Ingredients 4 - More Short Story Drafting

q|o O|p
\D/

**WARNING**

What I have here will be disturbing. Please note that the fact that I know it is disturbing is a clear indication that I am not disturbing.

In case you want to spare yourself from having to read disturbing things now, I've put all the disturbing things after the break. I will, however, write this post with some level of effort to make you want to read it, just so I can laugh internally at your disturbance.

Anyway, last time I wrote about my short story, I introduced Jonathan. I'll tell you now that Jonathan is not the kind of person you think he is, unless I've already told you in person what kind of person he is. When you read the excerpt later in this post, you will clearly see what I mean. Even if you do read the excerpt, though, you will still be mistaken.

See, my reason for writing this story (besides it being required) is not to subtly share some kind of deep, emotional, soppy experience in my life. I'm not trying to let you in on issues with my family or my love life. Even if I had one of those kinds of stories to tell, frankly, I'd think it's somewhat silly to have to use the mask of a "fiction" piece to pour my heart out. You know why fact is stranger than fiction? It's because people are too weak to write fact as it is, so instead they think they can get by by writing some "fiction" thing that dumbs it down enough so that others can experience the "same" feelings that the authors did. In the world of fact, there is no feeling that can be expressed exactly through words, so don't even try. Different people feel different about different things, and the more you try to cater to those differences, the more unclear your story becomes, and then it loses its original intent.

...Sorry, that was me just ranting about how I feel like what I've been reading is so generic. Somewhere, deep down, I do enjoy reading stories like that, so keep writing them, people.

I digress. For some reason or another, I've decided to build my story upon a premise that no one has any true experience with, something unreal. Try as you might to understand Jonathan by imposing your realities on his actions and descriptions, you will not understand fully until I tell you. Maybe I wanted to feel somehow superior to all of you by keeping you in the dark. Maybe I was just tired of reading the same thing over and over, so I thought I'd be the one to MIX it up. Maybe I actually am trying to share my true, inner feelings with the world (although I certainly hope not). Maybe...

Read it, criticize it, analyze it, do whatever you want to it. Just keep in mind that even I am not completely sure what my intents are in writing this story.

Once, on a warm summer day, Jonathan found a little girl sleeping in the soft grass of the park lawn. Jonathan liked little girls. They had such adorable voices, and since they were always running about, they were so lean. As Jonathan grew nearer to the slumbering child, a quiet breeze blew in his direction, carrying with it the sweet aroma of the watermelon shampoo that lingered in her ribbon-tied auburn hair. It to Jonathan came like a whiff of heaven's grace, and sent a wave of incredible allure that caused him to shiver in uncontrollable anticipation. After the breeze had passed, Jonathan knew that she was going to be the one. Jonathan reached out – he absolutely had to have this girl – and closed his grasp upon her soft skin.

That moment, ephemeral as it was, brought Jonathan more satisfaction than the beef jerky could even dream of giving. Throughout his body surged a passion like he had not felt in years. Jonathan felt truly alive again, felt that burning desire propelling him into a heightened state of vivacity. When Jonathan was finally able to feel that tender arm he'd been yearning for during the past five minutes he'd spent walking toward the girl, she slowly awoke, confused in a dreamlike wonder as to who was holding her. Head still lowered in the direction of the hand wrapped ever so gently around her arm, she moved her gaze upward with just the cutest look of worry in those droopy, puppy-dog eyes and saw Jonathan, mouth agape as usual. Shocked to see a stranger's face, she let out a tiny squeal of fright and anguish.

The girl stood up, wresting herself from Jonathan’s cold grip. The two remained there awhile, mouths both open, eyes fixated on one another. Jonathan took a step forward to touch the mesmerized girl once again when a frantic voice cried, "Amber?" She turned, suddenly alert like those little meerkats on the Discovery channel, then the girl bounded off in the direction of her mother's comforting embrace.

Jonathan stood there for a while longer, gingerly opening and closing his hand as if to recall the tenderness of that little girl in the park.