Quadros
01-27-2008, 7:31 PM
First off, this is nowhere near finished, but I've hit a roadblock so I thought I'd post it to see if the critique unblocks me. I was experimenting with prolonged dialogue and the story kind of formed itself up to this point.
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Danny and Marty
‘We're all disenchanted snowflakes being blown away from our dreams. We spend all day wishing we were blown back on course with our desires, but so many put their faith in these winds of fate, and most end up trampled into mush by the impatient masses, reminding us why it is we hate the winter of ambition. The success lies in those who realise that they are the wind, and the snowflake, and that that winter need never come, That they can gust themselves into success, and that though they may meet the opposing torrents of luck, and for a time be forced drifting down, eventually, if their wind of dreams blows strongly enough, they will land on an idyllic mountain scene, or snowman farm of a garden, and become happy memories and precious moments for other frozen miracles.’
‘What a fucking bunch of pompous bullshit!’ Said Marty, struggling up under the weight of his alcoholic incredulance, the Scottish hills and the English breweries for once uniting cohesively under the banner of distain in his voice. ‘Honestly, do you come up with this shit yourself or are you just droning from the last thing that highbrow orgy of arse licking pricks told you to like?’
Daniel shrugged, bringing his hands up in a defensive plea for mercy from the razored claymore behind the Scotsman’s lips. ‘I’m just saying; don’t be boxed in by the boundaries of bored society. Don’t accept your lot. Always strive for more. Live your dreams, be your dreams, then dream your dreams’ dreams, and conquer them as well. Never stop striving, never be satisfied, always seek advancement. You can be anything! Don’t you have any dreams Marty?’
‘Of course I do!’ rasped Marty, taking another generous swig of his miraculously enduring pint. ‘I had this one last night involving Kiera Knightly and Mischa Barton, it was great. But as far as your pussy meaning goes, I just put “pipe” in front of it and get on with my life. We’re not all superstars Danny, and we’re not bloody snowflakes either. We’re here, and then we’re not, so you can live with your head in the clouds until your body joins it, or you can accept life with a swig of piss and shoulder on. At least you wouldn’t be wasting it my way.’
Daniel’s face dropped, his expression conveying revulsion at the concept behind his Northern flatmate’s philosophy. ‘So what, we’re all just ants in a hill?’
Marty snorted derisively. ‘Yeah, and you think you’re Tyler fucking Durden! Tell me, who are you to tell me I’m not just a cog, when you base your entire approach to life on the random musings of Chuck Pal-whatever-the-fuck? Sure, be what you want Danny, but don’t throw away any chance you have at a comfortable life for the oh-so distant chance to ‘be somebody’!’ Daniel started to argue back, finally displaying some of the passion that drink had given Marty for the last hour.
‘Look, I don’t give a fuck what you or anyone else-’
‘If you don’t give a fuck what people think, why the fuck are you trying so hard to be noticed?’
Daniel sat back as if struck. He’d always known his would be the hardest part of his decision, which is why he’d decided to tackle it first. He couldn’t let Marty’s arguments sway him. ‘Look mate, if I don’t do it now, I’ll never do it. I’ve made my choice.’
‘Fuck off have you!’ said Marty, his incredulousness now a fixture of his tone. ‘If you’d have made your decision, you’d be gone by now. I’d have some pussy note shoved under my door; “Marty, gone to Hollywood, sorry”. No, you just needed me to talk you out of it! Fuck son, I’ve known you for two and a half years, and you’ve been a pompous cowardly arsehole that entire time. At least get the certificate to make it official! At least give the path a try!’
Daniel slumped, and didn’t say anything for a long time. Seconds turned into minutes, and Marty was about to break the silence with all the grace of a stampede of drunken clumsiness, when Daniel finally saved the moment. ‘Are you aware, Marty, that you’ve just effortlessly demolished a decision it took me two weeks of agonising contemplation and sleepless nights to come to?’
‘You’re welcome Danny, now get us a drink would you? I think we deserve it, and I’m fucking parched.’
The greatest, and yet the most tragic thing about the mismatched pair was that they were best friends. They had been since the first day that they met, yet no-one could really say why. Daniel, another foppish output of the private school factory, who looked at his serial number and claimed that it made him unique, was already unpacked with the help of his parents and was trying to wow the freshers’ week tail with his poetic empathy when Marty blundered in like the last good thing to be vomited from Glasgow, a hiking pack containing his entire depressing world on his back and his one way train ticket from his own private hell still gripped in frozen fingers. Marty was the product of a different world, the world of whiskey on the breath of fear and not letting the PE teacher see the bruises on your back. His was one where schools were just drugs rings and brothels, and success was based on your ability to ignore everything about yourself and enduring in a cocoon of hate and pain until the chip on your shoulder sprouts into wings and carries you away from the forsaken place you’re forced, on Christmases and the odd birthday, to call home. Marty came into Daniel’s world with a chip on his shoulder and an axe to grind, and it all came out the first time they laid eyes on each other.
Marty came down the stairs to the bar having dumped his pack in his new home, and approached the bar like he was stepping up to a bear, and about to win.
‘Give me a pint of your most manly beer’ he growled, like a man who needed it more than air. The barman was used to the newbies trying to act like the bollocks, but this request caught him short.
‘Well we’ve only got two, but I don’t know which is more manly…’ Marty sighed the sigh that said that the barman didn’t know the first fucking thing about anything, and pointed at Daniel.
‘Give me the one he’s not drinking. That’s the manlier one.’ Daniel heard this, and turned, affronted, to defend his honour in front of the girls he was chatting up.
‘Excuse me, did you just imply that I’m not manly?’
‘No’ replied Marty, with his eyebrow raised. ‘I said it.’ Daniel looked flabbergasted by the Scot’s flippancy.
‘Well now that’s not on…’
‘Look’ sighed Marty, like he was explaining the offside rule to his mother ‘It’s not that big of a deal, you’re just not a man yet. For example, you’re stepping up to me, a Scotsman who can clearly look after himself, after what, three pints? So you can’t handle alcohol. Then looking at you you’re skinnier than my cock and you’re trembling like a leaf, so you can’t fucking fight either. Then there’s the awkward, trying too hard to be confident way you’re wasting these ladies’ time, which quite clearly denotes a virgin. So you can’t drink, you can’t fight and you can’t fuck. You’re not a man.’ Daniel stammered, utterly taken aback, yet finally managed to conjure a defence.
‘What makes you say I’m a virgin?’ he asked. Marty smiled, as if he’d been waiting his entire life for Daniel to ask that question.
‘Very simple son. If you weren’t a virgin you’d have already done this.’ He replied, striding over to one of the girls Daniel was talking to and passionately kissing her against the bar.
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Danny and Marty
‘We're all disenchanted snowflakes being blown away from our dreams. We spend all day wishing we were blown back on course with our desires, but so many put their faith in these winds of fate, and most end up trampled into mush by the impatient masses, reminding us why it is we hate the winter of ambition. The success lies in those who realise that they are the wind, and the snowflake, and that that winter need never come, That they can gust themselves into success, and that though they may meet the opposing torrents of luck, and for a time be forced drifting down, eventually, if their wind of dreams blows strongly enough, they will land on an idyllic mountain scene, or snowman farm of a garden, and become happy memories and precious moments for other frozen miracles.’
‘What a fucking bunch of pompous bullshit!’ Said Marty, struggling up under the weight of his alcoholic incredulance, the Scottish hills and the English breweries for once uniting cohesively under the banner of distain in his voice. ‘Honestly, do you come up with this shit yourself or are you just droning from the last thing that highbrow orgy of arse licking pricks told you to like?’
Daniel shrugged, bringing his hands up in a defensive plea for mercy from the razored claymore behind the Scotsman’s lips. ‘I’m just saying; don’t be boxed in by the boundaries of bored society. Don’t accept your lot. Always strive for more. Live your dreams, be your dreams, then dream your dreams’ dreams, and conquer them as well. Never stop striving, never be satisfied, always seek advancement. You can be anything! Don’t you have any dreams Marty?’
‘Of course I do!’ rasped Marty, taking another generous swig of his miraculously enduring pint. ‘I had this one last night involving Kiera Knightly and Mischa Barton, it was great. But as far as your pussy meaning goes, I just put “pipe” in front of it and get on with my life. We’re not all superstars Danny, and we’re not bloody snowflakes either. We’re here, and then we’re not, so you can live with your head in the clouds until your body joins it, or you can accept life with a swig of piss and shoulder on. At least you wouldn’t be wasting it my way.’
Daniel’s face dropped, his expression conveying revulsion at the concept behind his Northern flatmate’s philosophy. ‘So what, we’re all just ants in a hill?’
Marty snorted derisively. ‘Yeah, and you think you’re Tyler fucking Durden! Tell me, who are you to tell me I’m not just a cog, when you base your entire approach to life on the random musings of Chuck Pal-whatever-the-fuck? Sure, be what you want Danny, but don’t throw away any chance you have at a comfortable life for the oh-so distant chance to ‘be somebody’!’ Daniel started to argue back, finally displaying some of the passion that drink had given Marty for the last hour.
‘Look, I don’t give a fuck what you or anyone else-’
‘If you don’t give a fuck what people think, why the fuck are you trying so hard to be noticed?’
Daniel sat back as if struck. He’d always known his would be the hardest part of his decision, which is why he’d decided to tackle it first. He couldn’t let Marty’s arguments sway him. ‘Look mate, if I don’t do it now, I’ll never do it. I’ve made my choice.’
‘Fuck off have you!’ said Marty, his incredulousness now a fixture of his tone. ‘If you’d have made your decision, you’d be gone by now. I’d have some pussy note shoved under my door; “Marty, gone to Hollywood, sorry”. No, you just needed me to talk you out of it! Fuck son, I’ve known you for two and a half years, and you’ve been a pompous cowardly arsehole that entire time. At least get the certificate to make it official! At least give the path a try!’
Daniel slumped, and didn’t say anything for a long time. Seconds turned into minutes, and Marty was about to break the silence with all the grace of a stampede of drunken clumsiness, when Daniel finally saved the moment. ‘Are you aware, Marty, that you’ve just effortlessly demolished a decision it took me two weeks of agonising contemplation and sleepless nights to come to?’
‘You’re welcome Danny, now get us a drink would you? I think we deserve it, and I’m fucking parched.’
The greatest, and yet the most tragic thing about the mismatched pair was that they were best friends. They had been since the first day that they met, yet no-one could really say why. Daniel, another foppish output of the private school factory, who looked at his serial number and claimed that it made him unique, was already unpacked with the help of his parents and was trying to wow the freshers’ week tail with his poetic empathy when Marty blundered in like the last good thing to be vomited from Glasgow, a hiking pack containing his entire depressing world on his back and his one way train ticket from his own private hell still gripped in frozen fingers. Marty was the product of a different world, the world of whiskey on the breath of fear and not letting the PE teacher see the bruises on your back. His was one where schools were just drugs rings and brothels, and success was based on your ability to ignore everything about yourself and enduring in a cocoon of hate and pain until the chip on your shoulder sprouts into wings and carries you away from the forsaken place you’re forced, on Christmases and the odd birthday, to call home. Marty came into Daniel’s world with a chip on his shoulder and an axe to grind, and it all came out the first time they laid eyes on each other.
Marty came down the stairs to the bar having dumped his pack in his new home, and approached the bar like he was stepping up to a bear, and about to win.
‘Give me a pint of your most manly beer’ he growled, like a man who needed it more than air. The barman was used to the newbies trying to act like the bollocks, but this request caught him short.
‘Well we’ve only got two, but I don’t know which is more manly…’ Marty sighed the sigh that said that the barman didn’t know the first fucking thing about anything, and pointed at Daniel.
‘Give me the one he’s not drinking. That’s the manlier one.’ Daniel heard this, and turned, affronted, to defend his honour in front of the girls he was chatting up.
‘Excuse me, did you just imply that I’m not manly?’
‘No’ replied Marty, with his eyebrow raised. ‘I said it.’ Daniel looked flabbergasted by the Scot’s flippancy.
‘Well now that’s not on…’
‘Look’ sighed Marty, like he was explaining the offside rule to his mother ‘It’s not that big of a deal, you’re just not a man yet. For example, you’re stepping up to me, a Scotsman who can clearly look after himself, after what, three pints? So you can’t handle alcohol. Then looking at you you’re skinnier than my cock and you’re trembling like a leaf, so you can’t fucking fight either. Then there’s the awkward, trying too hard to be confident way you’re wasting these ladies’ time, which quite clearly denotes a virgin. So you can’t drink, you can’t fight and you can’t fuck. You’re not a man.’ Daniel stammered, utterly taken aback, yet finally managed to conjure a defence.
‘What makes you say I’m a virgin?’ he asked. Marty smiled, as if he’d been waiting his entire life for Daniel to ask that question.
‘Very simple son. If you weren’t a virgin you’d have already done this.’ He replied, striding over to one of the girls Daniel was talking to and passionately kissing her against the bar.