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Woke up this morning* with an idea for a story. First time that's happened in quite a while. Can't remember the last time I actually wrote a bit of fiction. Not sure how long it should be. Original conception (in that time between sleep and waking where anything seems possible, or at least like it could be possible once you're awake enough to actually see it through) was to flesh it out to novel length. But I've never been able to go that far, and I don't think this particular idea needs to be so developed. On the other hand, going too short may just make it all confusing. And some subtle foreshadowing2 could make things more fun. Or maybe not.
1And by "morning," I mean somewhere around 4 or 5pm. Nocturnal schedule this week.
2And that's the first time I've ever considered using anything as complex as foreshadowing in one of my stories. Actually, it's quite possibly the first time I've even used the word "foreshadowing," which I generally consider to belong in the domain of people who take fiction too seriously. If you're analyzing it to that depth, you're thinking too hard about your entertainment. Go put those skills and brainwaves towards something useful. Like nuclear physics.
So... I'm just going to give it a shot. Write up the really short version, see how it comes out. Be interested to know what you think. Even if it's "Huh? What just happened?"
(As Yet, I Have No Title)
Little Joey Worthington was born into this world in an ordinary enough fashion. Small, fragile, innocent... he seemed like any other baby. No one there at the time had any inkling of his destiny. Of the battle he would face, of the leader he would become.
The first sign of difference didn't show up until his early teens, when he discovered that he could hear the thoughts of those around him. It's hard to pinpoint exactly when it started. It seems to have come upon him gradually, moving from intuition to empathy to full-blown telepathy in an easy, natural progression.
Firmly entrenched in his adolescence, he hardly even considered the idea of confiding in an adult. Yet, at the same time, he knew it was not a secret to entrust to his peers. And it had all happened so slowly and seamlessly (especially as compared with the other changes that come at that age) that he hadn't really had time to get scared. So it was that he kept his power to himself.
He used it at first to give himself an edge in the games boys play. To see through the bravado in the lunchtime bragging sessions. To see the fakes and the feints in the gym for what they were. To see the fears beneath the shows of strength and anger.
As his skill and power grew, he learned to see the answers the teachers were looking for before they even finished asking the questions. So it was that his reputation for academic success grew to match that of his prowess at sports and his invulnerability to bullying.
It was with complete confidence that he walked up to Maggie West in the crowded hallway and asked her - in exactly the way she'd dreamed he would - if she would grace him with her presence for dinner and a movie. It was with equal confidence that, after kissing her hand with a flourish (a move which could well have been trite and overdone had they been much older), he rose to face the boys who had come, backed by the whoops and catcalls of the crowd, to tease him. Smiling, he addressed the biggest of the lot and told him that he took his obvious jealousy as a compliment, and was sure that some day, some girl with poor eyesight would find it in her generous hearts to tolerate his company, at least for an evening. If he was lucky, she might even be half as pretty as Maggie. The boys turned on their new target, the girls sighed and giggled, and Joey walked off with a spring in his step.
Some might look at these actions as immoral. Some would see them as unworthy of the man Joey would become. Others would argue that he was only using the gifts he'd been given, much as someone born with uncommon strength or agility would. Perhaps they'd even argue that it was precisely those actions - the skills honed, the lessons learned - which laid the foundations for the triumphs of his adulthood.
More to the point, however, is the simple observation that the choices he made were natural for the boy he was, perhaps for any boy his age granted the same abilities.
It was several months later when something odd happened. Joey had begun looking around nervously when there was no one else around, when there was no one within range of even his senses. The growing paranoia came to a head one night. His parents were asleep. All was quiet. And yet, Joey seemed troubled. "Who are you?" he asked the empty air. "I can feel you watching me. I know you're there." No response. All was still. This only seemed to agitate Joey further. His anger grew. He began to build up a sort of mental energy. It coalesced around him almost palpably. Joey closed his eyes as it gathered, forming into a deadly bolt. "Last chance," he said, his voice rough. "Show yourself. Answer me. Who are you?" But still, there was no response, no sign that anyone was there. "Fine, then," he said. Gritting his teeth, he unleashed the power in a single blast, his target still unkn
1And by "morning," I mean somewhere around 4 or 5pm. Nocturnal schedule this week.
2And that's the first time I've ever considered using anything as complex as foreshadowing in one of my stories. Actually, it's quite possibly the first time I've even used the word "foreshadowing," which I generally consider to belong in the domain of people who take fiction too seriously. If you're analyzing it to that depth, you're thinking too hard about your entertainment. Go put those skills and brainwaves towards something useful. Like nuclear physics.
So... I'm just going to give it a shot. Write up the really short version, see how it comes out. Be interested to know what you think. Even if it's "Huh? What just happened?"
(As Yet, I Have No Title)
Little Joey Worthington was born into this world in an ordinary enough fashion. Small, fragile, innocent... he seemed like any other baby. No one there at the time had any inkling of his destiny. Of the battle he would face, of the leader he would become.
The first sign of difference didn't show up until his early teens, when he discovered that he could hear the thoughts of those around him. It's hard to pinpoint exactly when it started. It seems to have come upon him gradually, moving from intuition to empathy to full-blown telepathy in an easy, natural progression.
Firmly entrenched in his adolescence, he hardly even considered the idea of confiding in an adult. Yet, at the same time, he knew it was not a secret to entrust to his peers. And it had all happened so slowly and seamlessly (especially as compared with the other changes that come at that age) that he hadn't really had time to get scared. So it was that he kept his power to himself.
He used it at first to give himself an edge in the games boys play. To see through the bravado in the lunchtime bragging sessions. To see the fakes and the feints in the gym for what they were. To see the fears beneath the shows of strength and anger.
As his skill and power grew, he learned to see the answers the teachers were looking for before they even finished asking the questions. So it was that his reputation for academic success grew to match that of his prowess at sports and his invulnerability to bullying.
It was with complete confidence that he walked up to Maggie West in the crowded hallway and asked her - in exactly the way she'd dreamed he would - if she would grace him with her presence for dinner and a movie. It was with equal confidence that, after kissing her hand with a flourish (a move which could well have been trite and overdone had they been much older), he rose to face the boys who had come, backed by the whoops and catcalls of the crowd, to tease him. Smiling, he addressed the biggest of the lot and told him that he took his obvious jealousy as a compliment, and was sure that some day, some girl with poor eyesight would find it in her generous hearts to tolerate his company, at least for an evening. If he was lucky, she might even be half as pretty as Maggie. The boys turned on their new target, the girls sighed and giggled, and Joey walked off with a spring in his step.
Some might look at these actions as immoral. Some would see them as unworthy of the man Joey would become. Others would argue that he was only using the gifts he'd been given, much as someone born with uncommon strength or agility would. Perhaps they'd even argue that it was precisely those actions - the skills honed, the lessons learned - which laid the foundations for the triumphs of his adulthood.
More to the point, however, is the simple observation that the choices he made were natural for the boy he was, perhaps for any boy his age granted the same abilities.
It was several months later when something odd happened. Joey had begun looking around nervously when there was no one else around, when there was no one within range of even his senses. The growing paranoia came to a head one night. His parents were asleep. All was quiet. And yet, Joey seemed troubled. "Who are you?" he asked the empty air. "I can feel you watching me. I know you're there." No response. All was still. This only seemed to agitate Joey further. His anger grew. He began to build up a sort of mental energy. It coalesced around him almost palpably. Joey closed his eyes as it gathered, forming into a deadly bolt. "Last chance," he said, his voice rough. "Show yourself. Answer me. Who are you?" But still, there was no response, no sign that anyone was there. "Fine, then," he said. Gritting his teeth, he unleashed the power in a single blast, his target still unkn
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