Spark in the Umbra

This post has been a while in coming. I’ve been avoiding it. However, due to requests from my adoring (ahem) public I have been moved into action.

(Someone becomes a development manager and look what happens!)

This was a strange kind of writer’s block.

It’s not that I didn’t know what to write, rather that I was vacillating about whether to write it.

Why may soon become obvious. But more likely, it will remain opaque to you, dear reader, and the truth is that I’ve been soul-searching and agonising over reasons why I do or don’t need to write this for no valid external reason at all.

To whit, some examples:

Con: The story doesn’t need this bit. This chapter is getting too long already. People are wondering about what the hell that prologue was all about. It’s just back story. All this characterisation is unnecessary.

Pro: Novel writing 101 – Characterisation is everything. If readers are going to stick with your story, it’s generally because of the characters.  Sure the plot may entertain and engage, the lyrical (hah!) description may inspire, but ultimately, characters is what makes the reader CARE.

Such decisions are the fate of the tortured artist.

RIGHT. That’s it. What a pile of melodramatic crap!

[editor's note: An angry looking and somewhat unshaven individual has burst in and grabbed control of the keyboard. Law enforcement has been notified by silent alarm.]

The REAL reason is that you’re too much of a people pleaser and all that TALK about being courageous and writing what was ‘true’ and taking RISKS was all lip service. This is where the rubber hits the ROAD, pal! Grow some BALLS. Write the damn thing. Stop being so politically correct and grow a BACKBONE, you lilly-livered COWARD!

[editor's note: The interloper has been restrained and muzzled by security and is now limited to merely glowering angrily and making occasional muffled growling noises. We apologise and return you to our original programming.]

Chapter 1: Not Waving, but Drowning [continued]

Cassandra wakes up, nauseous and headachey. She is eighteen years old. The light leaking in around a ragged and mildewy curtain seems overly bright. The unfamiliar room smells of unwashed socks and the bed is lumpy and uncomfortable. The flannelete sheets feel slightly sticky and unclean against her naked skin.

Looking over the edge of the bed, she recognises her Levis, t-shirt, bra and panties scattered haphazardly across the messy floor, interspersed with other unfamiliar clothes. The intermittent snoring coming from over her shoulder alerts her to the presence of another. Rolling over, she feels a sudden twinge of pain from her groin, which then recedes to a dull ache.

Lying on his back in the bed, blonde hair tussled, mouth agape is Anthony, one of her fellow Civil Engineering students from Monash University.

Most of the male students in her classes don’t seem to know what to make of Cassandra’s private and serious manner. Some leered and made awkward passes at her. Most eventually ended up ignoring her.

Not Anthony.

Anthony was the de facto ring leader of a small band of like-minded guys who’d known each other since high school. He had persisted in trying to get to know Cassandra. When she talked, she felt like he really seemed to listen and take an interest in her opinions. With his good looks, cocky grin, and easy laugh, he reminded Cassandra a bit of her father. At least, her father in his more carefree times, before…

Last night Anthony had finally convinced a reluctant Cassandra to come out with their group, first to a local pub ‘for a few warm-up rounds’ as he put it, and then on to a party. Cassandra remembered the pub and the first few beers, high spirited conversation, Anthony’s hand on her knee, but it was all a blur after that. Her pounding head doesn’t help with the remembrance and even thinking about beer makes her nausea worsen.

Anthony stretches out his arms and yawns. Sitting up, he opens his eyes. He sees her looking at him and smiles.

“Morning babe. How’s it going?” he asks.

“I feel like shit.” she replies.

“Well, you did drink quite a bit last night…” he explains, wagging his finger at her.

As she sits up, the pounding in her head intensifies. She groans and rubs her eyes. Then a thought occurs to her, crawling sluggishly and unwelcomely into awareness. She sits with it, a dim sense of horror dawning.

“Did we…” she trails off, afraid to say it.

“Yeah.” he grins, then frowns. “Hey, if I’d known you were a virgin, I’d have been more gentle.” he adds.

Cassandra just looks at him, stunned.

“Don’t you remember?” he asks after an uncomfortable pause.

“No – I don’t!” she insists, clutching her aching head in her hands.

“Hey, you were into it.” he says. “You’re just not used to drinking, are you?” he adds, putting his arm across her shoulder, a somewhat false sense of helpfulness in his tone.

Cassandra shrugs him off.

“Hey. Don’t be like that.” he says.

Cassandra sits hunched in the bed, a deep sadness washing over her. A tear runs down her cheek. Then a hotness overrides the churn in her stomach, fighting through the throb of her temples. Angrily, she wipes the tear away and looks back at him, a fire now in her gaze.

Anthony meets her eyes and swallows hesitantly. Then his smile slowly fades and his cheeks redden.

“Look. What are you saying?” he asks.

Cassandra keeps his gaze, daring him to look away. As he looks back, his expression hardens.

“Hey. What kind of guy do you think I am?” he demands, looking away now.

“I think that’s pretty obvious!” she hisses, angrily leaping out of bed. She starts hurriedly putting on her clothes.

Anthony sits in the bed and throws up his hands in mock exasperation.

“Did you even use a condom?” she demands, over her shoulder, as she pulls on her jeans. She is so full of hatred, she couldn’t bring herself to even look at him.

“Uh.. You said you were on the pill.” he replies.

“WHAT UTTER BULLSHIT!” she explodes.

“Jeez. Keep it down! My flatmates will hear you.” he hisses.

“FUCK YOU!” she yells, slamming his bedroom door behind her.

Blink

Cassandra is standing impatiently at the counter in the pharmacy, waiting for the assistant to come back with her prescription. It’s been taking for ever. She can hear the hushed voices of the assistant and the pharmacist in the back of the store, and she is sure they are talking about her. She feels another wave of shame and a sense of uncleanness. She just wants the ordeal to be over and to be anywhere else but here.

Finally, the assistant saunters back over to the counter, the prescription in her hand.

“Here you go. ” she says smiling. “You do realise that the morning after pill is not a substitute for birth control?” she adds.

Cassandra can hear the unspoken judgement in her tone. And with that, her sense of shame fades and the hot burning in the pit of her stomach returns.

“Can I have it please.” Cassandra asks, firmly, hand outstretched.

“Oh, sure.” the assistant replies, feigning surprise.

Cassandra takes the prescription, abruptly turns and starts walking.

“You forgot your change.” the assistant calls out.

Cassandra doesn’t look back.

Blink

This entry was posted on Thursday, July 10th, 2008 at 9:48 pm and is filed under Novel. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.