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Thursday April 22, 2004
Untitled Story
I wrote this as part of an assignment based on "As I Lay Dying," AKA told from many points of view. This is more reminice of "Poisonwood Bible," but whatever. Please ignore the awful formatting... Word plays havoc with my writing, and I'm too lazy to go back and fix it.
James C.
Ugh, no. Not again.
He opened his eyes slowly, staring up at the darkened ceiling of his room as his mother’s yells drifted up the staircase and through his open bedroom door.
“James! Are you up yet? You’re going to be late for school.”
Ah, yes. He was going to be LESS than 30 minutes early, which apparently was considered a gross offence. Dolefully, he climbed out of bed and padded down the hallway and down the large staircase.
“There you are!” his mother said, disapprovingly. “I’ve been calling you for the past hour! Where have you been?”
Hour? More like 2 minutes.
James smiled, having learned that it was much easier to accept her inaccuracies than to try and argue about them. “I’ve just been getting dressed, mom.”
”Whatever.” She thrust a bowl of oatmeal and a large glass of orange juice in front of him. Just like every other day. “Eat,” she commanded.
James sat at the counter, just like every other day, and gulped down his goopy oatmeal, watching his mother cry as she read her stupid romance novels.
Just like every other day.
He chugged down the juice, and grabbed his backpack, running out the door. He had learned a long time ago that it was easier if he dressed the night before, that way he could bolt immediately after breakfast.
“Bye, mom,” he yelled as he grabbed his keys and headed into the garage.
No response, just like every other day.
He sighed, climbing into his beaten-up ’98 Civic, the only car he’d been able to afford.
It was going to be a long day.
Just like every other day.
Jake B.
“What do you MEAN a recall?”
The supervisor in front of him jumped, visibly afraid. “I... I… simply…” he stammered.
“Well?” Jake leaned back in his chair, taking long puffs of his cigar.
What the hell did he mean, a recall? They couldn’t stand to lose any more profits. They were almost in the red as it was.
“I… simply… wanted to… inform you about… an… error in… production?”
Jake’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of an error?”
”A… potentially… deadly one.”
Jake leaned forward, staring directly at him. “I’m listening.”
Alan V.
More photos, more photos! He leveled his camera and snapped, causing Ms. Pullen to jump backward.
“Whoa, bright flash,” she said, before setting her copies down and returning to her desk.
Alan smiled, heading into the halls to stalk his next hapless victim, who just happened to be walking through the unit doors.
“Ahhhh!” Adra yelled as the flash temporarily blinded her. “No!” Hands covering her face, she quickly walked the rest of the way to her locker.
This was going well. Only 290 more photos until the card was full.
Oh wait.
He’d forgotten to clear the memory from yesterday, hadn’t he?
A quick look at the card’s contents confirmed his suspicions.
Meh, it didn’t matter anyway. He still had plenty of memory left.
He glanced up just in time to catch James coming through the unit doors.
“Hey, smile,” he said, snapping another photo.
James smiled for the photograph. “Hey.”
”What’s up?” Alan asked, walking over to him.
“Eh, not much,” James replied, walking to his locker.
Alan followed him, knowing how bad things sometimes got at his house. “What about you? Are ya doing okay?”
”Yeah, I guess,” James said, shoving books into his locker.
Rather than being reassuring, this only served to worry Alan.
“You know I’m always here if you need to talk, right?”
James nodded, “Yeah, thanks.” He smiled. “Don’t worry about me, everything’s fine.”
Alan nodded, watching him walk down the hall to buy breakfast, as he always did, wishing there was anything he could do to help out.
Oh well, he could worry about that later. More pressing matters were approaching.
He snapped another picture of Adra, who was heading back toward Ms. Pullen’s room, as she shrieked again. “ALAN!”
Jean D.
Screw this!
Today’s way too nice to spend in school.
She rolled open the sunroof of her Mazda 3 and let the sun stream onto her face.
She laughed as the passed by McClintock, watching her fellow students file inside like rats.
No regrets. Life wasn’t meant to be spent sitting in a classroom, she thought to herself as she sped off.
Besides, they had an Algebra test today.
Jake B.
This was serious.
That was the only thought on his mind as he followed his employee to Large Production Vat A.
That vat that produced arsenic.
Or the one that was supposed to.
The first sign that something was dreadfully wrong was that the vat was off, not churning away at its poison production as it usually did.
The second sign came when he peered in, to view the contents of the vat.
“Oh. My. God.”
Janel T.
“Hey.” She waved to Alan as they passed each other in the hallway.
He was off to meet Ty the tech guy, if she remembered correctly.
And she was off to work on her movie project with Chelsey.
That was, if she could find her.
“Hey, James,” she said, passing him. James gave her a nod, holding his stomach.
Was it her imagination, or did he look like he was going to be sick?
She watched him, worried, as she headed off to look for Chelsey.
James C.
His stomach hurt.
He sat through first hour, algebra, wondering if it was something he had eaten. No, he hadn’t eaten anything different this morning.
He shrugged it off, returning his attention to the board.
Jean D.
The freeway.
The barren freeway.
The pure rush of it all.
“Look at me, no hands!” she yelled to no one in particular, as she sped along well above the posted speed limit of 65.
Alan V.
Third hour.
Design tech.
“Hey, I’ll be back,” Alan told Mrs. Smith as he dropped off his stuff and headed to Ms. Earl’s office.
After all, he’d already finished his project, and what else was there to do?
James C.
Something was wrong.
Janel T.
Walking down the hallway of unit 5, a hunched-over figure caught her eye.
In laughter? In pain?
The latter, it was obvious, as she approached.
“James?” she asked, running over. “Are you okay?”
No, of course not. What a dumb question.
“Here, I’ll take you to the nurse.”
Grabbing his arm and supporting him, the two of them slowly walked toward the unit doors.
Alan V.
“Look, Alan, don’t worry,” Ms. Earl was saying. “We’ve got a plan for you.”
Alan nodded, “Yeah, I know, thanks.”
This was promising. He still desperately hoped for Carnegie Mellon, even if he knew the odds. At least he had the support of the staff.
“Dannette! Ms. Earl!” Janel burst into the office.
Quite unlike her, actually.
“In here,” Ms. Earl called through the open door.
“James just collapsed,” Janel said, staggering through the door. “I think something’s seriously wrong.”
James?
Alan hit himself mentally.
Something had been wrong that morning.
He should’ve found out. Maybe he could’ve helped.
In a daze, he followed the Ms. Earl, who was already running out to where James was lying.
James C.
Darkness. Blissful darkness.
Jake B.
He raked his hands through the vat’s contents, in disbelief.
“Is this… oatmeal?”
He held up a handful of the stuff. Mixed in with the arsenic, which was obviously supposed to be there, were a few grains of rolled oats.
One of the workers below nodded. “I didn’t notice until it was too late. I opened up one of those packages,” he indicated a few brown sacks on the floor, “and poured it in, without checking the contents first.”
“Sir, it’s possible… that our order got switched with that of another plant around here,” offered the supervisor. “We should call… see if…”
”Clean this mess up,” Jake barked, glaring down at them from the vat.. “I don’t want a word about this. Ever. Do you hear me?”
”But sir…”
”Ever!” he repeated, climbing down and storming back to his office, leaving no room for further protest.
Dave F.
This wasn’t right.
He said that to himself over and over as he cleaned up the contaminated vat, per the orders.
What if the orders had been switched?
There was no way to know how long those bags had been sitting there.
It could’ve been months.
He knew for a fact that there was a processing plant just down the road that processed, among other things, oatmeal.
And it was fully automated.
What if something had happened?
No, he couldn’t stand having that on his conscience.
Silently, he snuck off, attracting the attention of neither his coworkers nor the supervisor, who was running around frantically.
He had a phone call to make.
Jean D.
She was hungry.
Referencing a map in her mind, she pinpointed the nearest food joints.
There was a Burger King a few blocks away, or a Taco Bell. A McDonalds lay a little further along.
Burgers were good.
She turned onto the freeway onramp.
Alan V.
He stared at his chemistry test, hardly paying attention to the problems written there.
James was hurt. Or something.
He sighed, randomly penciling in an answer, hoping it would be correct.
An ambulance had come and picked him up.
James had to be alright.
He would be.
…wouldn’t he?
Jean D.
Ah great.
An ambulance.
Or a fire truck.
She craned her head, trying to find the source of the annoying wail.
Left? No, not there.
Right? No, not there.
It must be her imagination, she thought, returning her gaze to the road.
And a very large, white, loud object in her path.
Oh. There it i…..
Dave F.
“Hello?” the voice on the other end replied.
“Uh... hi,” Dave responded, unsure of how to begin. “I work at the processing plant nearby…”
”What can we do for you?”
”There’s something going on that you should know about…”
Alan V.
Nothing. Not a word.
None of them had received any word about James.
He leaned back in his chair, staring at his buddy list, James’ screen name glaringly absent.
He tried again, IMing down his buddy list, one name at a time.
Still nothing.
He glanced at the clock, which now read midnight.
He sighed. It was getting late. It was no good to worry about James and not get any sleep, he decided. Besides, James would need all the help he could get to recover. If he recovered.
Alan shook the last thought from his mind as he climbed into bed. No, James would get better. He would.
James C.
It was strange, looking down at himself on the operating table. He could see the doctors desperately trying to revive him.
He stared at the monitor, a thin flat line showing on the screen, matching the shrill monotonous shriek of the device.
It was funny, really. He already knew he was dead. Watching the doctors scurry around as if there was something they could do.
As he watched them, he laughed.
Janel T.
A loud ringing woke her from her sleep.
Was it the alarm clock? She blinked, trying to clear the sleep in her eyes. Picking up the slowly-ticking object, she slowly let her eyes focus on the time.
4:00 AM.
The ringing sound again. The telephone.
She picked up the receiver, ready to chew out whoever had awoken her at this hour. “Hello?”
”Janel…” It was Alan.
Dave F.
He lay wide awake, staring up at the ceiling in disgust.
He had done what was right. He had saved many lives.
He was going to lose his job.
He sighed, turning over in the bed.
He would figure out what to do in the morning.
If Jake found out what he had done, and he almost certainly already had…
Alan V.
“James…. He’s…”
Dave F.
…he would be dead.
Janel T.
She dropped the phone.
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