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Fog - Part 6/10



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Sun Sep 11, 2011 6:18 am
joshuapaul says...



VI Paranoia and a resignation letter

I had to hold Janey. We had two bodies, and screaming and crying didn’t help but she wouldn’t stop. Neither would the other kids. I would have done anything to get her smiling but all I could do was hold her and pat her back to keep her from choking on the sobs.

Scrutinizing eyes were burning on Mike. He had left the shotgun on the counter and everyone furiously dialled on their phones fruitlessly. Sarah and the burly cook were holding each other in the kitchen. There was a way about how he eyed her, how his hand’s moved along her back with long soft strokes, that told me he probably cared for her much more than she did for him. I knew we had to go; we had to get to Tara. It was all getting mad in here. It was cold, too cold at times, then suddenly I was flushed and sweating.

I moved to Mike.
“I saw.”
He glanced up at me then dropped his face back in his bloody hands. “I saw him. He was mad. He was going to kill you. He was coughing blood when he came back. You know I think it’s something out there. It hurts to breath in that fog.”
“Just shut up, shut up. Okay?”

I was getting agitated; my hands were shaking and my eyes blurred.

Across the room, Joe was flustered, kneading his forehead with his palms. I walked over and got close enough so no one could hear.

“Joe, I’m telling you it’s something in the fog. First Rafa comes in here in a state of catatonia then that trucker pulls a shotgun. You’ve got two bodies in your diner.” I said watching his unconvinced eyes, it wasn’t getting through, “Joe, just listen, that Sabre guy, he said something about the fog taking us, about us being animal. Now I don’t know what that means, but he gave me a feeling that he knew something.”

I said looking out at the fog and the quiet flashes that burnt it's image into my eyes. “It stings your eyes and makes your throat itch and by the look of it, it makes you act strange. Now we can’t call the police until the phone lines are back up and we can’t leave until the fog clears so we are going to have to take care of the bodies first, for the kids’ sake.” I watched Joe’s face with the anticipation I get when yanking a mower chord over and over waiting for it to lurch into life. Then some tectonic movement occurred which barely surfaced, but I knew he had realised I was right. He disappeared into the kitchen. I went and repeated what I had said to Mike Fisken.

He stood and looked back at his kids, with eyes washed with concern. He agreed to help clean up the trucker. The other truckers sat in a booth, barely moving. The couple were tighter than ever, they sat next to Claire Fisken and the children.

Joe returned with a mop, and a large sheet of plastic following like a ghost.

“I know it’s a crime scene, but what else can we do?” I said and with that, we slid the body onto the plastic sheet and out through the kitchen. I suggested he go in the chiller and Joe agreed. The plastic sheet left a body wide red stain like a painter’s brushstroke.

Joe started to mop, and after one sweep, he hunched over and hurled into the bucket. I took the mop and refilled the bucket out the back of the kitchen then finished the job. The water was a pink dye. Every time I hit a hard thatch of skin and shredded flesh, bile started up my throat.

After the clean up – could a euphemism be more disquieting? - I sat down and held Janey. She was a strong brave little girl, but she wept, she asked where her mother was and why we can’t leave. She asked if the trucker was okay and when the ambulance would come. I told her he was okay. I hated lying to her, but I hated the feel of those warm tears rolling onto my chest even more. The Fisken children were too young to understand what had happened, or perhaps they had inherited their father’s nerve. They still pestered their parents about when they were going back to the lake house and if they can have another milkshake.

Claire Fisken had tweaked loose the top two buttons of her blouse. She had a mole on her chest that peeked out and I felt something, at first it was an insatiable attraction, then it was guilt. I was goggling this young married woman while my wife could be stuck in the fog out there. I got angry; I wanted to hurt something, hurt myself. I gripped my emotions as best I could. It all come in a flood, it was strange, and hard to explain. Mood swings were as common as the fog itself to me but here I was, fists tight and sweat coming on all over.

I guess that’s the problem with emotions. You get so good at controlling them; you have all the tricks, the routines to supress what is innate. I was running flights east to west, away from home five days a week. I had my wife and my baby girl at home, waiting. All I was to them for five years was a pay cheque and a week long vacation in Hawaii every August. Sometimes I would surprise them, when a particularly harsh storm kept me grounded. I would be back early. Sometimes I would be away for longer, weeks and weeks. I got lonely but I learned the tricks. I learned what substances helped. I learned about gambling. I learned to count to ten when I wanted to whack someone and to look away when a pretty girl with painted lips came my way. Something about the thought of Tara drained me, the fly-screened window left ajar.

But here now, I stood and goddamn I couldn’t take my eyes off that girl. I felt a little contempt towards Mike, I looked at his neck and wondered how much weight those bones could take, how many fists that nose would stand before inverting completely. It was already bent all out of shape and his eyes were concealed almost entirely in bloody blue rings, but I could get him better, if I wanted. I could hurt him better. He could run with both crowds and I knew it, a suit by day but a brawler by nature. I stalled these thoughts. I suddenly had an urge to hit Mike and I don't know why, the thought of it now makes my gut feel real empty. Even at the time as this urge came, part of me wanted the thoughts to pass.

I found my original booth and sat. I trained my emotions, jogging my thoughts over familiar ground: Tara and Janey, my flight schedule, my time off to sort out the migraines. Then I noticed something, a black case. It was under the table where Mick Sabre was downing scotch. I slyly moved over, placed it in the table and opened it. There were stacks of paper and a few newspaper clippings crudely tossed in untidily, huried. The first sheet of paper was covered in ink.

RE: Resignation

Mr. Sabre,
Please consider this my formal resignation effective immediately. I don’t want any severance; I don’t want a golden handshake. I just want my name wiped from the project. What you are doing is wrong, even if you claim to have no control over it. This is a dangerous game your organization is playing. Stop now.

Yours sincerely,
Jakob Lindegaard


A dangerous game? I frowned at it, studying it for more. What was this project? I picked up one of the news articles, and on the cover was a dead bird held by an angry looking conservation officer.

Birds mysteriously poisoned, the title read. Then I found it, a sheet of paper that made my guts plummet.

31st March 2005

0.2 g/M. Subject three continues to display memory lapse, failing not only cognitive processing test two and five but one and three and general response to previous controlled trauma.

0.4 g/M. subject three no longer responds to controlled trauma testing. Fails CP test one through five.

0.06 g/M. At 0.6 moles Subject three displays heightened reactions to emotive stimuli. Subject three, rejects food when presented with a mate or other subjects. Subject three seems to act entirely on instincts. Prior trauma means of behavioural development have been superseded. No further testing recommended for subject three.


It seemed to take longer to read. I went back over it again scouring.
Act entirely on instincts.

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Thu Sep 15, 2011 9:42 pm
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SmylinG says...



JP, m'lad, 'tis I again to come and lend another review. x]

I'll just go ahead and jump right into it with some quotes and thoughts and opinions. Though I think everything is pretty well mashed up together. I hope you don't mind, I tried to just go along as I was reading. Seems to be the easiest way to review thoroughly. But enough of my blabbering, here we go.

“Joe, I’m telling you it’s something in the fog. First Rafa comes in here in a state of catatonia then that trucker pulls a shotgun. You’ve got two bodies in your diner.” I said watching his unconvinced eyes, it wasn’t getting through, “Joe, just listen, that Sabre guy, he said something about the fog taking us, about us being animal. Now I don’t know what that means, but he gave me a feeling that he knew something.”


Right here, I wish you might have had this thought occur to Ross internally before you went ahead and allowed him to speak this thought aloud to Joe. It's almost as if you had it your mind for Ross to suspect this, which makes complete sense, but the way in which you did it so abruptly really didn't sit as smoothly as I might have liked for it to be. There was no subtle transition into this assumption. I would consider placing one in here somehow. I think it'd be worth it to.

Also, when you have Ross explaining all of this to Joe, it seems rather. . . what's the word. . --finely collected. He's too sure about what he's saying I suppose. I'm not sure how else to word it. His thoughts and words all seem rather coherent, and I would possibly expect something opposite to the effect. Your character seems to have a good head on his shoulders, but even the most intelligent second guess the impossible. I think if you focus Ross's suspicion on Mick Sabre having known something, that makes plenty sense, but you don't want to throw everything up in the air here at once. Give things some time to sink in. ;] That's about all I can really say about it.

She was a strong brave little girl, but she wept(.) She asked where her mother was and why we can’t couldn't leave.


The tense was a little funny to me here.

They still pestered their parents about when they were going back to the lake house and if they can could have another milkshake.


And here.

She had a mole on her chest that peeked out and I felt something(.) At first it was an insatiable attraction, then it was guilt.


Yes... feel guilty, Ross. That's a boy. :lol: His intentions have become a lot more clear to me now. I feel like I can sort of understand. But maybe it also has something to do with this mysterious fog? I want to know if it turns people into animals in every which way. This is just one of my few guesses though. Still trying to figure everything out, but I do have a habit of reading too much into things as well, so.

Something about the thought of Tara drained me, the fly-screened window left ajar.


Right where you have this sentence placed seems very out of context to me. Almost like it doesn't belong. It's a good thought to include, because you're bringing back this thought from how he had left her at the house before he'd left, but I just don't really care for where you've placed it when your character is going on about something else.

I felt a little contempt towards Mike(.) I looked at his neck and wondered how much weight those bones could take, how many fists that nose would stand before inverting completely.


Right around here I also wanted to make a note at how random this anger seems to be spurting out from your character. I'm sure it may have something huge to do with the fog and all, but still, it's a little intense I think. Though it's probably a great idea for you to insert these angry feelings early on before you delve deeper into the mystery of the fog, I do think that this was maybe a little much at once. I got hints of moodiness from Ross earlier, but nothing I couldn't see as somewhat normal for a person.

I slyly moved over, placed it on the table and opened it.


A dangerous game? I frowned at it, studying it for more.


For more what?

31st March 2005


My birthday! (not the 2005 part obviously) Shout out to me. :smt044 This is the second work I've reviewed on here that includes this awesome/random little detail.

Subject three seems to act entirely on instincts. Prior trauma means of behavioural development have been superseded. No further testing recommended for subject three.


So when I came across this little bit of info Ross stumbles upon, I tried to put it together in a logical way, like 'could this mean that there's some level of hope?' It's a good thing I think. You're giving clues out for the reader and MC to take in and all that. The only thing off that comes to mind though when I think about how Ross came across this is why the heck would Sabre have had this along with him? It's just a bunch of personal stuff regarding personal issues he's involved with. I know if I had something to do with this madness that's going on (whatever it is) I wouldn't want to be carrying around this stuff with me. Maybe it would have made more sense if Sabre left his jacket or wallet lying around there in the booth with some of this info on him. But that's just my opinion of it.

Well, overall I think you might have a bit more to brush up on with this chapter here. I know it can a bit tougher sorting out the details and plot as the story presses forward, but I hope anything I may have mentioned might be of some help to you. Though a few alternate reviews will definitely help you further in pinpointing any profound flaws in this chapter. Any of your chapters really. x]

Will catch you soon again.

-Smylin'
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Fri Sep 16, 2011 11:49 am
Twit says...



Hello!

I had to hold Janey. We had two bodies...


These two facts sound oddly connected.


There was a way about how he eyed her, how his hand’s moved along her back with long soft strokes, that told me he probably cared for her much more than she did for him.


No apostrophe needed.


I moved to Mike.
“I saw.”
He glanced up at me then dropped his face back in his bloody hands. “I saw him. He was mad. He was going to kill you. He was coughing blood when he came back. You know I think it’s something out there. It hurts to breath in that fog.”
“Just shut up, shut up. Okay?”
I was getting agitated; my hands were shaking and my eyes blurred.


Your formatting makes it unclear as to who’s saying what.


“Joe, I’m telling you it’s something in the fog. First Rafa comes in here in a state of catatonia then that trucker pulls a shotgun. You’ve got two bodies in your diner.” I said watching his unconvinced eyes, it wasn’t getting through, “Joe, just listen, that Sabre guy, he said something about the fog taking us, about us being animal. Now I don’t know what that means, but he gave me a feeling that he knew something.”


“State of catatonia” sounds a bit robotic.

The other bolded bits are grammar problems. The bolded full stop should be a comma, and the bolded comma should be a full stop.


I said looking out at the fog and the quiet flashes that burnt it's image into my eyes.


It’s is short for it is. You need its.


The plastic sheet left a body wide red stain like a painter’s brushstroke.


Are you sure there’d be this much blood just from one shot?

---
I like Ross a lot more in this chapter, but I found his antagonistic feelings towards Mike a bit sudden. I get that it’s the fog and all, but maybe you could foreshadow this earlier on. Have Ross feel contempt for his weakness, or with how he treats his wife or something.

-twit
"TV makes sense. It has logic, structure, rules, and likeable leading men. In life, we have this."


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Sun Sep 18, 2011 10:21 pm
Kafkaescence says...



Of course we're going to have to delve into the science behind the fog at one point or another. It was really just a matter of how skillfully and believably you portrayed the scientific resolution behind the situation, and I did find your explanation to be, if not original, cleverly executed. Written words are always more convincing than spoken words, right? Because writing, especially in the context of stately documents, has a much more formal air? This in mind, it wouldn't be the same if someone - the cowboy, let's say - simply told Ross of the experimental origins of the fog. We know that Ross would most likely doubt the cowboy's contention, and the reader would face yet another little mystery. It's nice to be presented with definite facts now and then; I'm sure you can empathize.

We also encounter a subtle irony in this chapter: the fact that Mick, who Ross had described contemptuously as "a cowboy" in earlier chapters - where the common image of cowboys is intrinsically to be regarded with distrust and superiority - is the most formal and knowledgeable of anyone at the diner. Surely Mick's unsophisticated surface appearance contributed largely to Ross's skepticism. This is another excellent example of the point made above: that the manifestation of a piece of information almost completely determines its believability, especially in situations like these, when nearly any explanation would have been welcome. What if the papers stated that the fog was caused by space aliens? Or by chemically-infused forest fires? By heck Ross would believe it. Who wouldn't?

And who is this mysterious Subject Three? Will we get to meet him/her? Or have we already? Or is it nothing more than a prognosis of what Ross, and everyone else with him, was bound to become?

Now that we know more about the fog and its effects on the human mind, we can analyze the story on a level that earlier we could not. We can partly explain, now, the rash actions of the diner customers in previous chapters; however, I think my critiques still hold true. The trucker's accusation wasn't instinct, it was stupidity. Ross's fetching of his flare gun? Maaaybe, but I think that's something of a stretch. He had barely even been exposed to the fog at that point. And like I've already said, his reason was dubious.

My largest criticism is that instead of gradually introducing the reader to the fog's effects, you establish them in jarringly abrupt milestones, as if there really were only three stages to Ross's animalization, if you will, and nothing in between. This is actually just a more general version of a critique I made in my review of last chapter, as I'm sure my suggestion of graduality does not come as especially new to you.

Okay. Well, this wasn't the best chapter, but it wasn't the worst, either. Nevertheless, your story continues to be intriguing!

Hope this helped.

-Kafka
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Fri Dec 09, 2011 12:04 pm
Rydia says...



The effect of the fog

I'm going to reiterate my request at the end of the last section for an extension of the part where Ross went into the fog as it's more important than ever here. When Ross comes in he seems fine. Not even slightly different from before. He gets a little frisky eyed at the woman, but other than that, he's just Ross. The thing is, you then throw into his dialogue in this section that it hurts to breathe in the fog. I need to see him having trouble with that in the previous part, even if it's just when he comes back in and he's all grateful to be breathing good air again. Maybe he doesn't cover his mouth at first when going out and it's only when he experiences the difficulty of the fog that he pulls his jumper/ shirt or whatever it was over his mouth.

Secondly, I'd like to see either a more gradual slop toward all this anger and instrinct. Or. More of these short little bursts and if it is coming in short bursts, I want to see how Ross feels about it after he goes. Is he suddenly disgusted with himself for the thoughts he was having about the woman? Does he stare at his fist in surprise after the urge to punch people passes? It just needs to be a slightly smoother thing one way or another as it's a great idea but currently your execution is a little bit sloppy.

The Briefcase

I'd like to see you bring this into an earlier scene but first you have to ask yourself, did Mick want people to know what was going on? Did he want to pass on the information in the hopes that it would help people? If so, you could give that conversation between him and Ross an extra purpose and have Mick ask Ross to watch his briefcase for him while he goes to use the bathroom. Then Ross would know it was his and Mick would have purposefully stirred the suspicion in him, then left him with the answers.

If Mick didn't want people finding out, my big question is what's he doing carrying that briefcase around with him and then leaving it where anyone might find it?

Ross and his knowledge of the fog

Wait. Ross is working things out a little too quickly here, particularly for a guy who has been at least partially affected by this fog. From what we've seen, it doesn't just make people act on instinct; it also takes their rational minds away. Why then does Ross seem to be getting smarter and more rational instead of the other way around?

Also, when Ross starts telling Joe stuff about the fog that he's worked out, I don't know about you but in Joe's boots I'd be scared and protective and just completely unhinjed. This is his place. That makes a big difference between him and the other characters. The others are thinking fondly of home and how they'll be safe there but for Joe, he should feel safe here because this is his place so when things start getting scary on your own home turf it's even worse because you have no sanctuary to run away to. This is your sanctuary. So if a guy I knew started suddenly knowing things he shouldn't, or seeming to, I'd probably want to point a finger at him and demand why do you know so much? And if the fog is so dangerous, maybe we should quarantine you because you went out in it.

Overall

It's a cool chapter. I like the evidence, I like what we're starting to find out about the fog. There's just a few things you need to clear up to make this a bit smoother and more realistic. But so far I'm liking the way this is going,

Heather xxx
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