Mirror Stories - 02-25-2010

[RoughWriters]

The premise of this challenge was to write two versions of the same scene with the main charachter exhibiting different personality traits and situational approaches in each version of the scene, to show how the scenes change base on the changes in one person. This also shows how much the writer needs to understand the characters and the scene that do not change, and how they would react under varied circumstances as well.

[Edward Cheever]

Scene 1:

Roger sat down in the chair opposite of Harold. “Surely you don’t mean it’s gone?” Roger said, flabbergasted.
“I’m afraid so, Roger, my boy.” Harold intoned. “Your father’s map has been missing since the Great War.”
Roger ran a hand through his hair. “But Mrs. Fowler said that she knew you had it.”
“Mrs. Fowler is a kind old lady, to be sure.” Harold said with a smile. “But she is getting older. Why, I’m no spring-chicken myself. I know what age does to a person.”
Roger rested his head on his hand. “Do you have any idea if there was a copy somewhere? Father always made copies of things. His old office is still covered in stencils.”
“I’m afraid not, my boy. Listen to me. You’ve had a hard time letting your father’s passing go. I highly recommend that you take some time off work. Relax. Visit Regina, she’s been missing you, you know.”
Roger nodded sullenly.
“Just let it go, my boy.”
Roger sat in the chair for another moment, and then reluctantly sighed, “Thank you Harold.”
He stood up and left.

Scene 2:

Roger leaned over the desk at Harold, eyes bulging. “What do you mean it’s gone?” Roger demanded.
Harold slunk back with a hunted look in his eye. “Listen, Roger my boy…”
“Don’t ‘my-boy’ me, you old bag.” Roger sneered. “I know you have my Father’s map, and I want it.”
Harold spluttered. “Where could you have possibly heard such a thing?”
Roger straightened, but his eyes still burned. “The old bird Mrs. Fowler told me.”
Harold gave a weak laugh. “Mrs. Fowler is an elderly lady, my boy. She’s…”
“Trust me.” Roger said with a dastardly grin. “She wouldn’t have lied.”
Harold’s face drained of blood. “I..I..”
“You know where that map is. Father always made copies of everything.”
“B-b-but, my boy!”
“Don’t make me do something you’ll regret, Harold.”
Harold blinked and gulped. With a shaky finger he pointed at a small painting across the room. “There, behind the painting in the safe.”
Roger strode across the room. “A wall-safe behind a painting? Harold, how clichéd.” He tore the painting off the wall. “What is the safe number?” He demanded coldly.
“t-two-seventeen-th-thirty.” Harold squeaked.
The safe swung open, and there inside lay an old rolled up document. Roger took it carefully and unrolled it to find a slightly faded, yet still legible trace of a map.
With a final dark glance he said, “thank you, Harold,” and left.

[scott]

The light glowed fiercely from the 80watt bulb. Florescent light pooled on the cavern’s misshapen walls. A man sat in a chair, deftly tied and gagged. Blood trickled down his face and bruise marks colored him a purple hue. The soft sound of footsteps approached him. A questing hand ripped the gag from his mouth.
“Spracken dei Deutch?”
The prisoner blinked quickly at the sudden burst of light. “Please no more.” He begged.
“I suppose an American cannot be bothered to learn German. Your fate will come more slowly if you resist.”
“I’ll never tell you!”, the soldier screamed defiantly.
“I didn’t ask you anything, you pussle-bellied dog.”
“Oh… Well I won’t tell you anything, in any case!” He roared with new found vigor.
“Alright then,” the interrogator confirmed, “Guard you may shoot him until dead.”
“Wait!” cried the American, “Don’t you want to punch me or something? Burn me?”
The Nazi shook his head, “I am not an unreasonable man. I will respect your last wish to not betray your country.”
Bang Bang Bang



The light glowed fiercely from the 100watt bulb. Florescent light pooled on the cavern’s misshapen walls. A man sat in a chair, deftly tied and gagged. Blood trickled down his face and bruise marks colored him a purple hue. The soft sound of footsteps approached him. A questing hand tore the blindfold from his eyes. There stood a short man.
“Spracken dei Deutch?”
The prisoner blinked quickly at the sudden burst of light. “MMmMmmmm.” He begged.
A blow to the head tipped the chair to the ground.
“Mhmmhmmh”, the soldier screamed defiantly.
“Vas macht er?”
The Nazi tore the gag away. “I don’t speak German! Please Stop!”
“Alright then,” the interrogator confirmed in perfect English, “Guard you take him away and torture him until he speaks German.”
“Wait! I’ll tell you anything!”
The sound of muffled screams came from the next room.
Bang Bang Bang

[glen]

MIRRORS

I looked down at the empty box of rat poison. Then I looked over at the two little boys. I knew my sons. They did something with it; very likely something terrible.
“Bobby. Billy. What did you do with the powder that was in this box?” Bobby, the quiet one, said nothing. Billy, the older one, was used to being blamed for their escapades and thought he knew how to get out of a fix like this.
“Daddy, it was empty when we found it. I think Jumper ate it.”
I blanched and shook my head. “Jumper wouldn’t do such a thing,” I said. “Jumper knows better.”
“No he doesn’t, daddy,” Billy said. “Jumper ate it because he wanted us to get in trouble.”
I looked at the two boys, six and five, and narrowed my eyes. Either he was telling the truth, and my dog would be rolling on the floor in death throes in a few minutes, or…I tried not to think of the alternative.
Bobby coughed and looked aside at his brother. In that moment, I realized that Billy was lying.
“Billy, this is important!” I said, trying unsuccessfully to keep the stress out of my voice. I stood and walked toward them, and the boys drew back in self-defense. “That stuff is poison. It’s used to kill rats. It can kill little boys too if you ate any of it.”
Bobby’s eyes grew wide and he began to cry. Billy looked at his brother and his eyes filled with tears too.
“What happened?” I asked. “Did one of you eat it?”
All I could get out of the boys was sobbing. I snatched them both up in my arms and ran for the car—and the emergency room.

[Sarah]

Scene 1:

Alex is searching for a way to Kächoweßta. He had been searching for days and kept getting lost. He walked across the cobblestone street, his staff clicking on the stones. He wondered if there was anyone about, since the street seemed deserted.
“Hello is anyone there”? Alex called
No one answered. The quiet rustling of the wind, swept loose stones across the street, popping as they went.
“Could someone help me? I’m looking for Kächoweßta. “
There was no response. Alex continued to call for aide. No answers seemed to come. He called and called in vain. He suddenly thought of an idea.
“I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts, dee dee dee dee, there they are a standing in a row, bum bum bum, big ones, small ones, some as big as your head.” He sings merrily as he crosses the street.
Shutters began to open. People rushed into the street surrounding him, asking for coconuts.
“But I don’t have any.” Alex replied.
“Then why were you singing that song?” someone asked
“I just wanted help in finding Kächoweßta.”
“Not going to happen, you got our hopes up.”
Alex trudged a long sadly. How was he going to find the way? Maybe… he should have tried a different approach.

---

Scene 2:

Alex is searching for a way to Kalambra. He had been searching for days and kept getting lost. He walked across the cobblestone street, his staff clicking on the stones. He wondered if there was anyone about, since the street seemed deserted.
“Hello is anyone there”? Alex called
No one answered. The quiet rustling of the wind, swept loose stones across the street, popping as they went.
“Could someone help me? I’m looking for Kächoweßta.. “
There was no response. Alex was getting angry. The air began to swirl around him, his staff began to glow eerily.
“I WANT ANSWERS NOW!”
He struck his staff into the stones. Shutters began to open.
“It’s 7 miles north west once you past the river.”
The air settled. Alex smiled to himself. Anger could get him places so much faster than cordiality.