More of "For the Hate of Humanity"
Here's more of what I wrote of "For the Hate of Humanity." I need to section it somehow. Do you think this story line is more fitting with chapters or parts (PART I, PART II, ect)? Please let me know! Thanks and enjoy! :)
“The name’s Arlene Neilson,” she stated, reaching out to shake his hand, “But you can call me Arrey.” Nervously, Stephen grabbed her hand and shook it-its soft touch amplified his social anxiousness.
“St-Stephen Yardley,” he managed to stumble somewhat gracefully, “That’s pretty much what people call me.” Arlene snickered in response between her deep gulps.
“Sven,” she randomly announced.
“What?” Stephen cracked, taken aback from Arrey’s outburst, “Where the hell did Sven come from?”
“That’s what I can call you. Other people can call you that, too, if you’d like.”
“Oh, wow, thanks,” Stephen replied, unknowing of how to react. He stood apprehensively in her doorway for a moment longer. Lighting another cigarette, she observed his unsteady posture.
“Have a seat Sven, I don’t bite sometimes.” He laughed nervously and seated himself on the edge of her worn mattress. She waved the glass of whiskey in his face; he cringed at the scent of the heavy alcoholic contents.
“No thanks, I don’t drink.”
Arlene shrugged her shoulders, “To each his own. Cigarette?” She held a Marlboro Light to his face; his reaction did not change.
“You’re one strange boy, Stephen Yardley. I feel you and I are gonna get along just fine,” she chuckled. Stephen smirked innocuously at this notion as Arlene sipped her whiskey and inhaled her Malboro.
“So, Yardley,” she began again, “What’s your story?”
“Huh? What story?”
“What brings you here to shitty old 120 Westward Avenue?” Stephen flushed-his paleness exaggerated the scarlet nature of his reaction.
“Well, I, uh,” he cleared his untainted throat, “I’m pathetic, would be the abridged version.” Arlene snorted at his bluntness.
“Duh, Sven, we’re all pathetic. Most us are just in denial, is all.”
“Well,” he laughed, “I’m beyond pathetic.” Stephen began to feel at ease by Arlene’s interest in him; no one had paid much attention to the activity that flowed within his head day in and day out. Somehow, her presence was the most comforting element he’d ever sustained.
Arlene cocked her drunken head, “Elaborate, please?”
“I desperately lack a social life. I came here for one. I figured a party would be the perfect cure for it.”
“And yet you’re up here with me instead of making a social life for yourself,” Arlene noted, flicking her finished cigarette. Stephen watched in curious dismay as she lit yet another cigarette.
“That’s your third one since I’ve been up here!” Stephen caught himself scolding.
“What are you, my Mother? I didn’t expect you to react that way, Yardley,” she nonchalantly retorted, continuing to inhale, “Anyhow, I’m just getting started.”
“Just getting started?” he coughed, wafting the smoke away from his face.
“Sorry, Sven,” she replied turning her head away from him, “Anyway, I tend to smoke a pack every two hours.”
“What the fuck? How are you not dead?”
“How are you not?”
“What? I’m not the one smoking my brains out!”
“Duh, I can see that. I may be an addict, but I’m not blind…yet. Anyway, I meant how can you seclude yourself for so long and not want to feel death?” The comment seized Stephen’s heart; he had never wished upon ultimate darkness for consequence of his solitude. He only encountered the darkness.
“No, actually,” he rebutted, “I just go about my life. My very, very boring plain old dry life.”
Arlene laughed, “Don’t tell me you don’t feel even the tiniest bit sorry for yourself?”
“No,” Stephen sighed, “You’re right about that pretense, Arrey.” She smirked at the notion that she’d guessed right.
“’That why you’re up here? Feel sorry for yourself that you’re not like every sheep in that flock downstairs?”
He shrugged, “I guess.”
“Not being a sheep isn’t something to feel remorse about. You’re better off up here with me. I’m not just saying that for my benefit, but for the benefit of the entire universe,” she casually explained.
Raising his eyebrow in confusion, Stephen noted, “You live with these people, yet you isolate yourself from them. Too sorry for yourself to be a sheep as well?”
Unfazed by his mockery, she replied, “I’m not sorry for myself at all. I love my room mates. I just don’t partake in these festivities because I repeat, I prefer to drink alone.” She devoured a shot of vodka this time and indulged in another puff in her cigarette, “Besides, they just look like idiots. What you see going on downstairs is what happens every day. They claim they want to be different. Rejects of high school in-crowds. Drugs, alcohol and sex were their ultimate motives during those awkward years. They felt they fit in their own clique. They defined themselves as different, as individuals. In reality, they’re just fools. They’re sheep just like the high school in-crowds. All the same, all a giant catastrophe.” Stephen lay back on the trashed mattress. He brushed his dark locks from his forehead and gazed in awe at Arlene. She was unlike any individual he’d ever encountered before. She made sense.
“And you don’t wish to partake in these everyday festivities?” he sighed, still gawking at her.
“No, I do. Just not in the company of others,” she replied, ignoring the hypnotic glaze upon his icy blue eyes.
“What about the company of an individual like, me, for example?” She smiled and turned her gaze toward him. The emeralds upon her perfectly creamy skin twinkled for the first time during their meeting.
“Yeah, Yardley,” she continued to smile, “Definitely.” Arlene smirked, nodding her head in complacent thought.
“Let’s make this an every day thing. You come up here, I drink, smoke, get high, whatever. You’ll talk, I’ll talk. We’ll have a jolly good time,” she proposed. Stephen sat up and held out his lanky-fingered hand toward his enchantress.
“It’s a deal,” he replied, shaking her hand. For the rest of the night, he lay on her mattress as she continued her high. Her scent soothed him and he forgot about all his anxieties. Oxygen returned to his lungs; he could see light again. He knew at that moment he found where he belonged, along side Miss Arlene Neilson.
“The name’s Arlene Neilson,” she stated, reaching out to shake his hand, “But you can call me Arrey.” Nervously, Stephen grabbed her hand and shook it-its soft touch amplified his social anxiousness.
“St-Stephen Yardley,” he managed to stumble somewhat gracefully, “That’s pretty much what people call me.” Arlene snickered in response between her deep gulps.
“Sven,” she randomly announced.
“What?” Stephen cracked, taken aback from Arrey’s outburst, “Where the hell did Sven come from?”
“That’s what I can call you. Other people can call you that, too, if you’d like.”
“Oh, wow, thanks,” Stephen replied, unknowing of how to react. He stood apprehensively in her doorway for a moment longer. Lighting another cigarette, she observed his unsteady posture.
“Have a seat Sven, I don’t bite sometimes.” He laughed nervously and seated himself on the edge of her worn mattress. She waved the glass of whiskey in his face; he cringed at the scent of the heavy alcoholic contents.
“No thanks, I don’t drink.”
Arlene shrugged her shoulders, “To each his own. Cigarette?” She held a Marlboro Light to his face; his reaction did not change.
“You’re one strange boy, Stephen Yardley. I feel you and I are gonna get along just fine,” she chuckled. Stephen smirked innocuously at this notion as Arlene sipped her whiskey and inhaled her Malboro.
“So, Yardley,” she began again, “What’s your story?”
“Huh? What story?”
“What brings you here to shitty old 120 Westward Avenue?” Stephen flushed-his paleness exaggerated the scarlet nature of his reaction.
“Well, I, uh,” he cleared his untainted throat, “I’m pathetic, would be the abridged version.” Arlene snorted at his bluntness.
“Duh, Sven, we’re all pathetic. Most us are just in denial, is all.”
“Well,” he laughed, “I’m beyond pathetic.” Stephen began to feel at ease by Arlene’s interest in him; no one had paid much attention to the activity that flowed within his head day in and day out. Somehow, her presence was the most comforting element he’d ever sustained.
Arlene cocked her drunken head, “Elaborate, please?”
“I desperately lack a social life. I came here for one. I figured a party would be the perfect cure for it.”
“And yet you’re up here with me instead of making a social life for yourself,” Arlene noted, flicking her finished cigarette. Stephen watched in curious dismay as she lit yet another cigarette.
“That’s your third one since I’ve been up here!” Stephen caught himself scolding.
“What are you, my Mother? I didn’t expect you to react that way, Yardley,” she nonchalantly retorted, continuing to inhale, “Anyhow, I’m just getting started.”
“Just getting started?” he coughed, wafting the smoke away from his face.
“Sorry, Sven,” she replied turning her head away from him, “Anyway, I tend to smoke a pack every two hours.”
“What the fuck? How are you not dead?”
“How are you not?”
“What? I’m not the one smoking my brains out!”
“Duh, I can see that. I may be an addict, but I’m not blind…yet. Anyway, I meant how can you seclude yourself for so long and not want to feel death?” The comment seized Stephen’s heart; he had never wished upon ultimate darkness for consequence of his solitude. He only encountered the darkness.
“No, actually,” he rebutted, “I just go about my life. My very, very boring plain old dry life.”
Arlene laughed, “Don’t tell me you don’t feel even the tiniest bit sorry for yourself?”
“No,” Stephen sighed, “You’re right about that pretense, Arrey.” She smirked at the notion that she’d guessed right.
“’That why you’re up here? Feel sorry for yourself that you’re not like every sheep in that flock downstairs?”
He shrugged, “I guess.”
“Not being a sheep isn’t something to feel remorse about. You’re better off up here with me. I’m not just saying that for my benefit, but for the benefit of the entire universe,” she casually explained.
Raising his eyebrow in confusion, Stephen noted, “You live with these people, yet you isolate yourself from them. Too sorry for yourself to be a sheep as well?”
Unfazed by his mockery, she replied, “I’m not sorry for myself at all. I love my room mates. I just don’t partake in these festivities because I repeat, I prefer to drink alone.” She devoured a shot of vodka this time and indulged in another puff in her cigarette, “Besides, they just look like idiots. What you see going on downstairs is what happens every day. They claim they want to be different. Rejects of high school in-crowds. Drugs, alcohol and sex were their ultimate motives during those awkward years. They felt they fit in their own clique. They defined themselves as different, as individuals. In reality, they’re just fools. They’re sheep just like the high school in-crowds. All the same, all a giant catastrophe.” Stephen lay back on the trashed mattress. He brushed his dark locks from his forehead and gazed in awe at Arlene. She was unlike any individual he’d ever encountered before. She made sense.
“And you don’t wish to partake in these everyday festivities?” he sighed, still gawking at her.
“No, I do. Just not in the company of others,” she replied, ignoring the hypnotic glaze upon his icy blue eyes.
“What about the company of an individual like, me, for example?” She smiled and turned her gaze toward him. The emeralds upon her perfectly creamy skin twinkled for the first time during their meeting.
“Yeah, Yardley,” she continued to smile, “Definitely.” Arlene smirked, nodding her head in complacent thought.
“Let’s make this an every day thing. You come up here, I drink, smoke, get high, whatever. You’ll talk, I’ll talk. We’ll have a jolly good time,” she proposed. Stephen sat up and held out his lanky-fingered hand toward his enchantress.
“It’s a deal,” he replied, shaking her hand. For the rest of the night, he lay on her mattress as she continued her high. Her scent soothed him and he forgot about all his anxieties. Oxygen returned to his lungs; he could see light again. He knew at that moment he found where he belonged, along side Miss Arlene Neilson.