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 Posted: Thu Jul 09, 2009 3:28 pm
Okay, an explanation:
My sophomore year in high school, I took a creative writing class. Every day, our teacher would give us a different prompt.
This one -- recycling -- was given some time around Earth Day.
Somehow, I don't think this is quite what she had in mind.
I'm not especially proud of this, but I was going through files on my computer, looking for something to post, and found it.
=====
"Hey, what does this mean -- 'recycling notice'?"
Philippe looked up at the demon dully from the slip of paper he held in his own hand. "It means there's a lack of enthusiasm in the character creation department, and so we're being recycled. Same name, same personality, different location."
"So... what's that line over there for?" A man in a bright crimson coat had spoken this time, pointing at a long line off to one side of the room.
"Name reassignment. Poor things can hardly remember who they are." For once, Philippe looked genuinely sympathetic. He pointed at various other clusters of people standing around, identifying them each in turn: "Height modification, carbon copying -- for when personalities need adjusting, but nothing else -- memory managing, speech modifications, hair dying, eye colour, surgeons -- for those of us who've been mortally wounded..."
The soldier looked at the scientist. "And how many have you been through?"
"Over the past four years, I've been through..." Philippe paused for a moment, thinking. "Just about everything but name reassignment. The surgeons know me particularly well."
The soldier winced, eying the scientist's numerous injuries. "So I see."
Here, in the "Waiting Room," as it was affectionately known, all the characters existed as they truly would, all the effects, both good and bad, of their times on paper shown. Philippe was the most ragged of the group, his body exhibiting marks left from each of his gruesome, if well-deserved, deaths. His trademark white coat was torn in dozens of places from the gory butchering he had once received, and was stained red anywhere it wasn't charred black from the fire he had once burned in. his typically porcelain skin was battered, bruised and scraped, his left arm hung at an awkward angle, and a gaping hole in his abdomen had been expertly bandaged by the surgeons. But through it all, his malicious grins and superior tone clearly said this broken man was, without a doubt, Philippe Louis Antoine Duvicieux, alive and well, as mentally alert as ever.
"You've been here four years?" A passing girl stopped, stunned. "And I thought six months was impressive."
He shrugged casually. "An old favourite," he said, "used and abused."
"I hope you, uh, feel better?" she offered, gesturing at his various injuries.
"I'll be as good as new by tomorrow, I'm sure."
And so the Waiting Room remained full, men and women and boys and girls of all shapes and sizes waiting for their turn to be recycled.
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Posted: Thu Jul 09, 2009 6:48 pm
This is an interesting concept to be sure, if a little short.
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Posted: Thu Jul 09, 2009 7:06 pm
A lot of the things I wrote for that class were a little shorter than I would have liked... but when you have an hour and a half to write something and hand it in.... I guess I could have taken stuff home, but between my other homework, I just never had time. e.e"
Half the stuff I did in that class I never finished. I was just like, "Here. I wrote three pages, which is more than most of the people in here."
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Posted: Fri Jul 10, 2009 8:26 am
I had a creative writing class once. My teacher started limiting me to four pages after I turned out sixteen or more pages on a short story assignment based on a three-paragraph, three word outline the day before I was supopsed to hand it in. The story was interesting by the way. Where did you get the idea?
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Posted: Fri Jul 10, 2009 10:01 am
I got the idea when I realized I used the same, like, four characters for fricking everything, I just changed a few details about them.
Like Philippe. He's a mad scientist sometimes, other times he's an anarchist, once he had sold his soul to the devil.... He's been stabbed to death, burned to death, impaled on an iron bar.... He's been abusive and he's been abused -- physically and mentally. He's been arrested, he's been a kidnapper.... I have fun with him.
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Posted: Sat Jul 11, 2009 4:57 pm
I agree with Shallarinath. The concept is definitely original, and I probably would not have thought of anything like that if presented with the random topic of "recycling." I liked it, even if it was a little weird.
...I wish my school offered a creative writing class... crying
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Posted: Sun Jul 12, 2009 8:57 am
We don't have a creative writing class at our school, but we do have a club for it, but it's mainly just poetry. (ugh).
And, I don't know what to say about your piece. It's not like anything I've ever read before. Not even The Host was like that, which is the closest thing I can compare it to. So... I have to say it was really good. Would make an interesting book, if you had the recycled people revolt or something. Either way, I liked it. Nice work. 3nodding
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Posted: Sun Jul 12, 2009 12:38 pm
i also wish my school had a creative writing class that would be fun!! whee but...we dont have one and i am sad crying
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Posted: Mon Sep 07, 2009 1:04 pm
I like this. It's original, I like the concept. Though I'd be horrified if Jack got recycled. Though I've a feeling I'll use him for loads of stuff...
Anyway, nice thing. Recycling characters...
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