Fiction Writer \ Goren Gordon

He walked for days, famished and fatigued. He just wanted to live. Why can’t they let him go, why must they keep chasing him? Didn’t he suffer enough?

- That’s quiet an opening, but it’s too unoriginal. Try to find something else.

- But it’s filled with suspense and intrigue.

- I agree, but it can be applied to any kind of story. Try to be more informative and specific.

Jim Courie ran down a long road on the way down from the Pyrenees, toward the town that entered his view. The local police chased him down, and he could hear them from behind. He jumped out from the road, cowering behind a nearby tree. Four policemen with rifles came along the path. One of them spotted Courie. He aimed his rifle...

-No, no, no!  You gave the place, the date, the entire situation. You must leave something to the imagination, for development in the rest of the story.

Jim Courie ran down the road. A small valley was revealed to him. The paved route crossed it, but otherwise there was no sign of civilization. The valley was filled with plenty of vegetation: ranging from short green grass, through flora of all shapes and colors, to giant oak trees. The sound of wild life was evident through the fogy air: the cry of birds, the buzz of flies and mosquitoes, and on occasion, the roar of a predator.

The sight was unique to this part of the world, but Courie was running for his life, so he didn’t have the time to enjoy this beautiful view. He sprinted for several yards and stopped to catch his breath. From up the road he heard a hum, and after a few seconds he saw the light emerging from the corner. Panicked and tremulous, he jumped from the road and landed behind some bushed. He just lay there and tried to be as quiet as he could. No more running, he thought.

A red sports car sped toward Courie. The driver overlooked him. For a moment, Courie had a spark of hope, but then he heard the car breaks and reverses back at high speed. It stopped two yards from Courie and the door opened. Sweat appeared of Courie’s forehead and he began to tremble. He could have run away or hide or even put up a fight, but he just gave up. It wasn’t worth it. He heard footsteps of high heel shoes. ‘Come out, Jim’ he recognized the voice. It will be a slow death, he knew. The woman advanced and raised her gun. ‘I’m not sorry’ she said and fired.

- And?

- That’s it, he’s dead.

- What are you, crazy? You opened beautifully, but it’s to short, there’s no development.

- But you said to leave something to the imagination.

- Something, not Everything. Here, I’ll guide you through. First, describe the place specifically, but just the area where the scene takes place, not its actual location.

Jim Courie entered the abandoned house quickly, shutting the rotten wooden door. It squeaked and he held his breath with panicked terror. After hearing nothing but the wind blowing through gaps in the broken walls, he scanned the building. The pale moon light that infiltrated through a hole in the roof showed him that he was in an empty house except for parts of the ceiling lying on the ground, and a broken chair. No one lived here in decades.

- Good, that’s a reasonable beginning. Now describe his state of mid, what’s going on inside his head. What’s he thinking about, how does he feel, but don’t tell everything, just the general idea.

He sat quietly on the dusted floor. Thoughts were running through his troubled mind, and he tried to focus them, without any success. His eyes were beginning to tear, uncontrollably. He choked a sob, to conceal his whereabouts. He was afraid, so afraid. Why are they after me, he thought, I didn’t do anything. And yet they’ve been chasing me everywhere. I can’t shake them off. He felt detached, shunned. All his friends had turned their backs to him, even his wife, Julia. What has happened that I deserve such a fate? He began to cry, loudly, without the power nor the will to stop. He was so confused. For the first time in days, he tried to sort things out, when did this rollercoaster from hell begin, but he just couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment. It all happened so fast, he didn’t know what followed what, and why. What is happening, he cried to the stars, but they didn’t answer. Exhausted,  he lied down and after a few tortuous moments, the blessed sleep has arrived.

- Great descriptions. I’m all tensed up, but now is the time to enter more mystery, more intrigue. Something unique should happen to him.

Or so he thought. Two men wearing white robes stood beside him. Their fixed expression of complete boredom changed to a grinning one when they fell asleep and closed their eyes. The scene faded out and a face appeared -- Julia. ‘Come back’ she cried, and he did, but suddenly a knife appeared in her hand. She waved it at him, but only hurt herself. The scene faded again, and an owl appeared flying toward him, carrying a scroll. Courie took it and there was a big shimmer of light. The owl vanished -- and Courie woke up. He heard running footsteps approaching him. He thought he was still dreaming, but then he remembered what had happened. He was back in the wrecked house and the morning sun penetrated the ruined brick wall. The sound of men became louder, and the old obsessed sensation of running away returned.

- Wonderful. To add a little more drama, end the first scene with new information that will shade some light on the situation.

The footsteps were getting closer and closer. Jim sat down at a shadowed corner, physically and mentally unable to try to escape. Several men stood outside the building. Jim heard some murmuring and then they entered it. He closed his eyes, like a small child, thinking that if he can’t see them, they won’t see him. The men spread out and two of them approached him. ‘Is it true what they say about this guy? Is he really that dangerous?’ ‘No, of course not. They’re just trying to scare us.’ The other said with unquestionable doubt in his voice. Those men are frightened, thought Courie. Of what, of me? Why, I haven’t done anything. Somehow, the men missed him, and Courie blessed them for it. They left.

- Very good. Now expand the plot and the surroundings. You don’t have to confine yourself to only one place. Try to give a hint at the point of the story, but only a hint.

Jim Courie stayed there for several days, replenishing his mental resources. He was quiet sure they won’t look for him there again. With a conviction to know more about his situation, he began to walk toward the nearest town. He marched beside the highway, head down, trying to be as unobtrusively as he can. Several people and vehicles passed him by, but none paid him any attention. He entered the city and walked toward the main street. It was packed with people going nowhere and in a hurry. The hum of the city reassured him, it drowned everyone’s identity and the mob coalesced into one unrecognizable entity. A woman walking in front of him was reading the newspaper. Courie, casually, glanced at it and panicked – he saw his face at the front page. He stopped at a newsstand to exam it more carefully: ‘Serial Killer, still at large,’ but there was something wrong about his picture, it was blurred. He was sure no one would recognize him by that picture, only those who knew him. To find out more, he entered a local saloon, and sat at the bar. Two men sat there, drowning their miserable lives with a bottle of whiskey. With uncharacteristic courage he asked ‘How about that murderer? You think they’ll ever get him?’ ‘No, he’s too clever for them. No one knows exactly how he looks like,’ one in a business suit said, still focusing on his half empty glass. ‘Yeah, he’s too vicious,’ the other agreed, looking at a newspaper in front of him. ‘He murdered everyone he knew, except his wife, what’s her name... Julia. His son, his neighbors his parents – he even destroyed every known picture of him. His wife is in a state of shock, I bet she’s too afraid to say anything.’ Slowly, the words began to sink. Charlie is dead – his son, his only child. And by his own hands – how could this be? There must be a mistake, they must be talking about another man, but Julia – she’s in shock. I must speak to her, she’s the only one who knows anything, but why did she push me away? Will she take me back now? And what about his pursuers – they probably have her under secure guard, but I must see her, I must.

- Superb. I’m already intrigued. Where do you get this stuff?

- They are just floating in my mind.

- Excellent. Now advance the plot, start to show where you’re getting at, without getting there.

Courie looked at the newspaper, trying to read where Julia was located. It was hard reading it from a torn ado stained sheet, but he managed to catch the address. Now he had to plan. I know the place, but it has only one entrance. They would catch me there, but... They don’t know what I look like, they only know my name, but I can’t just march in. Well, why not? I’ve got to see her, eve just to kiss her this one last time. He wore the business suit, and marched, confident, toward the hospital. The nurses looked at him, and smiled. He asked for direction, and they naively gave it to him. There were no guards outside the room, so he just entered it. Julia was lying  on a white sheeted bed, looking more beautifully than ever. Courie looked at her with longing eyes and approached her. She opened hers and stared at him. She smiled like an innocent child, and then screamed. Two policemen burst into the room - aiming their guns at nothing. They scanned carefully for the intruder, but all they could see was the blood.

- A little nauseating, but acceptable. Extremely complicated for a short story.

- I thought so, too.

- You advanced too quickly, for my opinion, but that’s your artistic privilege. I think you should approach the end, but not completely.

Now, everyone was chasing him. Not just the police, but every living man in the city, but they had just one problem – they didn’t know what to look for, no one knew his description. The city was in a commotion: women and children locked panicked in their houses, and men carrying weapons looking for a ghost. Jim Courie was afraid for his life, like everyone else, but for different reasons. After a few days the city administration announced him as dead, though no corpse was produced. The city never returned to normal: the frightened looks on everyone’s face were evident for years to come. Courie ran away, the whole world was now afraid of him, although unknowingly, so he sought comfort somewhere else. One day it came to him – he walked on an isolated dirt road, when an old man approached him and took him under his care. He taught him to write stories...

- Wait. It’s too close to the truth.

- So?

- You’re writing fiction, aren’t you?

- No, I’m writing my biography.

- Oh... And what are you going to do?

- I think you know that.

And so Jim Courie lived his life.

No one including him, knew his past.

No one but him knew his present.

And everybody but him knows his future.