So I wrote a short story then revised it sober... but I didn't do a very good job. I'm wondering if the plot is hopeless or if the language is just bad. I dunno, don't really know what to do with it, but for whatever reason I want to make it better, so I was wondering if someone wanted to help me out.
Keep in mind it may get kinda boring.
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“Could I get a McChicken, a McFlurry, and some large fries?” he was slightly drunk, and ordered as if he’d invented something altogether new.
I stood there for a minute, looking at the blank computer screen. I wasn’t a particularly enthusiastic employee, and I really didn’t like the drunken teenagers who came in here everyday and ****ed everything up and left it for us to clean. I’d been dealing with them for about six hours now, dealing with their little groups of “badasses” who went out and got drunk off of their cheap beer after prom. Some of them even got drunk off of their parents’ liquor. Those were the real badasses.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s fine for kids to get drunk, but it’s not as if they’ve accomplished something. It’s not as if they’re discovering something we didn’t all know about, and it’s not as if they impress anyone with their drunken yells and vomit. I suppose I should admit that adults do the same thing, though. They walk around drunk as **** acting like they have some authority because they’re old now and they can have a drink whenever they want to. They’re all really the same. Why do they even feel the need to talk to people? Can’t they just stay home and rot like they’re supposed to? I guess they feel great because they’re drunk, and now they can go around ruining people’s ****, and laugh it off because hell, what does it matter anyway.
There was this one guy today, he looked at me funny. He had a sort of drunken look on his face, just like every other drunk in this city. At first I didn’t care, but he just kept staring. I was walking along the street, and I noticed his eyes fixed on me, but I didn’t really want to say anything because obviously he has a right to stare and I probably shouldn’t have been staring back. He was on the other side of the street, anyway, so I kept walking. But he followed me from across the street. He just stayed about twenty feet to my left and kept staring, and when I turned around to see if he would follow, he did. So this drunk guy was stalking me, I realized.
I decided to walk over to him and ask him why he was following me. As I walked, the street seemed to get wider and wider, and it kept feeling as though I’d never get to the other side. The drunken man kept his eyes on me though, and I was determined to find out what his problem was.
“What’s the matter with this guy?” It sounded like they were talking about me to someone else, but the only person on the street was the drunk.
“He’s never around here you know.” Someone was definitely talking about me. I looked closely at the drunken man, as the distance between us had practically stayed the same even though I’d been walking all this time. Even all this time, the drunken man had still been staring at me. He hadn’t even blinked. He just kept giving me his blank stare, and I could practically see him as a deer on the highway in his next life.
“Do you think he’ll do it?” It seemed to come from the drunken man, but he was just staring. His lips didn’t move at all. I started running towards the drunk. There’s no point in waiting now, I thought to myself. He’s the only guy on the street, it must be him. All of the sudden, the street shrank back to its real size, and I found myself face to face with the drunk. We stood there for a long while, and I took a good look at him. I could tell he was drunk, even without the smell of liquor. His stupid stare told me everything I needed to know.
“Why’re you ****ing talking about me?” I started off yelling, since I knew it was him. “And why’re you following me around?”
“Sir, what’re you talking about?” He had this insincere look of surprise on his face. I could tell that deep inside he was laughing at me. Faces began appearing all over his body, all of them smiling and laughing at me. Then I got legitimately angry, and pushed him.
“What’re you doing? What’s your problem?”
“You’re the one that ****ing stared and stalked me. Now tell me why.” I was still yelling at him, but despite my yells he hadn’t changed his blank stare. They were the same **** glazed eyes he'd been looking at me with the whole time.
My eyes got red. I kicked him as hard as I could, and I felt his ribs creaking and the agony coursing through his body. He kept staring and didn’t say anything, so I got on my knees and curled my hand up and beat his face in. First his nose exploded with blood, and then his lips, and then I felt his jaw break and his teeth scattered across his face and the ground. Yet his eyes remained intact, with the same stupid glazed stare and I started yelling and started beating my fist into the concrete.
Then the faces that were laughing at me came back, except now they were laughing louder. They transformed into heads first, then they grew necks, and eventually there was a group of people laughing at me. All of them were dressed in police uniforms, and set cones around the man’s broken body. The cops started laughing and dancing. They even started singing, but I couldn’t make out the words. They were all there but didn't even really seem to notice me, except for the fact that they managed not to jump into me as they danced. I wanted to tell them to ****ing get away from me, but they left before I could.
I sat down on a bench nearby and stared at the guy. His body looked somewhat normal, but his face was more or less a puddle with some organs sticking out now. I felt the need to do something about it, so I climbed the street sign, and plucked the strip of metal with “Division St.” printed on it right off. I used it to push the body into some nearby bushes, so as not to touch it. I was scared now, despite all the anger I’d felt before. For such a long time I’d felt that way but now I was just scared, as if the drunken man had somehow defeated me. I collected the cones, and started walking home. It was a messy scene, and I didn’t want to bother people with it. The walk home took far longer than I’d expected it to, and I’d been lugging a street sign and traffic cones the whole time. All tired and messy, I fell dead asleep after a couple of minutes.
The next morning, I sat down with some coffee, and read the newspaper like I always did. I was so tired from the day before I didn’t bother moving the cones and the sign off of the table. In the business section, there was a long article about the failing economy and rising gas prices. It scared me a little, so I went to the local section of the paper. The headline said something about a "youth beaten to death in his prime at a local restaurant.” I got scared again, and went back to sleep.
Keep in mind it may get kinda boring.
___________________________________________
“Could I get a McChicken, a McFlurry, and some large fries?” he was slightly drunk, and ordered as if he’d invented something altogether new.
I stood there for a minute, looking at the blank computer screen. I wasn’t a particularly enthusiastic employee, and I really didn’t like the drunken teenagers who came in here everyday and ****ed everything up and left it for us to clean. I’d been dealing with them for about six hours now, dealing with their little groups of “badasses” who went out and got drunk off of their cheap beer after prom. Some of them even got drunk off of their parents’ liquor. Those were the real badasses.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s fine for kids to get drunk, but it’s not as if they’ve accomplished something. It’s not as if they’re discovering something we didn’t all know about, and it’s not as if they impress anyone with their drunken yells and vomit. I suppose I should admit that adults do the same thing, though. They walk around drunk as **** acting like they have some authority because they’re old now and they can have a drink whenever they want to. They’re all really the same. Why do they even feel the need to talk to people? Can’t they just stay home and rot like they’re supposed to? I guess they feel great because they’re drunk, and now they can go around ruining people’s ****, and laugh it off because hell, what does it matter anyway.
There was this one guy today, he looked at me funny. He had a sort of drunken look on his face, just like every other drunk in this city. At first I didn’t care, but he just kept staring. I was walking along the street, and I noticed his eyes fixed on me, but I didn’t really want to say anything because obviously he has a right to stare and I probably shouldn’t have been staring back. He was on the other side of the street, anyway, so I kept walking. But he followed me from across the street. He just stayed about twenty feet to my left and kept staring, and when I turned around to see if he would follow, he did. So this drunk guy was stalking me, I realized.
I decided to walk over to him and ask him why he was following me. As I walked, the street seemed to get wider and wider, and it kept feeling as though I’d never get to the other side. The drunken man kept his eyes on me though, and I was determined to find out what his problem was.
“What’s the matter with this guy?” It sounded like they were talking about me to someone else, but the only person on the street was the drunk.
“He’s never around here you know.” Someone was definitely talking about me. I looked closely at the drunken man, as the distance between us had practically stayed the same even though I’d been walking all this time. Even all this time, the drunken man had still been staring at me. He hadn’t even blinked. He just kept giving me his blank stare, and I could practically see him as a deer on the highway in his next life.
“Do you think he’ll do it?” It seemed to come from the drunken man, but he was just staring. His lips didn’t move at all. I started running towards the drunk. There’s no point in waiting now, I thought to myself. He’s the only guy on the street, it must be him. All of the sudden, the street shrank back to its real size, and I found myself face to face with the drunk. We stood there for a long while, and I took a good look at him. I could tell he was drunk, even without the smell of liquor. His stupid stare told me everything I needed to know.
“Why’re you ****ing talking about me?” I started off yelling, since I knew it was him. “And why’re you following me around?”
“Sir, what’re you talking about?” He had this insincere look of surprise on his face. I could tell that deep inside he was laughing at me. Faces began appearing all over his body, all of them smiling and laughing at me. Then I got legitimately angry, and pushed him.
“What’re you doing? What’s your problem?”
“You’re the one that ****ing stared and stalked me. Now tell me why.” I was still yelling at him, but despite my yells he hadn’t changed his blank stare. They were the same **** glazed eyes he'd been looking at me with the whole time.
My eyes got red. I kicked him as hard as I could, and I felt his ribs creaking and the agony coursing through his body. He kept staring and didn’t say anything, so I got on my knees and curled my hand up and beat his face in. First his nose exploded with blood, and then his lips, and then I felt his jaw break and his teeth scattered across his face and the ground. Yet his eyes remained intact, with the same stupid glazed stare and I started yelling and started beating my fist into the concrete.
Then the faces that were laughing at me came back, except now they were laughing louder. They transformed into heads first, then they grew necks, and eventually there was a group of people laughing at me. All of them were dressed in police uniforms, and set cones around the man’s broken body. The cops started laughing and dancing. They even started singing, but I couldn’t make out the words. They were all there but didn't even really seem to notice me, except for the fact that they managed not to jump into me as they danced. I wanted to tell them to ****ing get away from me, but they left before I could.
I sat down on a bench nearby and stared at the guy. His body looked somewhat normal, but his face was more or less a puddle with some organs sticking out now. I felt the need to do something about it, so I climbed the street sign, and plucked the strip of metal with “Division St.” printed on it right off. I used it to push the body into some nearby bushes, so as not to touch it. I was scared now, despite all the anger I’d felt before. For such a long time I’d felt that way but now I was just scared, as if the drunken man had somehow defeated me. I collected the cones, and started walking home. It was a messy scene, and I didn’t want to bother people with it. The walk home took far longer than I’d expected it to, and I’d been lugging a street sign and traffic cones the whole time. All tired and messy, I fell dead asleep after a couple of minutes.
The next morning, I sat down with some coffee, and read the newspaper like I always did. I was so tired from the day before I didn’t bother moving the cones and the sign off of the table. In the business section, there was a long article about the failing economy and rising gas prices. It scared me a little, so I went to the local section of the paper. The headline said something about a "youth beaten to death in his prime at a local restaurant.” I got scared again, and went back to sleep.