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TitaniumAlloy
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posted October 09, 2008 12:32 PM |
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English Exam; Memory is an unreliable witness to reality.
A prompt for an essay I had to write for school.
I chose to do a creative and it had to be about memory erasure and reality, based on a text we've studied
Just wondering what you guys think of it.
If there are any similarities to any other things I've posted here that's because I lack originality and borderline shameless rewriting of pre-written stuff under time conditions, so I apologize in advance.
But I digress.
If anyone has any tips it would not only be appreciated but very helpful for when I have to do the exam in like 2 weeks.  Thanks
“Memory is an unreliable witness to reality.”
(based on themes of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind dir. Michael Gondry)
“You rearrange me ‘till I’m sane,”
The lyrics resounded as he climbed up the rope ladder.
Peter grabbed onto the concrete ledge, threw the bag over his shoulder and hauled himself up. A rusted iron door in a chipped concrete frame. How relevant, he thought.
“You lock the door,”
The Pink Floyd song was getting louder as he twisted the handle. The door swung open.
“And throw away the key,”
The music stopped.
“Hi, John,” Peter said.
The familiar face looked up from his desk; he’d aged since last time, more wrinkled, tired… lonely.
John took a deep drag of his cigarette so that it burned fast, dropped it, and put it out on the floor. He stood up. Peter always hated the stench of smoke, and it hung heavily around the room.
“Peter, what are you doing here?” he asked. His voice was thin and raspy.
“Glad you’re happy to see me,” Peter smiled. “I brought you a few things.”
“Look,” John started. “I’m sorry, Peter. I know you’re trying to help, but… I don’t want anything from out there.”
“I knew you’d say that. I brought some food, some fresh water; it can’t hurt.”
“I have water.”
“Hah, I wouldn’t call that snow water… and you can’t live off red wine,” Peter smirked.
“A man can try.” He laughed. At least he still had a sense of humour after all this time. Peter took some fruit from the bag, two bottles of water, a proper detox.
“How long has it been now?” Peter asked. “Eight? Nine years?”
“I don’t count.” John said.
“I worry about you.” Peter took out a vitamin bottle. “She worries about you. You know, it’s not so bad out there.”
John gazed at the thin rays of light coming from the gaps in the concrete walls, and shook his head. He picked up a small tin and took out a needle.
“And all the drugs in the world aren’t gonna change that. It’s just gonna snow with your head.” John tapped the needle and began to inject it into his withered sleeve of tattoos. “What do you think happened after 2000?”
John took a deep breath.
“I’ve seen the news.”
“Have you?”
“Yeah, new wars, people starving, it’s all the same Peter. It doesn’t change. I’ve escaped.”
“Bullsnow, you don’t get the news.”
“I can see out there.”
“You’re lying, you can’t see anything. Nothing happened. Everything kept going and people went on with their lives. Everyone but you. You know, there are good things in the world. You can’t hide in here forever.”
Peter took a deep breath; the smoke burned in his lungs. “You can’t change the past no matter how deep you bury it.”
John withdrew the needle and collapsed on the leather couch.
“Now why would I want to change the past?” he asked, and began to cough. The dust swirled up and off into the darkness; everything in there seemed so untouched, so… isolated.
“You know why.” Peter said.
John looked at Peter, his expression blank. “Don’t tell me you don’t even remember why you’re in here,” Peter glared at him.
“I don’t remember why you’re in here… why did you come again?” he said dismissively, lay down and picked up his book.
“But you remember who I am, right?” Perhaps Peter hadn’t fully realized the situation. It had been a while.
“Of course. You’re Peter.”
“But who am I?” John paused. The dust had settled back around him again on the couch. Peter could barely make out his sunken eyes in the darkness.
“You’re…” He struggled. “I don’t know, what kind of a question is that?”
Peter waited.
“We went to school together.” John said, finally, and lit up again.
The room temporarily flared into view from the flame of his lighter; there were bookshelves, a desk, a cellar, a mirror and not much else.
Peter sighed.
“No.” John took a drag and turned a page in his book. “No, we didn’t. What have you done to yourself? You don’t even know your best friend. You don’t even know what’s real anymore. You’re living in a snowing fantasy world, John.”
John put the book down and sat up straight.
“Well, a man cannot bear too much reality.” He smiled, baring his teeth.
“Christ…” Peter laughs feebly. “Welles?”
“Eliot.” John said, lifting his book up to show the tattered cover that read; ‘The Hollow Men’.
“How ironic.” Peter said. “You know, she always said that you were like an island. Living in your own head… and now you’re shaping it how you like, not how it is.
Just like old times, huh.”
John stood up abruptly, the cigarette dropped to the ground.
“And why is that a bad – wait, who is ‘she’?”
“Oh.” Peter said, miserably. “Oh, don’t tell me…”
“Don’t give me that.” John said. “Who?”
“Sarah.” Peter said. “You can’t even remember the one reason you’re in this… prison.” A blank expression covers Johns face; there is a certain sharp edge to his ignorance that prevents it from being pathetic.
Peter takes out a small portrait photo from his wallet and hands it to John.
It is of a young woman with tied up blonde hair and blue eyes. Eyes that even in the faded picture look bright, solar above her helpless smile. A young woman who John had never seen before, her unfamiliarity was stark. She was strange, yet compelling; there was something about her.
John shook his head.
“I don’t know her.”
“You know her better than anyone,” Peter said.
“You’re lying. I’ve never seen her before in my life.” he said; a tear appeared in the corner of his eye. He threw the photo on the ground. “Get out.”
Peter took a step back. “Get out!” John heaved himself into him, shoving him to the door. Peter scrambles to grab his bag and runs out as the door slams shut.
“So this is how it ends?” Peter strains to ask.
John didn’t answer.
Instead he walked over to the mirror and looks at his distraught, tear-streaked face. His eyes are sunken. His body is withered and thin, his tattoos a mockery of his former self.
"The lunatic is on the grass,” The song begun to play.
John hung his head in shame and began to sob.
As he turns around he catches sight of a face, tattooed, scratched into his back with ink.
“Remembering games and daisy chains and laughs.”
A faded tattoo of a woman with bright, solar eyes.
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John says to live above hell.
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TitaniumAlloy
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posted October 10, 2008 08:55 AM |
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32 views 0 posts 
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John says to live above hell.
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DagothGares
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posted October 10, 2008 10:44 PM |
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I like it! 
I don't know how to comment it, though. I can't spot any flaws and I was entertained, but being entertained isn't hard since I had to read every single letter in the BA-thread 
Anyway, if I would turn in something like that to my teacher, I'm pretty sure I'd be close to being praised and tossed around in glee and it's not just because I'm horrible at english
EDIT: fixed grammar + one thing that I, personally, disliked: the title wasn't very inviting...
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If you have any more questions, go to Dagoth Cares.
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friendofgunnar
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posted October 11, 2008 03:46 AM |
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Can you explain what you mean by this:
"(based on themes of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind dir. Michael Gondry) "
and
"I chose to do a creative and it had to be about memory erasure and reality, based on a text we've studied."
BTW
I've noticed that you have a tendency to jump into things and not give the reader enough context to figure out what is really going on. For example right here:
Quote:
“How long has it been now?” Peter asked. “Eight? Nine years?”
“I don’t count.” John said.
“I worry about you.” Peter took out a vitamin bottle. “She worries about you. You know, it’s not so bad out there.”
This would be a good place to fill the reader in on the context. ie..
Quote:
“How long has it been now?” Peter asked. “Eight? Nine years?” he said, remembering the time many years ago when John caught him with the goat and the jar of vaseline. Waves of shame shook his body as he reflected on his years of self-inflicted solitude stemming from the incident.
“I don’t count.” John said.
“I worry about you.” Peter took out a vitamin bottle. “She worries about you. You know, it’s not so bad out there.”
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TitaniumAlloy
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posted October 11, 2008 07:08 AM |
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lol.
thanks
That's not really the title of the story it's more the title of the essay which we are given.
FOG, basically what we have to do is we read a number of texts and watch a movie (we did 2 novels, a play and a movie).
Then we are given a prompt, like the "memory reality" thing.
Then we have to write an essay responding to the prompt in reference to themes explored in our text chosen from the list. I chose the movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless mind, which deals with memory erasure, as my primary text.
We are able to write normal essays discussing the themes or write a creative story exploring them, which I chose to do.
It's kind of a weird and contrived system but I hope I've explained it
Also I need to try to keep it short because on the 31st of October I will only have 1 hour at the most to write it, and I'm planning on only taking 30-45mins to write it to save time for the other essays in the exam.
lol I've got a lot of work to do in the next 20 days 
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John says to live above hell.
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JapanGamer
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posted October 11, 2008 07:28 AM |
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post*
Sorry, but all I have to say is that seems pretty difficult, for me at least. Good luck.
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Pictures of god
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