Today I almost died.
Jeff Porter looked at what he had typed on his laptop screen and hit the backspace key. He knew he wanted to write about it. He felt as though he needed to write about it. But he didn’t feel like the first person narrative was the way to go, even though the story of his brush with death this morning was undoubtedly a personal one.
Vance Marco laughed in the face of death.
This opening line was left as is. Something about replacing himself with a made up character made Porter feel like he would be able to write something substantial. Writing was cathartic for him. He knew full well that if he ever wanted to move past what happened, he would need to write about it. But Jeff Porter was an author, not a teenage girl, so this didn’t need to be a diary entry.
Vance Marco laughed in the face of death. At least, he always thought he would have. So it came as no surprise to him that he let loose something akin to an excited school-girl giggle as he tackled the man holding him at gunpoint. With a swift sweeping motion, Marco knocked his assailant’s legs out from under him. It wasn’t until the gunshot went off that he realized he would have to check his devil-may-care attitude and worry about everyone else in the liquor store.
He briefly glanced around and cased the scene. There were four other customers. A middle aged couple, and a mother with her young son. He had no idea what the mother thought she was doing with her son in the liquor store. Didn’t she know what a healthy dose of whiskey could do to a young man’s life? Vance Marco did, but having beaten back his own alcoholic demons, he laughed in the face of that too.
There was also the shopkeeper, but he was already dead, having tried to pull a gun on the large man in the ski-mask. One was dead already, and Vance Marco was going to make sure that there was one more corpse before the night was over. His attacker’s.
“You’re writing about it baby?”
Porter turned around and looked at his wife. He nodded silently.
“That’s good Jeff. Real good. It’ll help.”
Being married to a shrink was a mixed back for Porter, but right now, it helped. He knew she was right, she always was. Unfortunately he also knew that it would take a long time. “Hopefully.” He muttered. “Hopefully it’ll at least start to help.”
“I know we talked about it already, but if you wanted to talk about it some more… you know I’m always here for you baby. Always.” She paused a bit. “And I won’t even charge.”
The weak psychiatrist humor cracked Porter’s darkened demeanor, but only momentarily. “Thanks Ali, I know it. But right now, I just need to… I dunno… work this out.”
“Of course.” Alison nodded understandingly. “I’m not going anywhere, but I’ll heat up dinner. The Chinese from two nights ago work for you?”
Porter nodded absentmindedly as he went back to his writing....
Like what you're reading? Think it's already pretty weak but want to see what's going on anyway? If so, just click the download link below for a fully formated PDF of the story.
The purpose of this website is for me to get my writing out to people who I think might like it, or at least be able to give me legitimate feedback. Hopefully, the purpose of this site can eventually change into an online portfolio of sorts... but who knows. One thing at a time. First my friends and family, then the world.
So click away, and let me know what you think in the comments section below!
Thanks for reading,
Shawn
Monday, July 2, 2007
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