(One Moment in Time)

[talonkarrde]

These are the things he tries to think about.

The booming voice of the superintendent echoing across the field. “Upon the recommendation of the faculty and by the power vested in me by the Board of Education, you are now all high school graduates!” He cheers with the others, of course, screaming himself hoarse and hugging everyone in reach, but the true moment of passage is when he looks up and sees his dad crying in the stands – and then a wave of mortarboards hides him from view.

The feel of her hair against his face, one arm cradling her body close to him, the other growing numb under the weight of her head, though he hardly minds. He tilts his head, whispering into her ear, and he watches a smile grow before she turns to kiss him. He tries to recall the way they fit together, the way he watched the moonlight fall on her skin.

The smell of chorizo soup wafting through the house, a savory mixture of garlic, basil, and tomatoes that distracts him from the work he was doing. His fingers pause from their typing and he pushes the keyboard back, heading into the kitchen and leaning against the doorway. She stands there, biting her lower lip, concentration wrinkles across her forehead as she stirs the soup. He tiptoes in, trying not to distract her, until he wraps his arms around her and kisses her on the jawline. He remembers the shiver, the smile.

These are the things he tries not to think about.

The panic growing in him as he looks at the newest bill, warning him of a late fee on top of the already crippling bills. He doesn’t know whether he should tell her; she was in the hospital just a week ago, and she might not be ready for the news. She comes into the room, laughing at something a friend sent her, and he guiltily slides the bill under a pile of work papers, turning to smile wanly back at her. He’ll sell the manuscript, he thinks, and get them out of this.

The day that he comes back from the store and sees the Ford Explorer in the driveway. He didn’t know that Jason was going to be there; though their neighbor had been over often recently, he usually called ahead a day or so. Stepping into the living room, he shakes his head at the mess of clothes Jason had left on the couch, and heads upstairs. At the top of the stairs, he stops, hearing the voices. The sounds. The silence when the door swings open, his hand falling limply from the doorknob.

The moment in time he is in, sitting in the chair, the cold metal of the cap chilling his bare skull. The hard rubber of the mouth-guard is abrasive against his tongue and gums; he wonders how many deaths it takes to chew through one of them. The prosecutor stands and reads off the names of people he killed; he does not listen.

“Do you have any last words?”

He shakes his heads, numbly, and then, as the electricity courses through his body, he thinks of everything.

Comments

[ssempai.livejournal.com]

Could you see yourself as this person? Would you, under the right circumstances, go down all of these roads? Admittedly, you're on your way to completing college education, and not all of your girls have been traditional enough that they're most associated with their food. But when overcome with rage, betrayal, passion, could you slaughter people?

I don't understand why a neighbor would take the car. There are many explanations (vanity, injury, pride, moving a large quantity of things, laziness), but unless you go into them, it would make more sense to leave a bottle of champagne or roses or something sentimental/romantic outside of the house to build up to the concrete proof of betrayal. Neighbors typically walk to other neighbor's houses.

It's good.

[echung88.livejournal.com]

A car has an easily recognizable owner; I think he wanted to make it clear that He knew exactly who was in the house. Roses and champagne, even if they were taken with the paramour, would generally be inside of the house (and have ambiguous ownership).

I don't think the car is really that distracting from the story, honestly.

Sean: What a morbid story. :p The transition from happy full of flowers and bunnies and fields to death is rather drastic.

[ssempai.livejournal.com]

Mmm... new idea occurs to me. The encounter begins on the porch/front yard... like if they were to have a picnic outside, something cute. At this point, the character notices only ambiguous signs. It could be a casual date with a friend. Then the observation of roses/champagne signal that it's more than that. As the story moves inside, the clothes identify who the perpetrator was, and by the time he reaches the top of the steps, there has been a steady progression building up exactly how momentous and startling this betrayal was.

[talon.livejournal.com]

No.

First, there's not enough space to do that, second, this isn't the first time he's wooing her. There's no reason to have roses/champagne. There doesn't need to be a steady progression to the betrayal because the betrayal is part of a steady downwards spiral.

[talon.livejournal.com]

I suppose it would be more clear that the guy wasn't close enough to drive; more of a friend from a few blocks or something away.

[ssempai.livejournal.com]

The term "neighbor" made the car a little unusual. Perhaps he could be an old friend or a coworker instead if you were aiming for the instant recognition.