Making Immunity Part One (385 hits)
Category: NoneRating: -1.31 on 9 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by <monkeylove.at.easy.com> (View user info) at 2008-05-03 11:37:07 EDT
Dr. Larson reached for his now half-empty glass of gin and raised it slightly off the table. His eyes were fixed upon his drink as if he had discovered some peculiar imperfection within the glass. Tilting the drink at an angle, Larson continued to study it without saying another word to his colleague. A moment later, he brought the edge of the glass to his mouth and quietly emptied the remainder of it's contents.
"Cliff, you can't be serious?" his colleague finally announced after a moment of intentional silence. "What you just proposed is ludicrous. It's foolish."
Larson did not answer. The expression that had moved over his face made his companion uneasy as he watched from the opposite side of the table. A sullen vacancy seemed to have engrossed Larson's expression, and mutual eye contact had not been made between them for some time now.
"Cliff, can't you see that? It's absolutely insane," his colleague persisted.
Larson's attention shifted clumbsily around the table between them in an obvious attempt to stall his answer before finally focusing directly on the man opposite him. He let out a prolonged sigh, frowned awkwardly, and then parted his lips as if to speak. But before offering a response a pained look struck him, and he immediately lowered his attention back to the surface of the table. Shaking his head Larson silently denounced his colleague's contempt.
"Jesus, Cliff, don't act like this," Beckett continued, "I think you've had too much to drink."
"I doubt it." Larson mumbled this under his breath.
Beckett only stared at him without offering anything further. His eyes grew narrow as he observed Larson's obvious mental distance. He continued to watch as Larson took an unnatural interest in the glass again. Larson's fingers moved to follow the rim of the glass, tracing the circular form of the object with what seemed to be a detached curiousity.
"Cliff?" Beckett started again.
"I don't want to talk about it anymore. You don't understand."
"Try me."
"I already did."
Larson suddenly looked up from the glass. He straightened himself in his chair and for the first time since they had both sat down in the restaurant Dr. Larson seemed to regain some of his usual composure. He pushed the glass away from him and reached for the bill sitting on the center of the table between them.
"I'll get the cheque. I need to go."
"What did I say?"
"Nothing," snapped Larson. "I just need to go." He flashed his watch to Beckett and tapped on it with his finger. "It's late."
"It's only eight o'clock?"
Larson didn't respond. He grabbed the bill from the table, glanced at the amount, hastily pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and tossed a twenty dollar bill on the table. Getting up from his chair, Larson offered Beckett a doggish look.
"I'm sorry," he said. And then Larson walked toward the door of the restaurant and headed out into the street, and out of Beckett's sight without so much as another word.
A light rain had started to fall on the downtown core or Toronto. Overhead, a procession of dark clouds had migrated over the city, and when Dr. Larson stepped out onto the curb from the restaurant the clouds were already hanging dangerously low to the skyscrapers; ready to unload a much heavier rain stirring in their bellies into the streets below. For the time being, however, the sidewalks were wet but transgressable, so Larson started on his way down the street toward the lot several blocks away where he had parked his car.
Along the way Larson passed a small hot dog vender where a young couple were huddling together under the crude canopy of the cart to keep dry. As he walked by them, Larson turned his head slightly to look at the couple without slacking his pace down the sidewalk. The vendor manning the cart was a young woman that Larson thought would be very attractive, if it had not been for the tired jacket she wore and the hood over her head that might have hid any of her better features. She was busy prodding two hot dogs on the grill with a large fork as the young couple waited under the canopy. Larson continued walking, loosing interest in the scene for reasons known only to himself.
When Larson finally arrived at the parking lot the clouds overhead finally gave up their heaviest payloads to the unwilling city below. The car lot itself had in a matter of moments become a sea, and the downward slope of the lot channeled the rainwater in astonishing speed toward the curb where it poured over it's edge and into the street beside it. Dr. Larson found the sidewalk nearly impassible now without getting his feet soaked straight up to his ankles, and started a mad dash across the pavement. He raced to his car, which he regretted parking on the furtherest end of the lot, and fumbled for his keys amongst the endless treasures of his jacket pocket before managing to retrieve them and unlock the vehicle. A moment later he was safely inside the car, where he sat motionless with both eyes closed and lost in an increasingly isolated world tucked somewhere deep inside his head.
The rain outside only helped to push him further away from the living world.
With some effort, Larson managed to open his eyes and call himself back, at least partially, into the world of his physical surroundings and start his car. He played with the instruments on his dash; first fidgetting with the wipers to clear the water from his windshield, then flicking the radio on and off again, and finally turning on the car's headlights. For a brief moment, Larson thought about shifting the transmission into drive, but he hesitated long enough to decide against it. His attention moved to the little knob on the glove compartment, which he turned thoughtlessly to open. The compartment door fell open and everything inside avalanched onto the seat beside him; a useless collection of maps, audio cassettes, forgotten documents and - dozens of cases of pills. Larson sifted through the junk on the seat and retrieved one of the pill cases. He fondled the case clumsily, spinning it around between his fingers and scanning the label. He frowned. Larson's eyes narrowed as he studied the prescription typed into the label. Then, suddenly, he fired the entire case to the floor where it rolled under the seat.
Larson remained sitting in the car and after a awhile he began to take an interest in the emerging patterns on his windshield as the rain outside splashed against the glass. Shortly his attention fell away from the patterns themselves, however, and Larson was soon lost in the unknown mysteries of his mind, even as his eyes remained fixed on the windshield. Several moments after that, any trace of his conscious self emptied from his eyes as he sat catatonic in his seat, only faintly aware of the sound of the rain against the car or the steady hum of the car's idling engine.
"Move it out!" came a voice from outside.
Larson snapped back into the world.
"You gotta move it out," the voice tried again. A man in a yellow and red nylon vest was gesturing to Larson through the side window. The man tapped on the window trying to get Larson's attention.
Larson looked at him, slightly startled. The man's voice was somewhat muffled through the window, but Larson could understand him quite clearly.
"I need you to move it out," the man persisted. He pointed to the street and then gestured with his hands to move the car forward. He was drenched from the rain and did not seem in the least bit pleased with his situation. He glared at Larson.
In the back of his mind, Larson heard himself say something that remotely resembled the words "okay, okay" but was sure that the angry lot attendant outside his window did not. Larson was even more sure that the attendant did not care. Another car was waiting a few yards away from his own with it's headlights greedily fixed on Larson's parking spot, and the attendant was growing more and more impatient. Larson threw his vehicle into drive and pulled out to free up the spot. A minute later he was pulling off the curb and was out on the street.
User Reviews
Submitted by CarterPFly (user info) at 2008-05-12 11:38:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Actually Cheque was correct.
Submitted by F.J.Bell (user info) at 2008-05-12 11:17:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
No Comment
Submitted by LittleMonster (user info) at 2008-05-12 11:08:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Submitted by HurtByTheSun (user info) at 2008-05-12 11:06:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
http://www.angelfire.com/zine/musefactory/archive/mgagne/immunity/immunity1.htm
You are an utter cunt.
Submitted by HurtByTheSun (user info) at 2008-05-12 11:06:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
http://www.angelfire.com/zine/musefactory/archive/mgagne/immunity/immunity1.htm
You are an utter cunt.
Submitted by AsshOly (user info) at 2008-05-04 12:41:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Yeah, you use some strange words dude. Cheque? It's a check. Don't try to get fancy if the story isn't fancy.
Also, what the hell was this about? Seriously? I was enjoying the dialogue, then it ended and I expected to find out what was such a ludicrous idea, and then nothing happened. Also, you call Beckett things like "the dude across from him" until late in the dialogue, when you finally address him by his name, and then you eject him from the story. I was fucked off by that.
You are a good writer but not a great storyteller. You'd benefit from reading Harry Potter books or Tucker Max or somehting. In writing, being a storyteller is much more important than being a writer.
Submitted by Banjo (user info) at 2008-05-04 06:34:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
This was painfully dull, I couldn't get to the end of it. Don't give up your day job just yet
Submitted by jasumthin (user info) at 2008-05-04 00:33:09 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
let the shunning begin
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2008-05-03 14:42:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
Submitted by HurtByTheSun (user info) at 2008-05-03 14:12:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
Using 'words' like 'transgressable' is fucking stupid. I hope this gets a hell of a lot more interesting. I was enjoying it until the end of the dialogue, but then it kind of lost pace and interest.
=====================
A) It is spelled transgressible.
B) Transgressible refers to the law.
C) The word you were looking for was traversable, although passable would be a better choice.
Submitted by HurtByTheSun (user info) at 2008-05-03 14:12:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
Using 'words' like 'transgressable' is fucking stupid. I hope this gets a hell of a lot more interesting. I was enjoying it until the end of the dialogue, but then it kind of lost pace and interest.