Rukellian Offline

31 Single Male from Ephrata       11
         

The unfinished, but more polished story.

It is here that I will share one of the short stories I've been writing. It is still in development, but I have enough to give people a taste of what is to come in the future. I will introduce the story in increments in the comment section below so that people don't have to read it from bottom to top.
Rukellian
Rukellian: The 744th Day

It was the deafening silence that first woke her from her slumber. She pushed the noiseless sound away, trying slip into sleep once more, but something felt odd about the situation she found herself in. She remembered going to sleep in a nice warm bed. Why then was she lying on a cold, hard floor?

Her reactions were slow at first, her eyes still closed. Reaching for a pillow and blanket, she finds neither within reach. Groping in the darkness of the room, the young girl tries to find her bearings, forcing her heavy eyelids to open halfway. She always kept her nightlight on before going to bed. There was no nightlight nearby…

Her sudden discovery is disrupted by a loud chime echoing through the room, the sort of chime that bellows from an aged grandfather clock. The nagging feeling that was slowly building, that eerie sensation that something was out of place, it was hard to ignore now. Startled by the sound, the young girl bolts upright from where she lay.

She is then startled again by another strange noise. Looking around her, she is quick to discover her feet shackled, the sound that was heard the rubbing sound of metal chains against the hard flooring.

What in the world, she thought to herself? Getting a closer look at the heavy metals wound around her feet, she mutters the question out loud to no one in particular.

The loud thudding of her heart becomes the only other sound in the dark and seemingly empty room. The young girl just woke up in an unfamiliar place, a cold and dark one, and she finds herself shackled to the floor. To say she is scared is putting it lightly.

This is a nightmare, she tells herself. She will wake up soon enough to the warm comforts of her bed. Tomorrow, she will go out on a trip with her family. It will be fun and she will be able to run around on the beach and…

The young girl suddenly pulls on the chains, with an angry cry. They seem to be stuck to the floor, but that doesn’t stop her from trying! No longer scared of the dark or her isolation, she is now more frustrated than anything else, frustrated by the fact that she cannot move around freely.

Her long efforts of trying to pull free from the chain leave her drained and dispirited. She doesn’t make any progress and collapses to the ground, tears now welling up in her eyes. Why is she here? What is this place? And how does she get out of these shackles? Did someone do this to her? Who, and why!?

Many questions start to pour out and just when she thinks she finally remembered something, a loud chime cuts through the air around her, disrupting her thoughts once more.

She wakes up to the sound of an alarm clock next to her bed. Instinctively reaching over to turn it off, she yawns and pushes one fist up into the air. Her morning ritual starts off like any other day. She gets out of bed and walks over to the restroom nearby to wash her face and brush her hair, the morning cleanup.

Her eyes still not fully open, she trudges over to the sink and mirror and begins to brush her teeth. It’s all automatic to her. Her hand finds the brush she always uses for her hair, not even having to open her eyes for something like that. It is only after she starts to brush her hair that her morning changes. She finds a knot and tries to force it out. It hurts and her eyes bolt open from the sudden pain.

Groaning to herself as she rubs her head, she looks up in the mirror and finds the reflection of a stranger standing before her. Opening her mouth in an attempt to shriek in fright, she catches herself as her eyes find a sticky note clinging on to the side of the mirror.

“Don’t scream. It’s alright. I’m you and this is normal. You will find a journal on your bed stand. Read it. It will help, I promise.”

Somehow finding the strength to hold back her shriek. She takes another look at the face in front of her and then back at the note. The face she does not recognize, but the note… the note is in her handwriting; the young girl recognizes that much.

Turning to look back into her room, she notices the journal that the note spoke. Walking over to get a better look at it, she recognizes it instantly as hers. The floral print on the cover with animal stickers galore, it all wraps around a large and neatly printed name: Lillian.

-----

End of part 1. The short story will have 4 parts as of right now, the second one coming in a few days.
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tstarr8481
tstarr8481: ..............thank you Ruk
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Rukellian
Rukellian: Steven finishes work;
Visits the newly opened bakery

The cans were out of place again. It was but another normal night for me as I busied himself with work. Each day people from the morning and afternoon would stock the shelves and ‘face’ them, making sure all of the foodstuffs looked neat and organized, but most importantly, making sure the shelves looked full.

And my job? I clean up after everyone else. Yes, all of the customers pulling items off the grocery store shelves, deciding moments later that they really didn’t want it after all, then placing it somewhere else, the employees doing their jobs, but not really all that well at that, it was all left to me and a select few to straighten up the store and clean up the messes left behind. When the store managers arrive in the morning, the place had to be perfect, otherwise a swift scolding and blame casting game ensues, and no one really looks forward to that in the morning.

Sure, the night shift is not for everyone, and I knew a long time ago that when I signed up for it. I would lose out on sleep, among other things; but the pay was good, and if I pushed himself, I could stay up for most of the morning and still get 6 or so hours of sleep in before having to go back to work.

This was the lifestyle I chose. Do I regret it? A little. Though I’ve lived in town for a good few years, it was rare for me to meet anyone outside of the workplace, and even if I did it was always on a professional level. The landlord needed his rent money, taxes needed to be filed, and the mailman was obligated to smile as he delivered the daily newspaper.

No friends, no special girl in my life, not even a pet. I figured that I got the message after the 4th goldfish died under my watch, those poor fish... Sure, I had a decent face, but nothing too special to stare at for too long. I kept my short brown hair clean and tidy and I always made sure to wear a clean shirt when going out. You know, the basics. But even with all of this going for me, I never did have much luck with the ladies. Something about not being exciting enough? Whatever that meant. Maybe it was my name. Steven. Too average sounding. Nothing cool or unique sounding like Brooks or Quinton. Heck, it doesn’t even sound tough like Paul, or Harley. No, it’s just plain old Steven.

As I finish cleaning up the last aisle in the grocery store, my supervisor walks over and tells me to clock out. It was the end of his shift and the beginning of everyone else’s day. Walking outside, I realize that I forgot to bring sunglasses again. The sun is harshly bright when it is just coming up over the horizon. Raising a hand to my eyes is the only thing I can do to shield the glare. It was another bright day, no clouds in sight, just a pure blue and a soft morning breeze. A perfect day to check out the new bakery that just opened up.

“Hey, Steve! Where d’ya think you are going this fine day? Back to that decrepit room, you call home? I don’t think so!”

With a sigh, I turn around and give an exasperated smile to the source of the noise. Okay, so maybe I have one friend… no, an acquaintance? Looking at the strange beast known as ‘Dan’ come barreling towards my direction, I prepare for the morning wake-up tackle, finding myself once again trying to unravel the strange mystery before me.

Dan knows me, and I know Dan. We get along well enough, I think, and we technically ‘hang out’, but for some reason, the guy is stuck somewhere in my mind between an acquaintance, friend, and stranger? Not quite a stranger, because I know the guy, not quite a friend, friends don’t harass others like this on a regular basis, not in my book, but definitely more than an acquaintance since this has been going on ever since I moved into town a few years back. Hmmm…

My thoughts are once again jolted and scattered across the ground as I find myself staring directly up into the sky. For a moment, I just lay there, staring at the ocean of blue, all disoriented, always thanks to that sudden tackle that I can never seem to think to avoid.

Picking myself up with some forced laughter, I rub my aching back and cradle my head in one hand. “You know Dan, one of these days, I will sidestep and let you crash into the front of the store.”

Dan laughs in response, his fists balled up and on both hips, his chest thrust out and his chin raised just so that it appears he is looking down in the smug victory. “As if you’d have the guts for that! I know you, Steve. You are too nice of a guy to do that, despite your occasional grumpy old man act. You let me tackle you because, secretly, you enjoy the attention!”

I just smile in response, like I always do. Perhaps a bit of that is true. Dan is the only one that gives me any sort of attention during the day, attention that is not work-related or strictly professional. Is that what a friend is? I can only wonder as Dan walks over to give me a friendly pat on the shoulder.

“I didn’t overdo it this time, did I? I still need you in one piece man, you remember what we are doing today?”

Today? Wait a moment, if yesterday was Monday… no wait, yesterday was Tuesday. Right. Today’s Wednesday. Even to this day, I still get mixed up over which day of the week it is, benefits of working third shift and having your morning start at 10:00 every night. “Today’s Wednesday, right?”

“Uh, yeah man, of course, it is. You still awake in there?” Dan says this jokingly, knowing perfectly well of the hours I work. Doesn’t stop him from ribbing me about my forgetfulness though.

“Right, uh, sure. What was it again? A date right? You’re meeting some new girl, but you are too much of a coward to do it alone, so you wanted me to tag along and make you look good? The usual?”

“Ugh, Steve, your words sting, you know that? You don’t have to go and say it like that! Look, it’s going to be fun! I hear she works in a bakery. You like your breadstuffs, don’t you?”

Ah, true enough. I do like my bread, the freshly baked ones at that. That seems to be the only thing I remember from my previous discussion with the guy. I could care less that he was looking to try to hook up with another girl. It was the bread that got my attention, and it was all that was on my mind this morning too when I was finishing up my work.

It’s not every day a new shop opens up in town, a rare phenomenon in fact. The town is pretty rural, even by a country boy’s standards, never as busy as a city. Not a lot of people travel here intentionally, even for vacation. In fact, I came here specifically because of its small remote population. The city life was too straining on my nerves.

Here, I wouldn’t have to worry about bus schedules and crowded streets, nor would I have to worry about driving a vehicle. Everything was within walking distance, the air is clean and the scenery is fantastic. And yet, it doesn’t have a lot of people here, probably due to its non-existent advertising.
There is one thing from my past city life that I missed, it was the bakery I would always visit. In the chaos of the city and the coldness attached to the strangers that seemed to brush by and avoid me, the bakery around the corner was the only place of warmth I could find back then. The owner was a great guy and the bread he made always became my morning breakfast. There was something about the taste of freshly baked bread that strongly resonated with me.

“Yeah, guess I have no choice then? Sure, I will tag along for the day.”

Dan knows he didn’t have to twist my arm with that, but even so, he laughs and acts as if he did. “Good man! I’ll meet you at the park then, in say… an hour?”

“I’ll see you then.”

-----

End of Part 2. A different feel to writing, no? This is intentional. The story is told from two points of view, Steven's and Lillian's. Two very different lives are lived, but eventually, they meet. Part 3 will come up in a few days.
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tstarr8481
tstarr8481: ............this was so charmingly delightful.........bringing much, much sweetness and laughter........ As said earlier you are truly a very creative writer........and so did enjoy this !!!.......
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Rukellian
Rukellian: Lillian learns of the past she has lost,
And the future she will never remember

10/6/12

Yesterday I tried a new omelet. It was delicious! Turns out, I like having diced peppers with my eggs.

I live in a small town now… or is it a village? I can’t tell, it’s so homely. Anyways, I moved from the city some time ago and am now living with grandpa. It’s a beautiful place and it always takes my breath away each time I see it.

It feels strange not going to school anymore, and all my friends seemed to have dropped from the face of the Earth. Strange, their numbers are no longer on my phone. I asked grandpa about it and he says I deleted them myself; I wonder why I did…?

I won’t remember what happens today, but some things always come back to me. As the saying goes, you never forget how to ride a bike, and the cash register at the bakery is just the same. That’s right! I LIVE in a bakery now! How cool is that? I’ve always wanted to live in a bakery, help run a small shop with family.

A tear runs down Lillian’s face as she flips through the pages of her journal. This is her alright, she thinks to herself as she follows the exploits and experiences of the girl within the pages. She does not remember the taste of the omelet, the circumstances behind her moving to the town, nor why her parents or friends are no longer around, and it is because she cannot remember those things that she starts to cry.

She clenches her eyes shut and concentrates really hard. She can remember her childhood, and even some of her teen years, but… after that, after leaving for the family trip to the beach, nothing!

What she wrote in the journal, it was true after all. Lillian could not remember yesterday, or the day before that, last month, last year… and she won’t remember anything tomorrow.

Her hands tremble in fear at the thought of losing these memories. Quickly reaching for the journal, she clutches the pages tightly to her chest, daring not let go of her only connection to the recent past, to who she is. This is her, she thought, these handwritten pages are Lillian, and if she were to lose these, she would lose two years of her life.

It takes Lillian a few more minutes of this silent contemplation and sorrow before she pulls herself together and finishes her morning routine, something that has not changed or has been forgotten, surprisingly enough.

On each entry for the day, a few things are written down in bold lettering, a few bullet-notes actually. She takes the time to remember them before heading downstairs.


One: I must go to bed and wake up at a certain time. I can only remember so much on one given day, and after I go to sleep, all of it goes away and I start over again. If I don’t write it down, I don’t remember it.

Two: I must write down all the important things that happen each day, the good and the bad; otherwise, I won’t know who I am and how I am growing up as a person. I don’t want to be stuck being 16 forever.

Three: Don’t try to reconnect with your friends and parents. Your friends will only bring you grief and sadness, anger and frustration. And your parents… they won’t be able to reach you.

Four: Make sure you put these important rules in each of your entries, as well as the date! Grandpa will remind you if you forget because I know you. You are me, and I was very forgetful as a kid, and that hasn’t changed.

Lillian laughs at the last part, but the laugh is dry and weak. She closes the journal gently and places it back on her nightstand. After dressing up for the day, she walks downstairs to the smell of freshly baked bread. A smile flitters across her face.

So this is what a bakery smells like…

-----

End of part 3. I have one more portion to share, but after that, it's unfinished. I didn't get too far because inspiration did not come. But that is a conversation for another time.
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tstarr8481
tstarr8481: ..........will review it tonight and let you know my thoughts......excited to read this !
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tstarr8481
tstarr8481: ............This is full of so much feeling and emotion that I , as the reader, was enthralled by her fear but yet also with the courage which she shows and the determination which is so apparent in her struggle. This is a true to life art form and composition is very well structured and your choices are very stimulating and has a strong but yet gentle touch. Congratulations once again and looking for to your next installment. Thanking you for all your patience........and looking forward to our next chat ! Tiffany ~~~
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Rukellian
Rukellian: Steven meets with Dan at the park;
a chance encounter, first feelings

"So, let's double check and make sure you understand the plan," Dan goes on to say with exaggerated seriousness.

"What do you do when I give the 'signal'?"

"I... say something cool about you." My voice is flat and riddled with a foul taste. Just the mere thought of propping up this guy, I mean, what was I thinking to agree to this?

"Good! Good, I- wait, what were you going to say exactly?"

I shoot a sideways smirk his way as we continue to walk from the park to the newly opened bakery, letting my silence speak for itself. Dan quickly grows uneasy with this and furrows his brows. For the short time we've known each other, he knows that my smirks always mean trouble for his plans.

"You know what? Fine. Just don't say anything, alright? I don't need someone complimenting me to get a good first impression. I'm plenty capable of pulling it off myself. Yeah..." Dan says as he drifts off into a personal daydream, no doubt winning over that girl in some impossible way.

"Sure, sure," I reply. "Didn't really want to say anything in the first place. I'm just going for the bread."

"Yeah, figures as much," Dan quickly retorts as he snaps back into reality. But he laughs as he does this. Somehow, I felt slightly relieved hearing that laugh. I knew that my words were said in a joking way, but I don't always know if the person receiving them takes it the same way. With Dan, I feel safe knowing I can joke around and make jabs at him, not having to worry about things being taken out of context.


It doesn't take long for us to reach the street where the bakery is situated. In fact, there is already a line of people waiting to get in! We had to make sure we were in the right area, asking those at the end of the line if they were really waiting to get into a bakery.

Sure enough, most of the people who are here, are here for the bread. Word has already spread around about how the baked goods are by the far the best in town, and that the pastries are to die for. I wouldn't go that far for a breakfast roll, but I appreciated hearing the hype, nevertheless; it only renewed my interest in the place even further.

And just as there are those who are here for the bread, there are also those who are here for a more, questionable, reason, the supposedly cute cashier. Apparently, Dan has some competition ahead of him, and here he was worried about me, I thought with a grin and raised an eyebrow.

Just like at an amusement park, waiting for a popular ride, the line seems to take forever. I'm in no hurry, really, but Dan, on the other hand, he's frantic now.

"Oh man, oh man! There are so many guys ahead of me, all looking to steal that girl away from me! This is an outrage I tell you! We should have left earlier, we should have reserved some spots and-"

"Hey! Chill out. It isn't going to do you any good to worry like that. If you and she were meant to be, then you have nothing to worry about. Have some faith in yourself man." This seemed to calm Dan down.

"Yeah, you're right Steve. Still, it would be just my luck, wouldn't it?" He finishes his rant after that and folds his arms.

After what feels like an hour or so, we are finally able to get inside the bakery. Quite frankly, I am surprised there is any bread left. The shop got hit hard, and that's good in my book. The people must really love the bread, and with all this business, the bakery won't be going anywhere anytime soon.

Making my way through the displays, I take note of the artistic designs shown throughout the store, promotional items really. A windmill slowly turns as if a gust of wind is pushing against it, but it's made of bread. A penguin is skating on a pond and performs a twirl before making a full circle, but it's made of bread. A rose blossoms under a small lamp. At first glance, it looks like an actual flower, but on closer inspection, I can tell the rose is made completely of sugar, the soil, and pot... multiple layers of bread!

The baker here is a true artisan of his craft if he can make such things out of food. Many others share in my admiration of the works displayed as a group of people forms around me and the rose. "It's a shame I can't buy it!" Says a young lady. "It looks so beautiful, and I'd be afraid to almost eat it!" We all hear a low, hearty laugh as we turn around to the source.

A man in a white apron and baker's uniform approaches, the very man himself who made the wonderful items on display. He says with a twinkle in his eye. "Why yes, would be a shame to eat such a pretty thing, but I assure you all, everything you see here is in fact edible. I've worked all morning baking up these creations, and each was a labor of love," the baker says with outstretched arms and a smile.

The baker is a man in his mid to late 40's, from what I can tell, and has definitely aged well. Sporting a black beard, neatly trimmed, and a muscular build fit for a young 30 something guy, he definitely looks younger than he seems; but his eyes give it away. They are old and tired, faint crows feet showing on the sides as he squints. His eyes are a dark steel color but show a certain alertness as he surveys the shop and the customers, every now and then looking over at the cashier.

I also follow his eyes and look over at the front counter. There are not many people left in the shop, and Dan seems to be one of the last ones there, besides me. And... he is failing horribly with this plan. I bark out a silent laugh as Dan makes a fool of himself in front of a girl, once again. The guy just never seems to have any luck with the young ladies. With a shake of the head, I collect what bread is left on the shelf and put it on a tray to take to the cash register.

What happened next after that, was quite unexpected. Normally when I speak to a girl, even as one as cute as this, I am usually calm and collected, if I ever talk to a girl at all, but this time I just couldn't find the words. It was as if a cat caught my tongue like I forgot how to put together the necessary sounds to make words. It was a bizarre feeling to be sure, I even fumbled getting out my wallet, a classic Dan maneuver. If I wasn't humiliated before, I was then when I looked to my side and saw Dan holding back a fit of laughter.

Trying to make eye contact again, I take what feels like forever to say I will purchase these items. Thankfully, she doesn't give me any trouble and just nods with a smile as she automatically starts to ring them up on her register.

She's quiet, that's the first thing I noticed after getting past her cute face and beautiful, brown hair. Not once does she offer any words to start a conversation. It was the same with every other customer. She always gave everyone a pilot nod an smile, carrying out her duties with great efficiency. I looked back and saw that the 40 something man was still watching silently, his arms folded. He stood watching like a parent would, chaperoning a date or something like that.

Not wanting to leave without any manners, I thank the cashier for putting up with my friend from earlier.

"Thank you, Lillian, for your hard work and all that, and I'm sorry if my friend here pestered you too much."

The young lady jumps as if something startled her, and her eyes widen. I look around immediately to see what could have happened. But as I turn around to face her again, she is looking directly at me, with great concentration too. Then, she spoke.

"H-How did you know my name?" She asks in a guarded tone. I point to her chest and say with a smile.

"You are wearing a nametag." Lillian then looks down and seems to remember that she is indeed wearing one.

"Oh! That's right. I guess I was wearing this all day." She smiles an awkward smile and then bids a farewell.

"I hope you enjoy your bread! And umm... come back again soon, oh no wait- that wasn't it. Ummm, have a good afternoon?" I smile and nod my head, showing that I was paying attention.

"You have a good afternoon yourself."

I exit the shop and am immediately jerked over to the side by my shoulder. Dan is bewildered, angry even? I snap my head in his direction, prepared to say something, but he ends up cutting me off first.

"Dude! What the HELL was that?" I stare at him, my eyes wide and my mouth gaping open a bit in confusion.

"Wait, wh-"

"You totally stole my thunder back there! She didn't speak to anyone at the shop, not a single person. I tried my best pick up lines and everything, nothing. And here you are waltzing right up to the counter and addressing her by her first name!"

"She was wearing a nametag," I quickly point out, "and it's not like I planned any of that. I was just trying to be sociable."

"SURE YOU WERE." Dan clicks his teeth in frustration, sighing heavily and letting his shoulders slump down. "How messed up is this. Of all the people she could have spoken to, she picked an oddball like you, and you only came for the bread too," he emphasizes with a wild hand motion.

I laugh in response. "Yeah, that is pretty weird."

Dan and I go our separate ways for the night. As I head back home to my apartment, my mind still reels from today's encounter. My chest thumps and my head feels light as I sit down. What is this feeling? Could it be, dare I say actual feelings for someone? My stomach then gurgles in protest. Ah, the lightheadedness, that explains it. I haven't eaten since breakfast.
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tstarr8481
tstarr8481: ..........Thanks for your patience, Ruk !........will read this tonight for sure and get back with you >>>>>>
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tstarr8481
tstarr8481: You have delightfully honed in on the simple complexities of everyday life......your characters are becoming well-developed and provoking both mental and emotional attachments by the reader which is a very important shift. You demonstrated this with subtle cleverness, pulling the reader into both his rational and also the more delicately understated desires that are not always apparent in life. Both the confusion and hope this character displays is very inviting to the reader with a definite enticement to keep reading, wanting now to see if this connection is truly a possibility or simply a wanting expressed......this is exciting and has nudged the story into another dimension. Bravo ! I am looking forward to how this story progresses and you certainly should continue with your endeavor. Wonderful writing always requires us to find that precarious balance......it is something that appears easily performed to the reader if done with careful thought and considerations although you do have a certain remarkable talent in this regard ! Looking forward to your next installment as now I will also continue to wonder how this story wanders through your weaving of this tapestry........
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