Oh, and of course, thank you for the kind comments on my previous story!
Title: Scar Stories
Warnings: mentions of war and violence
Summary: It's storytime, and the grandchildren want to know about the scars.
Length: 2,460 words
Notes: This isn't really in any point of view, because it's only dialogue. It's also not really in any tense, because it's only dialogue. I'm not sure what the genre is, but since its defining feature is that it only has dialogue I am going to place it in the genre of "dialogue only". ;)
Scar Stories
“Grandpa, tell us a story, please!”
“Okay, okay, Tommy! No need to tug on my sleeve like that. This dress shirt is made of very fine material. Do you want to know where it came from?”
“We know that already.”
“Ya told us dat story a’ready, Grandpa.”
“I did! Well there’s just no way to please you two, is there?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“If you told us a new story you could please us!”
“I suppose I could tell you – whoa, Pippa, did I say you could climb all over me?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“No matter. You don’t weigh much more than a feather anyway.”
“I weigh as mucha an el’phant!”
“Sure, sure.”
“Grandpa, we wanna hear a story.”
“Patience, Tommy – let an old man think. Do you want a true story or a pretend one?”
“Twoo!”
“True is always better!”
“You two sure know what you want! Okay, true it is then. Let’s see –”
“What’s dat?”
“That’s my arm, Pippa. I know it’s wrinkled, but surely you know what an arm is, now that you’re three.”
“No, I mean, what’s dat?”
“No, I mean, what’s dat?”
“Oh, that’s a scar. It’s what’s left over after an injury.”
….
“Do you want to know where that came from?”
“Ooh, yes!”
“Story! Story! Story!”
“Okay. Come here, Tommy. You can sit next to me. And Pippa, stop climbing around. Settle down. There we go.
“I got this scar when I was about your age, Tommy. I was seven, I think.”
“Then you were younger than me! I can’t believe you were ever that small. I was that small, but not anymore. Did Mommy tell you I’m eight now?”
“Yes! You’re sure growing up fast. I gave you that chemistry set, remember?”
“Uh-huh. I made something blow up yesterday.”
“Oh dear. Was anything too badly damaged?”
“No, but now Mommy makes me play with it outside. And I do ‘cause I don’t want her to be more upseter than she is already.”
“That’s probably for the best.”
“What’s da story?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Pippa. We got sidetracked. Anyway, I got this scar when I was about seven. It was a hot summer day. My mother – your great-grandmother – was working on something upstairs, and I was bored and hungry. I was staring out the window when I saw my neighbor put something on the windowsill.”
“What was it?”
“A freshly baked, fragrant apple pie. I could smell it from where I was sitting. My neighbor had put it out to cool.
“Only our driveway separated my house from my neighbor’s. We didn’t have a fence. It would be so easy to walk across the driveway and take a bit of my neighbor’s pie. I wasn’t planning on taking all of it – I thought if I just ran up there and took a piece, she’d figure squirrels ate a bit of it or something.”
“Grandpa! Ya were gonna steal da pie?”
“Now don’t be getting any ideas from this, either of you! Stealing something never ends up well. You’ll see just how badly things turned out for me.
“I crept out of the house. I made sure to be really quiet, even though there’s no way my mother could have heard me. As I went out the front door, all I could think about was how tasty the pie would be and how exciting it would be to get away with it. I wasn’t thinking anymore about looking out for dangers, real or imagined.”
“Uh-oh – what happened?”
“Well, I was across the driveway and almost to the windowsill when I suddenly heard a dog barking. I realized that it had been barking for a while, but I hadn’t paid any attention to it. But this time I had to pay attention.”
“Why?”
“Because it was running right towards me, fangs bared and looking really, really angry. It must’ve known I was planning on stealing that pie.”
“How?”
“I’m not sure. Sometimes dogs just know things. Hasn’t Spot ever surprised you by knowing something?”
“Yeah. He always knows where the dog treats are, even when we hides them when he’s not lookin’.”
“There you go! This dog was just the same, except it knew when people were going to steal the pies. So it ran at me, and I got scared.”
“You? Scared?”
“Haha. We all get scared, Tommy, even me. And I had good reason!
“So when the dog ran at me, I ran to the pie and tried to pick it up, but I couldn’t quite reach the windowsill. And then the dog was onto me. It bit my arm really hard and growled at me, and I ran all the way back inside my house, crying.”
“So dis is from where the dog bit at you?”
“That’s right. See how it’s kind of circular? And if you look really close here, you can see the dog’s teeth.”
“Did you get in trouble? Did the dog?”
“My mother was too worried to ask any questions at first. But after she bandaged my arm, she asked me what had happened. I told her the truth – because you should never lie, even if the truth will get you in trouble – and then she was mad. But not so much at me – she was mad at the dog. Later she yelled at my neighbor to keep her dog on a leash and under better control, and my neighbor yelled back and said to keep me on a leash so I couldn’t steal her pies. I’m not sure how she found out that I was trying to steal her pie, but I made sure to never try again.”
“Is that why you don’t pet Spot?”
“What do you mean? I pet Spot plenty.”
“Nuh-uh. Tommy’s right. You don’t like Spot.”
“Is it ‘cause that dog bit you?”
“You two are relentless. I still say I like Spot, but I suppose I can admit that I am wary of most dogs’ teeth.”
“What about dis, Grandpa? Is it from a dog, too?”
“Oh, this scar? No. See how it looks different?”
“Yeah, it’s all diff’rent colors.”
“That’s because it’s from a burn. Burns scar differently than dog bites.”
“How did the burn happen?”
“You two up for another story?”
“Always!”
“Story! Story! Story!”
“Heh. All right. So this scar happened when I was seventeen. I was on my first date.”
“With Grandma?”
“No, no, this was way before Grandma. This girl’s name was Suzy, I think. She had long curly brown hair. That’s all I remember about her, but I do remember our date very vividly, because it was such a fiasco.”
“Fiasco?”
“A mess.”
“Why was it a fiasco?”
“Well, things were going okay. We were talking, and then a waiter came over to take our order. Suzy ordered minestrone soup and I ordered some sort of chicken. It turned out that Suzy was a vegetarian – she didn’t eat meat – and she was insulted that I ordered chicken. And that wasn’t the worst of it. While we waited for our food, we kept on disagreeing about everything. By the time our food came, we were both pretty annoyed with each other.
“The waiter set down my chicken, which Suzy glared at. Then, as he was setting down Suzy’s soup, something happened – his fingers slipped, I don’t know – but he dropped the bowl of soup. I tried to catch it, but I only succeeded in getting burning hot soup all over my hand. Most of it fell on the floor, but some got onto Suzy too. We were both screaming, the waiter was apologizing, everyone was looking… it was crazy.”
“Did you sue the waiter?”
“Who told you about suing somebody, honey?”
“Mommy. She said she’d sue whoever is messin’ up everything, and I asked her what is suing.”
“I see. No, we didn’t sue the waiter. We were too busy at the time and afterward it was so embarrassing that I didn’t want to bring it up again.”
“Did you an’ Suzy date some more?”
“No, Pippa. Neither of us had a very good time, even without the burning soup. That’s for the best, though, because then I was free when I met Grandma. Do you want to hear that story?”
“We know dat story a’ready, too.”
“Yeah, you’ve told us so many times.”
“You two should are hard to please! I used to get away with repeating stories when you were younger.”
“That’s probably why we know them all now!”
“Probably.”
“What’s da story be’ind dis scar?”
“What, that long, thin one on my arm?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s not a very exciting story.”
“But I wanna hear it!”
“It’s really not exciting, and it’s long, too.”
“Oh…”
“See this one here, though? The circular one on my shoulder?”
“Yup.”
“Now that one has a pretty exciting story. Do you want to hear it?”
“Of course!”
“Story! Story! Story!”
“Alright, alright. So… you two know that I fought in the Vietnam War, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, this scar is from a bullet wound.”
“You got shot?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Did it hurt?”
“A lot. But I was lucky I was only shot in the shoulder – it could’ve been much worse.”
“How’d it happen?”
“Well, my platoon – the people who I travelled with – got into a firefight with the enemy. You’re supposed to take cover and shoot, but I didn’t get behind a tree fast enough and one of them got me. I lost track of what happened because it hurt a lot, but one of my friends told me later that the enemy ran away. Then they got me out.”
“Den what?”
“Well, then I got to go to the hospital for a while, until I was well again. And by then the war was almost over.”
“And den you went home an’ met Grandma?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what happened, little one. You really do know that story already. Now, it’s getting late –”
“Nooo!!”
“We wanna hear more!”
“Sorry, but it’s past your bedtime. Your mother would kill me if I let you two stay up any later. She’ll be mad enough as it is!”
“She’d never kill you!”
“Yeah, she likes to hear your stories about raisin’ kids too much. And you comfort her now that she’s lost her job and all…”
“Yes, well, she’ll still get angry. Don’t stall. Off to bed with you!”
“G’nite…”
“Night!”
“Good night! Sleep tight, and don’t let the bedbugs bite!”
…
“Ah, it feels good to walk around a little… Oh, hello, Carol. I didn’t know you were still up.”
“It might be the kids’ bedtime, Dad, but it’s not mine.”
“No, I suppose not. Would you like a hand with the dishes?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
…
“You’re good with the kids, Dad.”
“They’re good kids.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I mean it, Carol. You’re raising them well. I know it’s a hard time for you right now, but don’t lose sight of what’s important.”
“Yeah… They sure love your stories.”
“Yes, but they’re getting smart on me. I’ll have to think of new stories to tell them, now that they’ve tired of the old ones.”
“Scar stories always work – and you’ve got so many scars. However did you get that long, thin one on your arm? I don’t think you’ve ever told me, and I noticed that you didn’t tell Tommy and Pippa.”
“No, and I don’t intend to, at least not until they get a lot older.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not a story that children should hear.”
“Well, I’m not a child anymore.”
“It’s funny, but even now that you have two kids of your own, it’s hard for me to believe that.”
“That’s the problem with parents.”
“Ha! I suppose so.”
“So what’s that scar from?”
…
“I suppose now’s as good a time as any to tell you. It’s from Vietnam
“What is it from?”
“A knife. My own Army knife, actually.”
“How’d you get hurt?”
“It’s self-inflicted.”
“Oh! You mean you… cut yourself?”
“No, nothing like that. Well, not really. What I mean is, it only happened once. I was alone in the jungle – I’d been separated from my platoon somehow. I was afraid, but I was also thinking that this was a good chance to get out of this war. I’d heard about soldiers who shot their own foot or something similar to get out of the war and into a hospital. But I was also afraid to cause myself that much pain. So I decided that cutting my wrist wouldn’t hurt as much as shooting myself in the foot.
“However, at the last moment I chickened out. I only opened a shallow wound on my wrist, not nearly deep enough to get me sent to a hospital, but deep enough to scar. When I found my platoon again, I just made up some story to explain the cut. Just a few days later, we got into that firefight where I was shot, and they ended up sending me to the hospital after all.”
“I see why you don’t tell kids that.”
“Yeah. I’m not very proud of it. They don’t need to know about how ugly war is, or just how desperate their grandfather was.”
“I’m glad you told me, though, Dad.”
“I told you because there’s a moral in this story, Carol, and I want you to listen to it. However bad things may seem, there’s a way out, even if it might be strange, difficult, or unexpected.”
“Are you saying I should slit my wrist and get shot and things will get better?”
“No, sweetheart, and don’t get smart with me. I’m saying that as bad as things get, you should never slit your wrist, because there’s a way out just around the corner.”
“Where’s the way out of this? I’ve lost my job, through no fault of my own, but it’s like they’ve blacklisted me. I’ve been searching for months and absolutely no one will take me. The kids know about it, the whole town knows about it. Where’s the way out?”
“I’m not sure. But there is one, and you’ll find it. And in the meantime, I’ll be here.”
“I know. And I appreciate that. I didn’t mean to whine.”
“It’s okay, sweetheart. We’ve all done things we didn’t mean to do.”
“Yeah. Okay, that’s the last dish. Thanks for the help, Dad. And for the stories… all of them.”
“Of course.”
“I should probably go to sleep now so I’ll be fresh for my job-searching tomorrow.”
“Okay. Good night, Carol.”
“Good night. Oh, and Dad – I’m glad that you didn’t cut your wrist too deep. And not just because I wouldn’t exist if you had.”
“Hmph. I love you, too. Sleep well!”
THE END J
It seemed like a weird idea, but you pulled it off very well, and made it super-engaging! The stories are told so vividly, and it is such a realistic scenario. I also resale like that the scars hold it all together. Finally, the shift from telling stories to kids which was fun and lighthearted to the grandpa telling stories to the mom was surprising, interesting, and made the genre / mood change completely. Great story!
ReplyDeleteAnd it's not too confusing, but it can be easily to make little typos when you're writing a summary fast (and probably very late at night) . Didn't find any in the real story though.
If you need a pov I'd say it's first person narration, because the grandpa is narrating for most of it, is obviously the main character, and we don't get thoughts from any of the others.
No need to tug on my sleeve like that. - without description, you do such a great job letting the dialogue describe for you.
Do you want to know… Nuh-uh. - I love this exchange. The kids are great characters, and this is totally believable!
No matter. You don’t weigh much … I weigh as mucha an el’phant! - again, great way to describe and to show their relationship before delving into the stories!
Twoo! – love the kids' voices.
Uh-huh. I made something blow up yesterday. / Oh dear. - again, fantastic! His reaction is almost funnier than the nonchalance of the initial remark. This sort of exchange is where not having anything between the dialogue really helps the reader imagine tone and such, without slowing the story down with too many tags.
more upseter - another great one!
[pie story] - you tell this story so well, with enough humour and with a moral lesson that we see the kids are getting. Great, and makes us like the grandpa a lot more. I also love the transition into the whole "You don't like Spot" discussion, very funny and realistic.
“Why was it a fiasco?” - I love the way you put this in, to remind us that they are kids, and how you later have the grandpa define several terms. But here, maybe show him struggling more over the new word, or testing it out, e.g. "fi-as-co?" (or "fee-yass-ko?").
[soup story] - funny story, but I don't know if you get a scar that lasts for sixty-something years from spilled soup. Still, a great story, and the interactions are all totally believable, even if the premise stretches it a little…
“Mommy. She said she’d sue whoever is messin’ up everything, and I asked her what is suing. - real well done, because I completely missed this little hint the first time, but it fits so nicely when we find out later. I'd recommend you put in even more of these!
That’s not a very exciting story … Oh… - another one… a great hint of later troubles… subtly dropped in… (unrelated side note: how many ellipses does it take to screw in a light bulb? … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …)
“Story! Story! Story!” - I love the repetition of this - it makes a routine that makes the twist more exciting.
You got shot? … Did it hurt? - again. I love the vividness and realism of these characters, accomplished so well with the mode of narration, even though I would have expected it to be so hard!
[war story] - it's great how you tell this in a way that makes war accessible to kids without being too awful, and then contrast it to the reality of war in the next one.
And you comfort her now that she’s lost her job and all - I would almost make this more subtle. It seems like a lot of insight for a kid of 8, and also ruins the surprise somewhat.
You’re good with the kids, Dad - the following conversation is so different that it is extremely interesting, and it' great to try to figure out what's going on. When I read this the first time the line above somehow didn't entirely register, and I was trying to figure out what disaster was being insinuated. I have to say I liked it that way, that under the surface of the fun kids stories there is a dark side (beware Luke)(okay, randomness over.) Anyway, make us have to dig for the problem. Readers are natural spelunkers. (in the metaphorical sense)(but sometimes literally, too.)
ReplyDeleteI don’t think you’ve ever told me - makes it much more important, because she is his daughter and you think he would have been open, but he was not. So it's very good, but maybe go for even more of a struggle, make her work for the story, more than the kids had to work for theirs.
It’s self-inflicted. / Oh! You mean you… cut yourself? - a very surprising twist, but I'd expect more surprise from a daughter who has never heard this before.
[twisty story] - I love how you tell this story. It is super interesting and revealing, and gibes the grandpa so much more character.
I told you because there’s a moral in this story, Carol - so nice how he can teach her with his stories, just like he teaches the kids not to steal!
I’ve lost my job, through no fault of my own … the whole town knows about it. - again, this dialogue seems a little contrived, about one of the openly places it does. They both know what;s going on, and probably wouldn explain it in that much detail. I know there's the problem of getting the reader to know, but, again, sometimes keeping readers guessing is best. I'd almost say hint at this but never reveal it entirely, but give enough hints that the reader knows basically what has happened.
And for the stories… all of them. - great line, maybe end here, or on what is now your penultimate line, it's just a little stronger. I like the last line you have, but don't know if it's necessary, and the last sentence seems too banal after what has happened, unless that's the point.
THE END J - just hope you understand that when there gets to be a lot of criticism it's because that part of the story is so good, and when it's so awesome every little detail seems to stand out! still, great story as it is, and don't feel pressured to take any suggestions - you know what you are doing, and why, better than I ever could.
I don't think the lack of description was at all a problem! In fact the vividness of your characters and the details in what they said gave me a more complete picture in my head of the grandpa with his grandchildren climbing all over him and the mom washing the dishes in the kitchen then paragraphs of description would have done. Very well written and engaging . . . I love the way you try out new types of writing style in your various stories. This type is definitely a keeper!
ReplyDeleteI've heard that dialogue can be the hardest part of writing, and to do a whole story as spoken word without the aid of background descriptive prose would then seem to be among the steepest challenges for an author. You stepped up and hit a homer!
ReplyDelete