The Great Biography Project

 

 So, some background first- My NaNoWriMo project is entitled Promenade and it is the first of four slated novels in the Fancy Lads series. I could explain what it was about, you’ll just have to deal with the MYSTERY of it all until I actually start posting excerpts from it. In the meantime, however, I realize that, despite working on this series daily for the last four-plus years, I’ve never really ironed down the biographies of even the main characters. I attribute this to all of the extensive re-writing going on with their back-stories (more like origins and birthplaces, etc. rather than detailed information) and focus more on the events of the story in the ficative present. Well, regardless, I want to compose at least some kind of biographies for my major and minor characters, despite the high number of them (as of right now, easily 20-plus) and the variety of their importance in the story as a whole. Granted, these will be shorter for younger (age-wise) characters and/or for less important characters. I figured I’d just put this up here now for the heck of it.

 Oh and also, I got two pieces of work accepted for publication in my school’s literary journal today. One was Undaunted, which was heavily revised from my earlier post of it and it’ll be reposted later on its on page. In addition, there’s “They Follow Me Home,” a poem from last year. Well, HERE’S THAT LITTLE BUGGER

 

They Follow Me Home

 

I’m twenty years old now

but fifteen years less young.

Yet I will still never go back

To my Uncle Harvey’s butchery

or its freezing

vault of nightmares.

 

I remember when I found myself

 in that tomb of gunwale grey

with doors and floors cold

 as a corpse’s wrist.

My father held my hand then, shackling

me at arm’s length

even as my blood

turned to ice.

 

My eyes found them

And theirs found mine.

They weren’t blinking

Their pair of dead eyes,

Holes to oblivion,

Just stared.

 

They weren’t oinking

and their silence

made the blood

in my ears thunder

with discomfort.

 

They weren’t moving

much at all, really.

They just swung so slowly.

It was like they were gently nudged

by childlike curiosity.

 

Each squelchy mass,

red and glossy as cherry cough

syrup, Swayed on a tiny reapers’ sickle.

I waited,

breathless,

for them to say anything at all

but all I heard was the rumbling

moan of the monster

freezer as its voice echoed

off the grey walls, which were victimized

by icicles.

 

 

 

The adults kept blabbering

like Saturday morning cartoon commercials.

they smiled and laughed

and didn’t even seem to notice the queit

danse macabre

all around them-

as beautiful as a broken scab.

I tried to squirm

and say something, but I could barely

even hear myself

Over their noise

and the freezer’s noise

and the deafening noise

coming from the mute 

corpses.

 

Eventually I gave up

on my escape and just

hung my head

like a man condemned.

and counted the frays

on my shoelaces

and I tried

to leave that  place.

 

But they will never let me

even now they won’t stop

 following me home

to my meals

to my dreams

to the inside of my eyelids,

the tunnels of my ears,

and to the depths of my mind.

 

 

-END TRANSMISSION. GOOD MORNING, GOOD AFTERNOON, GOOD NIGHT-

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