are full of possibilities - Waif (2) (1496 hits)
Category: GeneralRating: 2 on 22 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Smurfs (View user info) at 2005-04-26 15:01:46 EDT
Your lives - Waif (1) - http://www.ubersite.com/m/64996
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If you were one of the college students sitting across from them you would throw more than a glance in their direction, their scene was that sad. A whore, the black holes painted around her eyes sucking the life from the still brown orbs that slowly blinked as they faded towards a tarnished oaken hue. A man, cigarette perched between his lips swinging to the side each time he raised the graying white coffee cup to his mouth. A girl, forlorn and disconsolate, staring through the wall with her head cocked slightly to the side.
If you were one of the four boys at the table, bright and energetic... horny, your gaze would sweep over the father, the whore - emancipated and yellow - and linger upon the girl with dull blonde hair lightly drawn into loose pigtails held by limp pink ribbons that sway solemnly in the recycled air of the diner. A ripening petite frame that you could tell is a little too slender by the protruding shoulder blades bunched around her neck as she rests her elbows on the table. It wasn't until your eyes swept her face that you'd feel dirty, her youth readily apparent. A circular face with cheeks still bunched in adolescence, the heavy blush doing nothing to hide the purity of her skin that has yet feel biological womanhood.
If you were the girl, your eyes might linger a bit longer on the older woman, noticing the dark mouths speckling her inner arm. Or they might notice the man's carefully shaven stubble and fairly well made suit contrasting his companions' clothes. If you settled on the girl, you'd probably pick up the slight resemblance to the father; her small nose and large lips, while pronounced on him are appealing on her. You might notice the concealer on her neck, the faint outlines beneath it, your mind automatically going to abuse, ignoring your own hickey similarly hidden, because of her age. You might notice the dirt caked under her nails or the ruddiness of her face betraying its freshly scrubbed outline.
If you were their waitress, you'd be in the back of the kitchen complaining about how they only ordered two meals. About how the man scrapped half of an egg onto a small plate, dropped a piece of toast next to it and slid it across the table to the little girl. How that that poor thing didn't even break her gaze, just slowly pulled a fork from the table like it was the heaviest thing on earth. How she just speared a piece of egg and put it into her little mouth like she was a gosh-darn robot. Maybe you'd mention how uncomfortable it made you, how you'd never seen anything like it and you'd been waitressing for well over twelve years, wearing that award for never amounting to anything like a badge of honor. Inside you'd probably be dying as you remembered how you looked in your little white dress that you arrived to the city in.
If you were at the table, say the grubby saltshaker with the half unscrewed cap, and sitting towards the window you'd have a much more unbiased perspective. The three of them sat silently each absorbed in their own thoughts, the man occasionally changing the cigarette in his mouth, crushing them in the ashtray next to you, the filters chewed. Perhaps you'd pick up on the air, not quite tension, not quite despair. Quiet resignation? It would bother you; it was unsettling, similar to standing under a falling obelisk, the distracting perspective confusing, broadening and lengthening with increasingly mute speed until it devoured the sky and you were crushed.
If you were the woman you didn't even know were you were. Another diner, another john, another cock, another handout, another hit and you were still flying. You'd tremble slightly as the drug raced around your body; chased by, yet chasing, your blood. Your eyes were rolling behind closed skin and a half smile was half drawn in ruby lipstick across your chin. Your head rolled and inside your mind you were on a beach, it was warm and the sand was sticking between your toes. You were jogging, your skin bronzed by the Caribbean sun. Ahead of you was a small grass hut, your Mai-Thai sitting on the counter, ahead of you were friends and admirers and boys and men and trees that molted hundred dollar bills...
If you were the man your mind was tumbling through numbers and profits. Seated before a boardroom of dead presidents you were considering if it was worth keeping Heather in scag now that she was pushing thirty-four and her repeat clients were moving onto fresher fields. You were passing out pictures of the little bitch in front of you and smiling as Washington drooled and Jackson covered his lap. She was a moneymaker, fistfuls of cash and completely compliant, with never a word or complaint. She better fucking be. You gave her a roof and food since her piece of shit mother dropped dead on the floor of some crack house. It was a miracle in and of itself that the tart wasn't born rock hungry. He even tried to imagine the woman's name, but it wasn't coming to him, one of the slew of whores that had shared his bed. He lit another cigarette and laughed to himself as he took that first drag. It was so similar, that first taste always the best, and the rest just following out of habit.
If you were the girl you were trying to dig your way out of the diner through the wall with your eyes. You had noticed the college students as soon as you walked in and had felt the boys' eyes sliding along your body without seeing them. You were used to the looks and they left you covered with slime, but there were so many layers now you didn't even notice. You saw the man in the middle of the diner, his gaze so intent upon the group of students that he doesn't notice you and you warm to him immediately. The food arrives and you accept your father's scraps without a word under the scrutiny of the aging waitress and briefly, rhetorically, you wonder if your father even remembers it's your twelfth birthday. Cutting the piece of egg into twelve pieces you lift one to your lips and repeat for every year of your life, grimacing at their sogginess.
After watching the man stalk from the diner you close your eyes and wonder what everyone else is thinking about.
(to be continued)
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You may want to read this as they will intersect at points before merging:
http://www.ubersite.com/m/45811 - A Life (preface)
User Reviews
Submitted by ThatOneGirl (user info) at 2005-12-08 14:08:16 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
and again
Submitted by jumpinjellyfish (user info) at 2005-06-03 14:21:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I am finally getting around to reading the rest of this series. For some reason it's South Park Stupidity Day on Uber and I need something good to read.
This is great writing.
Submitted by Smurfs (user info) at 2005-04-27 17:39:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Mostly because I need her to have a known past, but since the story isn't about her past in its entirety, by jumping from age 8 to age 12, while keeping the birthday arc and the same depressing overtones, the reader can draw their own conclusion about what's been happening for those years.
If I had just introduced her as age 12 or 14, I would have had to comment too much on her past, and I think it would have been seen as sensationalistic. This way the reader not only fills in those four years on his or her own, but by filling in those four years they develop a sense of empathy with the character.
Submitted by William_Q_Percy (user info) at 2005-04-27 15:20:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Interesting presentation. Why are you skipping ahead in her age so much?
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2005-04-27 07:23:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Pure Gold
Submitted by Davros (user info) at 2005-04-27 03:18:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Awesome.
-Dave
Submitted by RodeoClown (user info) at 2005-04-26 22:04:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
I seen better shit in the pasture about 1 hour ago
Submitted by stardamage (user info) at 2005-04-26 21:55:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I...I...gah!
Submitted by LadyPlural (user info) at 2005-04-26 20:15:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Jeanneee (user info) at 2005-04-26 15:22:59 (#)
Ranking: 2
like getting beat in the face with a bag of ball bearings, but in a good way
Submitted by algermetiphist (user info) at 2005-04-26 17:03:06 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No comment.
Submitted by SiskelandFatboy (user info) at 2005-04-26 16:07:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by fudgepacker (user info) at 2005-04-26 15:39:15 (#)
Ranking: 2
You were the kid in high school that killed the grading curve, weren't you?
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Well Said. Well Said.
Submitted by ruthless (user info) at 2005-04-26 16:01:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Well... we've talked about constructive criticism... I have none to give.
In my opinion, flawless.
Submitted by TigerLilly (user info) at 2005-04-26 15:45:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Damn! I have no words!
Submitted by fudgepacker (user info) at 2005-04-26 15:39:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
You were the kid in high school that killed the grading curve, weren't you?
Submitted by Mr.Brightside (user info) at 2005-04-26 15:36:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
again, good work
Submitted by rayrayshanaynay (user info) at 2005-04-26 15:33:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Crystle (user info) at 2005-04-26 15:29:46 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Still riveting.
Submitted by munkeypants (user info) at 2005-04-26 15:24:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
excellent.
Submitted by Jeanneee (user info) at 2005-04-26 15:22:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
like getting beat in the face with a bag of ball bearings, but in a good way
Submitted by AshK (user info) at 2005-04-26 15:22:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
As with the first one, there is a difference between "no comment" and "can't comment"
Submitted by bigbabylons (user info) at 2005-04-26 15:20:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
very good
Submitted by Allicat (user info) at 2005-04-26 15:10:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment