Writing In Bloom [M-VSL]

[Shinmaru]

Hello, my name is Joseph, and I hate all of the ugliness that the world has to offer.

There is so much ugliness in the world that I can?t stand to look at it, sometimes. It?s not just the world that is ugly; the people are ugly, as well. There are so many people in the world that sicken me when I glance at them. They are not ugly on the outside, but who they are, what they do, what they stand for, that is what is ugly about them. I wish I could do something about it, I [i]want[/i] to do something about it.

I walk down the concrete path during my break and look all around me. All I see is ugliness, the drab, dead leaves strewn all over the ground, the darkened, wilted petals of flowers lying all across the dirt. The sky is clear, the sun is shining, yet nothing is vitalized, nothing is given [i]life[/i]. The sun tries its best to beautify the world, and it is met with the apathy of the general populace, myself included. I do not care for the sun, it is much too bright and hot for my liking. I wish that I could change the weather, make it the way that I want it to be whenever I please, but I can?t. I have no control over such things.

I sit down in the far end of the arcade to eat my lunch, on the fringe of the area which is the center of my disgust. This is the only place that I can be alone, the only part of campus where I can remain relatively unbothered by people, yet I am still bothered. The darkened, dingy room is a feeding ground for the debaucheries of teenaged kind.

The smokers congregate around the corners of the room, grouping together for one of the various chain-smoking sessions they will partake in during the day. They are either already addicted to the deadly nicotine, or are just beginning to feel the warm, venomous flow of addiction through their veins. The members of the group cough harshly from time to time, their lungs already beginning to shrivel and blacken. With every puff of nicotine, with every cigarette that they light, they are dying slowly, their inner being growing uglier and uglier by the day until nothing will be left but a deformed caricature of what they used to be.

Men and women are scattered around the room, not in love, but engaging in sensual pleasures nonetheless. A few tables down from me, a couple kiss each other, grope each other, barely holding back from fucking each other right then and there. The man slides his tongue in and out of the woman?s mouth over and over again, stroking her cheek with one hand and caressing her right breast softly with the other. She does not seem to mind; she enjoys the attention lavished upon her by her male suitor. She repays him in kind by inching her right hand slowly down his waistline. I grow bored of them. The activity is the same every day, except with new couples doing the deed.

Across the room, two men are talking. I imagine what they are talking about, and I am likely correct, since it is what half of the conversations on campus consist of.

?Hey, man,? one of the men would say. ?Did you get the shit for the party tonight??

?Of course I did,? the other one would answer. ?I wouldn?t fuckin? let you down, you know that, dude.? They both smile, knowing that it is true, neither of them would let the other one down.

?You need to borrow my truck, then?? the first man would ask. ?That?s a lot of shit you have, I bet you won?t get the kegs down to the house real easily.?

?I?ll manage,? the other man would answer. ?I?ve got a couple pals who?ll help me bring ?em over to the party.?

?Awesome fucking news,? the first one would exclaim. ?Well, I?d better get to class now, I?m neck deep in shit as it is. Don?t want my bitch teacher dropping my fucking grade even more because I?m late again.?

?Yeah,? the other one would answer. ?That would fucking suck. Later on, dude.?

?Later,? the first one would say, leaving the room. The other one would then join the smokers, perhaps spreading the good word about the massive quantities of alcohol that would be available at the party later on. The group of people cheer loudly.

It disgusts me. People willingly throw away the beauty of the world only to make themselves ugly. They throw away their lives for meaningless activities that they will not even remember in a few days. They can?t appreciate the blooming of a newborn flower, the rolling gray clouds, or the crisp brown leaves they apathetically crunch through everyday. They are too wrapped up in their ugliness, their debauchery, and their petty activities that make up their ugly, petty lives. I am not one of them, but I fear I will be eventually. I fear that I will join their ranks and lose what precious little beauty remains inside of me.

I do not want that. I want to do something about it.

I take the bus home. I try to stay in the middle of the bus, because that is the area that I am most comfortable with. All manners of people use public transportation, so no matter what time I take it, or where I sit, I will always be surrounded by those that I dislike while I am riding the bus. A thick cloud of gray smoke hovers over us, settling a couple of feet below the roof. There are signs scattered throughout the bus that discourage the act of smoking, but the bus driver has no control over the rowdy citizens that ride the bus everyday. They spread their poisonous pollution inside of the bus, just as the bus spreads its pollution onto the outside world.

The bus slows to a stop and I get off. I walk home, passing by the clean, pristine houses with the white picket fences and the perfectly trimmed green lawns. My neighbors would like to think that their outward appearances are fooling the world, and perhaps they even are, but I can see through them very clearly because I know what they do. Mr. Jenkins from down the street has cheated on his wife seven times without her knowing; ten times after she caught him for the first time. Mr. Wallace institutionalized his son, because he couldn?t do well in school. Mr. Jones has a shrine made up of Nazi memorabilia. Mrs. Christie gets off on the screams of her children as her husband beats them. They try to hide these facts behind well-groomed facades, but I know the truth. They are all as filthy, disgusting and ugly as the next person.

I hate them. I want to do something to rid the world of their ugliness, to rid the world of the despair that their existence brings upon everyone. But I do not know what I should do.

I arrive home and walk in through the door. My father is watching television. He greets me as I walk inside, and I greet him back. He is a good person, for the most part. He works hard to earn the money that we both need to live, and I do not feel disgusted to be around him. At the same time, we do not interact very much. We only speak when we happen upon each other around the house; we never really go out of our way to see each other. I do not mind this, because I like to be alone most of the time.

I walk into my room and close the door behind me. I lie down upon my bed, and look over to the side. There are two small pictures sitting on the small shelf to the side of my bed, standing just in front of my lamp. The first picture is of my deceased mother. My father says that she was a good person, and I believe him. I stare at her picture, look deep into her eyes, and I do not see a person that is fake like so many other people are. My father tells me that she died a year after giving birth to me. My father does not speak about her very often, because when he remembers her he is both sad and happy at once. I feel a twinge of sadness, because I would have liked to have known her, to have met her and spoken with her at least once.

The other picture is of a girl I knew in high school, Maria. She was a very good person, and I liked her a lot. I think what I liked most about her was how honest and forthright she was. Maria was never afraid to speak her mind, even if it potentially hurt someone?s feelings. She never did hurt anyone?s feelings, though, she always spoke in a way that made you want to listen, that made you believe that what she was telling you was the truth and nothing more, nothing less. She helped me out a lot, helped me through many tough situations, and I helped her when she needed help. I had, and still have, a great deal of respect for her, because she was genuinely good.

She moved away a couple of years ago. I sent an application to the college I?m currently attending, because Maria always mentioned that she had wanted to go here. She hasn?t come, though, but I am not very disappointed, because I knew that there wasn?t a great chance of her attending this school in the first place. I never knew where exactly she moved to; she could be on the other side of the country for all I knew. The college is still decent, though. I like my classes, and I have learned quite a bit from them. The campus is rife with ugliness, but so was every other campus that I visited. None of them were really any different from each other, in that regard. Wherever I go, there will be ugliness.

I feel very tired, and I close my eyes for a short nap. When I fall asleep, I wake up in a dream. I am back in the arcade. It is still the same as always, the smokers are hanging out in their corners, the drunks in theirs. The same couple from today is still kissing away, one step away from engaging in an all-out fuckfest. I am gripping a sleek, aluminum bat in my hands. I see a smoker walking across the arcade and heading towards the bathroom. I follow him, because I know what I have to do.

When I walk inside of the bathroom, he is washing his hands. His used cigarette is on the ground by his feet. I stand a couple of feet behind him, waiting for him to turn around. He looks up and sees my reflection in the mirror. He turns around, confused, and I swing the bat as hard as I can, connecting against the left side of his body, around the ribs. He crumples to the floor in a heap; the pain is so intense that he cannot even scream. I do not let up with my attack. I swing the bat down forcefully into his spine, and hear a loud crunch. My next target is the back of his head, and I smash it with the bat repeatedly, until his face is an unrecognizable, bloody mass. In a few minutes, he is dead.

I am still not satisfied. I go out into the arcade and kill another person, and another, and another, and so on. After a while, everyone in the room is dead, except for me. I am still unsatisfied. I have killed all remnants of ugliness in the room, but there is still so much more in the world that can be destroyed. I know that I must do all that I can to get rid of it all. But there is a feeling deep down inside of me, a feeling that tells me that I cannot possibly get rid of all of the world?s ugliness, and to attempt such a thing is a hopeless endeavor. I ignore this feeling, I know what is right, and I know what I should do.

I sleep the rest of the day, and wake up the next morning. I go to school that day, weaponless. I do not have an aluminum bat or anything else that would prove sufficient, except for my bare hands. I walk into the Student Center, and I see a person hanging around near the computer terminals, smoking a cigarette. He is very big and muscular, and I am considerably smaller than he is. I walk up to him, and stand in front of him for a few moments. After he takes a few puffs of his cigarette, he appears to be annoyed at my presence.

?What the fuck do you want?? he asks.

?I don?t like smoking,? I say. ?Please stop.?

?And just what the fuck are you going to do if I don?t stop?? he asks. When he finishes his question, I punch him in the face. He reels slightly, and I rub my knuckles because they hurt. He looks back in my direction, glaring at me and rubbing his jaw.

?You?re going to regret ever doing that, you motherfucker,? he says. He punches me in the face very quickly, right above my left eye, and I fall to the ground. A cut opens above my eye, and blood starts trickling slowly down the left side of my face. The skin around my left eye is puffy and bruised.

A small crowd gathers around us, and the young man now looks apprehensive about finishing what he started. He grumbles about me being lucky that he doesn?t want to get thrown out of school, and he leaves the room. Two guys help me to my feet and take me over to the Health Services Center. My cut is cleaned and bandaged up. They give me an ice pack to stop the swelling above my left eye, but it is already swelled up quite a bit by this time.

I stand by the bus stop after my classes are finished. The cut above my eye has scabbed over, and I have removed my bandage. The swelling around my eye has stopped, but it is still bruised and purple. The bus arrives and I step on, paying the driver my daily fare. I start my walk towards my regular seat, then I stop, surprised. I try to focus more, but it is difficult since my eye is so bruised. However, after a few moments, there is no mistaking it; Maria is sitting in my seat.

I walk up to her, confused, happy and nervous all at once. I have not seen her in over two years. She does not look much different from how I remember her. I am suddenly self-conscious about my appearance. My hand touches my left eye gently; the skin is still very tender and puffy. I?m almost ashamed that I have to face Maria with a black eye. I do not have much time to dwell on this thought, as Maria spots me walking slowly down the bus aisle. She peers at me for a few seconds before brightening up considerably.

?Joseph?? Maria asks. ?Is that you??

?Yeah,? I answer. ?Is that you, Maria?? She laughs and smiles, genuinely pleased.

?How are you doing these days?? Maria asks. ?I haven?t seen you in years!?

?Um,? I say. ?I?m doing well. And you??

?I?m doing well,? Maria replies. ?I just transferred in from out of state.?

?Really?? I ask. ?So, you finally get to go to the school you wanted to go to, huh??

?Yeah,? Maria answers, smiling again.

?Hey!? the bus driver shouts, turning around to face us. ?Would you mind sitting the hell down already?!?

?Oh,? I stammer. ?Erm, sorry about that.?

?Here, I?ll scoot over a bit,? Maria says, scooting over to the window seat.

?Thanks,? I reply, sitting down. Maria?s smile vanishes as she notices my black eye.

?What happened to your eye?? Maria asks, pointing to my bruised left eye.

?Er,? I say, stalling for a few seconds. ?I got into a fight earlier today.?

?A fight?? Maria questions. ?What about??

?Someone was smoking,? I answer. ?I don?t like smoking very much, so I wanted them to stop. I ended up fighting him.?

?So, you fought some random smoker?? Maria asked.

?Yeah,? I answer.

?Why?? Maria asks. Her question does not sound accusatory. There is something about her voice that makes the question sound as if it is asked merely out of curiosity.

?I told you, I don?t like smoking,? I reply. ?It?s ugly, filthy, and disgusting. I hate it, so I tried to get rid of it.?

?Get rid of it?? Maria prods. ?But how would beating up one smoker get rid of smoking?? Again her voice is more curious than accusatory.

?Well,? I say. ?I guess that it wouldn?t if I only got rid of just one person??

?So, you?d need to go after more people, right?? Maria asks.

?Yeah,? I answer. ?I guess so.?

?And suppose that you could somehow manage to get rid of all smokers,? Maria says. ?I don?t think that?s the only vice you?re not fond of, eh??

?No,? I say. ?Not exactly.?

?You?d want to go after more people and kill them off, too,? Maria says. ?You?d keep killing and killing until there is nothing left.? I keep silent out of embarrassment. I did not want to come off the wrong way to Maria, but she now thinks I am a killer. And, in a way, I already am. Did I not have thoughts of killing those people in the arcade? As ridiculous as it now seems, did I not go into the Student Center with intentions of at least beating that man who was smoking?

The bus comes to my stop, and I tell Maria that I have to get going. She says that she will be coming with me, because she has a place that she?ll be staying at near here. I?m still embarrassed, but I?m glad that she still wants to walk with me. We both get off of the bus and begin walking down the sidewalk. Maria starts up the conversation once again.

"You've changed since the last time I saw you," Maria says.

"No I haven't," I reply.

"Yes, you have," Maria says. "Your ideas are different."

"How?" I say.

?Do you really think that there is so much ugliness in the world that you have to destroy it all?? Maria asks.

?What good is it?? I ask. ?Ugliness, I mean.?

?Well, how would we recognize what we see as good and beautiful without the bad and ugly?? Maria asks.

??what do you mean?? I question in reply.

?Look at it this way,? Maria says. ?Without ugliness, without ?bad?, how would we recognize what we find to be good and beautiful? It?s like yin and yang, good can?t exist without bad, beauty can?t exist without ugliness. If all we had was a singular entity of beauty, then beauty would just be normal, ordinary, and people would take it for granted.?

?People already take real beauty for granted,? I reply.

?Or maybe they just see different things as beautiful,? Maria says.

?Different things?? I ask.

?The beauty of the world is that different people have different ideas of what they consider good or beautiful or whatever,? Maria says. ?Someone might think a clear, blue sky is beautiful and I might hate it. I might think these dead rose petals on the sidewalk are beautiful, and someone else might think they?re ugly.?

?But some things,? I say. ?I can?t see how anyone would consider them beautiful.?

?And it?s the same for me,? Maria replied. ?There are things that happen in the world, things people do that I can?t really understand, that I don?t know how anyone can enjoy it. But that?s how life is. You deal with it, and you try to look past it.?

?But how can we just ignore the bad and not do anything about it?? I ask.

?It?s not like that,? Maria says. ?I?m not ignorant of the bad, I know what happens; I?m more than aware of it. I guess what it boils down to is?I?m aware of the ugliness of the world, but I live within the confines of the beauty. Or I try to, anyway.?

?That?s a bit too idealistic for me,? I note.

?But it?s not idealistic,? Maria says. ?I don?t know?bad things happen, we can?t change that, but to focus on just that when there really is a lot of good and beauty around is now how I?d like to live.?

?Where is the beauty, though?? I question.

?Beauty is everywhere, you just have to look for it,? Maria says. ?You can find beauty in just about anything you want to, I think. Not just physical beauty, but some things are just really interesting, you know??

?Like how?? I ask.

?Well,? Maria says. ?Sometimes an idea is really interesting and beautiful, words can be beautiful, images can be beautiful, and concepts can be beautiful. It?s really up to you what you find beautiful; it?s kind of cheesy, but it?s the truth.?

?Yeah, I kind of see what you?re saying,? I reply.

?Well, we?re getting close to my house now,? Maria says. ?Would you like to come over??

?No thanks,? I reply. ?I think I?ll head home, myself.?

?Okay then,? Maria says. ?I guess I?ll see you tomorrow.?

?Yeah,? I say. ?Tomorrow.?

Maria crosses the street, and is soon out of sight. I continue walking home. The clouds in the sky are bunched together and horribly grey; I think they look nice. I also like the blood red roses in bloom in my neighbor?s garden. They are beautiful, even if my neighbor really isn?t. I crunch through the wilted, dead leaves that have fallen through the trees. The sound is pleasant to my ears. I walk into my house, greet my dad, and flop onto my bed, eager to take a long nap.

I still hate all of the ugliness the world has to offer, but I think that I can learn to love the beauty just as much.

---

EDIT: Changed a part relating to Joseph's mother that I meant to change before I posted this.

EDIT2: After re-reading the dream sequence transition, it sort of bothered me, as well, so I changed it up a bit. Hopefully, it is clearer now.

EDIT3: Noticed that the silly censoring thing had been taken away from the Literature forum, and I edited back in the censored words accordingly.

[Mimmsicle]

[FONT=Verdana][SIZE=1][COLOR=Sienna]I'm sick so please excuse the messyness of this post ^_^;;


I couldn't help but giggle while I read the opening paragraphs. Joseph is kind of humorous with his whining ? the intelligent statements he makes only heightening that. Only later did I really realise that it was more than pretentious bitching.


[I]Addicted [/I] + [I]beginning [/I] ? Paragraph 4. Those two words were repeated too closely, I felt, hehe.


I [B]love [/B] the part where he gets off the buss and comments on the white picket fences and his neighbours. It?s to ? devoid, so blunt. This is when it really hits home that this kid needs to be taken more seriously than the whiny kid he comes off as in the beginning *nods*


It didn?t feel like you ended the dream sequence very good. When you go on to say ?[I]I go to school the next day, weaponless.[/I]? I read it as the dream continues and it?s another day in the dream. That might be because I?m sick and not very aware of subtleties, heh.


?In Bloom? has all the classic Shin touches but you have also advanced considerably at the same time, without going over the top with the new elements you?ve brought to the tone of this story. Some grit and roughness has been added, very tastefully (that makes sense, I?m sure of it).

I honestly thought it would end in a much different way, so it was nice how you twisted it like that with the conversation between Joseph and Maria at the end. And still keeping it believable.

?[I]I still hate all of the ugliness the world has to offer, but I think that I can learn to love the beauty just as much.[/I]?.

Perfect ^_^
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[future girl]

As it started I thought Joseph was a bit insolent, but a little more into it I related with him to a small extent. It ended how I thought it would end, but it felt very unique as well. There's a deeper meaning, but it isn't preachy or self righteous at all which is very nice, I think. I really like the message, beautifully written Shin.