[Other Original] Carter

[Monophobia]

Carter

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So, for my tenth grade English mid-term exam, we had to write a narrative about someone who has lost something. I'm quite pleased with what I wrote considering the time constraints I was forced to work around, so I just thought I'd post my little short story here for both feedback and archiving purposes. There's one instance where profanity is used (which I obviously had removed for the exam), but it'll be censored anyway, so I'm not too worried about it but i thought I should mentally prepare anyone who is sensitive to that sort of thing. Also, it's pretty emotional and angsty. So, without further ado, here's Carter.
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[FONT=&quot] Carter wasn't abnormal. At least, he didn't think so. His position on the matter wavered as he watched his mother sign his admittance form, officially checking him in to the psychiatric ward of Oak Hills Hospital. The events of the past few hours flickered through his mind. The details were blurry, but the memory was fresh, and Carter was constantly reminded of what had happened by the stinging sensation in his left wrist.[/FONT]
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[FONT=&quot] It was the one time that Carter had forgotten to lock the bathroom door of his and his mother's shabby little apartment. On the tenth floor in apartment twelve, Carter slipped from his bedroom into the sanctity of the bathroom after he was sure his mother had left with her crack-head friends to do a plethora of drugs and drink alcohol until they puked. He grabbed his old friend, a razor with a removable blade, and began slicing open his wrists. It was a practice he was all-too familiar with, and the usual pain of each long, horizontal cut had dulled and become almost numb over time. Scars littered his arms and thighs, some old and some new. Carter had deemed them his "stripes" two years ago because most were so deep and wide that they looked like the markings on a tiger. He almost felt sorry for himself.[/FONT]
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[FONT=&quot] The off-white bathroom door lurched open, slamming into the wall near the sink with a loud thud. Carter had not heard the front door open. Nor did he hear his mother's footsteps on the hardwood floor. Yet, there she was, her eyes wide and her facial expression giving away nothing. Carter was startled, and in his utter terror, cut much deeper into his left wrist than intended. The blood seeped out of it quickly, and all Carter could do was stare at it blankly. It was then that his mother opened her mouth, a waterfall of insults and loud shrieking comparable to a banshee flowing from it. Sure, Carter's wrist hurt. However, the words coming from his mother's mouth caused him pain that a razor blade never could.[/FONT]
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[FONT=&quot] Driving to the emergency room was a silence that Carter had thought his mother could never achieve. His wrist, wrapped in layers upon layers of toilet paper, felt like many tiny bees were repeatedly stabbing into it with their stingers. Many doctors attempted to calm Carter's mother down while his wrist was stitched up, but to no avail.[/FONT]
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[FONT=&quot] "HE'S A FREAK!" she shouted, the words bellowing from her throat. "I'M NOT TAKING HIM HOME WITH ME! PUT HIM IN A ****ING MENTAL ASYLUM!"[/FONT]
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[FONT=&quot] She was crying as she screamed, but Carter did not understand why. How could such a monster feel anything? A nurse handed her the papers for in-patients to the psychiatric ward, and the only words she had left were, "Someone get me a God damn pen!"[/FONT][FONT=&quot]

Now here he was. Observing the one person who was supposed to love him through thick and thin, write her signature on a line to get rid of him. Carter felt helpless. He couldn't do anything at all to help his situation. He just sat and stared as doctor something-or-another explained to him the process of what would be happening to him when he entered psychiatric care. Carter did not pay attention what the man was saying to him, only nodding occasionally to avoid any questioning of him having listened to the explanation or not. Eventually Carter was asked to go to the bathroom and remove his clothes in exchange for a hospital gown. It was scratchy and uncomfortable on Carter's skin, making him itch whilst he studied his reflection in the mirror. There were bags under his eyes and his cheeks were stained and swollen from crying. For the third time that night, Carter felt as if he were going to vomit. How did things get to this point? Why did everyone care all of a sudden? While Carter leaned over the sink with one hand over his mouth and another beside the mirror, a nurse knocked on the door to ask if he was okay. Mumbling a tired-sounding affirmation, he exited the bathroom into what he believed to be a sort of personal Hell.[/FONT]
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[FONT=&quot]His feet were as heavy and cold as blocks of ice as he padded down the hallway at the doctors side, as awkward and uncomfortable as he had been most of his life. They passed his mother, who was hurriedly walking towards the exit. She did not say goodbye, or even acknowledge that Crater existed. She just kept walking. Carter might as well have been a complete stranger. He wanted to say something. Something that would make her feel what he felt. Something to make her realize.[/FONT]
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[FONT=&quot]So he called out to her, putting a sort of dryness into his words that were not nearly enough to express his emotions, yet enough to stop her in h[FONT=&quot]er[/FONT] tracks. "I love you too, mom," is what slid from his lips like a sled on gravel.[/FONT]
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[FONT=&quot]Carter did not stay long enough to see if she had turned around. It was none of his business anyway. She was none of his concern any more.[/FONT]
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[FONT=&quot]So form that day onward, Carter slept in a hospital bed from nine to seven every day. He ate breakfast at eight, with therapy lasting from nine to twelve-thirty. Up until three, he was given free-range to spend his time in the recreation room, where he enjoyed watching television and playing Foosball with his fellow patients. After, group therapy was mandatory, where everyone talked about their problems in a big circle of metal fold-up chairs. No one came to visit Carter, which was not a surprise.[/FONT]
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[FONT=&quot]It was four months and a handful of days later on August twenty-fourth when Carter turned eighteen and checked himself out of Oak Hills, deeming himself recovered and officially in a better state of mind than when he was seventeen. The scars had not faded, but the want and need to hurt himself did. Which was good. Carter felt good, and he noted that it was the first time in his life that he could actually admit it without it being a blatant lie. [/FONT]
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[FONT=&quot]Sure, Carter was sad. He had gained a newfound positive state of mind, but had lost the love of his mother. Not just when he was admitted a little more than four months ago, but a long time before that. Back in grade school when Carter was being bullied for being chubby, having long since grown tall and lean. Too drunk to care, his mother often passed out while Carter attempted to come to her for help with his problems. They only got worse and worse, to which his mother responded by being there for him less and less. Carter's chest hurt from the memories on his bus ride to his aunt's. The hospital had found her phone number on his emergency contact list, and she agreed to let Carter stay with her for a few weeks until he got on his feet.[/FONT]
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[FONT=&quot]With a better attitude that came with new dreams and aspirations, Carter stepped off the bus to continue his long walk down the road of life.[/FONT]
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[an illegible mess.]

i must say it's very nice seeing more original works on this board and not just pokemon fan-fiction, which, i know is what the site is centered around but reading an original work with original characters is definitely a refreshment from the norm.

that being said, i'd like to delve into the actual story. you were correct, it's nothing short of angsty and, to me, is a tad bit cliche and somewhat cheesy. i cannot count the numerous times i have read stories like these. i can understand time limits, but this especially is not the kind of story to write under a time limit. with a prompt that deals with loss, i'd go with something more abstract, but i digress, it is your choice. with these kinds of stories you need countless thought about character development and backstory. i know nothing of carter besides that he lived a horrible life with his mom. i don't know his personality besides, i guess, being emotionless, which may come from how he's currently feeling. because of this, i didn't feel any sort of emotion from the story throughout and towards the end, losing much of the message. also, and this is just a pet peeve of mine, but when quoting someone yelling, generally a normal exclamation point or italics will do just fine. writing it in all caps is excessive and elementary. imagery wise, it is rather lacking, and you seem to tell more than show.

now i'd also like to address some minor errors in describing a mental health ward. when one is admitted, they are not asked to wear a hospital gown; most give you a sort of smock to wear, kind of like what a nurse wears, or, some even allow you to wear clothes from home. you are given a room with a roommate (in some cases). all your personal belongings including electronics, wallets, belts, accessories, etc. are taken from you and given back once your treatment is finished. some mental wards allow you to wander around a bit more freely and don't specify a set schedule but they are heavily monitored with security cameras, alarms, guards, etc. just some stuff i wanted to point out/suggest but then again with tight time restraints and lack of research material in an exam, you can't get everything correct. personally, this is going with my own research with both the internet and conversations with my boyfriend who has been in a mental ward before. not all mental wards are the same.

tl;dr, make sure you know how to pace a story, especially with time restraints! next time, don't choose something that requires a lot of backstory/character development. be wise with your decisions and be creative with the prompts you are given; don't be afraid to delve into more abstract work and less on something that has been told a thousand times before, or, find some way to make an unoriginal story more unique and told in a different light. keep it up.

 

[Monophobia]

snip

I understand my story is cliched all the way and has been done a thousand times before, but I'm not very good at prompts, even vague ones like this. Back in third grade, we did writing prompts a lot, and I always found myself at a loss for what to write because I was constrained into a boundary, and that makes me uncomfortable when writing. So, trust me, although overdone and cliched, this is actually pretty good given the circumstances.

Also, as for information on psychiatric wards, I believe it must be different from place to place, as I was made to wear a hospital gown when I was admitted. Besides that, Carter had no belongings when he was admitted, and of course was given his clothes back afterwards.

 

[Lotus the Cat]

Personally I don't tend to read about angsty teens cutting themselves so I didn't notice the cliché of the topic, like illegible mess mentioned. However, I agree with their other comments on the writing, particularly with regards to "telling not showing". Try to be a little more subtle and let the dialogue and actions of the characters speak for themselves instead of bluntly describing them to the reader.

I also found that the beginning middle and end weren't as clearly put together as they possibly could have been.