d_stilgar
03-05-2009, 11:07 PM
I've written a short story for my creative writing class. I have some ideas of where it is weak and where it is strong, but want some feedback. I'm probably going to go to the writing lab on campus tomorrow after I revise post-sleep. It's not too long, so if you feel like a laugh, give it a read and then tell me what should be improved. Remember, this is a first draft.
Socks
The sun, flirting with twilight, burned the black charcoal silhouette of trees on the edge of the field where our tents were pitched. Travis and I and a half dozen girls stood in the field, not daring to sit or lay down because of all the thorny weeds and thistles. In the back of my mind I couldn’t help but think that our leaders planned it this way, that the ground was intentionally made uncomfortable to keep us from being tempted by the ‘hazards of the horizontal.’ We flirted with the girls all the same, Travis and I. We both enjoyed being funny, and we played off of each other well. The van drove up to pick up the girls to drive them back the quarter mile to where the dorms were. My watch read 10:58. The van was early, but sister Smith honked impatiently all the same.
“A high adventure that includes girls is an oxymoron,” I complained as soon as the girls were out of earshot. “They might as well call this what it is: girl’s camp with guys.”
“This is a joke,” Travis replied. “We should’ve just planned our own backpacking trip for this week.”
Travis and I didn’t have this opinion of the trip at first. Although we were mad that there would be no real high adventure this year, we were happy to have an overnight trip with girls. However, what we had been promised was not delivered, and the switch to this bait wasn’t revealed until we got to Vashon Island.
There were two dorms, and when the so-called ‘high adventure’ was planned the boys were going to be in one and the girls in the other. Instead, they had overbooked, and the girls who had imposed on our trip already got both dorms and the guys were exiled to a dead field to sleeps in tents for the week. This same field had been shown to us in pictures as being a well maintained area to play soccer or football. To make matters worse, the fear of boys and girls on the same trip leading to a need to meet with the bishop brought the leaders to compose a set of strict rules, rules that apparently nobody looked over with any sort of critical eye. For instance, the guys were allowed use of the bathroom in the first dorm from 4:00 AM to 11:00PM. After eleven, the girls sleeping in that dorm were allowed to use that bathroom. The problem with this was that this was the only bathroom we were allowed to use. What were we supposed to do for the five hours between eleven and four?
My watch read 11:02. Since, technically, the field was the guys ‘dorm’ after 11:00, Travis and I took off our pants, blew kisses and waved goodbye to the girls in the van. The girls couldn’t see our immodesty and waved back, which made it even funnier. We were walking back to our tent when we saw the stake president and his wife approaching. Travis dove into the tent, but I grabbed my sleeping bag of a picnic table and started to shake off the dust to cover myself.
“Hey. How are you doing?” asked President Ostler.
“Good.”
“Have you been having a good time up here?”
“ . . . Yeah,” I shrugged.
“What year in school will you be next year?”
“A senior,” I replied, still shaking the sleeping bag in front of me.
“Are you excited to graduate?”
“I guess so.” Please notice that I don’t want to talk anymore.
“Are you planning to serve a mission after you graduate?”
“Oh yes. I can’t wait.” I needed to sound enthusiastic about this so that he wouldn’t lecture me on the importance of serving a mission.
“Alright. Good. Well, have a good night.”
“You too.”
I turned, still shaking the sleeping bag as they passed, and slowly backed into the tent. Travis sat on his cot laughing. His red, curly hair resembled Bozo-the-clown, except without the bald spot. This resulted in an unmistakable silhouette. Having had enough danger for the night, I put on my pants.
“That was so funny,” Travis said, looking eager for more excitement.
“Yeah. President Ostler talks too much.”
“No, I mean the girls. They didn’t have a clue we weren’t wearing any pants.”
“Do you know what would be funny? If you had only been wearing your socks.” To someone else, this statement would be strictly hypothetical, a statement to conjure up an image and arouse some laughter. To Travis, however, statements like these were taken as a literal suggestion of something he should do.
“Really?” He had that look in his eye. I knew that this was going to end badly, but I was wearing pants, so I felt pretty safe letting Travis do whatever he wanted, knowing I wouldn’t look gay.
I chuckled, “Yeah.”
That was enough of a reason for Travis and, to my horror, a few minutes later Travis had on nothing but three socks, two shoes, and one smile. I think the words Olympic torch are enough to cause most people to gag, so I won’t describe it any more than that.
“Come on. Take this flashlight so I can make shadow puppets on the other tents.”
I made sure to walk ahead of Travis as we approached one of the other tents. I stopped about twenty yards off as he approached the opening of the tent. I turned on my flashlight and pointed it at Travis’ body, only looking long enough to know I had it pointed in the right direction and then looking away and shielding my eyes from his horribly white skin. The field behind us seemed to glow as light reflected off Travis’ skin. My best guess for an Albedo rating would be .98.
I could see Travis dancing around in my peripheral. I couldn’t help but chuckle, although I kept it contained in my chest and throat.
“Travis!” Steve threatened from inside. “I’m going to come out there and rip that sock right off you!”
“Go right ahead,” Travis retorted.
The zipper opened halfway. Steve, who obviously had thought that Travis had just zipped a sock up in the front of his pants, gave a disgusted scream and snapped the tent shut once again.
“Serves you right.”
I laughed and, averting my view once more, noticed a flashlight coming toward us from across the field.
“Travis, someone is coming! Run!”
Travis and I ran, but I stopped after a few steps. “Why am I running?” I thought to myself. “I have all my clothes on?” Feeling safe, I did the only thing a friend would do. I stood and pointed the flashlight at Travis while he ran the fifty yards back to our tent.
“Who’s spotlighting me?” Travis screamed in horror.
“I don’t know,” I lied. “Keep running!”
I followed Travis with the light as he zigzagged across the field. Without slowing, he dove headfirst into the tent. Laughing, I looked for where the other light had gone, but couldn’t see it. I returned to the tent. Travis was putting on his shirt.
“I lost my sock.”
“We’ll find it in the morning. Let’s go to bed.”
I woke up at 4:00 to go take my shower and, on my way back to the tent, retraced the steps from the night before, but couldn’t find the sock. I slept again until 6:45. Travis and I searched the field but couldn’t find the sock anywhere. We were leaving to go home later that day, so packed up my things and went to breakfast. While in line, sister Marrot came up to me.
“Daniel,” she said. “No more midnight rendezvous.”
I wasn’t quite sure what she meant, or what she may have seen for that matter. She may have just heard us yelling. “Wha’d’ya see?”
“Do you think we sleep at night?”
I wasn’t giving up my cards. “Wha’d’ya see?”
“Socks.”
Socks
The sun, flirting with twilight, burned the black charcoal silhouette of trees on the edge of the field where our tents were pitched. Travis and I and a half dozen girls stood in the field, not daring to sit or lay down because of all the thorny weeds and thistles. In the back of my mind I couldn’t help but think that our leaders planned it this way, that the ground was intentionally made uncomfortable to keep us from being tempted by the ‘hazards of the horizontal.’ We flirted with the girls all the same, Travis and I. We both enjoyed being funny, and we played off of each other well. The van drove up to pick up the girls to drive them back the quarter mile to where the dorms were. My watch read 10:58. The van was early, but sister Smith honked impatiently all the same.
“A high adventure that includes girls is an oxymoron,” I complained as soon as the girls were out of earshot. “They might as well call this what it is: girl’s camp with guys.”
“This is a joke,” Travis replied. “We should’ve just planned our own backpacking trip for this week.”
Travis and I didn’t have this opinion of the trip at first. Although we were mad that there would be no real high adventure this year, we were happy to have an overnight trip with girls. However, what we had been promised was not delivered, and the switch to this bait wasn’t revealed until we got to Vashon Island.
There were two dorms, and when the so-called ‘high adventure’ was planned the boys were going to be in one and the girls in the other. Instead, they had overbooked, and the girls who had imposed on our trip already got both dorms and the guys were exiled to a dead field to sleeps in tents for the week. This same field had been shown to us in pictures as being a well maintained area to play soccer or football. To make matters worse, the fear of boys and girls on the same trip leading to a need to meet with the bishop brought the leaders to compose a set of strict rules, rules that apparently nobody looked over with any sort of critical eye. For instance, the guys were allowed use of the bathroom in the first dorm from 4:00 AM to 11:00PM. After eleven, the girls sleeping in that dorm were allowed to use that bathroom. The problem with this was that this was the only bathroom we were allowed to use. What were we supposed to do for the five hours between eleven and four?
My watch read 11:02. Since, technically, the field was the guys ‘dorm’ after 11:00, Travis and I took off our pants, blew kisses and waved goodbye to the girls in the van. The girls couldn’t see our immodesty and waved back, which made it even funnier. We were walking back to our tent when we saw the stake president and his wife approaching. Travis dove into the tent, but I grabbed my sleeping bag of a picnic table and started to shake off the dust to cover myself.
“Hey. How are you doing?” asked President Ostler.
“Good.”
“Have you been having a good time up here?”
“ . . . Yeah,” I shrugged.
“What year in school will you be next year?”
“A senior,” I replied, still shaking the sleeping bag in front of me.
“Are you excited to graduate?”
“I guess so.” Please notice that I don’t want to talk anymore.
“Are you planning to serve a mission after you graduate?”
“Oh yes. I can’t wait.” I needed to sound enthusiastic about this so that he wouldn’t lecture me on the importance of serving a mission.
“Alright. Good. Well, have a good night.”
“You too.”
I turned, still shaking the sleeping bag as they passed, and slowly backed into the tent. Travis sat on his cot laughing. His red, curly hair resembled Bozo-the-clown, except without the bald spot. This resulted in an unmistakable silhouette. Having had enough danger for the night, I put on my pants.
“That was so funny,” Travis said, looking eager for more excitement.
“Yeah. President Ostler talks too much.”
“No, I mean the girls. They didn’t have a clue we weren’t wearing any pants.”
“Do you know what would be funny? If you had only been wearing your socks.” To someone else, this statement would be strictly hypothetical, a statement to conjure up an image and arouse some laughter. To Travis, however, statements like these were taken as a literal suggestion of something he should do.
“Really?” He had that look in his eye. I knew that this was going to end badly, but I was wearing pants, so I felt pretty safe letting Travis do whatever he wanted, knowing I wouldn’t look gay.
I chuckled, “Yeah.”
That was enough of a reason for Travis and, to my horror, a few minutes later Travis had on nothing but three socks, two shoes, and one smile. I think the words Olympic torch are enough to cause most people to gag, so I won’t describe it any more than that.
“Come on. Take this flashlight so I can make shadow puppets on the other tents.”
I made sure to walk ahead of Travis as we approached one of the other tents. I stopped about twenty yards off as he approached the opening of the tent. I turned on my flashlight and pointed it at Travis’ body, only looking long enough to know I had it pointed in the right direction and then looking away and shielding my eyes from his horribly white skin. The field behind us seemed to glow as light reflected off Travis’ skin. My best guess for an Albedo rating would be .98.
I could see Travis dancing around in my peripheral. I couldn’t help but chuckle, although I kept it contained in my chest and throat.
“Travis!” Steve threatened from inside. “I’m going to come out there and rip that sock right off you!”
“Go right ahead,” Travis retorted.
The zipper opened halfway. Steve, who obviously had thought that Travis had just zipped a sock up in the front of his pants, gave a disgusted scream and snapped the tent shut once again.
“Serves you right.”
I laughed and, averting my view once more, noticed a flashlight coming toward us from across the field.
“Travis, someone is coming! Run!”
Travis and I ran, but I stopped after a few steps. “Why am I running?” I thought to myself. “I have all my clothes on?” Feeling safe, I did the only thing a friend would do. I stood and pointed the flashlight at Travis while he ran the fifty yards back to our tent.
“Who’s spotlighting me?” Travis screamed in horror.
“I don’t know,” I lied. “Keep running!”
I followed Travis with the light as he zigzagged across the field. Without slowing, he dove headfirst into the tent. Laughing, I looked for where the other light had gone, but couldn’t see it. I returned to the tent. Travis was putting on his shirt.
“I lost my sock.”
“We’ll find it in the morning. Let’s go to bed.”
I woke up at 4:00 to go take my shower and, on my way back to the tent, retraced the steps from the night before, but couldn’t find the sock. I slept again until 6:45. Travis and I searched the field but couldn’t find the sock anywhere. We were leaving to go home later that day, so packed up my things and went to breakfast. While in line, sister Marrot came up to me.
“Daniel,” she said. “No more midnight rendezvous.”
I wasn’t quite sure what she meant, or what she may have seen for that matter. She may have just heard us yelling. “Wha’d’ya see?”
“Do you think we sleep at night?”
I wasn’t giving up my cards. “Wha’d’ya see?”
“Socks.”