Magnum Opus

The room is dimly lit. I sit across from a rotund man of about 60 who is holding a pen and a pad of paper. He looks at me thoughtfully.
“So Bryan, what brings you here?” I shift in my overly plush seat, avoiding his stare. I don’t know how to answer such a big question.
“Everything.” I whisper softly, not looking up.
“Would you like to talk about what ‘everything’ is?” he coaxes gently.
“Where do I begin?”
“Where ever you’d like.”





I had not slept the night before and now the day loomed before me terrifyingly. It was not that I was afraid of school per say, but the thought of having to face another year with the same people that have always hated me made my breath catch.

Just another panic attack Bryan. You’re not dying. Breathe. I thought to myself. Panic attacks had become a normality by then. It would not be out of the ordinary to have at least one a day. Once my breathing returned to normal and I no longer felt the achy tightness in my chest, I looked in the bathroom mirror and tried to pull myself together- a hard feat for me. My mahogany brown hair was dull and limp, my ice blue eyes had eternal bags beneath them, and my pale skin in the preceding months had become more and more dry and taught. I looked dead.

It upset me that I could never be normal and pretty like the rest of the girls at my school, all of them so skinny. I felt enormous, and even though I was 5’6” and a mere size 3, I would not let anyone convince me otherwise. Looking in the mirror put a knot in my stomach and I knew what I had to do to release it.

I opened the medicine cabinet and searched for my father’s razor. After a quick rinse I placed it in position. I did not make a move just yet. I let the moment linger for as long as it could. Relishing in the anticipation to get a better release from it.

Then the moment came when I knew it was time. I pushed down on the razor and the metal met flesh. I dragged it back and forth across my skin until I felt a liquid heat flood my body, and a wetness running down my arm. I dropped the razor into the sink and leaned forward against the white porcelain of the sink as I watched the scarlet bead slowly make its way down my forearm, inching its way closer and closer to my elbow. And with every inch it crawled, it took my pain out of me. Just before the drop reached the crook of my elbow I wiped it up and started to bandage myself.



[This is an exerpt from my novel which has yet to be named. This is the begining. Tell me what you think =] ]

... Your characters are all so depressing... D:

Yeah... it's how I roll...

Any other comments...?

Hmmmm.

Well, not really. There's nothing wrong with it. But there's not exactly enough substance to say anything else either.... HOWEVER. It reminds me a little of "wintergirls" by laurie halse anderson. Have you heard of/read it?

I thought the way it was written was fine; but the main character would appear to have a case of the Bella-Swan-Syndrom of '*insert nice, descriptive and not at all bland adjective here* plain *insert anatomy feature here*', especially with the 'i wouldnt let anyone convince me otherwise.'

But, not gonna lie, I was half expecting her to be bulemic, and instead she cuts herself so, suprise ending! (although i may have looked at the screen with a face, since if i accidentally so much as nick, let alone cut, myself with a razor it stings like a bitch and leaves me hopping around going 'owowowowowowoowowow' before i put pressure on it to stop the bleeding and leg it for a band-aid. but thats just me rambling)

I havent read wintergirls yet but I have read her book speak. This is only the first little bit, there's a lot more.

Also please do not compare me to twilight! *pukes*
Also this isnt the end, this is the beginning, shes also anorexic/bulemic.

Should I post more of it or...?

Oh, yes please! Post up some more.

This is Megan. It took me a while to figure out who you were. But are you Jamie?

If yes, are you writing a novel for your Magnum Opus too?

Definitely, post more.

And haha. Your reaction to twilight pleases me. =]

NEXT PART:



He stares at me thoughtfully as I begin my story. I feel self-conscious. I wonder if I’ve already said too much, but I figure he probably knows a lot of this already.

He stops me, “So Bryan, you’re telling me you cut yourself? Are you suicidal, Bryan?” Instead of answering I think about how much I dislike how often he uses my name. I already hate my name enough as it is and I don’t need to hear it used once in every sentence.
“Bryan?” he prods.
I think to myself for a moment before I answer.
“A suicidal person seeks to end all feeling. I cut to feel better.”
“So you’re telling me you’re not suicidal?”
“I have been… I mean I’ve tried to… but cutting has nothing to do with that. Any cutter will tell you that that’s not how they’d off themselves.”
He furrows his eyebrows and looks at me intently as if asking himself whether or not I’d be considered a danger to myself.
“Would you like to continue?” He finally asks.
I nod in reply. And with that he picks his pen back up and his thoughtful face resumes.


[page break]


I’d become a pro at hiding my dirty little secret. Long sleeves most days, and arm warmers on the days too warm to get away with wearing a sweater. Once I’d cleaned my mess, and my father’s razor, I continued to get myself ready. I decided to just put up my hair in a pony and ignore all of my imperfections. It’s not like anyone will even notice you, I told myself.

I still had plenty of time to get ready for school because I had woken up extra early to make time for an episode like the one I just had.

The white walls of my room were bare. I had not hung a single picture of a celebrity or friend. I knew it wouldn’t be long before we moved again; we never stayed anywhere long enough to truly settle in. I learned long ago how much of a hassle it was to take them down.

I went through my colour-coded closet to look for something to wear, everything hung neatly and facing the same direction. Not that there was much in the way of colour. Blacks, greys and navy blues dominated my wardrobe. It would be a long sleeve day.

A familiar sound came from the floor below me and I knew then that I was not alone in the house. I knew I had to get out of the house as soon as possible so as to not be yelled at this early in the morning. My father is a terrifying being, especially when he’s nursing a hang over. So with that cue, I put on my clothes hurriedly, grabbed my bag, and rushed out the door. Not eating breakfast, not packing a lunch.

For most, school is a place not only to learn, but also to socialize. Not so for me, I was completely alone. Not a soul talked to me in class, not a face granted me a smile, no hands waved to me in the hallway at lunch, and certainly, no voices called me over to sit with them. My first day, like many days before and to follow, was spent wandering the halls alone, half listening to teachers lecture about this and that, and writing in my journal.

And then I saw him.

He was walking hand in hand with Her down the hallway and passed my locker. Every time I see Them I unintentionally make a face. Not a mean face, more one of shock and surprise. Or pain. I try my best to avoid Them; it’s always a stab in the heart when I do.

I should explain. By Them I mean my best friend Drew and his girlfriend. You wouldn’t think I would hate to see my best friend, but I do. I’m in love with him, but She has made my life a living hell. I would never try to get between them. I’m not that kind of person, and besides, I know no one would ever pick me over someone else. No amount of comforting or explaining will convince Her of that though. She made him pick between being friends with me, and having her. Guess who he picked? Yeah, that’s right, Her. So we stay friends in private. I see him once every few months and we talk online or on the phone. But seeing him with her always hurts.

Today the face I made got me in trouble. I opened MSN when I got home to talk to Drew, and instead of saying “Hi” he said, “I’m on the phone with my crying girlfriend and sadly it’s all because of you.” That crushed me, then angered me. What did I do this time? Did I wear a shirt she didn’t like? Was I in the same hallway as him for too long? Apparently, it was the face I made. I made an unintentional facial expression and quickly looked away and she assumed I’m fucking him. I’m betting if I were out of the picture, there’d just be another girl she’d be paranoid of. I have never in my life done anything wrong to her, other than in my thoughts.

“What do you want me to do this time?” I asked sadly.
“Just tell me this and don’t fuck with me or this will end badly for you; 1. Have you ever given her a dirty look? and 2. Do you have feelings for me that go beyond friendship?” I was hurt. How can he not trust me? He knows me better than anyone else; I would never act meanly towards anyone on purpose. Especially not if it involved him. I may have delighted in their problems and hoped for their break up, but I did not directly cause them.

So I let out a shaky breath and answered, “No to both. Honestly, I would never come between you two. You’re my best friend and I would never want to hurt you like that. Is that really what you think of me?” I was pushing back tears now. “Alright, I’ve had enough pain for one day, I’m going to go.” I signed off without waiting for him to respond or say goodbye. I wanted him to know he hurt me. Of course, that was wishful thinking.

“BRYAN!” My name was yelled from across the house. I’ve always feared my father, when he was drinking (which was becoming more and more frequent) he would yell and sometimes get pretty violent. I always tried to do my best to not anger him, and this was no exception. I checked my eyes in the mirror before I left my room to make sure it didn’t show that I was crying.

He was in the kitchen; a bottle of Molson Dry in his hand, his beard unshaven for what seemed like quite a few days, and as usual he wore sweatpants and a tee shirt with many holes on them.
“Make dinner. I’m not cooking or eating tonight.” He said gruffly as he took a swig from his bottle.
“I’ve been making dinner all this week though, and we don’t really have anything to make.” I protested timidly.
“Well fuck you. It’s your fault you eat so much maybe there would be food if you weren’t such a fat-ass.” He slurred angrily, his eyes glowering. He was wrong though. I barely ever ate, and yet, I believed him. I did feel like a greedy fat-ass.
“Or maybe if you didn’t spend all your money on booze we’d have some food in the house…” I mumbled to myself as he stumbled out of the room.
“What did you just fucking say you bitch?!” He turned and yelled, raising his hand to me.
“Nothing.” I quickly replied, mentally cursing myself for saying something that stupid.
“That’s fucking right nothing… Bitch.” The latter part was more of a mumble to himself, but I heard it. And it hurt. Belching, went back downstairs into his lair. I decided to skip supper that night and ran back to my room as quietly and quickly as I could.


[ps to megan, yes, I am Jamie and yes I'm doing a novel.]

TWI-ANAPHALAXIS (commnly deadly allergic reaction) FTW

You have the potential to make this an interesting novel. The only thing I'm worried about is the consta-depression thing... That's a bad way to word it. What I mean is, I would hate to see the story get bogged down because every single bad thing possible happens to this girl. It drains her of her personality, makes the story cliched, and you can make everything really shine when it's more balanced. It's not at that level yet, but it could fall there if you don't check yourself.

You can make this a really good story. Please write more. Just keep that in mind.