Niki Bippen

A Work in Progress Reworked

            The basic idea involving a locket existed before this class but only in mind, not paper.  The second person and overall sarcastic tone came from Tom Robbins.  While reading Half Asleep in Frog Pajamas, I was inspired to try this perspective. Second person can sometimes come off as pompous to its readers so I really wanted to try my hand at this and see if I could make it relatable and humble.

            The idea to make it a zombie piece was an absolute last resort. I honestly could not think of any other direction to take the piece so I took the easy and cliché route out.  It fit with the basic theme of my story and plot, however, I had personally wanted to avoid such an over recycled plot.  After awhile of debating, I decided for the sake of having something decent to turn in    to go ahead and send my story hurdling down zombie lane. I simply did not have enough time or energy to craft something new and witty.

            When I sent this to two friends, they both agreed it was a bit too dark and dismal.  They felt like the prologue was too much.  Agreeing, I rewrote it before I did anything else.  Faron, Alex, and Luis also agreed the changing perspectives were confusing so I limited it to two and added tags.  In my opinion, this greatly helped my story. 

            Faron was skeptical of the second person viewpoint but I kept it.  I like the uniqueness and personal feel it adds to the story.  I also like the idea that the narrator is just as clueless as the reader/characters.  It adds a sense of mystery I believe.  Luis and Alex both enjoyed it being in second person adding "that not a lot of stories are in second person; this is something different."

            I learned that there is definitely a line that should not be crossed as far as darkness goes and the prologue definitely crossed these lines.  Alex and Luis told me that the prologue made them not want to continue on reading. Alex said to me, "Niki, if I picked this up off the shelf I would put it back immediately after the prologue. I only kept going because it's your work. It's a good piece, the prologue just needs to go." I could not agree more.

            The multiple character view switch in second person is also unpopular and confusing.  This was another issue all three of my reviewers agreed upon. Faron wrote "I think it's only confusing because of the changing viewpoints... Hitting 3 (possibly 4- can't tell) viewpoints in five pages is a little confusing." This was something I had debated on from the beginning.  However, I did want to give the reader a glimpse of both characters intimately, so I chose to add tags instead of narrowing it down to one.  I did, as stated before, remove the prologue so that removed a character.

            As far as choosing my reviewers is concerned, all three were natural choices.  Faron and I have been friends for awhile and being both classmates and literature majors, he was a natural choice. Plus I needed a classmate to review my work, so this was perfect! Alex is my best friend and has attended our class before so he knew roughly what was expected.  Luis is my current boyfriend and has been pestering me to read some of my work so I figured this was a perfect opportunity. Kill two birds with one stone if you will.

            Like I mentioned, they all reacted negatively to the multiple view switches and prologue.  Alex and Luis both agreed it was too dark.  They all seemed to agree though that the second person perspective was interesting, although Faron commented that my piece might work better in third person.  I stubbornly declined to shift views.

            I changed a lot.  Of course, I made subtle grammatical changes but I also added a lot onto the story to show the direction I am taking it.  I rewrote the prologue and added character tags to show the reader whose view it was.  I did, however, refuse to change the view point.  My intent from the very beginning was to write in second person.  Aside from that, the story retained most of its original content.

            I really would not say my story has a current status unless you consider "going to sit in my documents and collect virtual dust because I'm not going back to it" a status.  (At least not now or for awhile.) The strengths of this piece are I managed to avoid most clichés and in my opinion, I kept a humble and interesting second person viewpoint.  If I was to continue this it would be part of a bigger piece.  As it stands, no further development.

            I would definitely not publish this, even if I added onto it.  It is far too generic and the plot is lackluster at best. However, I would like to take the suggestions and advice given used to help this piece and apply it to something fresh and unique. I'd like to use the second person perspective and sarcastic tone of this piece and apply it to something new.

            I would, however, do more research into second person and look more into Tom Robbins.  His witty tone is something I would love to try again.  I want to write something fresh and eccentric and this manuscript has none of that.  I am sure I will come up with something new and exciting; something this piece simply cannot manifest itself into.

The Locket

(Original edition)

Prologue

            3:20 A.M. November Ninth

            Your eyelids are heavy and you try to use your fingers to keep them open.  Your brain is swimmy with sleep and you can feel your head rolling like a little ball, blonde curls bouncing.  You cough again, more cherry looking stuff.  You pull Teddy closer and try again to concentrate on your mom's voice. 

            She is crying, but her tears aren't water.  They're strawberry jam.  They stream down her face, stopping in the folds of her often mouth.  Her nose is runny with the stuff too.

            "Mommy" you whisper, pawing at her face.

            "My child, my beautiful child.  I love you, my angel." She coughs again, moving her hand just in time to spray it with red polka dots.  She rubs it away and touches your cheek. 

            "I love you too mommy." Your voice sounds like a mouse's.

            "I need you to be strong baby.  Really strong, okay? I need you to make sure someone ends up with this locket, okay? Yes-" she nods as you tug on the silver locket around your neck.  It too is speckled with red.  "Make sure someone gets it.  It doesn't who, honey.  Just someone needs it."

            You nod your head, crying red stuff too.  Your mom kisses your forehead once more then lays down beside you, pulling you into her arms.            

            Three-Fifteen A.M. November Tenth

            You run your fingers through your shaggy raven hair. It feathers in your face and mats up in your thick eyelashes. You blink furiously, trying to will your eyes to stay closed as you watch the blood circle down the shower drain. You chase it with spit and dry heaves, the same as someone would follow a shot of tequila with a bitter lime. As if that shit isn't bad enough on its own why are you are going to suck on a lime to get rid of the flavor? Disgusting! You heave again, your stomach threatening to discharge that expensive dinner you basically inhaled- damn, are your manners really that  bad? You can clearly remember the dinner despite the alcohol and cheap, unrewarding sex you chased it with. Yeah, your manners were that bad come to think of it.

            "Argh!" You groan, pounding your fist against the white tiled wall as steam rises up. The hot water continues to boil your skin threatening to melt it off at the bone and then froth up in the drain, lumpy and pungent like that disgusting chicken soup your father used to make.

            You should be convinced by now that you are as clean as you will possibly get; you have scrubbed your body raw as if the blistering water wasn't enough to scald the day off.  Unfortunately for you, there is no scrubbing the mind clean and if you thought it might actually work, you would snort bleach in hopes of frying your memory log.

            Tears well up in your ocean blue eyes (that's what your date called them before you got drunk and screwed him) and you feel that ironically enough this fits; the briny tears stick to your cheeks and burn your tongue as they seep in through the open corners of your mouth.

            Your phone begins a set of six rings that, like the seven times before, will go unanswered and inevitably chime as you receive another voicemail.

            "Just more bad news," your bottom lip trembles and another twist of your stomach doubles you over and your mouth begins to ache from the repeated attempts at expulsion.

            Seconds after your predicted chime the phone begins ringing again, rattling every inflamed nerve.

            "Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up!" You scream at the phone. "Shut up or I'll fucking drown you in the toilet I swear to God I'll do it!"

            The toilet? Really? Is this how low you've sunk? Bad table manners, getting drunk, sex on the first date, and now you're threatening the cell phone? It was a bad, no scratch that, awful day but shouldn't you have gotten over it by now? Shouldn't you be more composed? You should be accustomed to this. You're a doctor and people die all the time. You've never let it affect you like this. Why now? Why that patient? Why have you not let this go? Why, why, why, why? The million dollar question with an answer that you are sure would send you spiraling into pure nirvana.

            At last, the hot water runs out and you are left with no choice but to leave your steaming sanctuary. Reluctantly, you towel off and step out onto the fluffy white bath rug that is spotted with blood. You toe at a couple places, mumbling to yourself about needing to pick up a bottle of bleach to get rid of the blood and maybe to see if you can drown your brain with it. 

            Your eyes come to rest upon what you dreaded they would immediately find after you stepped out- that damned silver locket. There it is in all its morbid glory, resting neatly against your black turtle neck and designer khakis. It glistens with sweat from the shower steam and you immediately turn to the side and drop to your knees, finally expelling your stomach's contents into the toilet.

 Five forty-five A.M., November Ninth

            Loud rings from the glowing alarm puncture the silence and the blinding blue numbers slice through the dark.  The thick blankets begin to quake and you stretch your hand out and claw at the alarm clock trying desperately to find the off button. Zombie-like and only half as coherent as one, you crawl out of bed and scratch at yourself.

            "Ah, the morning" you grumble as your bladder tries to deviate your attention off what's making your plaid pajama pants tighter than usual. "I know, I know. Trust me, I know the routine."

            You slide gracelessly out of bed, stepping on your cat, some books from the class that you are attending and God knows what else as you make your way into the bathroom to start your boring morning ritual.  Much like your life, this routine is mundane and stale, but you like it like this.

Six forty A.M., November Ninth

            You steal one final glance in the mirror; your blonde hair is only slightly out of place, your clothes could use an iron but they'll work for the day, you actually shaved so that's all good, and everything else seems to be in order.  You're no longer zombie man at the very least. You grab your keys and university sweatshirt on your way out of the door.

            It doesn't take you long to get to work and once there, another ritual begins.  You hurry to the small cafe and grab two coffees; a plain and simple coffee with cream and a little sugar for yourself, and a mocha something or other for Chloe. You position yourself against the nurses' desk, telling them to "piss off" when they bring you charts and other job responsibilities. They should be accustomed to this, portly Rina in particular, but it never fails.  She rolls her eyes and stomps off and you feel sorry for any bugs that may be in her way.

            At seven o'clock sharp Chloe arrives, her white lab coat swaying softly with her movements.

            "Chloe! Hey! Over here! A mocha just for you darling!" You wave ecstatically at her, watching her roll her beautiful eyes. Ah! You love this part of the routine. You watch her walk towards you and can't help but smile.

            "Eric, I appreciate this I really do but" she takes the coffee from your outstretched hand and takes a sip before flicking her jet black hair out of her face. "It's been over three months since you started this and I keep rejecting you.  Another three months of bringing me coffee like a dog does a newspaper to his master isn't going to convince me to date you. Sorry!"

            You grin widely and tilt your head back, chuckling. "Oh Chloe! My dear, dear Chloe" you look her in the eyes, grinning all the while "we both know you want me. Stop playing around and just take me up on my offer. It still stands!"

            Chloe sighs in exasperation. You'd love to hear her other sighs.

            "No, and no a thousand more times Eric! Why can't you" she's interrupted by a loud page over the intercom.

            "Dr. De Luca to the ER immediately!" The page finishes with a sharp crackle.

            This isn't part of the routine. It's usually dead- forgive the pun. She looks to you and then begins hurrying down the hall, her boots clicking on the tiled floor as she runs. You start nervously after her. As her intern, you're required to go where she goes unless someone slams the door rudely in your face and says "go away Eric!" which actually happens more often than you'd like to admit.

            The room is a gruesome scene and you can see that it's taking everything within Chloe's power to keep her stomach from crawling up her throat.  The smell alone is enough to send your breakfast to your throat where you choke it back down with a cough and less than subtle gag. Everything in the room is a blur of  people and events; nurses are running around attending to monitors, tubes, charts, needles, and other shit. One in  particular, Lacey, shoves past you and you can hear her vomit in the hall. The smell is all you really have to go by, you haven't seen its source yet.

            Your mind is racing and trying to make sense of everything as the sensory part tries to figure out what the smell is or to at least relate it to something familiar. You're drawing blanks. A loud snap followed by another breaks you out of your thought process and you glance in the direction of the sound.  Chloe has jerked on gloves and has all but lost  the pigment in her face. White as snow with a look of fear that you've never seen in her eyes before, your heart skips a beat and you find yourself subconsciously backing away.  Something about this room isn't right. This scenario isn't right, Chloe's face isn't right. This isn't right.

Seven twenty A.M. November Ninth

            "Eric! Eric!" You manage to get out through gritted teeth as you see him trying to steal a quick exit out of the corner of your eye. "Get over here now! I need you to grab me some gauze- no" you look down at the patient who is still being swarmed by nurses like a flower by bees "no, get me a damned towel or two!"

            You look back at your patient, thankful that you only indulged in a glass of orange juice for the morning. Your eyes are watering and your mind is going crazy.  The smell is overwhelming enough but the sight! You've never seen anything like it.