. Evidently tired from some event, she slumps to the floor. The man seems not to notice the crying frame of the fragile woman. After two or three more beakers meet their match in a concert wall, the man, having taken several deep breathes and beginning to cry, finally notices the woman, his woman, crying on the floor. He rushes to her, takes her in his arms and begins to rock. It’s ok…its ok…it’s ok. Shhhhh. He whispers to her softly. I just want to know the number. He begins to cry. Why won’t they tell me? It must be bad. It’s terrible isn’t it? Fine! He begins to sob, harmonizing with the silenced wails of his wife. We’ll change it. We can. It’s not the end. We’ve got time. We can do it. What’s the number darling? Nothing can be too bad. What’s the number...the number…what’s the number? A tone sounds, the lights flicker, the ceiling rumbles, and darkness ensues. As the man and his wife are overtaken by calm, their eyes begin to close, and darkness engulfs them. As they both drift into oblivion, a small whisper is heard, thirty…thirty…thirty…
IX
Happy Birthday Allen! The crowed of excited family members and friends shout, but the incoherent shouts mean nothing to the child. Oblivious to the grandeur that surrounds him, he takes another bite of birthday cake. Yet, in this most joyous celebration, somber looks come across the should-be smiling faces. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear Allen. Happy birthday to you. The lights are dark and a huge birthday cake comes out. A single candle aflame atop the mountain of tooth decay and sweetness. A hush falls over the family as the toddler blows out the candles to his very first birthday cake. He takes his first messy bite of cake, and the usually happy crowd stares in terror at the single candle of birthday cake. A single candle…his number couldn’t be that low. It’s not possible! Everyone says that the lowest number is twenty-five. I don’t believe it. As the concerned crowd turns into a small outcry, the beaming parents cease beaming. The upset crowd begins to wail, crying in loud tones and harsh wails. Obviously misconceiving the cake, the proud father takes the oldest man into another room to explain the mistake. They scurry into the small room next to the party. Everyone wants to know, what’s his number? There was only one candle, does that mean…he is cut off…no his number is thirty. Thirty’s not a bad number! Give me a fucking break, my number’s seventy, Molly’s is seventy-five. Allen’s is THIRTY! Seriously, it’s the worse thing that could ever’ve happened! Calm down! Calm down…he trails off…then why the one candle, you know the tradition! What are you doing? You’re scaring your mother! That’s not the point dad. It’s not the point. It’s sick what we do, what we’ve done, what they make us do! We herald life as nothing more than a number! A fucking number! I refuse. The number won’t hold Allen. It won’t control him! But it’s the law son! If the government says jump we jump, if they say run we run, if they give us a number and tell us to listen, we listen. I don’t know what your trying to do…it doesn’t make sense. Do what everyone else has done, live it up! Love the time you have, and don’t dwell on the future. EASY FOR YOU TO SAY, WHAT'S YOU’RE NUMBER? EIGHTY-NINE, WAS IT? 90? IT'S EASY TO BE HAPPY WHEN YOUR LIFE IS INFRONT OF YOU! THIRTY, DAD, THIRTY! It won’t be praised here. It won’t. If that’s the way you feel son, then fine, we won’t see you. I won’t let you hurt my family anymore than you have tonight. We’re done son, until you realize that there is more to life than the number, and that it’s not the number, it’s the man!
Counting Backwards
By: Ben Maddison
X
What’s his number! The man demanded in a loud voice, booming off the tiled floor seeming a harmonic tone with the numerous fluorescent lights. What’s his number? Don’t make me ask again! Two doting nurses bustle out of the room, as the man’s face turns red. What is his fucking number? I swear if I don’t get answers, you’ll have hell t’pay! The light flicker, a slight rustle is felt and then calm comes over the man. At that moment, just as the wave of calm passes through the room, a small mousy woman enters the room. Tired and dressed in a hospital gown, she slowly walks over to her inebriated husband, drunk off the smell of ammonia and 409. She takes his hand, and the wave seems to have crested, beginning to break. What’s his number darling? I’ve asked everyone and no one will tell me? She takes his hand. Don’t worry, she says, it’s just a number it’s not important. The wave hit the shore and consumed by the sands of discourses. Not important! Just a number! The man resumes his fury as his face turns a darker shared burgundy. The tirade lasts longer this time. GIMME A FUCKING BREAK! YOU KNOW AS WELL AS I DO IT’S NOT JUST ANOTHER FUCKING NUMBER! IT’S LIFE. LIFE CONIFED TO TWO SINGLE DIGITS! He walks over to a counter, rustles the contents, and in anger screams, WHAT (pause) IS (pause) THE NUMBER? Simultaneously, a glass beaker whirls across the room, shattering against the sterile white wall, the woman begins to cry. Evidently tired from some event, she slumps to the floor. The man seems not to notice the crying frame of the fragile woman. After two or three more beakers meet their match in a concert wall, the man, having taken several deep breathes and beginning to cry, finally notices the woman, his woman, crying on the floor. He rushes to her, takes her in his arms and begins to rock. It’s ok…its ok…it’s ok. Shhhhh. He whispers to her softly. I just want to know the number. He begins to cry. Why won’t they tell me? It must be bad. It’s terrible isn’t it? Fine! He begins to sob, harmonizing with the silenced wails of his wife. We’ll change it. We can. It’s not the end. We’ve got time. We can do it. What’s the number darling? Nothing can be too bad. What’s the number...the number…what’s the number? A tone sounds, the lights flicker, the ceiling rumbles, and darkness ensues. As the man and his wife are overtaken by calm, their eyes begin to close, and darkness engulfs them. As they both drift into oblivion, a small whisper is heard, thirty…thirty…thirty…
IX
Happy Birthday Allen! The crowed of excited family members and friends shout, but the incoherent shouts mean nothing to the child. Oblivious to the grandeur that surrounds him, he takes another bite of birthday cake. Yet, in this most joyous celebration, somber looks come across the should-be smiling faces. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear Allen. Happy birthday to you. The lights are dark and a huge birthday cake comes out. A single candle aflame atop the mountain of tooth decay and sweetness. A hush falls over the family as the toddler blows out the candles to his very first birthday cake. He takes his first messy bite of cake, and the usually happy crowd stares in terror at the single candle of birthday cake. A single candle…his number couldn’t be that low. It’s not possible! Everyone says that the lowest number is twenty-five. I don’t believe it. As the concerned crowd turns into a small outcry, the beaming parents cease beaming. The upset crowd begins to wail, crying in loud tones and harsh wails. Obviously misconceiving the cake, the proud father takes the oldest man into another room to explain the mistake. They scurry into the small room next to the party. Everyone wants to know, what’s his number? There was only one candle, does that mean…he is cut off…no his number is thirty. Thirty’s not a bad number! Give me a fucking break, my number’s seventy, Molly’s is seventy-five. Allen’s is THIRTY! Seriously, it’s the worse thing that could ever’ve happened! Calm down! Calm down…he trails off…then why the one candle, you know the tradition! What are you doing? You’re scaring your mother! That’s not the point dad. It’s not the point. It’s sick what we do, what we’ve done, what they make us do! We herald life as nothing more than a number! A fucking number! I refuse. The number won’t hold Allen. It won’t control him! But it’s the law son! If the government says jump we jump, if they say run we run, if they give us a number and tell us to listen, we listen. I don’t know what your trying to do…it doesn’t make sense. Do what everyone else has done, live it up! Love the time you have, and don’t dwell on the future. EASY FOR YOU TO SAY, WHAT'S YOU’RE NUMBER? EIGHTY-NINE, WAS IT? 90? IT'S EASY TO BE HAPPY WHEN YOUR LIFE IS INFRONT OF YOU! THIRTY, DAD, THIRTY! It won’t be praised here. It won’t. If that’s the way you feel son, then fine, we won’t see you. I won’t let you hurt my family anymore than you have tonight. We’re done son, until you realize that there is more to life than the number, and that it’s not the number, it’s the man!