Drawlings and Dinings
Such a liar by omission, I am.
I have indeed been writing every day, yes, but that does not mean you silly people can read it. You'll just have to wait.
Who am I talking to? No one reads this stuff unless I tell them to.
Ah well, here's something I whipped up for Story Structure. It's kind of dodgy in some places, because I was rushing through it, and I'm going to have to slice about 300 words out of it for submission in class, but I'll do that later.
‘Herschel Barton-Welch is easy to find, these days. Unfortunate, seeing as he’s no longer the kind of person many want to find these days.’
‘That’s the seventh time you’ve said that, Chilton! Just stop it already!’
‘I’m just trying to be informative.’
‘Seven times, Chilton! Exactly the same sentence every time. Not just the words, but the way you say it, too. Seven times!’ By now, April was at the end of her tether with Chilton M’Dorf. Unfortunate, seeing as he was not really the kind of person she wanted to be her guide. ‘And now the bloody narrator has started, again!’ And for that comment, I am not going to help her to get away from him.
She was, however, thankful that she was with Chilton and not Mahogany Parlour, Mr-Chilton-Times-50, and the absolute bane of her existence. I may be a bastard, but I’m not so sadistic a narrator that I will force her to be with him any more than is necessary. ‘Oh, well… yes, thank you, I suppose. I’ll behave.’ You’re welcome, April.
‘If you two are quite done,’ Chilton interjected, rather rudely, ‘-rudely? I was just doing what-’ get on with the bloody plot, M’Dorf, ‘Sorry, sir. Where was I... oh, that’s it, we’re coming up to it now, Miss Scosthrop.’
‘Very nice, Chilton, but despite the fact that you’ve told me all about how he is easy to find and all that, you haven’t told me where this easy-to-find place is.’
‘What? Well, you should have said someth-’
‘Seven times!’
‘Oh, okay, okay. He’s in Hightower When.’
‘Where?’
‘When.’
April sighed. ‘Get on with it.’
He pointed to the small outline of rooftops bunched between hills in the distance, specifically at the needle spearing up from it. ‘Hightower When.’
April dreaded the distance between here and the rooftops.
‘Eleven…’
‘Hightower When.’
‘Twelve…’
‘We’re here.’
‘Oh thank-Oh. That’s interesting.’ April’s eyes were fixed on what had earlier been a needle spearing up on an outline. The admittedly slightly wonky construction was really quite impressive, otherwise. At sixteen floors, it was very lofty compared to the two storeys surrounding it. The marvellously intricate carvings on the clock face were still just as marvellous as they would have been, had the hands actually been present on it. But that wasn’t what April found so odd about it. ‘What are those dark… things coming out of those windows?’
‘Well, Miss Scosthrop,’ Chilton began,[1] ‘Hightower When is made up of sixteen floors, each one of them perpetually stuck at a certain point of the day. So, naturally, the daytimes ones shine out light, and the nighttimes shine out dark. Such a shame Parlour isn’t here to see it.’
‘No. It. Is. Not. Do not mention him. Where’s Barton-Welch?’
‘Floor eight. About 4-ish.’
Floor eight was indeed about 4-ish. Afternoon tea time, in other words.
Oh, was it ever afternoon tea time.
The occupants of floor eight had set up many large tables totally obscured with food. Buns and cakes. Pastries and scones. Tarts and crumpets. They weren’t just for decoration, either. The occupants were stuffing them into their mouths like mad, laughing and chatting the whole time. Or cackling and shrieking what barely passed as words at each other the whole time. They never stopped. It was little other than a flurry of hands shovelling shouting-fuel into shouting-pieces. And this was floor eight. It was like this constantly.
But something was wrong with the picture. Well, yes, obviously, but there was something in this picture that didn’t add up.
‘Chilton,’ April whispered, leaning towards him, ‘why are they so thin?’ And she was quite right in her observation. People around these parts of existence, she had learnt, were all very thin people, but these ones were taking it to new levels. They were emaciated. ‘If they never stop eating, then where does it all go?’
Chilton watched the Floor Eighters for a moment, before realising what April hadn’t. ‘They’re lucky they aren’t dying of starvation! Look, they’re so wrapped up in conversation, they’re spitting everything out! It doesn’t look like they’re getting anything in at all.’
April wasn’t sure if she had preferred her confusion or this new disgust. ‘Umm, which is Barton-Welch?’
Chilton pointed at a man to the right, ribs jabbing haphazardly at his braces.
This was it, this man could tell her what she had been trying to find out since the terrible incident. Her knees shook terribly as she approached him and her stomach churned (although that might’ve been at the sight of where all the food had ended up after being yelled out). ‘Excuse me? Mr Barton-Welch?’
He looked up, through his hunger-hollowed eye sockets.
‘Mr Herschel Barton-Welch.’
‘Yes, girl! Yes! I am he.’
April smiled, excitedly. ‘Do you…’ she swallowed the lump in her throat-which was more than the Floor Eighters could do-‘do you know how I died?’
His face was overcome with an expression of outright seriousness. He sat up straight, took a deep breath, poking his ribs out even further, and prepared to admit something very important.
‘No.’ Then he laughed.
‘I forgot to mention,’ Chilton said, ‘living in about 4-ish every minute of every day tends to make them a little… mad.’
‘Oh fuck it.’
[1] Almost every person who knew Chilton M’Dorf knew that anything he started with ‘Well,’ was exceedingly dangerous, as you could never be sure when-if ever-he’d actually stop talking. However, we are on a word limit here, so, for authorial purposes, I will shorten his waffling.
I am so going to just blow some people's minds and act this out in class. Barely anyone even dares to read their pieces out at all, let alone put enthusiasm into anything. They were awestruck that I waved my pen around while I was reading something today. I wonder how many brain anneurisms I'll cause by physically playing multiple characters.
My actor streak is getting really itchy, and I'm bloody well taking it out on them.