- Joined
- Apr 17, 2008
- Messages
- 19
Per the original thread, Chapter 1 of the story complete, but still open for some editing... The story as a whole has no name yet. I am waiting for some key thing to leap out at me further along...
COMMENTS AND CRITS WELCOME!
Chapter 1
Kind Uncle Klaus
There was a rattle-click-clunk and the heavy ironbound, wooden door, coated with uneven brush strokes of faded beige paint, jostle-thumped and creaked open to reveal a short hall of like hue, illuminated by dimly glowing light globes. Several iron barred cell doors lined the walls on either side.
“Here he is, Miss,” the young deputy said as he proceeded to the last cell on the left – the only one with occupant. It was late, sometime after 10pm, yet the young officer was alert, clean shaven, uniform in fresh, perfect order as the sleepy timber and fishing town of Ophirport’s only on-duty lawman radiated with the aura of “new recruit on first assignment.”
Melinda Schmitt stepped through the portal and into the hallway. A distinct, deep male voice echoed through the hall with a German “Ach!” and Melinda’s mind soared involuntarily into rush of the warm childhood memory…
…kind Uncle Klaus stepping into little Melinda’s bedroom from years gone with his ritual announcement - “Ach! Ware ist meine Lindy? I haf her sweets!”
Melinda Schmitt’s attention returned abruptly to the present – the Deutschlander exclamation being followed by a mishmash of half-formed German words scrambled into mumbles, whispering and babblings of incoherent utterances. The voice of Uncle Klaus was unmistakable, regardless of the foreign manner of gibberish that dominated the familiar voice. Running her left hand nervously, subconsciously to smooth out a non-existent wrinkle in her overcoat, Miss Schmitt drew her black leather handbag in her right hand close to her belly and stepped cautiously close to the holding cell.
“Uncle Kl – ” Melinda began to speak before quite reaching full view of the cell. She cut short, seeing a bedraggled, wretched figure hunched on the floor in the far corner, wobbling and tottering as it performed some unseen task in the miniscule space between body and wall. The small chamber was a shambles, as much a shambles as any room containing only a metal cot, mattress and blanket could be. Shreds of what was once the blanket — irregular strips of the dark gray wool strewn about the floor, coarse threads likewise jumbled across the concrete in what, after brief consideration, must be some sort of patterns of whorls, lines and angles radiating outward from the occupant’s place in the corner. Too, between and intersecting the bizarre, labyrinthine web of textile were lines, circles and scrawls of some sort of reddish ink, brightly hued where still wet and darkened to near brown where dried, weaving along throughout the wool fragments to make the whole display all the more confusing, dizzying, and yet somehow captivating in a darksome, troubling way.
Lost in awe and shock, Melinda was jarred by a brush against her sleeve as the momentarily forgotten deputy touched her and coaxed her back a few steps down the hall. She quickly, involuntarily reacted, stepping out away from the scene, unable to speak.
Bright enough to forego the question, “Are you alright?” Deputy Stanley Allen said, “You made good time getting here, Miss. I hope your trip went well.” Gesturing to the doorway back out, he suggested, “Perhaps a cup of coffee?”
Still stunned, but recovering, Melinda stammered at first, “Yes… p-please. That might be good, Officer.”
“'Stan,' please. 'Stan' is fine.” Deputy Allen took his guest by the arm, gently guiding her back to the front office, pausing to close the door behind, blocking the disturbing scenario beyond for the time being.
(continued)
COMMENTS AND CRITS WELCOME!
Chapter 1
Kind Uncle Klaus
There was a rattle-click-clunk and the heavy ironbound, wooden door, coated with uneven brush strokes of faded beige paint, jostle-thumped and creaked open to reveal a short hall of like hue, illuminated by dimly glowing light globes. Several iron barred cell doors lined the walls on either side.
“Here he is, Miss,” the young deputy said as he proceeded to the last cell on the left – the only one with occupant. It was late, sometime after 10pm, yet the young officer was alert, clean shaven, uniform in fresh, perfect order as the sleepy timber and fishing town of Ophirport’s only on-duty lawman radiated with the aura of “new recruit on first assignment.”
Melinda Schmitt stepped through the portal and into the hallway. A distinct, deep male voice echoed through the hall with a German “Ach!” and Melinda’s mind soared involuntarily into rush of the warm childhood memory…
…kind Uncle Klaus stepping into little Melinda’s bedroom from years gone with his ritual announcement - “Ach! Ware ist meine Lindy? I haf her sweets!”
Melinda Schmitt’s attention returned abruptly to the present – the Deutschlander exclamation being followed by a mishmash of half-formed German words scrambled into mumbles, whispering and babblings of incoherent utterances. The voice of Uncle Klaus was unmistakable, regardless of the foreign manner of gibberish that dominated the familiar voice. Running her left hand nervously, subconsciously to smooth out a non-existent wrinkle in her overcoat, Miss Schmitt drew her black leather handbag in her right hand close to her belly and stepped cautiously close to the holding cell.
“Uncle Kl – ” Melinda began to speak before quite reaching full view of the cell. She cut short, seeing a bedraggled, wretched figure hunched on the floor in the far corner, wobbling and tottering as it performed some unseen task in the miniscule space between body and wall. The small chamber was a shambles, as much a shambles as any room containing only a metal cot, mattress and blanket could be. Shreds of what was once the blanket — irregular strips of the dark gray wool strewn about the floor, coarse threads likewise jumbled across the concrete in what, after brief consideration, must be some sort of patterns of whorls, lines and angles radiating outward from the occupant’s place in the corner. Too, between and intersecting the bizarre, labyrinthine web of textile were lines, circles and scrawls of some sort of reddish ink, brightly hued where still wet and darkened to near brown where dried, weaving along throughout the wool fragments to make the whole display all the more confusing, dizzying, and yet somehow captivating in a darksome, troubling way.
Lost in awe and shock, Melinda was jarred by a brush against her sleeve as the momentarily forgotten deputy touched her and coaxed her back a few steps down the hall. She quickly, involuntarily reacted, stepping out away from the scene, unable to speak.
Bright enough to forego the question, “Are you alright?” Deputy Stanley Allen said, “You made good time getting here, Miss. I hope your trip went well.” Gesturing to the doorway back out, he suggested, “Perhaps a cup of coffee?”
Still stunned, but recovering, Melinda stammered at first, “Yes… p-please. That might be good, Officer.”
“'Stan,' please. 'Stan' is fine.” Deputy Allen took his guest by the arm, gently guiding her back to the front office, pausing to close the door behind, blocking the disturbing scenario beyond for the time being.
~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~ • ~
(continued)