altoecko wrote:

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Chapter 0 (The Foundation AKA The Consummation)
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People don't just appear someday in a tiny bundle of nerves, fibers, and blankets crying all the way down into their mothers arms, birds flapping in the distance. Name not included.

It could be a lot of stories: a horror of pain and love like A Farewell to mom, a bastard accident from too much alcohol, religion, and ignorance, or a perfect conception just like Dr. Lipschitz told you it would be. Mine from what I've been told was at first a dance party where my father was a vampire and my mother was a witch. Funny how they mimic their costumes in real life. I think everyone does ever subtly. (suggesting the word "so" before the word subtly) I mean, every mask you put on is just another person you become. How deep their fingerprint will be is entirely up to you, but you know they leave one. Family members and old friends have told me that my father was charming and witty and I'm sure he was. Don't get me wrong, he still sort of is. He just deals in a trade of humor I like to dub cornography. I'll let your imagination fill in the blanks for that one. Now, at this party (may want to add something like" Now at this party I was just telling you about,because youve gone off on a thought so it makes me thn what party?) my father charms my mother rather wondrously. They go on a few more dates, my father loves my mother, my mother loves my father, my father wants to marry my mother, and they are married.

My brother was alive at this time, 7 or so I do believe probably with a grandparent or a friend during the party, but a constant presence when not. His father and my mother divorced a long time ago. Now I do not come running to the scene as the unifying consummation of their love my dear readers. The star of our egotistical little show shouldn't even have shown up at all. For you see, my father loved my mother very dearly and he lusted (for? after?)many women very deeply while he loved her. And she loved him, and she dealt with it. How she did I am unsure. How he did, I understand. Well once my father brought home with him a sign of affection and gave it to my mother. (elaborate to make easier to understand)The factory hit hard times then, jobs started drying up, and the town of my mother's reproductive system had a great depression all to itself. My mother had to have a few buildings demolished completely. Oh they tried for me, but unlike them (who?), I never came.

Fast forward a bit into the marriage and my mother has a career(without my father's permission) and my brother has a mean streak. A cool mean streak I gotta say, sniping kids with bee-bee guns just sounds bad-ass. Doesn't change the fact you're still sniping kids with a bee-bee gun. Don't worry, he got his reward, bitten several times by the neighbor with braces during a fight. Had to go the hospital, what a pansy. The kids dad had a model train in his basement, these are all the memories I have of him.

They live in a model neighborhood in a house they designed. It has a wonderful front door with a circle of glass in the middle with one of those fancy designs southern women love. It has going from left to right in my patchwork baby/family media memory a living room we can den in, a hallway with a bathroom pinned between it and the kitchen, a den we lived in straight down the hall, the stairs going up, and the dining room to the right. The judge skated in there in his little tomb of a frame, that was unholy ground for baby Mitchell. Grown-ups ate in there and made terrible cackling noises at jokes that weren't nearly as funny as the responses. You don't need the layout for the whole house. We had a nanny and I had a few other moms stop by that mom never knew about. Then i happened, a late Christmas present or an early valentine's day celebration.

See quoted area. Baby in one arm, so ths short. I like it so far.I am confused, though, is this fiction, or a sort of autobiograpy?

Intresting so far, some good descriptions like the door. If you fleshed out a few of the other parts, adding little more description might make this more vivid in the spots you want to draw the most attention to.

altoecko wrote:

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Chapter 3 (Splinters)
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Our back porch was a large wooden leviathan standing high above the backyard domineering everything it could see. Splinters splinter here and there on the porch. (Isn't that awesomely awesome?) The stairs seem insurmountable to a child my age. I'm sure I wasn't nearly as vulgar at that age but, **** those stairs. So I climbed down them and into our huge backyard making my journey to the neighbors house to stare in through the door at a kid playing one of those gameboys that was more of a brick than a piece of technology.

These are my earliest memories.

I wake up with gum in my hair that i fell asleep with in my mouth. It won't come out when I pull on it, I cry and my father comes to help me. He lectures me about we told you not to do this. I am convinced I swallowed it and it sprouted up through my scalp. I don't know how we get it out of my hair.

I climb out of my crib as soon as they put walls around me I broke them down or climbed over them. I climbed over another baby gate and then another with the stairs on the other side. I fall down all those stairs while without touching a single one. My brother turns the corner and catches me out of surprise. I giggle and see the judge over his shoulder. The judge approves.

We have a new nanny and she's cooking dinner, the phone rings and she leaves the oven open and on. I see these beautiful snakes of orange and red and they seem to call me. "Touch me and know what true power is." and I do. The smell is terrible, I don' cry nearly as long as i should have. There is the winning side of a wishbone on my left index finger. All that flesh that melted only to leave me with this scar. Time is the best healer i suppose. Also the most constant waves to beat away at you.

The room is bright with sun, I'm eating breakfast. Dad is arguing with a woman, I don't know if she's my mother or not. He's doing laundry and she is yelling. The powder for the machine is knocked into the air while the screams grow louder. Physical contact is made, I don't know by who, but it's a push. John grabs me and takes me to his room and he distracts me by letting me play with toys I'm normally not allowed to touch. Big brother is watching and he distracts you when he thinks it's necessary. If you don't know how to interpret something, you may interpret it wrong. I'm unsure if there is a right way to interpret things, but there are many many wrong ways.

My birthday cake was Big Bird for the side of the table away from me and Cookie Monster for my own table. I had my girlfriend next to me. Some poor girl saddled with me because our parents watched too much Blind Date. I think she is pretty, I think all girls are pretty but I can't say that because big brother told me not too.

I ask for a Barbie for Christmas and get one. I shave her head and tape her to my newly painted pink and black big wheels truck. (The paint job was a present from my brother and his friend). She's my masthead. I don't know if John told me to ask for it or I asked for it myself. If I crash, she takes the blow for me. Thanks Barbie.