Tuesday, August 05, 2014

Broken Mirror Shard - Day 7

While I have a bit of fascination with old men and women, I enjoy writing young people the most.  Children and teenagers, which is good, I suppose, in this era when every movie not made by Marvel Studios seems to feature teens, and every movie including those made by Marvel Studios are aimed at teens.  While I've technically been an adult longer than I was a child or teen, I don't yet feel that way.  And this story--"MagiClaw"--is about kids (a child and a teen, to be exact), which is easy.

A writer I read a lot also writes about children.  But his children are always brilliant, precocious, eloquent philosophers who just happen to inhabit the bodies of twelve or nine or five year olds.  I have no interest in this, and when I started a recent book of his only to discover that the protagonists are three lil geniuses who range from six to eight, well, I nearly put it down.  Sure, it seems to interest him to write about prepubescent Einsteins, and maybe my buddy Jeff and his cranially-endowed megaminds, but that alienates the hell out of me, and I can't relate to something like that, or long to read about their exploits.

To me, being a child was never knowing the answers, never understanding how the world works, never being able to have the upper hand.  Hell, the world STILL feels like that.  So I write kids that don't get the joke, that don't know the definition of some bonus vocabulary test word, and seldom have a brilliant retort or riposte handy.  I'm one of those guys who thinks up something clever to say two hours after the argument, but only manages to stammer in the heat of the moment, and that's after years of practice trying to be a smartass.

So, maybe too many of my characters are like me.  In my mind, there's something suspicious of the child who speaks or behaves like the grownups, and something ugly about a kid who acts like he knows all the answers.  I originally meant for Brekkyn, the villain of my last blogged story, to be one of those because the girl that inspired her was always a bit smarter than the kids around her when she was little.  But as she got older, she was so used to not having to try to find the answer, that she became lazy, and eventually, pretty dumb.  I figured Brekkyn, who never had to work hard and anything or do anything she didn't actually want to do, would be lazy too, and even though she's probably got a higher I.Q. than Tanissa, she seldom uses any gift but her magic. 

I didn't mean to type quite so much here, I only meant to preface my story writing for the day.  But reading that book about the eight year old that speaks a SECOND LANGUAGE so fluently that he tricks everyone into thinking he is an adult made me shake my head with the opposite of enjoyment, and made me want to write the kids in my story . . . as kids.


            They went out into the sunlight, the heat a sharp contrast to the cold corner shop, and Stewart took the piece of paper from his brother.  It looked like girl’s handwriting, a cute little note like you’d pass back in forth in class in junior high.  All it said was that one stupid word, and Stewart tossed it onto the ground.  Anthony went behind the bushes where they’d hidden his bike and Stewart’s skateboard.  He wasn’t sure why his big brother was upset about the paper—he thought “boobs” was a hilarious word, though he wasn’t sure whether it qualified as a swear or not—but he was pleased with the money in his pocket and a pretty cool story to tell.

            They finished their drinks before heading back home.  There was a hill between their housing development and the center of town, and Anthony had to stand up on his pedals just to keep moving forward, while Stewart seemed to have no trouble with it at all.

            They were just reaching their street when Stewart’s phone began to buzz.  It was a text message, and he coasted while pulling his phone from his pants, expecting to read the rest of the dirty cannibal joke (at last).  But the number wasn’t familiar, even though it was a local one.  Stewart paused on his board--Anthony still half a block behind him, peddling hard to catch up—and opened the text.

            It consisted of two words, “Enjoy, Greg.”  There was an attachment that Stewart opened, just by force of habit.

            It was Claudia Espinoza, a hot girl from school, using one hand to take the picture, using the other to lift up her t-shirt, exposing her naked chest.

            Stewart’s eyes went large and he nearly fell off his board, despite having one foot on the pavement.  He glanced behind to make sure Anthony hadn’t caught up yet.  He looked back at his phone.  Claudia was a popular girl on the drill team, and her boyfriend was Greg Mortensen, a douchey Sophomore/about-to-be-Junior with curly bleached blond hair. 

            The photo was a marvelous sight, taken in a bathroom, somehow accidentally sent to Stewart.  He wasn’t sure how this happened, but he was not going to look a gift rack in the mouth. 

            And then the dots connected in his head.

            “Bewbies,” he whispered, almost like a prayer.

            “What?” Anthony called behind him.  “Was that Mom?”

            Quick as Mercury, Stewart locked his phone, and stuck it into his now too-tight jeans.  “No, just . . . just a wrong number.”

            They went back to their little house and let themselves in.  Anthony started organizing his Pokemon cards, and Stewart locked himself in his room.  When Mom got home, Anthony regaled her with the tale of the ill-gotten twenty.  She was very tired, though, and not nearly as amazed by the story as she ought to have been.  Stewart, however, was a true believer, and knew where they’d be buying their drinks tomorrow.
Words Today: 498
Words Total: 3097

1 comment:

Jason said...

Nice, very classic teen fantasy.