Untitled As Yet, Installment I

A mentally disabled man's life is changed; for the betters, perhaps - for the worse, perhaps. (Glaringly unfinished.)

I had been sitting in the train station in front of the wall with the poster on it for a long time. I’m not sure how long it was " I’ve never been very good with numbers " but my stomach had begun to complain and I had eaten breakfast so it must have been of no short length. My legs were crossed underneath me like the latticed supports of a bridge, and my transient inability to feel them made it easier to pretend I was one of those guardian-like structures that held up the people and the cars like Atlas, and that I was as strong as one, too. Several trains had gone by as I sat there, but at the time I thought they were secondary.

            The wall was old, and tall, made of countless crumbling red bricks that each had a face in them, though I couldn’t say as to why. They whispered, some of them moaned, and others cried, frustrated with my inattention; I didn’t know what they wanted from me, and it seemed like they weren’t jumping at the chance to explain. Being as they were bricks, they probably weren’t jumping at anything. Moss hung to the world’s far corners like shrapnel, dancing in and out of death with an innocence and naiveté predestined to kill and unknowing even of that.

            The poster was bright and new, its edges freshly frayed by the vandals that were wind and the natural elements of erosion that always ended in laughter at scientists and engineers, except for those that built bridges. I found it hard to focus on the whiteness of the paper " it was almost blinding " and though the letters were large and an obvious mixture of blue and red I felt myself drawing closer in order to read them.

When I first got up, I forgot my legs were numbed, and so I stumbled with a great effort to the contrary and tripped. I knocked into a man in a pinstripe suit and pants, who scoffed at me in irritation even though one of his shoes was already untied and I could have hit him much harder. I apologized to him, but his face lit up with surprise and a marinara tinge of embarrassment at the sound of my voice. Tentatively he asked me if I was of a more burdened mind; I thought about it and decided that nothing was particularly distressing me, and so I said no. He walked away and tripped not long after; at this, I giggled.

The closer I came to the wall, the larger it grew to me. The sun behind it was eclipsed by the relativity of my movement and the bright vivacity of the poster replaced it almost identically in my vision. It was as if god himself was plastered to the brick. Instead I saw a man with a flamboyant suit and a caricatured beard, grey like gunpowder and ash and generally lacking perspective; his long and bony finger was pointed outward in my direction, and his lion eyes met mine, piercing my breath like talons piercing flesh. Underneath the premature culmination of his torso were unfamiliar words. I struggled to read them: “I Want You for the U.S. Army.”

            A feeling had taken hold in my breast that I suppose was the first of its kind. I couldn’t explain why it was there or what it meant, really. It was a mixture of awe and duty, but above all, belonging. It was the first time I had felt like I was wanted; like I was desired, or necessary. I thought the man on the poster must have truly been god for he was able to give me life in the form of meaning. A smile broke onto my face that spread as the shadow of a cloud spreads over quiet motionless water and I ran to the edge of the world like the rat runs from its owl in the bleak desperation of midnight.

Author's Note

This is just the first section of a story I've been working on. I was unsure of posting this, but I figure it would be good to get some feedback. Mostly, I'd like to know whether or not I should continue it. Any grammar, structure, flow, and rhetorical criticisms/feedback would be greatly appreciated. Thanks again everyone. Oh, and also - I want to portray that the narrator is mentally disabled, or disadvantaged, as it is extremely crucial to a later plot point... With that in mind, should I simplify my diction, further advance it, or leave it as is? Thanks again.

Reviews

[Harley Sapphire]

Love the syntax in "must have been of no short length." The juxtaposition between the old wall and the new poster is gorgeous. I also like how the old wall is like his old life, and the poster represents the future. I would love to read the rest. I didn't get that your character was mentally disabled to be honest. I don't have any advice on how to make that more prominent.

It was a great read though and I would love to continue reading it!

[Church]

So the structure and flow was good. After reading it, I got the sense that the time-line is somewhere in the early 1900's. You did a good job of establishing the setting, I could feel like I was there.

Unfortunately, I couldn't connect with the main character. His thoughts and emotions were too far from relatable. I felt closest to him during his interaction with the passerby male. I think that should be expanded on.

All in all, an enjoyable ready. Well done.

[Michael]

Thanks a bunch! These early reviews are very helpful for me, so I really appreciate it.
I'm glad the setting was properly described. I might add in a sentence to indicate that it is late-World War I era, but I don't want to put too much information into the story that could rather be inferred.

As for the main character... It's a tough one. I'm not going for so much as a "connection" per se but rather a sort of external sympathy. I'm purposely writing his thoughts as unusual and his mannerisms as eccentric, trying to get the reader to understand his incapabilities. I wonder if you have any advice about that; I could desperately use it.

I'm glad you have enjoyed it thus far. Thanks again. :)

[Church]

Alright. Well I can understand your goal.

But you have to find that balance of sympathy for his unique state of mind, and flat out confusion to the reader. I was more confused about the character. So when I say I couldn't relate, I meant I didn't understand him, so I couldn't sympathize.

My best analysis is that he's got mild schizophrenia? Perhaps laying down several subtle hints that clearly point to his mental condition would help. Situations that spark fear, depression, sadness, or love might also help.

Of course, take my comments with a grain of salt. I write fantasy. So I like dramatic, overly emotional forms of literature.

[Michael]

I will definitely take your tips under consideration. Thank you very much for the help! Also, sorry for my lack of punctuality associated with this response. I don't want you to think I was bitter at you for your comments. It was the end of the school year, and so I was too busy to log in to this site... However, it's over and done now, and I really must thank you again for your help! So... Thanks!