Next 1,208 Words of Rough Draft

Scene One & Two

(See First 1,064 Words of Rough Draft)

 

Scene Three

Daisy was bitterly cold when she woke up the next morning. She’d had a very strange night. Flashes of the brightest blue searing the lids of her closed eyes and an almighty headache that kept her tossing and turning all night without relief – her bed feeling alternately soft and then as hard as a rock.

Her eyelids seemed to be stuck to her eyeballs. No matter how many times she told her eyelids to open, they would not – they seemed to be stuck. Finally, she raised her hand and pried them open with a ripping sensation. “Ow,” she said, her voice deeper and raspier than she was used to. ‘Damn, not another cold,’ she thought. It was dark and she could see nothing much. She gagged as the smell of the hand hit. It stank as though someone had shit in it sometime in the night.

When she moved the hand away the smell abated a little and so she rolled onto her back. Strange, it felt as if she was sleeping on the hard bathroom floor. Has she been sick in the night and fell asleep there? And why was it so blooming cold? She reasoned to herself that she must be sick because she ached all over.

As her eyes got used to the dark, she began to make out shapes around her – odd shapes. She realised that some of them were moving! A shadowy figure loomed over her – face like a monster – and she screamed and tried to scramble back, but found that her limbs were slow to obey her like she was wrapped like a mummy. She quickly realised two things – she was inside a foul-smelling sleeping bag, and there was more than one figure here. Her mind whirled. Who were these people? Had she been kidnapped?

She lay back and rolled away from the figures as fast as she could and then found that she was falling hard down what seemed to be stairs, each one harder and more bruising than the last. Incredibly, she heard coarse laughter start up from the watching forms and she screamed in frustration. What was happening!? Finally, she came to rest and she squeezed her eyes shut as tight as she could, willing this to be a nightmare. Willing herself to wake.

She heard rough voices and felt her body grasped and pulled upright. The word ‘Boner’ was repeated and there was more laughter as she refused to open her eyes.

“Old Bone Dog’s been having his bad dreams again,” a voice guffawed.

“Leave him be,” said another, not unkindly, “he’ll be okay in a bit.”

Her mind refused to register it at first. Unbidden, her English teacher’s voice came into her mind – ‘the subject pronouns are I, you, he, she.’ Wrong pronoun, wrong pronoun, wrong pronoun, she chanted in her mind, trying to block out the voices around her with the repetition.

A hand fell on her shoulder and she wrenched her eyes open and screamed “leave me alone! What are you doing here?” her voice full of rage. With a surge of energy, she dragged herself out of the sleeping back and levered herself unsteadily to her feet, holding onto the wall to stop herself from swaying.

Bleary-eyed she looked around her. She was stood in the middle of a pavement, the half-light of the morning revealing a group stood around her – some looking concerned but other grinning as if this were the entertainment highlight of the day. The resembled nothing more than a scene from hell – a cold hell populated by demons and goblins, old, sickly faces lined with dirt, clothes so greasy and old that they seemed to be painted on them with tar.

“No, no, no – no way is this happening!” she said out loud and was again struck by how harsh sounding her voice was. Some instinct made her look down towards her body and she was horrified to see that she was dressed in the same greasy clothes as the people around her. She became aware of how she felt within this body, the deep itchiness she felt, the horrible unclean feel of these clothes, and of her own flesh.

A wave of sorrow rolled over her and she sank down to the step and placed her face into her arms as the sadness bit deep into her mind and blotted out everything around her. She retreated into her own mind. Deep within. It was warmer here. She curled deeper into herself and was suddenly glad of the muffler wrapped around her lower face and neck. She wriggled her head inside the soft, warm depths of it.

A memory stirred in her, rose like a beast, then burst to the surface like a stench filled bubble. She was twelve, safe and warm in bed and had just dozed off. Her mother had gone to visit her sister and had taken Daisy’s two small sisters with her. Daisy herself couldn’t get out of school and so her father had to stay with here, to look after her, to protect her. Except that when she’d woke up, her father had been in bed with her, his heavy beard against her face, suffocating her. She’d struggled, but his arms had been grasping her too tightly. And that’s when she’d realised that something else was pressing against her. Something hard.

Daisy rose to her feet again, her hands coming up to her face, to wrench the muffler away. She grabbed the fluffy material in both her hands and yanked with the strength of panic, then screamed as fiery needles were plunged into her chin. The muffler seemed to be glued to her face!

A horror rose in her mind as the corpulent body of the sun made its first foray into the word, staining the clouds a beautiful shade of deep pink. Daisy half registered the beauty in the back of her mind as she looked desperately around. There – a bus shelter. She gathered her strength and dragged this aching body towards it, one painful step after another until she stopped before the reflective surface.

She stood, speechless, trying to take in the monstrous apparition staring back at her. She raised her arm and the twisted imp raised his. She moved her head and the bearded satyr, face begrimed and shrivelled, moved his in perfect harmony. Rage overtook her then and she heaved herself forward to meet him and began to pound against his body, feeling his blows against her arms as she roared her anger and felt his anger match hers in kind.

As suddenly as the rage came, it left. Stood, arms outstretched against the shelter, breath ragged, eyes staring feverishly at the hated form. Gritting teeth and yet accepting that this is what was. Loathing it, but alive. Face twisted in anguish, but ready.

 

Scene Four

Harry (the tramp) wakes up as a girl. He is more accepting.

This to be fleshed out.

Scene Five

Deep in a shadowy bunker, Doctor Strangle and his assistant Zolt monitor the effects of the experiment. They have the power to end the experiment, but do they?

This to be fleshed out.

The End?

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28 thoughts on “Next 1,208 Words of Rough Draft

  1. Nice, I like what you did with Daisy’s reactions, even working in a little about her father’s abuse. Perhaps she’ll use this opportunity to pay him back while she’s in a man’s body? I can see where Harry’s transformation might be easier — he will be younger, in a nice clean, good smelling body and surroundings, and maybe used to drinking and hallucinations, so not too shocked at the changes.

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    • Actually – that’s all she wrote. This is only going to be a 2,500 word piece. Once I’ve written something lyrical and poetic about Harry, I’ll have to start honing the whole piece down. Maybe I’ll then extend it into something longer later on, or just leave it as is. Let’s see what the tutor thinks. 🙂
      Thanks for reading, Dee – appreciate that loads. 🙂

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      • We were thrilled, yes, to finally have that win. Hopefully they can win a few more years with the young guys they have. One of them, Kris Bryant, just was named MVP for the National League, too, a rather big honor for him. How is your day going?

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      • There’s a massive raincloud covering the whole of England at the moment. The sun seems to have given up any hope of peering on this land. I’m warm and safe at work doing as much as I can to further the cause of keeping the company profitable. I’m quite looking forward to completing the last part of the (rough draft of the) assignment this evening. I’m partly happy to be alive and in the world, partly bored at the repetitive nature of life and partly stuck so deeply into the mud of my life that I can make no effort to better myself. I’m seriously considering taking the bus home tonight instead of walking in the rain. In short – a typical day in the North of England. How’s your day? 🙂
        (P.S. I seem to have too great an appetite for praise. That worries me.)

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      • Ah, my day includes sunshine and frost on the ground so far. Just had coffee, posted on my blog, and caught up with some people online. We all need reassuring sometimes, Robert 🙂 You get bored easily, I think, but I understand that. Try not to let that Catholic guilt make you beat yourself up so much 😉 do you find the rain and gloom make it harder to stay upbeat? That definitely happens to me and I’m having pep talks with myself occasionally now to stay positive. Sending big hugs ❤

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      • Not a Catholic! 🙂
        No, the weather doesn’t affect me, I affect the weather – got to get this the right way ’round, love!
        Yes, I definitely need reassurance. I’m just not sure why. I should take myself into the bathroom and have a word with myself – right?
        Sunshine, frost, coffee, people and writing sounds like a fine start to the day to me. 🙂
        Do you think people can be a time-suck at times?
        .
        .
        .
        No – me neither (he said with an angelic expression on his face!)

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      • Oh, gosh, yes, people can. I had a friend that I just sort of lost touch with over the years who was drama all the time, huge time investment, and I just couldn’t do it after awhile. If you mean people in general, well, no, we need to interact. If you mean me, well, hell, no, I’m worth every minute 😉 maybe you should just make the rain stop then! I can’t help it, I need sunshine. Why did I think you were Catholic? Sorry, I don’t usually assume… I have a feeling you always have an angelic smile on your face 😉

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      • A whole host of beautiful thoughts fluttering about your face like angels and then diving down towards you fingers, intent on becoming words to flicker and flow through the wires of the world, leaping from satellite to satellite on their way to England and here to leap from the screen, giggling with glee along my optic nerves and into my visual cortex to be enjoyed by my mind like a banquet laid before. Hell yeah, I don’t mean you, Dee! 🙂
        And we all need sunshine like we need water and soil to grow to our full potential and perfume the air with our sweet scent. Unless I’ve been eating beans, of course. Yeah, I know – sorry. 😷

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      • Me too! Right – the final part is up. Scene five is utter rubbish – overblown and not a satisfying ending. I’ll have to think about that before I start on the redrafting tomorrow. Also – waaaaay to many words. Sigh. Goodnight, Dee – hope you have a beautiful afternoon, evening and night. Hugs – Robert.

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  2. Yes, definitely darker. I love how vivid it is, love the descriptions of where she was and what she thought. The people she saw looking at her- clothes “painted on them with tar”- that’s a great line. I think all of her reactions are great and believable except I’m not too sure about the sadness. I mean, maybe she’d feel sad but in the middle of all those men, I don’t know that she’d sink down and hide her face. It does give a good opportunity to talk about her father abusing her, though, and that’s a good reason for why she’s so angry to look like him. And I’m wondering what she is ready for at the end? Are you going to talk about that later? Definitely felt more love from you in this part. Which makes me feel more for Daisy.

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    • Last thing before I sleep is to thank you for your support in this, Victoria. The sorrow is just me going through the 5 stages of grief (let me see if I remember this): denial, anger, bargaining, sadness, acceptance (yes!) Perhaps I could tone that down a little. She has to close her eyes for the flashback to my mind, but perhaps not.
      There is no more about Daisy in this story after this point. The next scene is Harry, and the last scene is Dr Strangler and Zolt realising that something has gone wrong in the experiment and debating whether to pull the plug or not. Zolt, who’s kinda fallen in love with Daisy says stop, and the good Doctor wants to carry on studying then. Leaves the field open for me to revisit the piece and add more, or even to use it as the basis for a much longer piece. It all depends on what the tutor thinks, I guess. Or I might just do it anyway. 🙂
      What do you think, Victoria – this thang got legs?

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      • Sounds like the rest will be good. I can’t wait to read about Harry. As for Daisy, maybe you don’t have to go through all five stages. The flashback could be something that rises in her mind when she looks at his reflection and feels angry to be a bearded man like her father. I don’t know. To me, doing something about her father gives reason for both the anger and her feeling of being ready to face this challenge. Good luck with the next part. And you’re welcome. Should I sing you, “That’s what friends are for?” 😉😆

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      • No! There will be no singing!! 😉
        Good call on amalgamating some of the stages. I might have to cut back due to word constraints, so that gives me a viable way forward.
        Harry will hopefully be in the bag by the end of the day. Editing is my weak point, so tomorrow’s exercise will be more challenging. Eek!
        Okay – I’ve left the room, maybe you could sing a little now. 🙂

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      • Ha! An opportunity lost forever! 😀
        I like to edit as I go along, rather than make it into a separate chore. It bugs me that this assignment is adding so much extra work that I would not normally bother with. Let’s hope it’ll be worth it. Yeah – let me see if I get serious with Harry and do it right first time. I’m going to have to lose a lot of words at some point. That bothers me. Hmm, let’s see what fun can be had. ‘Tis a noble sentiment indeed. 🙂

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      • With the amount of writers I know who edit as they go, I’m surprised they are specifically asking for you to do this a certain way. Do you get graded(graded?) on the rough draft too? I hate getting rid of words! Good luck with everything.

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      • Part of the ‘asking us to do it in a certain way’ is to promote a ‘conscious, technical awareness’ of what we are doing as a writer. The other part is that, for the assignment, we must show evidence that the piece has been ‘extensively revised and redrafted’ and that we have taken into account forum feedback from peers and tutor.

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  4. Hello Robert, I came across your blog and I really admire what you’re doing. You have a simplicity about your description that I thoroughly appreciate. I have a similar kind of blog going, but albeit more comic. You seem to be extremely prolific on here and well known, well done! Would love for you to check out my stuff and I’ll keep an eye on your future posts!

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