Writing Red Herring

[Ducky]

The boy was dead. At least, he thought he was. He couldnâ??t remember dying. He couldnâ??t remember much of anything, really, other than a vague sense of tension, a pressing need to find something. Or someone. He couldnâ??t remember. But he knew he was dead, he had to be dead. There was no other explanation for the placeâ??or the non-placeâ??in which he found himself, everything off-white and foggy and inert.

Wherever he looked, on all sides, there was nothing but this thick, pervasive, off-white fog. What an obnoxious color, off-white. Like rancid mayonnaise, or dirty socks. And what was the deal with the fog? He couldnâ??t make out any landscape, or color, not even a distinction between light and shadow. It was like diving into a giant, off-white can of paintâ??every spot his eyes landed upon lacked variation from the restâ??except even paint had some characteristics, like scent and texture. This place had none of that, though he had the impression that if he [I]could[/I] feel here, it would be humid and heavy.

As he stood turning in place, trying to spot some break in the fog, he thought he heard the faint rhythms of a human voice. A low drone at first, from no particular direction, and then slowly the sound grew louder as it came nearer. Then it surged, and a broad figure emerged through the fog to his left. In three long strides it came to a stop precisely in front of the boy. It didnâ??t move.

â??Well, you see,â? it said in a measured voice, â??red really isnâ??t the color of blood anymore, and thereâ??s a hole in the meta-system that I might be able to crawl through if only it wasnâ??t made of molassesâ??from the ozone, you knowâ??and pretty soon the [I]apodichthys flavidus[/I] is going to migrate to the atmosphere because they keep mistaking blue for water, which is really just proof that Nietzsche was correct.â?

The boy with the sullen mouth, doe-brown eyes, and two golden hoops in one eyebrow stared. â??Uhâ?¦â?

The large, hulking man in front of himâ??who, the boy noted, quite effectively blocked his pathâ??ran a ham of a hand through his grey hair in a jerking motion so violent it should have sent him toppling over backwards. As it was, it merely made his hair stand on end for a moment before flopping back into his eyes. His hand trailed down his jaw, rubbing three-day-stubble before he made a jerking motion with his head that only his shoulders followed. The rest of him stayed firmly and rebelliously rooted to the spot, so that even his body looked off-balance when he muttered, â??No, no, direction is the cause, not the effect, and there can only be potentiality because actuality would make us all explode into millions of jigsaw pieces that would rust with scorn the moment we tried to paint with them.â?

The boy thought he saw a spasmodic twitch at the corner of the manâ??s mouth. â??Um, hi. W-who are you?â?

The manâ??s eyes were at once both focused and spastic, intently studying the boy but darting all over his body as though uncertain of what to examine first. The boy tried not to fidget. â??Do you, erâ?¦ I mean, is there anyone else around?â?

He leaned to the side of the man in front him, as if hoping to find someone hiding behind his bulk. But he should have known betterâ??nothing but fog.

â??Are you trying to fly?â? the man asked him, leaning forward and narrowing his eyes. â??Because youâ??d need oxygen for that.â?

â??Look dude. I just want to know where I am. I mean, Iâ??mâ?¦â? the boy paused, swallowed, said, â??dead. Iâ??m dead, right?â?

The man stared, and slowly started to smile. The boy didnâ??t think a smile had ever been so creepy. â??A-ha!â? the man said, â??I figured it out. Youâ??re Walt Whitman!â?

â??Whaâ??â?

â??Your theories on quantum entanglement needed some revision.â?

â??I am [I]not[/I] Walt Whitman! Iâ??mâ?¦ Iâ??m.â? He shouldâ??ve known this, he [I]knew[/I] he shouldâ??ve known this, but all he could think about was off-white. Stop floundering, he thought to himself, stop. Tell him your name. Say it. â??Uh. Iâ??m Iaâ??no, Leâ??no, Ben. Sorry, itâ??s Geoff. Yes, Geoff.â?

â??Actually, your name was Gideon, but thatâ??s pretty close,â? said a voice from behind him. He spun around and came knee to face with a golden retriever.

He blinked. Looked over his shoulder. The man was still there, standing with his legs apart, hair flopping over his forehead, eyes fixed on the dog.

The boy followed the manâ??s gaze back to the retriever. It was staring at him with unnerving intelligibility.

â??Did youâ?¦ just talk?â?

The retriever probably wouldâ??ve raised her eyebrow if she had one. â??That I did.â?

â??A-Are you...â?

â??Real?â?

The boy nodded.

â??Sometimes.â?

â??Butâ?¦ how couldâ??â?

â??I donâ??t [I]always[/I] run around as a dog, you know.â?

â??Huh.â?

â??I was sent here to give you some navigational guidance. Iâ??m Scout.â?

â??Scout.â?

â??Goes with the body.â?

â??Let me get this straightâ?¦â?

The dog shifted her weight and began scratching behind her ear. â??You can get straight later. We have a lot of ground to cover. Do you know why youâ??re here?â?

â??Uh. Iâ??m dead, right?â?

â??Bingo.â?

A beat passed. The boy was hyperaware of his own breath. At least, it felt like breath. â??So, dead. Likeâ?¦ dead, dead?â?

â??There are no [I]degrees[/I] of death. When youâ??re dead youâ??re dead.â?

â??Wait.â?

The dog simply sat, staring at him, a dog and [I]not[/I] a dog at the same time. â??You guessed right. You were human: you lived, you died, and now youâ??re here. We can go over the specifics later.â?

Funny, he thought, Iâ??m dead and Iâ??m still breathing. He opened his mouth. Words wouldnâ??t come. Instead, he pointed at his own chest and heaved.

â??Ah, yesâ? said the dog, â??Technically youâ??re not actually breathing. That would require oxygen. And a set of physical lungs, I suppose. Youâ??re mimickingâ??itâ??s the same reason you appear human now. Youâ??re so used to having a physical body that you mimic its habits even after youâ??ve departed. Itâ??ll wear off soon.â?

â??Wearâ?¦ off. What does that mean, exactly?â?

â??We can talk about it later. Weâ??ve got more important things to do.â?

Yes, he knew that, didnâ??t he? He needed to find something. â??Okay. Can you tell me how I died?â?

â??I told you, specifics later. You wouldnâ??t be able to understand half of what Iâ??d tell you, anyway. Right now you need to concentrate on getting past [I]him[/I].â? The dog nodded towards the hulking man behind the boy (a decidedly strange gesture for a dog, he thought).

The boy angled his head to better see the man behind him, who had started pacing frenetically. Four steps in one direction, pivot, four steps in the other, pivot, four stepsâ?¦

â??Who is that?â? the boy asked. He couldâ??ve sworn he heard Scoutâ??the dogâ??sigh deeply. He turned his head to meet level brown eyes, and he didnâ??t think heâ??d get used to seeing a dog with human expression.

â??He was human once, too. [I]He[/I] wouldnâ??t heed my advice, either, when he first arrived, and now heâ??s reduced to pure knowledge. Or, more precisely, knowledge without bounds.â?

â??Youâ??re telling me this dude is [I]knowledge[/I]?â?

â??Yes and no.â?

When the boy only stared, the dog clarified, â??Think of him as a human stripped of every human quality but bare knowledge. Then remove him from the context that predicated that knowledge to begin with.â?

â??I still donâ??t get it.â?

â??I never expected you to.â?

The boy rolled his eyes and then wondered if that was mimicry, too. â??Whatâ??s the use of a talking guide dog that doesnâ??t explain anything?â?

Scout bared her teeth in a dog-smile. â??Think about it, kid. Iâ??m sure youâ??ve noticed by now that this place is as nondescript as it gets. Death isnâ??t limited by time and space like life is. Itâ??s without context. What happens to knowledge without context?â?

â??Youâ??re asking [I]me[/I]?â?

â??A dog can hope.â?

The boy was brought up short at this return, mostly because he didnâ??t know dogs [I]could[/I] hope. At his silence, the tip of the dogâ??s tail twitched, her lip curled. â??He wouldnâ??t listen to me. He would not accept his mortality. He turned to his human knowledge for guidance, but that knowledge didnâ??t exist in a bounded world anymore. Knowledge without bounds is insanity.â?

The boy considered that for a moment. â??Soâ?¦ thatâ??s why thereâ??s nothing here? No shape or color orâ?¦ anything? No context?â?

â??Yes.â?

â??Andâ?¦ why do I have to â??get pastâ?? him, exactly?â?

â??You do not [I]have[/I] to do anything, but if you choose to remain here, you will become exactly as he is.â?

The boy couldnâ??t help but focus on the manâ??s pacing, four steps, pivot, four steps, pivot. The very precision of his movements made him seem disjointed, someone struggling for exactitude, compensation. Something about that determined indirection chilled the boy, made him want to [I]move[/I]. â??Can you tell me why?â?

â??I just did. You cannot be dead and refuse to die. If you do not accept your circumstances youâ??ll condemn yourself to limbo. [I]That[/I],â? she nodded towards the man, â??is what happens when you overreach your limits.â?

Find it, something inside him seemed to say, find it. Move. â??But I already know Iâ??m dead. What else do you want me to do?â?

â??Knowing and accepting are two different things.â?

â??So getting past this guy will, like, lead me to acceptance?â?

The dog sighed again, and it was just as strange the second time. â??No. And acceptance isnâ??t all thatâ??s required. Itâ??s just the beginning.â?

The boyâ??s dead brain was beginning to ache. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers. â??This is confusing.â?

Scout made a sound somewhere between a growl and a yip. â??As I said, you can figure it out later. Right now I need you to focus.â?

â??On what?â?

â??The task at hand.â?

â??What am I supposed to [I]do[/I], exactly?â?

The dog tilted her head.

The boy waited.

And waited.

Her tail began to tap.

â??Youâ??reâ?¦ not going to tell me, are you?â?

She stared at him.

â??I hate you.â?

Tap, tap, tap.

Well, the boy thought, Iâ??m already dead. He faced the pacing man. Find it find it. With one pause for the solace of a few secondsâ?? hesitation, he sighed, threw back his shoulders, cleared his throat, and said, â??Hey.â?

The man continued to pace.

â??Uh, excuse me? Can I have a second?â?

More pacing.

The boy slid a perturbed glance at the dog. She only made that half-growl-half-yip noise and wagged her tail twice.

Apparently she thought that sufficient encouragement. The boy shook his head and tried again. â??Listen. I know youâ??re, like, a tortured mind and everything, and Iâ??m really sorry about that, but this dog here says youâ??re the guy I need to talk to, so Iâ??d appreciate it if youâ??d, you know, stop for a second.â?

Four stepsâ??pivotâ??four stepsâ??pivotâ??four stepsâ??pivot.

The boyâ??s shoulders drooped.

The dog barked once, a sharply articulated sound.

The man slowed, stood still. No, not exactly [I]still[/I]â??every one of his muscles seemed to be quivering in place, moving as quickly as his mind. The man shifted, faced the boy like a drill sergeant, legs planted apart, arms hanging straight at his sides. He seemed to be twice as bulky as before, possessor of girth made menacing by lunacy.

â??Uh, thanks,â? the boy said.

The manâ??s eyebrows collapsed in a frown. He stepped forward and held out his hand.

The boy looked at the dog. Back at the man. Somehow this mundane gesture was the strangest one heâ??d seen. Slowly, he responded in kind, wondering if his hand would be returned to him in the same condition. Unexpectedly cold, meaty fingers clasped his, squeezing in an assessing, almost exploratory manner, as though they had never touched another person before.

â??Itâ??s, uh, good to meet you,â? the boy mumbled, a little nonplussed by the whole transaction. â??Iâ??mâ?¦ Iâ??m, ah, Geoâ??â? the dog growled and the boy backpedaled, â??Gideon! Right, Iâ??m Gideon.â?

â??Best keep that in mind, kid,â? the dog grumbled from beside him. â??Itâ??s important.â?

The boyâ??s response was abruptly cut off by a sharp tug on his right arm. The man was inspecting his palm, eyeing it from only a few inches distance, nose practically touching his skin. â??Epidermisâ?¦â? he said.

â??[I]O[/I]-kay,â? the boy said. â??This just got way beyond weird.â?

â??Focus,â? said the dog, â??get him to focus on you.â?

â??I think heâ??s already focusing a little [I]too[/I] much on me.â?

â??Heâ??s not paying attention to you, heâ??s paying attention to the sum of your parts. Get him to look at you, just for a moment, and we can start making some progress.â?

The boy was beginning to wonder if the dog knew what she was doing. She [I]was[/I] a dog. He tentatively tugged at his hand, hoping that the man would take the hint and let go.

This did not have the desired effect. The man started slowly turning the boyâ??s hand from side to side, muttering about seams and transparency and locomotion. He started lifting and examining each finger individually.

â??Dude, seriously, this is getting creepy. Are you listening to me?â?

â??Affirmative,â? the man mumbled, still eyeing the boyâ??s fingers.

â??Could you maybe let go of my hand now? No? Okay. Well. Iâ??m Geâ??Gideon. Iâ??m Gideon. Whatâ??s your name?â?

The boy was expecting another diatribeâ??not a halt in the inspection of his hand, not the release of his arm, not the way the man slowly looked up at his face, eyes intent as they hadnâ??t been before. Even though the manâ??s limbs were stationary, his muscles continued to move underneath the skin: cheeks, jaws, forehead all twitching, trembling, never still. His eyes reflected the same restlessness as they peered down at the boy, and he suddenly felt very small.

â??I... the I,â? said the man, â??inconsequential misnomer of the homo sapiens.â?

â??Uhâ?¦â?

â??I donâ??t know,â? the man said as he retreated a step, putting distance between them, for which the boy was grateful. â??I canâ??t retain, my name is a misnomer, I donâ??t remember.â?

The man backed up several more steps, eyes darting around as though trying to identify his surroundings, as though he [I]had[/I] surroundings, and not endless off-white fog encroaching on the brain.

â??I donâ??t know, donâ??t remember, which category was it?â?

Finally, his gaze settled on Scout, sitting next to the boy with a decidedly un-dog-like expression. For an instant his face changed, became something else, clouded and thunderous, ferocity collecting like something visible. His arm made a quick motion toward the dog. The boyâ??s tongue was on the verge of forming some word of warning (he couldnâ??t remember which one) when the man's face changed again, reverted to that same restless precision. He stared at the dog. She stared back. He nodded, turned away, and began pacing again, four steps, pivot, four steps, pivot.

The boy looked at Scout. She was inordinately pleased with herself, if her dog-grin meant anything.

â??What does that mean?â? he asked.

â??That, my boy, means we can move forward.â?

The boy eyed the pacing man, whose mass seemed to have diminished somehow, less looming than before. â??What, was he like the gatekeeper or something?â?

â??No.â?

â??Then why the big deal about â??getting pastâ?? him? Whyâ??d I need to get his attention?â?

â??A couple reasons, really,â? said the dog as she stood and began stretching her legs. â??First, you need to learn to take direction. I thought Iâ??d take the opportunity to see how well you listen.â?

Before the boy could get in a good splutter, Scout continued, â??Second, Iâ??ve been trying to reach that man for longer than he or I care to remember. Never hurts to take a chance and see if another can succeed where Iâ??ve failed.â?

This gave the boy pause. He almost felt flattered. â??Didâ??dâ??you think it worked?â?

The dog shook her head, retriever ears flapping. â??I think it will be awhile yet. You did, however, pass the obedience test. Good boy.â?

â??Shut up.â?

â??And now we finally move forward.â?

Something in him tensed, coiled. Yes, move, find it, move. Even still, the boy couldnâ??t help pointing out, â??Donâ??t know if youâ??ve noticed this, Scout, but thereâ??s [I]nowhere[/I] to go. Unless all this fog is hiding something.â?

The dogâ??[I]Scout[/I], Scout, he reminded himselfâ??began moving through the fog at a trot, forcing the boy to follow. â??You donâ??t listen very well, do you? I told you, we are no longer in the bounded realm. There is â??nowhere to goâ?? because we donâ??t move through time or space.â?

â??Then how are we going to â??move forwardâ???â?

The boy got the impression that the dog was rolling her eyes when she said, â??Humans. They take everything so literally.â?

â??Heyâ??â?

â??Keep up or Iâ??ll let you flounder in the fog for a few centuries.â?

And then everything seemed to suddenly close in, fog becoming solid becoming heavy becoming mobile. Everything pressing in on him, off-white and out of focus.

â??Scout?â? A tinge of worry in his voice.

â??Just follow me. Everything will be alright.â?

He couldnâ??t believe he was listening to a dog.


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[size="1"]So, any feedback would be awesome. This is... very different from what I typically write. I'm not entirely clear on where it's weak and where it's strong. [/size] Edited January 28, 2011 by Mistress Duck

[Felix the Cat]

Well, it's quite interesting and, I have to admit, better than anything I could write, however some people might have trouble with the Nietzsche thing, since what he said is most likely less of common knowledge than a philosophy graduate such as yourself (if I remember correctly, at least) might expect.
I wouldn't really say the story has weaknesses so far, it's got the perfect level of twisted and confusing for my tastes, though I'm speaking about opinion here so I can't guarantee other people will think the same. Dunno if that was helpful feedback. Edited January 29, 2011 by Felix the Cat

[Vicky]

I really enjoyed this. The characters were brilliantly written and authentic; the concept, as well, is ingeniously interesting! I'm really looking forward to anymore of this if it's been written. There's some really great imagery in there -- which is especially challenging for a 'place with no context'. Awesome, brilliant! No more needed to be said :)

EDIT: Oh wait. The only thing that stuck out like a sore thumb to me (no matter what I read there's always something; I have to be difficult) was:

[I]But he knew he was dead, he had to be dead.[/I]

Not much of a problem but I think it was the third mention of 'dead' within the opening paragraph. You can cut out either one of those ("but he knew he was dead" or "he had to be dead") without losing the meaning, or maybe reword it to cut out a 'dead' in there. When you can lose a sentence/phrase without hindering the prose then you're better off throwing it, I think. But otherwise lovely piece -- I was just sketchy on this part. I had to read it twice and then again to see if it felt right but it never did. That's just an opinion, though! Edited January 30, 2011 by Vicky

[Ducky]

[quote name='Vicky' timestamp='1296425304' post='704547']
I really enjoyed this. The characters were brilliantly written and authentic; the concept, as well, is ingeniously interesting! I'm really looking forward to anymore of this if it's been written. There's some really great imagery in there -- which is especially challenging for a 'place with no context'. Awesome, brilliant! No more needed to be said :)

EDIT: Oh wait. The only thing that stuck out like a sore thumb to me (no matter what I read there's always something; I have to be difficult) was:

[I]But he knew he was dead, he had to be dead.[/I]

Not much of a problem but I think it was the third mention of 'dead' within the opening paragraph. You can cut out either one of those ("but he knew he was dead" or "he had to be dead") without losing the meaning, or maybe reword it to cut out a 'dead' in there. When you can lose a sentence/phrase without hindering the prose then you're better off throwing it, I think. But otherwise lovely piece -- I was just sketchy on this part. I had to read it twice and then again to see if it felt right but it never did. That's just an opinion, though!
[/quote]


Thanks for the suggestion! I'll definitely be going through the piece and trimming it down. The beginning always did feel a tad awkward to me.

Thanks again for the thoughtful comment. :) It's very helpful.