Opening Paragraph: “The accusations of depression and angst have been greatly exaggerated. These exaggerations have grown in a large part due to the rain which always falls. The rain in my city, it falls in torrents most times of the year, and the lack of sun casts a pale glow about the skin of its residents who seem obligated to hide in their long sleeves and hooded jackets.”
A Description of Chris: “On his concave mattress, he would lay for hours at a time counting cavities hidden cleverly between his teeth, tonguing them anxiously until his tongue was pressed at just the right angle to inspire pain. He would press his tongue against the caves of his teeth, press hard as he popped pills of methadone and the pain would noisily slip away into some kind of fiction, not to return until the drug wore off. It was then replaced with a dull ache at the base of his brain stem, at least that was where he supposed the pain was from as he maneuvered his head around trying to find the exact location with prodding finger tips. ‘At least I’m alive,’ he thought, ‘that much is certain. I am alive, and in living there is some merit.’”
From the Point of View of the Wolf: “I know, I know, I know a thing or two about suffering. I know, I know, I know a thing or two about violence and toxins, or petty crimes and large cons. I have been the lone wolf hidden within the pack, and as I have transformed I have lashed out and I have been made angry with my fellow wolfs and bitter, and as they all slept, I took a look at my own soul and found it wanting, saw the dirt and the filth and the grime and gristle and filtered through my teeth and my fists and my skin and my eyes and feet, took it out on the throats of all those who dared stand in my way, until suddenly all was done and I was myself anew, a wanderer. A wanderer of the soul, of the spirit, who walked far and left no trace of where I had been except these memories.”
Entering the Woods: ‘Her footsteps crackled and snapped as she drew near, clothed by the dense trees and brush. “Oh,” came her voice though her body remained hidden. “Ya brought him with you. Better watch out old man, yur bout ta reach the event horizon. Ya come any closer an’ yur liable not ta come back out.”’
A Description of Reggie: “In Reggie’s mind, a debate raged between to of his selves trapped within his body. The one self, sensible, practical, the dominate part of him through most his life, argued against this place. Foolish, rash, impractical; that’s what this tiny apartment with this hunched aged woman would be. Stuck in a small room, in a small apartment, in a dilapidated complex with chicken wire sticking through the stucco. A place filled with odd folk, for these were not people as city people and suburban people would be, these were folk as wandering country folk, out of their luck folk, poor, strange folk. His sensible self argued that he would not be able to cope with this place, it was to foreign, all together alien, cramped, lowly.
“However, among his many selves, there was a new one whom was slowly becoming the anti to his practical self, and that was the romantic, the mad man, do what feels right at the time, consequences be damned. It was an odd section of his personality, which until this moment he had not realized had existed within him, bubbled up in his chest, trapped within the jail cell of his rib cage, and pounding on the bars in a lame attempt to escape. Somehow, this part of him, once so malnourished as to seem entirely nonexistent, had slowly risen to a position of power without him knowing it; it was not a high ranking position, and it was not dominant by a mile, but when romance shouted loudly enough, he could be heard. Trouble was, romance was shouting now! This tired old building, this drastic, unrealistic, untimely, melodramatic change; this is what he needed in order to patch up his damaged soul. Reggie had no inkling as to why, but he did know that this place spoke to him. Stranger things had happened here, Reggie was sure of it.”
Be sure to check back tomorrow when I post up part 2 of Hermann Hesse’s Thematic Trilogy: Steppenwolf. See you then!
Related Links: New Published Poem – “Perfume”, Hermann Hesse’s Thematic Trilogy: Siddhartha, Putting Short Story Ideas onto Paper, The Creative Process of Short Story Structure, The Short Story Writing Process – Conception