Post by brockandsable on Feb 9, 2007 21:41:04 GMT 1
Feel free to critique the following, random expression of mine.....
Aaron never really fit in.
He was one of those awkward young men who didn’t quite gel with any social group he attempted to infiltrate. One could say that Aaron was a bit of a loner. Not a loner by choice but by circumstance. That's the way it was in the beginning and that's the way it is now.
The days were harder than the nights because there were other people around. Young people. It was the beginning of Aaron’s sophomore year at the local college and he was determined to make this year different. This year, he would be more proactive than ever in building relationships; lasting relationship that reap rewards. Not fair weather ones that would like a thief in the night.
The books were expensive as they usually are. Aaron figured the way such a small college could stay in competiton with the other schools was to sell textbooks that were severely overpriced. And could you blame the institution? After all, tuition was so cheap and the demand for entrance for such a school was not high at all. One merely needed a face and a pocketbook.
Aaron didn’t have the brand name clothes that the others had. He merely had what his parents were able to afford for him. Simple clothing. Standing at almost 6 feet tall with dirty brown hair and a scrawny build, Aaron is what we’d refer to as a simpleton. However, he admired the others in his mind. He admired the fact that it was so easy for them to be popular, so easy to fit in with each other.
He attended the social events and mingled with some of the students. This continued day after day and week after week. The gatherings made him forget about returning home alone. Returning to his lonely room where his material was. Material as in video games and some novels he often delved into when bored. This was Aaron’s life.
And like clockwork, it would begin again.
A hard knock on his bedroom door and then the appearance of his Father, the Mechanic. Father worked hard and provided for the family. He put food on the table and kept a roof over Aaron and Mother’s head. But Father was tortured by resentment. Father was resentful of being sentenced to such a simple life. He resented working so damn hard but having so very little to show for it. He resented the others who seemed to have their lives paved out for them; the ones that blew tremendous amounts of cash and didn’t think twice about doing so.
Aaron had made another mistake that evening. After using the bathroom he forgot to shut the sink faucet off properly. You had to tighten the faucet extra hard because if you didn’t, it would drip and Father would have to do overtime to cover the bill.
This time is was leather.
The leather of the belt that came lashing across his frail body. With every strike, with every lashing, Aaron wished he could just lie down and die. Father was extremely angry today as he just kept lashing away. Aaron had tunnel vision and as he looked up at his father with sorrow and pain in his blue eyes, but all he could see looking back at him was fiery angry eyes. His skin began to tear with the belt lashings. It’s as if the leather ripped the flesh right off. And Father wouldn’t stop. Aaron soaked up the pain and thought if they didn’t give Father such a hard day at work, then he wouldn’t be beating him so badly.
Mother could do nothing from the kitchen but weep softly as she heard her only child, her only son scream in the midst of brutal torment. The belt touching the innocent body sent shock waves through her soul. She wanted a better life, but she too felt sentenced. And as soon as the screaming had started, it seemed to end just as fast.
What remained was a tired body, too weak to move; and an angry Father, who felt just as guilty as when he walked into the room. And that’s the way it went for Aaron. Day after day and week after week.
Father, on the other hand, went to the cellar cabinet and reached for his scotch. Three double shots and a cigarette on the front porch would free his mind of what he had done. He could temporarily forget that he abused a product of his own body. He could forget that for one second that he was a monster and though he wanted his family to respect him, in actuality they feared him.
Another sleepless night didn't help matters much. Father tossed and turned as he was haunted by the sad look in his son's eyes as he brutalized him. Getting up for work was even harder. As his body aged, he found it harder and harder to do the simple things he did years ago.
And since the Ford was at the mechanic's for a break job, Father found himself riding the bus to work today. All these people, what do they know? You had the older passengers sit up front, close to the driver, often engaging in small talk. In the back you had the loud kids, swearing and cursing, acting and dancing, carrying themselves as if they had no parental training.
Father would never let his boy act like that, he knew better. He kept his family in check. That's what was missing from the world: Good, hard discipline. Authoritarian rule, like at work. Father's boss was particularly moody today as he seemed to rile him, over and over and over again. Father simply took that anger and buried it deep. He would release his tension later at home, and then have some drinks and forget that this was life.
And this was life. Day after day. Week after week. This is the way it was and it seemed as if this was as good as it was going to get. The simple life. A life filled with fear and frustration; anger and resentment; hate and maliciousness. So it seemed. The house was a little more quiet than usual when Father came home. It fact, it seemed empty.
Where did everybody go and why wouldn't they tell me? It sent vibrations of rage through his soul. It heated his blood. They were hiding from Father because they knew--they knew what came next because it was like clockwork.
Father faced the frame and they took a shot. He then turned to his right and they took another mug shot. The fingerprinting came next, and then the long walk to what he would call home for the rest of his life. All Father could do on the way back was picture the bodies: Bloodied and battered on the kitchen floor. Lifeless. All a product of his handwork.
He grew up as one of those was awkward young men who didn’t quite gel with the rest of them. One could say that Father was a bit of a loner. Not a loner by choice but by circumstance. That's the way it was in the beginning and that's the way it is now.
Aaron never really fit in.
He was one of those awkward young men who didn’t quite gel with any social group he attempted to infiltrate. One could say that Aaron was a bit of a loner. Not a loner by choice but by circumstance. That's the way it was in the beginning and that's the way it is now.
The days were harder than the nights because there were other people around. Young people. It was the beginning of Aaron’s sophomore year at the local college and he was determined to make this year different. This year, he would be more proactive than ever in building relationships; lasting relationship that reap rewards. Not fair weather ones that would like a thief in the night.
The books were expensive as they usually are. Aaron figured the way such a small college could stay in competiton with the other schools was to sell textbooks that were severely overpriced. And could you blame the institution? After all, tuition was so cheap and the demand for entrance for such a school was not high at all. One merely needed a face and a pocketbook.
Aaron didn’t have the brand name clothes that the others had. He merely had what his parents were able to afford for him. Simple clothing. Standing at almost 6 feet tall with dirty brown hair and a scrawny build, Aaron is what we’d refer to as a simpleton. However, he admired the others in his mind. He admired the fact that it was so easy for them to be popular, so easy to fit in with each other.
He attended the social events and mingled with some of the students. This continued day after day and week after week. The gatherings made him forget about returning home alone. Returning to his lonely room where his material was. Material as in video games and some novels he often delved into when bored. This was Aaron’s life.
And like clockwork, it would begin again.
A hard knock on his bedroom door and then the appearance of his Father, the Mechanic. Father worked hard and provided for the family. He put food on the table and kept a roof over Aaron and Mother’s head. But Father was tortured by resentment. Father was resentful of being sentenced to such a simple life. He resented working so damn hard but having so very little to show for it. He resented the others who seemed to have their lives paved out for them; the ones that blew tremendous amounts of cash and didn’t think twice about doing so.
Aaron had made another mistake that evening. After using the bathroom he forgot to shut the sink faucet off properly. You had to tighten the faucet extra hard because if you didn’t, it would drip and Father would have to do overtime to cover the bill.
This time is was leather.
The leather of the belt that came lashing across his frail body. With every strike, with every lashing, Aaron wished he could just lie down and die. Father was extremely angry today as he just kept lashing away. Aaron had tunnel vision and as he looked up at his father with sorrow and pain in his blue eyes, but all he could see looking back at him was fiery angry eyes. His skin began to tear with the belt lashings. It’s as if the leather ripped the flesh right off. And Father wouldn’t stop. Aaron soaked up the pain and thought if they didn’t give Father such a hard day at work, then he wouldn’t be beating him so badly.
Mother could do nothing from the kitchen but weep softly as she heard her only child, her only son scream in the midst of brutal torment. The belt touching the innocent body sent shock waves through her soul. She wanted a better life, but she too felt sentenced. And as soon as the screaming had started, it seemed to end just as fast.
What remained was a tired body, too weak to move; and an angry Father, who felt just as guilty as when he walked into the room. And that’s the way it went for Aaron. Day after day and week after week.
Father, on the other hand, went to the cellar cabinet and reached for his scotch. Three double shots and a cigarette on the front porch would free his mind of what he had done. He could temporarily forget that he abused a product of his own body. He could forget that for one second that he was a monster and though he wanted his family to respect him, in actuality they feared him.
Another sleepless night didn't help matters much. Father tossed and turned as he was haunted by the sad look in his son's eyes as he brutalized him. Getting up for work was even harder. As his body aged, he found it harder and harder to do the simple things he did years ago.
And since the Ford was at the mechanic's for a break job, Father found himself riding the bus to work today. All these people, what do they know? You had the older passengers sit up front, close to the driver, often engaging in small talk. In the back you had the loud kids, swearing and cursing, acting and dancing, carrying themselves as if they had no parental training.
Father would never let his boy act like that, he knew better. He kept his family in check. That's what was missing from the world: Good, hard discipline. Authoritarian rule, like at work. Father's boss was particularly moody today as he seemed to rile him, over and over and over again. Father simply took that anger and buried it deep. He would release his tension later at home, and then have some drinks and forget that this was life.
And this was life. Day after day. Week after week. This is the way it was and it seemed as if this was as good as it was going to get. The simple life. A life filled with fear and frustration; anger and resentment; hate and maliciousness. So it seemed. The house was a little more quiet than usual when Father came home. It fact, it seemed empty.
Where did everybody go and why wouldn't they tell me? It sent vibrations of rage through his soul. It heated his blood. They were hiding from Father because they knew--they knew what came next because it was like clockwork.
Father faced the frame and they took a shot. He then turned to his right and they took another mug shot. The fingerprinting came next, and then the long walk to what he would call home for the rest of his life. All Father could do on the way back was picture the bodies: Bloodied and battered on the kitchen floor. Lifeless. All a product of his handwork.
He grew up as one of those was awkward young men who didn’t quite gel with the rest of them. One could say that Father was a bit of a loner. Not a loner by choice but by circumstance. That's the way it was in the beginning and that's the way it is now.