Here it is, day two of #challenge30days. As I mentioned in my first post yesterday, I'm going to post for 30 days on two related topics:
- Educational posts on the mechanics of fiction writing, with tips for improving your techniques.
- Short fiction pieces, along with some analysis regarding the techniques at work.
Note: I may need to postpone some portion of the posts in this series due to a very exciting potential interruption--a rather insane challenge I have been nominated to participate in. If you want to check it out, see the Write Club challenge by @jordan.lesich.
Yesterday's post, "Writing workshop volume 11: Second person point of view in fiction" was all about the second person point of view in which you are the actor in the story. And I admitted that while I have enjoyed reading some second person stories I had never actually written one.
So I did.
Today's post is a short story about frightening premonitions that I hope you will find suspenseful and weirdly entertaining. I'm not going to write any additional analysis on this one because it exists to demonstrate the use of second person POV. But I welcome your comments or feedback!
You wish you could stop the future
In your dream, the old man tries to cross the tracks when there's an oncoming train.
You first see him as you leave the little grocery on the edge of town where you shop to support the local economy. The little store is the perfect distance for a nice walk, but you only shop there when you just need a few things. Today, your little net sack contains a whole chicken, some carrots and a head of celery for soup.
You walk alongside an idling, eastbound train. As you get a little closer to the train crossing, you see an old man walking toward the intersection. His path will take him past the engine of the idling train and across the next set of tracks to the opposite side. You notice this with interest at first, and then with a sense of dread. The old man walks closer and closer to the sleeping train, and you want to stop him, but you are too far away.
You feel a rumble under your feet, but it’s not clear whether it is coming from the resting train or another oncoming train. Like the old man, you cannot see to the west beyond the long line of cars attached to the idling train. But you do feel it. You know you do. It is the feeling of a large moving mass. It is coming this way down the tracks--another eastbound train--and it is hidden from view.
And then you hear it. The train blasts its horn. You frantically look at the old man, and realize he has not heard it. He must be hard of hearing, and must not know. He continues on toward the idling train, and in a moment disappears past the engine, onto the tracks. The horn blasts again, close by. You try to cover your ears but your arms are too heavy. And that is when you wake from the dream.
You lie there in a sweat, knowing the dream is a premonition of an upcoming event. You are certain of this because other dream premonitions have played out twice before.
You dreamed three times that your wife lost her wedding ring while roller skating with your son. You told her of the dream, even though you didn’t really believe it yourself. And you reminded her not to wear it that day, but she forgot and sure enough she lost it and came home in tears. Fortunately, someone found the ring and it was returned.
Then you dreamed three times that your son, who is deathly allergic to bees, got stung at a birthday party. And then it happened. But you were there with the Epi-pen, and got him treated quickly, and he was fine.
You have now had this dream about the old man and the train three times. But this premonition is different. It is so much worse. And it is unrecoverable.
Weeks go by and nothing happens. You have nearly forgotten about the dream. But when your wife asks you one Saturday afternoon to go to the store for a few things, you cringe, waiting for her to list those three items in the terrible dream. Instead she says, “I just need some hamburger and buns. We have everything else we need for dinner.” You sigh with relief and walk to the little store a mile from home, enjoying the spring air.
While you are in the store, your cell phone rings. It’s your wife, Caitlyn. “Honey, forget about the hamburger. Davey has come down with the stomach flu. I think I’ll make us a chicken soup instead. I just need….”
“A chicken, some carrots and a head of celery.”
“Yes. Exactly. Thanks hon!” The phone clicks.
You buy the items quickly, then leave the store and begin walking toward the train station, alongside the sleeping eastbound train. Just as you see the old man heading for the tracks, it occurs to you that he must assume another train would only come in from the opposite direction--westbound. And he would see it. But it's not. And he doesn't.
You begin shouting and running. The horn blasts, not far down the track. The old man doesn’t hear you and he doesn’t hear the train. You run faster, your net bag banging against your leg. “Stop!” You are still at least ten meters away.
He doesn’t hear you. There is no way to stop him. You just can’t get there in time. But in a moment of desperation, you choose an item from your bag--the head of celery--and hurl it like a javelin at the old man. Just before he slips past the engine of the idle train, the celery slams into his back and he goes down.
You rush to the old man and bend over him as the moving train thunders eastbound along the tracks. The old man’s eyes are open, and he looks up at you. You lift and cradle his head in your arm.
“How are you doing, old fella?”
“Am I dead?”
“No, no, far from it. You are most definitely alive.”
“Will you help me to my feet then?”
You help him up and dust him off. He seems a bit rickety, a bit weary, but overall no worse for the wear.
“Well,” he says. “I don’t know what hit me, or why, but I’ll be on my way now. Thank you.”
You pat him on the back and point to the moving train. “You’ll have to wait for that train to pass. And by the way, notice that two trains can travel in the same direction. You have to watch for that.”
He nods. “So they do!”
You wait with him until the last car goes by and watch as he crosses to the other side and is on his way. Then you pick up your dust-covered celery and walk home, pondering life and death, and everything in between.
Thank you for reading! And please let me know what you thought of this story. Did the second person narrative distract you, or were you involved enough in the story to not be bothered by it? I'm testing my theory that second person is suitable for short, suspenseful tales. What do you think?
