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By Sarah (Sarah) on Wednesday, February 27, 2002 - 11:16 pm
The bathroom clock read 3:30. Time enough to catch the next train. If she kept her pace. Just the sink and floor needed finishing. The soap dish soaked in the sink. She pulled the plug. The water drained. She slowed herself. She lifted the white and heavy dish. Bone china. Very pretty. Very slippery. Gooey soap still clung in places. Carefully, she scrubbed the dish. No saving it if it dropped. Hard tile floor underfoot. White enameled cast iron sink below. Done. She stretched to set down the dish. Treacherous residue must have remained. The dish flew up and away. Unbidden, her left hand shot forth. She grasped the dish tightly. It hit the sink. The explosion was contained by her fist. She looked down. Bright blood ran along pristine enamel. She felt numbness, but no pain. Very strange. Red rivulets rushed toward the drain. She watched. Amazing really, that it wasn�t slowing. She turned over her hand. Flesh flapped from two fingers. White shards poked up from the gashes. She plucked the pieces of porcelain out. She saw more shards, deeper in. No, not shards. Bone. The train jerked forward and her right hand cradled the other, which was now wrapped up and taped but still oozing out tiny bits of blood through the gauze around her fingers, and Lucille rested her head against the elevated�s plexiglass window and tried to ignore the pain that was beginning to well and tried to forget, for now, the reason that she was dazed and worn, feeling as though she�d been travelling for days, and she tried not to think about the work and the money she was going to lose in the weeks to come (for surely she could not ply her trade with only one hand), and then she was thinking of her hand and how it had looked before Kathy had started winding the gauze around the two poor fingers that had turned a greyish-white after the torrent of blood had finally abated and how the flaps of skin that had swollen up would not fit back to where they belonged and how Kathy had urged her to go to a clinic to get stitches, even offering to pay, and she had just replied that she�d be fine but she�d had to promise Kathy she�d call the next day to report back how she was doing and suddenly the thought struck her that maybe Kathy was right and that she did need to go to a doctor, but no, she�d not go unless she absolutely had to and she vowed right then that she�d keep the wounds clean (very, very clean) and she�d plaster them with plenty of vitamin E and she�d keep a close eye out for infection and if there was infection (which she didn�t think there would be) then, and only then, she would seek assistance, and that settled, she leaned back into the hard, orange chair and watched the streets, the buildings and the alleyways speed by down below, and she thought, not for the first time, how strange it was to be passing through other people�s lives, other people�s worlds, just a pale face staring into windows and occasionally blinking anonymous eyes. |
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By KateC (Katec) on Friday, March 08, 2002 - 10:31 am
I like the way you used the two types of writing in the same story to depict the methodical mind-set that goes along with performing routine tasks, like crossing items off a list--"Done." Then the accident happens, and the horrible realization that her lacerations go down to bone segues into her mind taking off in a state of free-floating anxiety on the train. But she�s still making plans to use vitamin E and keep some semblance of control. Nice job. I love the face-in-the-window conclusion, "passing through other people�s lives, other people�s worlds, just a pale face staring into windows and occasionally blinking anonymous eyes." |
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By Eithne (Eithne) on Saturday, March 09, 2002 - 09:20 am
I critiqued this one first and my post hasn't shown up yet. I'll try again. Forgive the double post if it occurs. Eww yuck Sarah, reading the first one made me hurt! (Meant as a compliment, believe it or not). I also like the way the two pieces go together. The choppiness at the beginning of the first one vividly reminds me of the methodical, zone out headspace one gets into when cleaning someone else�s house. You hit it dead on. I don�t think the short sentences work as well after she cuts herself, but, of course, that was the exercise. I really like the way you sum it up with the last two short sentences. Ouch! The long sentence works really well with her dazed state. You do a great job of describing the feeling of riding the train, the people and alleys rushing by etc. For whatever reason I picture this all with low light like a smoggy sunset or thick wet fog. I hate to think what might actually happen to her after she tries to treat a cut of this magnitude with vitamin E� Ouch! |
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By Katie (Katie) on Thursday, March 14, 2002 - 11:57 am
I agree with both of the previous posts, the first part conveys really well the hurried checklist of the mind. I'm such a rule cop, what really struck me was that they were not all complete sentences. If anyone actually thinks about cleaning, or anything else, in complete sentences I would be surprised, so it was very realistic all rules aside. The second part of this post was much easier to read. It flowed really well and it was great to hear the chatter of the mind in a totally different atmosphere. The sentence style was well chosen for the setting of both pieces. |
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