This Is For You My Love - A Very Short Story

AgentDrex · Dec 10, 2012

This was going to be his last chance to make a first impression. Dylan had spent all morning prepping himself. He combed his hair into a new style, splashed himself with just enough of the expensive, new cologne he bought yesterday for just this occasion and had been practicing the lines that would make her fall madly in love with him.

Jenny knew that Dylan was crushing on her badly and truth-be-told, she found herself quite attracted to him as well. It was hard not to find a certain appeal with the smartest kid in school regardless whether his face was like a cheap, frozen sausage pizza you can buy at some sleazy, off-the-beaten-path gas station. He would grow out of it as most men do and would surely grow to be a handsome young man like the ones in all of her Glamour magazines she kept in pristine but well-read condition under her bed at home. Even though his parents were loaded with cash like a shark has teeth, his brains would likely land him a well-paid and respected career. Jenny liked everything about Dylan except his seemingly unwillingness to strike up a conversation with her.

The bell rang for first hour class. Jenny had been waiting at the locker for Dylan to pass her by on his way to Science class as usual but she would be late for English and so, with a sunken heart, she grabbed her books and closed the locker door behind her as she hurried to class.

Fifteen minutes late, Dylan rushed into Science class which had already split into lab groups. He'd have to be the fifth member with the dumb jocks who were always goofing around, never learning but somehow still managed to pass classes. He looked over at the group he should have been in had it not been for the house alarm failing once again. They paid no attention to his woeful glare as they were fixated on the eruptive reaction between the cola and breath-mint combination they chose to study. Meanwhile, Dylan was stuck explaining, once again, what an Erlenmeyer flask is useful for.

It was lunchtime and Dylan hurried as quick as he could without getting in trouble with the aging and ill-tempered hall monitors. Dylan briskly navigated the hallways and students that stood between him and reciting the romantic mantra that would undoubtedly win him the heart of the flaxen-haired, dainty-footed Jenny. He walked into the increasingly noisy cafeteria and noticed that the table Jenny and her friends always sat at was clearly devoid of said Jenny. They giggled something about a handsome man picking her up for lunch and so Dylan, with a stomach no longer aching for food, decided to go back to his locker to wait for Jenny's return to school.

Jenny had her brother drive her to the bookstore even though she was scared of her brother's inability to drive well. If Dylan wouldn't talk to her of his own accord, Jenny was going to get him to talk to her one way or the other. Ten minutes of walking up and down the aisles, she finally settled on buying him a copy of Stephen Hawking's "The Universe in a Nutshell". She was sure he would find something about this book to talk about even though it seemed to her to be a cure for insomnia.

The thudded sound that sent shivers down Dylan's spine as he had closed his locker door, ready to give up on Jenny returning to school before he had to be in gym class, made him race to the entrance. Smoke was drifting across the lawn like a fog hiding ghost lepers looking for gold. His heart shriveled up as he saw the car plunged into a telephone pole and the flaxen-hair of Jenny making a half-hearted exit out through the windshield. As he floated quickly to the car, Dylan could hear the sirens in the distance that were meant to take away his last chance to make a first impression. He attempted to open the passenger door which had its windows busted out but it was crumpled shut. With a dying whistle-muttered voice, Jenny pushed the book towards him across her bloody, glass-filled lap, "This is for you my love." Before the ambulance arrived, Dylan was able to tell her what he had been practicing for the whole day, "Words alone cannot express my attraction to you. I may not be a strong man or a handsome man but my love will be true. Will you give me a chance and be mine?" As she took her last breath and with a tear falling down, Jenny sputtered, "Yes!" With tears in his eyes, Dylan leaned in and kissed her on the shoulder. This lone kiss had been his last chance to make a first impression.

Derrel · Dec 10, 2012

[video=dailymotion;xvdca]http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xvdca_pearl-jam-last-kiss_music[/video]

AgentDrex · Dec 10, 2012

Thanks man!!!

mishele · Dec 10, 2012

:thumbup:

AgentDrex · Dec 10, 2012

Why so sad, was it that bad? I'm not a published author for a reason I am sure. I like to practice however. Any technical critiques at all?

mishele · Dec 10, 2012

Why sad? The chick dies in a bloody mess w/ a guy telling her how he feels. What emotion were you looking for?

ceeboy14 · Dec 10, 2012

Rewrite this using only 7 ly words, 7 adjectives and 7 adverbs, then get a book on grammar and place your quotes in the right place. The absolute worst enemy to the writer is words and most often the troublesome words are the modifiers. Always too many and nearly always at the wrong place. They don't just obsfucate the intent of the passage, they kill a reader's interest. To me, it is like reading sing-song mock Chinese.

By the by, you will see me make lots of grammatical typo errors on the forum but it is not because I am a lousy speller, moreso I am a horrid typist.

AgentDrex · Dec 10, 2012

I hear you about the modifiers. I just really seem to relish the sleazy, b-rated read sometimes, "...a cheap, frozen sausage pizza you can buy at some sleazy, off-the-beaten-path gas station." (hilarious). I will, however, refrain from doing that in the future. Those are good practice tips by the way with the 7/7/7 re-write. I will do that soon.

Yes, that was along the lines of the emotion I was hoping to stir. I'm usually in the habit of waiting until it's too late to tell someone how I feel for them. So I just exaggerated my own tragedy in this little story.

ceeboy14 · Dec 10, 2012

You can only stir emotion through allowing the reader to feel what you are trying to convey. You do that by showing the reader that emotion...feel the tears, feel the hands tearing at the door. Telling me what you see is not letting me become a part of the scene. Thus, I am gone.

AgentDrex · Dec 10, 2012

Point well received and duly noted. I will keep that in mind for my writing from now on.

ceeboy14 · Dec 11, 2012

I'm coming to MN the early part of summer to pick up a travel trailer in Backus. Is that anywhere near your area? Looks like beautiful country.

ceeboy14 · Dec 11, 2012

This was going to be his last chance to make a first impression. Dylan had spent all morning prepping himself. He combed his hair into a new style, splashed himself with just enough of the expensive, new cologne he bought yesterday for just this occasion and had been practicing the lines that would make her fall madly in love with him.

The fine toothed comb slid effortless through Dylan’s carefully manicured hair, hair he had sculpted into pure perfection by his sister, hair which she assured him would bring his dream girl, Jenny Dalton to her knees in utter submission.

(Detail in the comb and though the hair is manicured, it is done so by his sister. Dylan isn’t particularly well-to-do, or perhaps he’s just a dweeb trying to make a champagne impression on a beer budget. Part of this can be seen because he’s listening to his sister’s advice. Jenny has a last name because the last name personifies her as that person and not just some girl named Jenny.)

Mirrored reflection, Dylan noted, had an odd way of revealing every major and minor flaw on his face. Rather than pick at his blemishes as per his usual behavior he patted his face softly with newly purchased and quite expensive cologne, wincing open mouthed with a low yelp, then danced crazily for a quick moment as the alcohol collided angrily with freshly scraped skin. His eyes watered for a brief moment. He breathed again.

(Dylan knows he’s not the most handsome guy in the world so he tries to compensate his lack of Adonis-ness with cheap tricks, one such trick that temporarily backfires on him…is this going to be a part of his persona? I think it just might.)

With one very decided, almost assured final look, Dylan regained his bravado, musing smugly at an anticipated response…”oh Dylan, my darling, Dylan,” when he confessed his love to Jenny.

(Now, seven lines into the story, we know who Dylan is, who he is trying to impress, her name, his name and enough about his personality to begin to decide if we are going to like him and cheer him on as a hero, or like him enough to see how badly he can screw up something as simple as applying cologne.)

This is a hatchet job on a hatchet job, so to speak but I am a reader, not a writer. Like a coffee taster, I could never drink other people’s coffee nor use alcohol or tobacco products which would change my taste receptors. I read only what comes across my “desk.”

Rather than telling the reader what Dylan is trying to accomplish, I’ve shown them a glimpse of his overall being. So far, the reader knows doodlely-squat about Jenny and what it is about her that drives Dylan to doing an acid burn on his face, but in a small way, gives the reader a plausible reason to read seven more lines.

You could almost tell the whole submission in his prepping for the anticipated encounter with Jenny, saving the last as either a reflection within a reflection, or as a story told by another – Throw Momma from the Train – one of my favorites.

Good luck!