[Summer Contest Entry2012] A Time in Heaven, Forever in Hell

I was looking down at a set of footprints that stretched a thousand miles. They were mine. The memories were gone and the prospect was impossible, but I couldn't argue with the man slumped against the skeleton of a nearby bus reeking of decomposing flesh. He still had my sandy blonde hair and clutched the same picture I had nestled in my breast pocket. I crouched in front of myself and fought the urge to gag while I stared into my own dead pupils. I wanted to say something, but I couldn't.

I wanted to tell him how lucky he was to be dead.

I stood and stepped away from myself, waving at the air to dispel "my" recent lack of hygiene before I looked down and felt a chill along my spine.

The uninterrupted set of my own footprints lay ahead—leading where I've never been. My tracks weren't the problem, though, it was the delicate prints of smaller feet leading directly away from the man who was once myself. I knew exactly what they were without knowing anything about them. There's only one thing I thought a man can do with that kind of contradiction: follow.

So I did. I walked next to the tracks under the ever-present eye of some sadistic biographer penning down the story of the most pathetic man in the world. The eye burned and illuminated these blasted lands to “capture the mood”. It warped time and condensed infinity into a millisecond.

Sol was so much more reasonable.

It's hard to say exactly when it happened, but eventually I found a town. A somehow surviving relic of the old west town whose only lifeline was a railroad. In fact, the only thing missing was the railroad.

Respite was a fitting name for the place though. I couldn't remember the last time I had seen a living face that wasn't a photograph or a building that wasn't a wispy shadow from another lifetime. The people hardly passed for living, but it beat the charred carcasses that had been entering and leaving my life. The buildings were the real respite, and one in particular came to mind.

There was no such thing as a watered down drink in 15 but everyone still found a way to never get drunk. After the eighth round of the most caustic whiskey I had ever had I realized that I shared their disability. All I got was a headache from the pounding music and a strong desire to keep drinking. No one can say I didn't try to forget my problems, so I finally decided to pursue them. I drummed an empty glass on the bar and the bartender appeared in an instant, bottle of whiskey at the ready. I pulled the old picture in my pocket out and put it on the bar.

“Have you seen this woman?” I asked the man, who observed the photograph with keen eyes while pouring amber liquid into my glass—lifting the bottle without taking his eyes off the picture.

“It's been a while but you can't forget that face. Eve. She came through here, what was it, four months ago?” As the name left his mouth it sprang to the front of my mind. Evelyn. A whole past rushed down in a torrent that I decided to add more whiskey to. Evelyn--It made her feel too formal. It was nice to know she still preferred Eve. The first woman I had loved after I realized I didn't know what love was at 20. The same one I played a worldwide game of cat and mouse with over a copy of Sherlock Holmes. The same one I left crying on the shores of Greece. Eve. The footprints were hers. I had to find her.


“Was she with anyone? Where'd she go? What'd she do here? Did she talk to you?” The words fell from my mouth like saliva from a St. Bernard but the bartender smiled and put down the whiskey while he stroked his Van Dyck mustache in thought.

“No, west, sing, and yeah she kind of had to. She worked for me for a bit. Nice girl when she wanted to be.”

“So not very often.”

“We are talking about the same girl after all. Yep. She came, she sang, and she went. Not under the best of circumstances, though.”

I raised my eyebrows. He smiled wider and poured me another.

“You look familiar, stranger. You got a name?” He asked me as I knocked back the most recent round. I inhaled through ground teeth and nodded.

“Adam Claerburn.”

“Adam and Eve? Now there's a bad joke.”

“My life's a bad joke.”

“Now there's a nugget of truth," My eyes narrowed. "Well. Sounds to me like you got what you were looking for. Don't be afraid to hang around here for a bit though. It's hot as hell this time of day—not the best time to go off chasing some girl.”

“I've already wasted enough time on this,” I indicated the empty glass and scowled at it. I had already been at a bar for 5 years. Another second gone when Eve got another second farther away was too much.

“Oh it's alright. I'm sure you'll find your way back here some day. Everyone ends up missing this little place eventually. Ask for me when you get back. Just holler 'Xenon'.”

With that Xenon strode back along the bar and chatted up another lost soul. I put a fifty on the bar and left.

West Respite was a graveyard that outgrew itself. A thousand miniature monuments jutted from the overgrown landscape. The plants--the only ones I had seen in years--seemed to flock to the dead. I envied them. 

Sleep was starting to tug at my body, and I still hadn't found anything amidst the stones and crawling vines. There had to be something—there was always a clue with her.

“You know sometimes it's better to just jump than to look down first.” A gravelly voice croaked behind me. I turned to a sun-blistered caricature of myself, lying flat on his back in the graveyard. He put a cigarette to his mouth and took a long drag. Mint and amphetamine-laced smoke wafted into my nose. An addiction I wanted to forget. “See you start looking, and there's nothing there. Eventually you just end up looking so long you forget you were supposed to jump.”

I couldn't face him, so I replied to empty air..

“Then what? You sit out here and burn till you talk in bad riddles?”

“Just leaving a note. You'd be surprised what you learn when you end up looking your whole life.” I heard the cigarette smoldering again as he took another excruciating drag.

“You'd be surprised at what you miss too.” I cringed at the audible cracking of his skin when his lips spread into a smile.

“That's why we have the notes. Good luck with her.”

My heart skipped a beat and I turned to a sun-bleached skeleton—a cigarette pinched between its bony fingers.

Seeing myself dead was common. I had accepted I was insane. What I had just seen and heard was still too much to deal with. I closed my eyes and ran. I ran to forget about the Adam slumped against a bus miles away. I ran to forget about the Adam lying in the middle of a graveyard. Most of all I ran to forget about the smiling Adam in the picture.

Lactic acid burned in my veins for hours but my legs still hadn't given out. I wasn't even running in a straight line anymore. I simply moved away from Respite. My lungs felt dried and cracked and my ribcage ached, so I finally stopped. I stumbled and nearly blacked out, but I opened my eyes.

And that almost saved me.

She was smiling. Her bow-shaped lips curled up and her cheeks turned rosy red. It was like she had just outsmarted me and couldn't wait to tell me how she had done it. Her delicate nose, auburn hair, emerald eyes. Her—she was right in front of my face.

“Eve!” It was all I could articulate, and it drew a lilting laugh. My soul shook in euphoria, and then I collapsed.

A hand ran through my hair and Her soft voice crooned a tune we loved.

“Let this be enough, Adam. We had our time already.”

The tune vanished, replaced by cold words in a sad tone. I tried to scream my objection but I couldn't. I couldn't move. I could only die slow. She looked down on me with a somber smile and cradled my head.

And I knew how unlucky I was to be dead.
---


“You look familiar, stranger. You got a name?"

"Adam Claerburn."

"Well then welcome to 15 Adam Claerburn."

---

Edited 11:39 AM CST on July 7th, 2012.

---

ALTERNATE CUT


He was shocked. I was used to the face by now, but it still made me smile every time. A "poor soul" with more vices than friends and a girl that used to hold him together. Just a girl. Shakespeare took the words from my mouth when he wrote "what fools, these mortals". Fools indeed.

I enjoy my time with them, though, and he was a particular interest of mine. Adam Claerburn. Ex-Navy, ex-alcoholic, ex-smoker, ex-pill popper. If he weren't also an ex-human he'd probably still be all of those things. He still has the volatile combination I love though: honor, duty, and a penchant for self-destruction. That's why I've always kept such a keen eye on him. Some people get boring as the centuries slide past.

Adam, though, he's fresh every time. And now--now he was looking down at himself. A dead Adam. His mind flailed wildly for a grip on reality where there was never any to be had. He crouched in front of the Adam I had left by a twisted bus--what was it--five years ago? I wished he had seen what I wanted him to though; the one thing that always pulled him right into the interesting bits.

Ah, there he goes. Footprints. He saw the nice little set of footprints leading him into the desert. The dog faithfully took his bone and followed them, and I followed him--at a leisurely pace of course. The footprints weren't going anywhere, they never do with no wind to help.

I jab at his mind from afar, plucking his thoughts like violin strings in quick staccato. Warp his sense of time, crush his sanity just a bit. SOP. He just took it silently with the small modicum of stoicism he had left. Boring, but Adam almost always starts boring. Once he gets going though, it's a glorious little basejump with no parachute.

Adam was going to be busy for a while with his walking, so I teased apart a seam in the air and stepped through it--

Into the dimly-lit confines of 15. A menagerie of empty-eyed husks looked to me with a mixture of disinterest and sheer vacancy. I flashed a smile and they returned to their drinks. After that it was just a whole lot of a damp rag and a dirty bar. Gotta tidy up for company.

I was drying my hands when those saloon doors I love so much swung inward and a too-happy looking Adam stepped through. The hair of the dog was still a particular desire of his. I placed the towel over my arm and strode over to him, grabbing a mid-grade whiskey bottle as I passed it.

"Whiskey." His single-word greeting begged a chuckle, but I stifled it. I nodded and placed a glass on the counter, then tilted the bottle and watched the amber liquid tumble down, filling the glass to a quarter of the way. Or would it be three-quarters empty?

He wafted the fumes into his nose and smiled pleasantly before knocking the drink back with a vulgar motion that I could probably mimic I had seen it so much. He then pointed at the empty glass. I obliged him with a smile and he repeated the ritual.

After eight rounds I finally got the time to serve another of the barely-there patrons before he called me over with a placid look on his face. From five feet away I could already see the picture he had waiting on the bar. I anticipated the questions and confirmed my story in the next five steps, then poured him his ninth.

"Have you seen this woman?" There on the bar of course was the burned-at-the-edges photo I had slipped into the pocket of his shirt thousands of times. The picture showed Adam smiling with his arm draped over the shoulder of a woman I knew only by name. That fact alone meant she was far too good for him.

"It's been a while, but you can't forget that face. Eve. She came through here, what was it, four months ago?" I lied as if it were second nature. Then again it is second nature. I watched a myriad of emotions play across his face as once more he remembered their past. The more correct wording would be what he had done to her, but Adam's always got to make it right.

Even when he tears it apart himself and scatters the pieces.

"Was she with anyone? Where'd she go? What'd she do here? Did she talk to you?" The questions came rapid fire so I dealt with them piecemeal, counting off each one on a finger.

"No, west, sing, and yeah she kind of had to. She worked for me a bit. Nice girl when she wanted to be."

Adam had told me that the first time I met him.

"So not very often."

Of course he doesn't know that though.

"We are talking about the same girl after all. Yep, she came, she sang, and she went. Not under the best of circumstances though."

Adam raised his eyebrows. I smiled wide at the thought of how many times he had grabbed my collar after that remark, and how many times he had burned for it. I poured him his tenth.

"You look familiar, stranger. You got a name?" I indulged in a vice of my own: asking what I already know. Makes people think that just maybe the whole world isn't against them, even when it is.

"Adam Claerburn." He said through ground teeth. So long as his little mind wasn't clinging to Eve nothing could stop him from taking another drink.

"Adam and Eve? Now there's a bad joke." The first thing I said that wasn't a lie.

"My life's a bad joke." Adam muttered. Brother, you have no idea.

"Now there's a nugget of truth." Adam's eyes narrowed, but I ignored his attempt at intimidation. Time for a swift kick in the ass. Just got to make sure he thinks he's the one doing the kicking. "Well. Sounds to me like you got what you were looking for. Don't be afraid to hang around here for a bit though. It's hot as hell this time of day—not the best time to go off chasing some girl.”

"I've already wasted enough time on this." He raised the whiskey glass and looked at it with disdain. Convenient of him to forget the past hour of heavy drinking. This was where I admit showmanship started to get the best of me. God isn't the only one that likes working in mysterious ways.

"Oh it's alright. I'm sure you'll find your way back here some day. Everyone ends up missing this little place. Ask for me when you get back. Just holler 'Xenon'." Not my most popular moniker.

I turned and walked away rather than wait for him to say something. He was starting to think he was onto something. Better to let him scamper around for a while. I stopped in front of the next man down the bar as Adam swung the doors open and left.

"So what's your story, friend?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to--" The rest trailed off in gibberish.

"If you weren't sitting in my bar I bet you'd be a lot less sorry." His eyes widened. I smiled, then I continued down the bar. I pondered on my particularly sadistic mood today. I opened a door at the end of the bar--

And stepped into West Repsite. A million dead graves of past and present residents of my little town. I was standing between two Adams: the one I left to die and the one I was pushing to his death. The one on the ground locked eyes with me as he took a long drag from a cigarette. The smell of menthol tobacco and crushed Adderal wafted into my nose. Exhaling slowly he spoke, but not to me.

"Just leaving a note. You'd be surprised what you learn when you end up looking your whole life."

Clever. I knew I kept this one around for a reason. If only his counterpart shared the mental acuity.

"You'd be surprised at what you miss too." The standing Adam replied without turning around. I crouched down in front of the prone Adam and placed my hand on his chest. My fingertips shimmered a sapphire brilliance and his sun-blistered face smiled.

"That's why we have the notes. Good luck with her."

A second later he was gone, so was the light.

And so was I.

When I stepped back into West Respite I saw Adam; he was a small dot on the horizon, running for all he was worth. Unfortunately for Adam he wasn't worth much. He simply ran through bent space. He ran for hours--proof of his service time. Every man reaches his limit though, and the harsh sun doesn't help aching lungs.

Eventually even he gave out. This was the point I was waiting for. A test for myself.

I created Eve--or at least what I knew her to be. Physically matching her was easy, but recreating a person from the mind of someone like Adam... I couldn't do her justice. I knew enough about her for her to play her role though, so I brought Adam back.

His next step put him five feet in front of me, and he opened his eyes to Eve. I saw something I hadn't yet seen in his eyes: happiness. He really didn't know what he had done. It was almost pitiable. Unfortunately, I know what he did.

"Eve!" He barely formed the word and it croaked out of his dried throat. "Eve" giggled and Adam collapsed.

A half hour later Eve was stroking his hair and singing what Adam repeatedly called "their song". I paced less than ten feet away, slowly loading a Colt M1911 magazine round by round. 7. I didn't need an extra in the chamber. I drew the slide back with a flourish.

"Let this be enough, Adam. We had our time already."

Adam was so transfixed on her he didn't see me.

Just like she didn't see him.

And then she cradled his head.

As he did.

With an echoing report I ended him.

In homage to how he ended her.

Adam Claerburn is lucky that all he can do is die. And I am all too happy to oblige him.

Again. And again. And again.

I like how you just put this here subtly as it blends into a crowd of contest entries. I really like the development of the story so far, though. I appreciate the attempt at first person, however you've really done them well in the past. I also enjoy the wording you're using, almost like it's swaying the sentences into a sort of aura about them. Well, you always do your own thing and it usually works out rather well. Good luck further developing this, I'll look forward to further adaptions or additions.

It'll be dandy if this does work out. I've never been as aimless as with this mini-project. I think the content reflects that.

Complete and upon consideration made an entry into the contest. Thoughts welcome and appreciated. Quid pro quo is available upon request. (But no onions)

I had a feeling this would turn an interesting sepia shade of macabre. It might be odd, but I find some sort of satisfaction in this resolution even though it's not an archetypal flow of happily-ever-after or doomed-before-it-began.

Just so you know, I fully support the portrayal of my bartender alter ego, and to clarify with the judges that it was indeed done with permission.

Just finished reading it. I'll admit I was stuck between jealousy and curiosity.
A part of me wanted to look away but I wanted to know more.
I enjoyed the conversation with himself at the graveyard as well. I enjoyed it.

Thanks, Xenon. I hope you don't mind the uh...implications of your role.



I'm glad you liked it as well, Nejik. The graveyard conversation was a random idea that I'm happy could pan out so well.

This was an excellent story, considering the time-frame and word limit.

I do have to say, I don't feel like a whole lot of effort was put into this. I kept falling out of the story, like I wasn't fully enveloped. Partially because I tripped over a few typos, but I know you are still working on it.

Definitely a different story than I was expecting though. As it went on and he spoke about the insanity, I was totally blind-sided by that, so great job on throwing me off.

Not sure how I feel about the Eve character...

Well, you already know you're a fabulous writer. Good luck in the contest!

<3

Well I don't want to say that I didn't put effort into it but I have been worrying that it feels rushed--and a word limit is no excuse for that.

I'm glad I could blindside you a bit though and I'm very thankful for your thoughts on the immersion (or lack of) and Eve's character. They'll be in mind as I continue with this.

So an overall thanks for the kind words and the push in the right direction.

I like Xenon's role here, it kind of fits him, just saying.

Moving on, some people have been telling me that your entry is not as good as your usual writings are, but I think this is quite the good one, too. Except that some parts feels vague, and some elements seems to lack that little something that to be given out indirectly with the use of good words - in other words - vocabulary, for gaining a tighter, grasps on the readers?

Either way, I thank you for your submission. Good luck!

First off, thanks for the well-wishing.

I really wish "some people" would air those thoughts to me and give examples so I can work on it.

I'd like to ask a question too, if I may: what did you think of the twist?

You're welcome.

They should.

Unfortunately I think I'll restrain myself from answering that question till the contest is over. I'm sorry for being unable to answer, since I'm a judge. I hope you understand.

I think I will just copy this.



Also, reading a first person narrative like this kinda reminds me of another writning entry :https://www.fakku.net/viewtopic.php?t=89840.

Anyway, I still liked it, and will reccomend it to HIGH.
Good Luck.

Wait, why exactly was this special mentioned?
I like the story but exactly happened that made this pulled out of the participants?

Read this whole quote pyramid.

https://www.fakku.net/viewtopic.php?p=3240078#3240078

I liked the story Jericho, can't really give you much critical input though. Like I said to you once long ago. Critiques and review aren't really my thing. But regardless wonderful story and it's always a nice treat to see you write.

Damn I wish I had more problems with this as I read through it since everyone else seems to find this to be sub-par compared to my other stuff. Welp, off to the next attempted revision.

Well done Jerry.

Let me be straight since this was all I was thinking about while I was reading it. It doesn't work as a story- really. Hold on now, don't think that means it's bad.

It works more as a narration to an animation or a voice-over. Think: Bastion (video game) where the narrator knew the main character, but never actually explained his connection. To me, the narrator sounded more like Xenon the Bartender. Add that western drawl while you read it, and it sounds much better.

In a way, I think that's also a negative. It may work really well as a voice-over or narration, it works less so as a short story to read.

In this review, I'll give you exactly why I felt this was not as good as your normal writing. *GASP* an actual reason instead of vague, "it's not as good" answers!

Going back to my usual grading system:

Review #21

The Good: Excellent usage of committing yourself to a narration where the character doesn't really let you know exactly how he feels, but lets you know his general emotions (meaning we figure it out ourselves- further setting Xenon as the narrator). You created a brilliant world where I would like to know more, but at the same time, feels sufficient enough to be an enjoyable experience. It is a pleasure to read this and this is exactly why I didn't want to read it until I read everyone else's- too much of a good thing and I get spoiled.

Grammar: OK

The OK/Bad: I kinda figured why people felt that they weren't connecting. It's simply this: if the tone that I immediately got was that Xenon was narrating the story of Adam, then the reader cannot be connected unless this is, in actuality, Xenon's story. While you did set up Adam as the main character, we never really got deep into Adam's psyche, thus detaching us from him as a character. This leads me to another point: we'd rather watch and listen than become.

The point of a main character is that we empathize with him/her and almost become him/her. In Harry Potter, you knew every detail about him from the beginning. In Huckleberry Finn, you were him. In this story, we're suppose to be not the main character, but a different character that no longer shows up? That's the issue of detachment.

Now imagine you were physically watching one character journey on with the bartender's voice. This story makes much more sense. That, in of itself, comes with a few issues though.

You wrote as the main character himself- meaning you have a unaware narrator describing the main character at a mostly superficial level. The main character clearly cannot be the narrator since why would there be a lot of mystery surround the main character if we are the main character. Thus, there is a third party describing the events to us about Adam and how he generally felt.

Personal input, but play Bastion, and you'll know exactly what I mean. I'm going to take a random paragraph and change it. Also, say it in this way: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6RTkUgov60g

There was no such thing as a watered down drink in 15 but everyone still found a way to never get drunk. After the eighth round of the most caustic whiskey I served him, he was just another one of us in 15. Kid told me he got a headache from the pounding music- so he kept drinking. Could tell he was trying to forget his problems like the rest of us, but he actually did something about them. He drummed an empty glass on the bar and said, "Whiskey." That's all we had around these parts anyways. Kid pulled an old picture in his pocket out and put it on the bar.

For some reason, that sounds more like a narration that I connected with than using I for Adam.

That made my early morning, probably my day. Thanks coffee.

EDIT: I am tempted to try your idea of using Xenon as the narrator in an alternate cut. I haven't tried something like that yet, so it would most assuredly be a wonderful ride.

Read this again and analyzed it as well as I could. And I don't think I should conceal the fact that this will definitely be one of my favorites.