Russian Roulette

A short writing assignment for my creative writing class a few semesters ago. Another core incident project.

    I've been around the sun twenty-one times, but no matter where I'm standing it always looks the same.

    And although the earth keeps spinning as it makes it's full rotation, I can never seem to turn my back against yesterdays rays.

The earth never stops.

And the sun never seems to change.

    

    My life no longer consists of new memories building upon old experiences, or old experiences upon new memories. I remain in a flashback. When I close my eyes, I see the same thing every time. And when I open them, it becomes real again.

  

"Fate amiss, lost and obscure.

Cut throat menacing, black and pure.

There is no option to run and hide.

When I pull this trigger, will I die?"

    

Every time I play this game I am left standing. Yet every time I fire a blank, I die

one

more

time.

    

    How do I live when this is all I think about? I'm incapable of pretending it was never real. Fourteen years have passed since then and not one second have I ceased to remember that day. I can't move forward when all I want is to run back in time and grab Daddy's arms so tightly. 

   

     A sensible seven year old is much too foolish to listen to when you're drunk and trying to impress your friends. I tried to stop him! One single moment happened so suddenly, yet one single moment will keep me captive forever. I can still see the room. It had a scent of liquor and a haze of cigarette smoke. The dim lights complimented the cracked walls. I remember. Daddy's friend passed him the gun. Tears had welt up in my eyes.

    "No Daddy, please don't do it!!"

    

    They had just become aware that I was in the room.

    "Don't fret little one, the first player never dies," encouraged Daddy's drunk friend.

   

    "Honey go upstairs."

    I heard loud screeching exit my mouth as Daddy picked me up and brought me to his room. As he shut the door behind him and went back downstairs, I buried my head in the blankets. I prayed I wouldn't hear a gun shot. Afraid that my deep gasps for air would prevent me from hearing, I tried to hold my breath. I was trembling as my tears drenched the pillow. 

    

    Slowly I began to slip away, and then ...

my heart dropped.

Please let it be someone else!

I didn't care if it was selfish.

I will never forget that sound.

Author's Note

Core Incident #1: Amnesia, Please is non-fiction. This one, however, is just fiction.
I didn't want anyone to think this actually happened. :]

Reviews

[grady sedgwick]

"I will never forget that sound.".......... consider cutting this at the end. it's a bit over-the-top drama in a situation that doesn't need that. in other words, the writing is there, the drama is there, no reason to try and pump up the emotions with a narrator's final and obvious statement. we already know that the narrator's father shot himself, it's communicated very effectively in this paragraph: "My life no longer consists of new memories building upon old experiences, or old experiences upon new memories. I remain in a flashback...."......... and also well said in the poem.

just my opinion here, but cut the distant first three paragraphs that weaken and obfuscate the piece. start here: "A sensible seven year old is much too foolish . . ."

and then keep the poem, but use some restraint in your writing and also cut these parts, "every time . . ." and "How do i live . . ."

do all this and you'll really have something here, the work of a talented practiced author, a tight emotional work that communicates perfectly everything that needs to be said without the added sentimental parts that try too hard.

alright, those are my thoughts anyway. toss out anything that doesn't fit your vision of the piece.

best,
grady

[R.S. Wilder]

Intense...very powerful and completely maverick. Not my usual read, but definitely worthwhile.

[Glenna.]

That was great! I'm not really one for reading more story-type writing on here more than I am poetry, but even in this format, it was very poetic. You have a great attitude in this.
"Every time I play this game I am left standing. Yet every time I fire a blank, I die
one
more
time."
I'm assuming she followed her father's footsteps? Either way, I love that part. Very good. Very intense. :)

[A.Lee]

Wow, what a sharp piece of work. It reads like a recurring nightmare, a bad dream that won't go away. I never will understand how people can play that game. Very well written.

[zombiikillah666]

wow. that was intense. :D

[Devons]

A truly dark, enigmatic, and unconventional piece of work. The way the thoughts of the narrator move mysteriously between altering imagery and form is extremely poetic; and the way it is set-out on the page is very powerful. It leaves you with the impression that you have read a nightmare in words, reflecting the dark residual history of the narrator.
The poem that appears within this piece is very effective and very evocative. And the conclusion is dramatic, stitching reality onto thoughts and feelings - to clarify what it all means.. Or so you might think... But the whole 'story' (for it isn't typically a story - it cannot properly be categorised) has a metaphorical, perhaps existential meaning inferred by its dark, cryptic aura..
This is just the sort of thing I like to read. Well done.

[Coyote Poetry]

A very powerful story. Some games will end up with a bad ending. I didn't play game with guns as a toy. They are not. Poem details and description made the story seem real. You are a writer. Thank you for the outstanding story.
Coyote