BabyHeadCrab
The Freeman
- Joined
- Dec 2, 2003
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Here's a piece I wrote for a class in which we write and read satires. Any / all comments are encouraged! I'm working on fleshing out a strong, present narrator while simultaneously maintaining a very minimalist, less is more philosophy to my writing.
Driving through poor, desolate midwestern towns had a strange effect on the family, as the kids feigned interest in their books, drifting into bouts of sleep that seem so commonplace in ten hour minivan drives, mom and dad had all but given up on creating conversation. It wasn't some kind of awkward tension, or even the aftermath of some big fight, rather it was the absence of emotion and it traveled in the air, through skulls and brains and wafted in the stale recycled air of the poorly heated van. As time wound down, so did the winding Indiana roads into a small suburban neighborhood the name of which is of very little importance. What is important is a particular resident which the family planned to visit. Nestled away in this sad little suburban neighborhood was a man whom mom had met in graduate school. Perceval Lowell, with his dentures, wrinkled skin and curious glasses. He looked much older than he was, only forty-three but gnarled and tossed around in life to appear seventy.
The roads curved slightly, and dad was somewhat carsick. To dad, ?somewhat carsick? is puking every seventy miles, and he did. To mom, this was sad, but she loved driving, loved the road, and always made sure to check up on dad's health in an almost compulsive manner. The kids played nice, it seemed. Later in life maybe they'd become drug addicts, slackers or even wealthy business people. The kids could become anyone, but for now they plugged away at gameboys and pretended to read books by the Bronte sisters. Advanced placement courses are a horrendous joke, our class-based education system working at its best. Mom, Dad and the kids were tired but began to wind up the driveway of Perceval's house. The brick house was beautiful. Not in the grandiose Victorian mansion sort of way, but rather because it was a quaint and beautiful home surrounded by statues and lawn ornaments. The window shutters were painted dark green and carved within were gnomes and goblins and all manner of enchanted creatures. Hobbling out of the van, Mom, Dad, the kids ? still playing gameboys, novels far beyond their comprehension still tucked under their arms. The overtired family began to glow upon wobbling unto Percy's doorstep. Mom rang the doorbell, excited as all hell, maybe a bit nervous.
It must have been over thirty seconds before Perceval woke from his nap and excitedly threw the door open. He opened his arms to the dear family.
?ROBERT, you lovely young man. You're getting so darn old. What's this? Withering Heights? Why you brilliant little thing?
?Little Jilly, sweetie, Jane Eyre! Oh my, you've both grown into little scholars I'm afraid?
The kids half-smiled and bashfully ground their feet into the ground. Percy welcomed the family in and Mom and Dad talked with him near his beautiful cozy fireplace. The house was as awesomely mystical yet simultaneously welcoming on the inside as it was outside. Percy handed each of the kids presents, neatly wrapped in newspaper. They shook the boxes, no clue as to the contents and plunked down on the gorgeous red upholstered sofa. Perceval turned to the kids once again, briefly breaking from the exhausted mom and dad.
?I think you're going to like those gifts, they're puzzles, but not like the video games you play at home. They may not seem like much at first, but they're truly fun and I made them myself?
The kids smiled and graciously unwrapped the gifts, looking curiously at the tangled metal objects that they'd been presented with. They wondered intensely, academically, like little scholars, completely abandoned from creativity. Percy glanced only a few more concerned moments at the children before continuing banter with Mom and Dad.
Not long after giving the gifts, Perceval showed the family the rooms they'd be staying in. The kids would stay in the cellar, which was far from uncomfortable. Lined along the shelves were books which made little sense to them. Preparing for bed, they removed a few of the dusty tomes from the massive shelves, only to discover the words were organized in ways they didn't understand. The only experience the kids had with this kind of writing was an extra-curricular writing class their parents had suggested they take one year before, in their last year of middle school. The kids examined the words with curiosity that reignited their childish creativity. The poems were beautiful, Percy had hand selected them years before. They were his own and he still secretly cherished them, his most beautiful and most unpublished (unpublishable) works.
And after some time Percy lead Mom and Dad down to the cellar to tuck the kids into bed. They tucked the books away beside the bed and grew tired after the countless ungodly hours on the road. Percy noted the books they'd secured and smiled wryly, laughing slightly and heading up the stairs with Mom and Dad. Everyone slept very well. The next morning, the kids, in their boredom, began to fiddle with their metal toys. Each consisted of three interlocking metal rings. The object of these toys was a game, they concluded. In order to win, they would have to separate the each ring. They struggled immensely, bending the rings every which way and even attempting the bend the metal in order to achieve success.
Being punctual was very important to Dad. Soon, the family would leave Perceval's home. Percy welcomed them all to a gorgeous breakfast; omelets, sausage, waffles and all matter of bagels, pastries and cereals. The kids were happy, they felt some how very content and revitalized. Mom and Dad seemed happy, too, but they both had work to attend to. Bidding Percy good bye they reluctantly entered the minivan which now seemed sterile and distant. The conversation which followed the drive home was astonishingly fruitful. The kids braved up and fielded questions to Mom about grad school. Dad stopped vomiting long enough to crack a few jokes, and they even got lost a few times.
?What was Percy like back in school mom??
?It's been so long... I'm not sure I even remember?
?Did he have a beard??
?Well, he was starting one ? and really into beatnic poetry?
As the mood shifted, so did the sky, back to familiar territory -- back home, a prison now slightly easier to live in. Hell a few degrees cooler, and all they had was time.
Percy
A.E. FrankI
Driving through poor, desolate midwestern towns had a strange effect on the family, as the kids feigned interest in their books, drifting into bouts of sleep that seem so commonplace in ten hour minivan drives, mom and dad had all but given up on creating conversation. It wasn't some kind of awkward tension, or even the aftermath of some big fight, rather it was the absence of emotion and it traveled in the air, through skulls and brains and wafted in the stale recycled air of the poorly heated van. As time wound down, so did the winding Indiana roads into a small suburban neighborhood the name of which is of very little importance. What is important is a particular resident which the family planned to visit. Nestled away in this sad little suburban neighborhood was a man whom mom had met in graduate school. Perceval Lowell, with his dentures, wrinkled skin and curious glasses. He looked much older than he was, only forty-three but gnarled and tossed around in life to appear seventy.
II
The roads curved slightly, and dad was somewhat carsick. To dad, ?somewhat carsick? is puking every seventy miles, and he did. To mom, this was sad, but she loved driving, loved the road, and always made sure to check up on dad's health in an almost compulsive manner. The kids played nice, it seemed. Later in life maybe they'd become drug addicts, slackers or even wealthy business people. The kids could become anyone, but for now they plugged away at gameboys and pretended to read books by the Bronte sisters. Advanced placement courses are a horrendous joke, our class-based education system working at its best. Mom, Dad and the kids were tired but began to wind up the driveway of Perceval's house. The brick house was beautiful. Not in the grandiose Victorian mansion sort of way, but rather because it was a quaint and beautiful home surrounded by statues and lawn ornaments. The window shutters were painted dark green and carved within were gnomes and goblins and all manner of enchanted creatures. Hobbling out of the van, Mom, Dad, the kids ? still playing gameboys, novels far beyond their comprehension still tucked under their arms. The overtired family began to glow upon wobbling unto Percy's doorstep. Mom rang the doorbell, excited as all hell, maybe a bit nervous.
III
It must have been over thirty seconds before Perceval woke from his nap and excitedly threw the door open. He opened his arms to the dear family.
?ROBERT, you lovely young man. You're getting so darn old. What's this? Withering Heights? Why you brilliant little thing?
?Little Jilly, sweetie, Jane Eyre! Oh my, you've both grown into little scholars I'm afraid?
The kids half-smiled and bashfully ground their feet into the ground. Percy welcomed the family in and Mom and Dad talked with him near his beautiful cozy fireplace. The house was as awesomely mystical yet simultaneously welcoming on the inside as it was outside. Percy handed each of the kids presents, neatly wrapped in newspaper. They shook the boxes, no clue as to the contents and plunked down on the gorgeous red upholstered sofa. Perceval turned to the kids once again, briefly breaking from the exhausted mom and dad.
?I think you're going to like those gifts, they're puzzles, but not like the video games you play at home. They may not seem like much at first, but they're truly fun and I made them myself?
The kids smiled and graciously unwrapped the gifts, looking curiously at the tangled metal objects that they'd been presented with. They wondered intensely, academically, like little scholars, completely abandoned from creativity. Percy glanced only a few more concerned moments at the children before continuing banter with Mom and Dad.
IV
Not long after giving the gifts, Perceval showed the family the rooms they'd be staying in. The kids would stay in the cellar, which was far from uncomfortable. Lined along the shelves were books which made little sense to them. Preparing for bed, they removed a few of the dusty tomes from the massive shelves, only to discover the words were organized in ways they didn't understand. The only experience the kids had with this kind of writing was an extra-curricular writing class their parents had suggested they take one year before, in their last year of middle school. The kids examined the words with curiosity that reignited their childish creativity. The poems were beautiful, Percy had hand selected them years before. They were his own and he still secretly cherished them, his most beautiful and most unpublished (unpublishable) works.
V
And after some time Percy lead Mom and Dad down to the cellar to tuck the kids into bed. They tucked the books away beside the bed and grew tired after the countless ungodly hours on the road. Percy noted the books they'd secured and smiled wryly, laughing slightly and heading up the stairs with Mom and Dad. Everyone slept very well. The next morning, the kids, in their boredom, began to fiddle with their metal toys. Each consisted of three interlocking metal rings. The object of these toys was a game, they concluded. In order to win, they would have to separate the each ring. They struggled immensely, bending the rings every which way and even attempting the bend the metal in order to achieve success.
VI
Being punctual was very important to Dad. Soon, the family would leave Perceval's home. Percy welcomed them all to a gorgeous breakfast; omelets, sausage, waffles and all matter of bagels, pastries and cereals. The kids were happy, they felt some how very content and revitalized. Mom and Dad seemed happy, too, but they both had work to attend to. Bidding Percy good bye they reluctantly entered the minivan which now seemed sterile and distant. The conversation which followed the drive home was astonishingly fruitful. The kids braved up and fielded questions to Mom about grad school. Dad stopped vomiting long enough to crack a few jokes, and they even got lost a few times.
?What was Percy like back in school mom??
?It's been so long... I'm not sure I even remember?
?Did he have a beard??
?Well, he was starting one ? and really into beatnic poetry?
As the mood shifted, so did the sky, back to familiar territory -- back home, a prison now slightly easier to live in. Hell a few degrees cooler, and all they had was time.
