(no subject)
Here is the short story that I used for my final in creative writing. Give me some comments and criticism please.
After Rain Comes the Flood
A Short Story
By: Steven Younkins
It was a Sunday. It had been raining the last six days incessantly, and all our faces bore the wear. The road was closed on account of construction, since they’re replacing the old stone-work bridges with four-lane monoliths. You know, I don’t think the river much cared either way, and it didn’t make much difference. Even if they’d been building a dam the construction still would’ve been halted. The water had risen several feet above flood stage, and the retaining walls for each base shaft of the five massive pylons would have to be drained.
No one in their right mind would’ve been out here yesterday, but today the opaque sky had cracked and if you tried really hard, you could almost tell that the sun was setting. Amber.
The trees across the river had lost most of their leaves to the squall. Their bodies were weather-worn and scarred by shrapnel; their leaves floating face down on the river, lost to endless currents. They are so barren, so still. I’d seen them all renewed before with the glow of spring fresh on their branches, but now they stand as young stoics, as emotionless soldiers, cold and still.
Why so still young men? You are always dying, but never dead.
Rooney, Paul, and I sat on the end of this half-finished span, our usual haunt. Rebar jutted out crisscrossed between my dangling legs. I looked down. The water level was still elevated. The smell of long stagnate sediment and carrion being stirred to the surface tore at my nose and eyes. Bits of wood and siding, a picture frame, and what looked like a colander drifted down stream. A small reminder. I spit, adding to the flood and then laid back to watch the sky fall apart like everything else. The clouds moved quickly west to east and the wind was still gusting every now and again. Rooney stood against the far end of the expanse, his Marlboro Red mostly ash in his hand.
He took a drag. “I hear the state won’t be sending any help our ways until at least Tuesday,” I said. “Just hope we get something from the National Guard or Red Cross or someone.”
“Fuck the National Guard,” Rooney said. “They don’t give a damn about anything that goes on in the middle of nowhere,” he exhaled smoke with every word into the already heavy and humid air.
Paul stood at the edge, hands at his sides, staring at the water, watching the debris flow past the bridge foundations. The better part of an uprooted tree made its way down the comparatively docile current. He just stood there with his head tilted just off to the left, eyes almost glossed and his mouth not quite shut. He muttered something almost incomprehensible.
“I’m gonna jump.”
...
“They’ll give a damn when their bay is clogged up by Western Maryland Yellow Pages,” I said.
Rooney shot a crooked grin in my direction.
“They won’t. Those Eastern Shore shit heads will take one look at the cover and say, ‘There’s a Western Maryland?’”
I laughed; for the first time in what could have been years, I truly laughed. We were just shadows upon that bridge, nearly as constant as the trees and concrete. We always have been, I guess. Paul turned towards me. His eyes were red, bloodshot. He quivered as he spoke.
“Everything I own is ruined. I’ve got no house, no car, no job. Ya know… my dog is missing. I had an un-cashed paycheck sitting by the door. That’s gone, it’s all gone,” He hung his head. “I don’t have anywhere to go home to. What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
I sat up to look at him. “Man, I don’t know. No one does. We’ve all lost a lot, but what good is this gonna do?”
“Shit, Chris. If he wants to cry, let him.” Rooney said, lighting another Red from his waning cigarette. He flicked the dead filter into the water.
“Karen is gone. My own goddamned sister and I couldn’t hold on to her. She’s probably drowned or dead or worse and I couldn’t do anything. I can’t do this anymore! Things shouldn’t be like this!”
I got up and started to walk towards him. I put my hand out, reaching for him to calm down. “Dude, it’ll be alright, I’m sure she’s fine.”
“Why lie to him, man? We all know she’s probably dead and having the time of her life!”
“Shut up Rooney! That’s not funny.” I turned back to Paul, “Things are gonna work out, they always do. We’ll be all right. Nothing is wrong that can’t be fixed.”
“Good luck resurrecting his sister, Jesus!” he called. “While you’re at it, turn back time and stop this storm from ruining our fucking lives!”
A gust of wind blew the hair out of Paul’s face.
“Rooney is right, man. I can’t do this.” Paul turned away from me, shut his eyes, put his hands in his jacket pockets and said, “I’m gonna jump. I have to.”
“Don’t joke, Paul.”
“Just do it, you asshole.”
“I’ll never see the other side of this bridge, I might as well see what’s underneath it.” Paul looked down into the water. He kicked a concrete chip into the water and watched the ripples radiate from crest to crest of the swiftly moving river.
“You can’t just try to go from peak to peak man. You’ve gotta hit those lows to understand just how to appreciate the heights.” I was failing.
“You’ve been a good friend, Chris. Maybe I’ll see you again.”
“Paul.” I started to raise my voice.
He edged closer to the ledge.
“Let him jump. He’ll never hit the water.”
Rooney didn’t even try to stop him, instead trying to blow smoke rings.
“Paul. Don’t. What the hell are you thinking?!”
He looked at me, shut his eyes once more, and smiled.
“NO!” I lunged; I missed.
He jumped.
A stray piece of gnarled rebar caught him on his fall, through his back and under his ribs. Another snagged him on the right arm, locking him in the mesh. His mouth was moving as he bled into the river, drop by drop by drop by drop. I couldn’t stand to watch. I wished to be at the bottom of the river. I gagged and tried to stifle the vomit. Blood began to spill past his lips.
Rooney casually walked up to the edge, right over my fallen friend. “Hmm. I told you he wouldn’t hit the water.” He took another drag.
“Bastard! Why didn’t you try to stop him?”
“How could I? I’m only in his head, same as you.” He leaned his head over the edge and whistled an echo off the muddy sloped walls of the ravine. The mountains were slowly eroding into the river, like everything else. “Looks like we won’t get to see the other side of this bridge either.”
Paul’s lips stopped moving, his eyes sunk back into his head and, through the bloody build-up in his mouth, he let out a final sputtering breath.
“Shit.” I said.
...
Everything was still and cold. The wind had picked up again, sustaining a constant howl. The clouds breaking over the mountains were folding over and pushing ever higher an endless wall of grey and white.
“You couldn’t save him. You can’t save him. You won’t stop him from jumping.” Rooney said now standing beside me overlooking Paul’s mangled frame.
“At least I still try. We both know that if we don’t stop him then we will be here forever.”
“He is already dead.”
“Always dying, never dead.” I said.
...
“I’m gonna jump,” Paul said. He stood with us again on the bridge. His wounds healed, his shoulders slumped, his face hidden behind his hair. He was crying once more. He was always crying.
“For god’s sake, Rooney! Can’t you just try to help for once? We’ll all be stuck like this forever!”
“Maybe your meddling interventionist bullshit is what’s keeping us here.” Rooney snapped.
“If he just wants to die then why not push him over? You are as tied to him, to me, as we all are to this place, this infinite fucking loop!”
“I’m gonna jump.” Paul repeated.
“Well?” Rooney said. I sat down, legs crossed.
“Let him do what he will.” I said.
Rooney placed his hand on my shoulder.
“It’s better this way.” I stood up, pulling away.
“Right,” I said.
Paul looked at us, serene, honest. He stepped towards the ledge, gazing off into a sort of blind self reflection.
We’ll see you soon,” I said, Rooney just nodding.
I couldn’t watch. I’ve seen it a thousand times over, the reoccurring nightmare haunting my every day. His twisted corpse slowly draining into the river, the river to the bay, the bay to the ocean and that ocean into another bay and another river and right back to us. I turned away. I heard him fall, heard him cough. I didn’t need to see it even once more.
“You can look now; he’s dead again.” Rooney said to me with an unfamiliar harrowed timbre in his voice. Paul died with that jump. His torment was over.
“Rooney?” I called.
“Yeah, Chris?” he replied.
“Are we haunting this place or is this place haunting us?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think we ever will.”
“Damn.” Rooney flicked his last cigarette into the expanse.
“I wonder where he’s gone to.” I let my words trail off into the water as echoes.
“Depends whether there is anything else out there.” Rooney said.
“Only one way to find out.” I said, walking over to the edge. Rooney stood next to me. I looked at him.
“I guess I’ll see you later.” Rooney said.
“Maybe.” After a deep breath, Rooney jumped. I followed, but we never hit the water. The world flooded in behind us; the river, swelling, broke and boiled. The clouds all fell like stones shattering on the water and the mountains cracked, crumbled and dissolved. Our world fell like a drop of rain into a sea of emptiness.
-Steve
After Rain Comes the Flood
A Short Story
By: Steven Younkins
It was a Sunday. It had been raining the last six days incessantly, and all our faces bore the wear. The road was closed on account of construction, since they’re replacing the old stone-work bridges with four-lane monoliths. You know, I don’t think the river much cared either way, and it didn’t make much difference. Even if they’d been building a dam the construction still would’ve been halted. The water had risen several feet above flood stage, and the retaining walls for each base shaft of the five massive pylons would have to be drained.
No one in their right mind would’ve been out here yesterday, but today the opaque sky had cracked and if you tried really hard, you could almost tell that the sun was setting. Amber.
The trees across the river had lost most of their leaves to the squall. Their bodies were weather-worn and scarred by shrapnel; their leaves floating face down on the river, lost to endless currents. They are so barren, so still. I’d seen them all renewed before with the glow of spring fresh on their branches, but now they stand as young stoics, as emotionless soldiers, cold and still.
Why so still young men? You are always dying, but never dead.
Rooney, Paul, and I sat on the end of this half-finished span, our usual haunt. Rebar jutted out crisscrossed between my dangling legs. I looked down. The water level was still elevated. The smell of long stagnate sediment and carrion being stirred to the surface tore at my nose and eyes. Bits of wood and siding, a picture frame, and what looked like a colander drifted down stream. A small reminder. I spit, adding to the flood and then laid back to watch the sky fall apart like everything else. The clouds moved quickly west to east and the wind was still gusting every now and again. Rooney stood against the far end of the expanse, his Marlboro Red mostly ash in his hand.
He took a drag. “I hear the state won’t be sending any help our ways until at least Tuesday,” I said. “Just hope we get something from the National Guard or Red Cross or someone.”
“Fuck the National Guard,” Rooney said. “They don’t give a damn about anything that goes on in the middle of nowhere,” he exhaled smoke with every word into the already heavy and humid air.
Paul stood at the edge, hands at his sides, staring at the water, watching the debris flow past the bridge foundations. The better part of an uprooted tree made its way down the comparatively docile current. He just stood there with his head tilted just off to the left, eyes almost glossed and his mouth not quite shut. He muttered something almost incomprehensible.
“I’m gonna jump.”
...
“They’ll give a damn when their bay is clogged up by Western Maryland Yellow Pages,” I said.
Rooney shot a crooked grin in my direction.
“They won’t. Those Eastern Shore shit heads will take one look at the cover and say, ‘There’s a Western Maryland?’”
I laughed; for the first time in what could have been years, I truly laughed. We were just shadows upon that bridge, nearly as constant as the trees and concrete. We always have been, I guess. Paul turned towards me. His eyes were red, bloodshot. He quivered as he spoke.
“Everything I own is ruined. I’ve got no house, no car, no job. Ya know… my dog is missing. I had an un-cashed paycheck sitting by the door. That’s gone, it’s all gone,” He hung his head. “I don’t have anywhere to go home to. What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
I sat up to look at him. “Man, I don’t know. No one does. We’ve all lost a lot, but what good is this gonna do?”
“Shit, Chris. If he wants to cry, let him.” Rooney said, lighting another Red from his waning cigarette. He flicked the dead filter into the water.
“Karen is gone. My own goddamned sister and I couldn’t hold on to her. She’s probably drowned or dead or worse and I couldn’t do anything. I can’t do this anymore! Things shouldn’t be like this!”
I got up and started to walk towards him. I put my hand out, reaching for him to calm down. “Dude, it’ll be alright, I’m sure she’s fine.”
“Why lie to him, man? We all know she’s probably dead and having the time of her life!”
“Shut up Rooney! That’s not funny.” I turned back to Paul, “Things are gonna work out, they always do. We’ll be all right. Nothing is wrong that can’t be fixed.”
“Good luck resurrecting his sister, Jesus!” he called. “While you’re at it, turn back time and stop this storm from ruining our fucking lives!”
A gust of wind blew the hair out of Paul’s face.
“Rooney is right, man. I can’t do this.” Paul turned away from me, shut his eyes, put his hands in his jacket pockets and said, “I’m gonna jump. I have to.”
“Don’t joke, Paul.”
“Just do it, you asshole.”
“I’ll never see the other side of this bridge, I might as well see what’s underneath it.” Paul looked down into the water. He kicked a concrete chip into the water and watched the ripples radiate from crest to crest of the swiftly moving river.
“You can’t just try to go from peak to peak man. You’ve gotta hit those lows to understand just how to appreciate the heights.” I was failing.
“You’ve been a good friend, Chris. Maybe I’ll see you again.”
“Paul.” I started to raise my voice.
He edged closer to the ledge.
“Let him jump. He’ll never hit the water.”
Rooney didn’t even try to stop him, instead trying to blow smoke rings.
“Paul. Don’t. What the hell are you thinking?!”
He looked at me, shut his eyes once more, and smiled.
“NO!” I lunged; I missed.
He jumped.
A stray piece of gnarled rebar caught him on his fall, through his back and under his ribs. Another snagged him on the right arm, locking him in the mesh. His mouth was moving as he bled into the river, drop by drop by drop by drop. I couldn’t stand to watch. I wished to be at the bottom of the river. I gagged and tried to stifle the vomit. Blood began to spill past his lips.
Rooney casually walked up to the edge, right over my fallen friend. “Hmm. I told you he wouldn’t hit the water.” He took another drag.
“Bastard! Why didn’t you try to stop him?”
“How could I? I’m only in his head, same as you.” He leaned his head over the edge and whistled an echo off the muddy sloped walls of the ravine. The mountains were slowly eroding into the river, like everything else. “Looks like we won’t get to see the other side of this bridge either.”
Paul’s lips stopped moving, his eyes sunk back into his head and, through the bloody build-up in his mouth, he let out a final sputtering breath.
“Shit.” I said.
...
Everything was still and cold. The wind had picked up again, sustaining a constant howl. The clouds breaking over the mountains were folding over and pushing ever higher an endless wall of grey and white.
“You couldn’t save him. You can’t save him. You won’t stop him from jumping.” Rooney said now standing beside me overlooking Paul’s mangled frame.
“At least I still try. We both know that if we don’t stop him then we will be here forever.”
“He is already dead.”
“Always dying, never dead.” I said.
...
“I’m gonna jump,” Paul said. He stood with us again on the bridge. His wounds healed, his shoulders slumped, his face hidden behind his hair. He was crying once more. He was always crying.
“For god’s sake, Rooney! Can’t you just try to help for once? We’ll all be stuck like this forever!”
“Maybe your meddling interventionist bullshit is what’s keeping us here.” Rooney snapped.
“If he just wants to die then why not push him over? You are as tied to him, to me, as we all are to this place, this infinite fucking loop!”
“I’m gonna jump.” Paul repeated.
“Well?” Rooney said. I sat down, legs crossed.
“Let him do what he will.” I said.
Rooney placed his hand on my shoulder.
“It’s better this way.” I stood up, pulling away.
“Right,” I said.
Paul looked at us, serene, honest. He stepped towards the ledge, gazing off into a sort of blind self reflection.
We’ll see you soon,” I said, Rooney just nodding.
I couldn’t watch. I’ve seen it a thousand times over, the reoccurring nightmare haunting my every day. His twisted corpse slowly draining into the river, the river to the bay, the bay to the ocean and that ocean into another bay and another river and right back to us. I turned away. I heard him fall, heard him cough. I didn’t need to see it even once more.
“You can look now; he’s dead again.” Rooney said to me with an unfamiliar harrowed timbre in his voice. Paul died with that jump. His torment was over.
“Rooney?” I called.
“Yeah, Chris?” he replied.
“Are we haunting this place or is this place haunting us?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think we ever will.”
“Damn.” Rooney flicked his last cigarette into the expanse.
“I wonder where he’s gone to.” I let my words trail off into the water as echoes.
“Depends whether there is anything else out there.” Rooney said.
“Only one way to find out.” I said, walking over to the edge. Rooney stood next to me. I looked at him.
“I guess I’ll see you later.” Rooney said.
“Maybe.” After a deep breath, Rooney jumped. I followed, but we never hit the water. The world flooded in behind us; the river, swelling, broke and boiled. The clouds all fell like stones shattering on the water and the mountains cracked, crumbled and dissolved. Our world fell like a drop of rain into a sea of emptiness.
-Steve