Hi, I'm writing a short story for school, and well I'm horrible at English so there's no doubt my story is also horrible. The theme is "belonging", and I've asked other people about it as well. I've been told I've done too much "telling" and not enough "showing", and also that all I've done is thrown words together and there isn't much of a story line. All of these are perfectly true, but I need some help with it nonetheless :D
Here it is:
An open book is sprawled across my desk. My scribbles torture the pages with the norm of the outside world. Inside was a shade of twisted words and outrageous exaggerations that my steady hand could not compete with. A huge neon sign that says, “BOB’S PROMOTIONAL COMPANY” sits just outside my wall. That’s normal though. Here, my personal judgment is boxed out by the cream walls, and replaced by voices of authority. Every inch on the walls of my office is covered with what my boss deems as ‘the norm’. He is not real. All I see are untruthful words designed to twist the fragile fabrics of the human mind. This includes me, but I am just a project. I am a resistant and defiant puppet in the hands of a merciless puppeteer who seeks nothing but fun and money. To him, I will be the first to become a sinner.
As I steadied myself across the corridor, I heard the usual hustle and bustle.
“Don’t make it say, ‘It is 90% effective!’” came the drawling voice of my supervisor. “It should say, ‘Research shows this product is 100% effective’. And make that part look bigger! Right now it looks counter-productive. You’re paid to make products seem FANTABULOUS!”
In my boss’ office, the walls are lined with framed autographs of famous stars. Fake, of course. They make him look important. His cold, dark eyes searched mine, as if he were looking for a sign of weakness to break me down. I stare back, afraid of moving a muscle. In the back of mind, I start to wonder. What is this about? Is it about how I do things? I wouldn’t be surprised though. I don’t make up false facts. I just tell it as it is.
“It has been a fun for me thus far. But I can no longer afford to use you. I need you to be what is required here, or else it is all over. Do you understand?”
His authoritative voice didn’t help. I nodded fervently and escaped the situation, but the image of confidence was quickly broken outside the confines of his office. I could feel myself slipping as I took in his words. An edgy, hypothetical hand grasped feebly onto each and every word.
In the lonely corridor, my mind was overwhelmed by panicked questions and a need for understanding. Hundreds of blank faces cornered my self-assertion, because that was what I was expected to become. Unreal. Fake. Fictitious. Phony, even. Which would be me?
My shoulder scraped heavily against the surface of the wall; my arm hung uselessly on my side. I passed the chattering of material girls; passed the squabble of middle-aged men; passed the babbling of natural liars; passed EVERYTHING and EVERYONE that was not real in this artificial company. That tall blonde woman striding proudly towards me isn’t tall and nor is she blonde – she simply has the money to afford such luxuries and provide unsuspecting men with a false impression. We are all liars, but I am not part of that ‘we’.
Sweat gripped my palms like superglue. What was I to do? Should I ask someone? This is obviously the ultimatum I’ve been waiting for. It should be easy. After all, if everyone can do it then so can I. We’re all one and the same; we’re all human. There’s nothing to it. Anyone can procure the image of utter perfection without the scandalous details such as SAFETY and GUARANTEES, because everyone’s human and if one person can do it, then EVERYONE CAN DO IT.
By now my co-workers had caught a whiff of my desperation. No, not my co-workers. We are not the same. Their eyes are blank and their souls are tainted. Every word that comes out of their mouths is a false attribution to something or someone. They do not understand realism. But then again, nothing is real.
I am no longer on the path to become a sinner. I have to run. Run. RUN! But where? Where does my kind belong, if not in a world where twisted words and outrageous exaggerations are the norm?
I am a resistant and defiant puppet. I belong only where the ground is holy, and those who use unjust words and twist the fragile fabrics of the human mind have no place where I am truly accepted.
Thanks guys :D