Thursday, November 26, 2009
The Jealous Character
Write, using only description of a person's actions, to show a person who is "jealous." According to Wordsmyth, jealous is "envious of the qualities, possessions, or achievements of another." It can also mean, "doubtful and suspicious of the faithfulness of someone for whom one has affection; fearful of losing the other's affection."
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She heard the back door slam shut as her husband headed out to the garage. He hadn’t said where he was going, but, this time, she would get him. He’s gone and now I’m going to find out whether he’s been lying to me she thought.
Last night, he’d come home late and headed straight for the shower, claiming to be tired from staying late at the office. He stayed late at the office a great deal lately and, often, he slept in the spare room so as “not to disturb her.”
Helena looked for the key to the maid’s quarters in the basement. She knew that his clothes would be there on top of the pile under the laundry chute.
“Ah, here it is,” she muttered , finding the key under a pile of papers on Bob’s desk. She crept down the stairs, though she didn’t know why she needed to be quiet. The maid was off for the weekend and staying at a friend’s apartment in the city.
She slipped the key into the lock and opened the door. The laundry room was on the right, at the end of the dark hall. Under the chute was a huge pile of clothes. Most of them were Bob’s she noted. “Cleanliness is next to Godliness,” he liked to say.
The shirt he’d been wearing was near the top of the pile. As soon as she picked it up she caught the faint scent of Shalimar. But she wore Chanel, not Shalimar. She drew in her breath sharply and continued. It got worse. On the collar was a smudge of lipstick, also not her own.
She made her way upstairs, exhilarated. That bastard! But then she noticed her face was streaked with tears. Feeling faint, she sat down on the couch and wept.
Kay's Writing (from class)
Why was he coming home late last night? There must be someone else. He hasn't been paying too much attention to me lately.
That's it! I've put on weight. I bet that skinny ass secretary is coming on to him and with his ego she has a good chance to score points. After all, he is the boss. Maybe I should recognize him as boss around the house. No way. I'm not going that far. This is my territory.
I hear the car right now. Well! I'm ready for that two timing brute. Footsteps.
"Hi Hon. Boy am I glad to be home. My mom took a fall today and I've been with her at the hospital since 5 p.m. I would have phoned, but they don't allow cellphones in the X-ray department. Something smells good. I'm one lucky guy to have a wife like you!"
“That mouse is lucky,” Melchor said. “ It’s like she’d won the lottery.”
“She’s a Hamster,” I said to him. The mouse he was looking at was not like us; it was not a house rat.
Melchor said, “Look how white she is. And her hair, see how smooth and shiny it is?.”
“It is still a rat,” I told him. “No matter how beautiful she is, like us, she stinks.”
Melchor and I had just started our day. We were searching for our piece of cheese, or anything, for that matter, as long as we can chew it because we were scavengers and we eat whatever we can eat--rotten fruits and vegetables, meat, shoes, sandals, clothes--except our own specie. We had just arrived at the tiled floor, sheltering the world we live in. A world of darkness and gore; away from the sun, even from light-bulbs, surrounded by stagnant waters, grimy mud where earthworms and other insects lives, and algae covered walls where cockroaches roam. And that was why Melchor and I couldn’t help but stare in amazement, envy the creature, and ask ourselves how can a rat like us (though she’s from a different breed) enjoy life with more security, far from the eyes of those who despises our kind, caged for safety, away from the sharp teeth of the predators, and bats and traps of the higher specie called homo sapiens.
“Let’s talk to her,” Melchor said. “She seems kind. I want to try her running wheel, too, and while I am talking to her, and have her attention, you can sneak-out some of her food. They look scrumptious.”
“Yes, of course,” I said. “ We are house rats. We are thieves. If we don’t steal, we will starve to death.”
To be honest, I grew up in the country ride, I used to be a farm rat. Back there, life was bountiful. We worried not about food, only the farmers. I ended up in this place because I was in search for an adventure, and a friend told me, that his cousin, journeyed to the city, and ended up in a laboratory. “They let him play everyday,” he proudly told me. “They made mazes for him, and after every run, they feed hid good food, and they also made a good shelter for him.” So, I thought if a farm rat had already made it into the big city, into a place where the humans will serve you instead of poisoning you, or shooting you, I might as well take my chances. But it wasn’t a happy ending. In my first day here, I searched for my friend’s cousin and found out, that he’s dead. They drugged him. That is how I ended up in the shit-hole below this floor--our realm. Almost half our population, in the underworld, are migrants, rats from all over the globe. But you can’t blame them for leaving home, and as result ended up as a pest. Remember: No one leaves home unless home is like a the mouth of a cat, or a mouse trap. To live--to find food and shelter--you have to risk your life. I heard a rat said before, “Those rats think this drainage is paradise, that’s why they come hear and this is far from it.” And some new-comer, fresh-off-the-boat, relied to him, “But if you came from a place close to hell, this drainage is the closest place to paraiso.”
So we approached her, the stunning Hamster.
Melchor showed himself first, I was few meters behind him. We were unwanted guests, pests.
A wide shadow covered Melchor; then Melchor was gone.
Marc:
I like this, but I got really bogged down in the paragraph that begins, "Melchor and I had just started our day . . ." Even by breaking it up into a few more paragraphs it would be improved. Also, do we need that level of detail? What it feels like to me (and this applies to the other long paragraph too) is more "telly" and less "showy," which means the narrator kind of goes on a bit too much and leaves the reader wanting to return to the action and situation.
As far as jealous is concerned, it works well enough, but many readers, I feel, would not finish the piece to the end.
Jennet was looking at her exam with smirk.
“Ninety-five, that’s no bad,” she saliently said to herself.
She took a few minutes to check the sheets, and then looked around the whole class, intended to meet someone’s eyes to share her achievement. She didn’t get any connection because the others seem were all busy to correct their mistakes.
She decided to hand in it at first, so she stood up, rising the head up, and making a noisy by the chair. She went to the desk steadily.
Amy’s exam lied on the front desk quietly because of the owner’s absent. “Ninety-eight! What a hell!”
The obvious red mark was like a knife that was curving these numbers on her heart. Jennet’s sweet smile was suddenly frozen. She gazed the dazzling score for a while, forced herself to turn back. She hesitantly walked back to the seat.
Then, Amy’s face with triumphant continually appeared in her mind.
“That’s annoyed such an ugly face.”
She tried to sweep that cheerful face away, but the stronger enforce coursed even more clear image.
“If the world already had me, why still needs her? ” she muttered.
As she washed the dishes, she made a point of turning on the tap full blast, clattering the plates about, and slamming the cupboard doors shut. He was lounging in his favourite chair in the living room, reading the paper.
He spoke over his downturned page, "Is something wrong, hon?"
She didn't bother turning to face him.
"No, nothing's wrong."
"Well, it's just that you seem upset," he said.
"Why should I be upset?" she answered sarcastically. Now she turned to face him. "Except for the fact that I found out through Madge today that you and your "best buddy", Bob, are going on a fishing trip this weekend!"
He raised his eyebrows inquiringly.
"Oh, Don!" now she was getting teary-eyed. "You're always spending your free time with Bob! You completely forgot about our anniversary this weekend!"
Now Don walked up to her with one hand behind his back.
"Well, in a way, you're right," he said matter-of-factly. "But. . .only half right."
He gave her a smile and produced a piece of paper from behind his back. "I am going to a lodge, but not for fishing."
She read the letter carefully. "Reservations for: Mr. and Mrs. Nelson. . .Castaway Resort Lodge...Honeymoon Suite for 2 nights."
"Oh, Don!" she gave him a big hug. It was her favourite resort. "You remembered!"
Don laughed. Now he was teary-eyed.
-Jealous Character:
“What in the world?! Tim, come over here. My cell’s contacts are empty!”
“What’s that, honey bun?”
‘Ok, gotta calm down. It’s her fault that she didn’t lock her phone.’
“My cell’s contacts are empty, and now I’ve gotta call Andy for the contract.”
“Now, calm down. I’m sure this Andy’ll understand.”
“Calm down? Calm down?! How can I calm down, I gotta call him right this mimute for the contract.”
‘Yeah, right. . . Call him right this minute, it’s 12 a.m. What kind of idiot is gonna answer?’
“Ok, let’s be calm for a moment here. Didn’t you write his phone number in some other place?”
“No!”
'Of course, she couldn’t have because I burnt it already. . . Ha!’
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