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Lazarus, Chapter 1: Going to a Duck Hunt

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pulp, novella, noir, fiction
2nd
Draft

Published on:

April 7, 2:28am

Word Count:

716

Last Edited:

April 8, 12:17am

Work Description

The first chapter of a novella concerning a young man's difficulties and tribulations as he returns to his home in rural Arkansas from a tour of duty in Vietnam. He must desperately attempt to be brought back from his spiritual and emotional disfigurement as well as his severe physical disfigurement.

Chapter Description

Our (so far) un-named protagonist is introduced, and is preparing for an evening of drinking and "duck hunting" i.e. a lot of drinking and not a lot of hunting.

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The dirt and grime coated onto my pickup gave it the appearance of extreme dilapidation; in actuality, it was barely a year old, and most of that year had been spent in my father’s garage while I was up to my knees in Vietnam. It hardly had a thousand miles on it, but the majority of those miles where earned through deep forest trails and thick mud bottoms. I had only been stateside for 2 months, and I’ve spent almost every day out by the lake in our family’s duck blind. I’ve been staying with my parents since my discharge- they are scared of me now; they talk about my empty blue eyes and their words drift throughout the house like death. My big burly father only dared to ask me once how the job search was going, and the blank stare I threw his way told him all he needed to know.

 

Fuck, it’s Christmas Day. Christmas is so out of place in such an unholy year…those flower children who spit on us “Baby Killers” as our bodies shuffled off the plane will surely look back on this year as one of the best of their lives. But I won’t. Neither will my buddies whose brains where splattered over low-lying jungle vegetation. The gooks who got turned into ash by the thick flaming Jello we dump on their asses from B-52s won’t look back on ‘68 too fondly either. They won’t look back on anything.

 

I had been one of those guys who enlisted straight out of high school with a buzz cut and a heart pumping hard with American blood. You know the story; you’ve heard it a thousand times. Pulled through bootcamp with no problems, and straight off to Vietnam, just in time for the Tet Offensive. I was stuck with the 7th Air Cav, and that was basically like asking to die. This story isn’t about Vietnam, so I’ll spare you too many details; suffice it to say there was a lot of blood and guts, but the experience was a bit short on the glory end of things. I humped a lot of jungle, emptied my share of magazines into the jungle at an invisible enemy, and saw friends die screaming and crying as they tried in vain to keep their intestines from falling out into the dirt. I made it through 11 of the 12 months of my deployment before an RPG found its way through the co-pilot’s window of the chopper I was riding in. Seven or eight skin grafts, and several pints of blood later, I woke up in a hospital in Saigon without anything you could call a face. Got back home, my girl broke up with me via letter, and I don’t have anything to do except go to the doctor once a week so they can see how may face is healing underneath this grotesque mask of plaster and gauze they have me wear all day every day.

 

I have no need for your sympathy, save it for someone else.

 

My parents aren’t really quite sure of what to make of my non-stop hunting. They seem happy that something gets me out of the house, but at the same time they seem to know something isn’t right. Maybe it’s how I wear my tattered old Army fatigues when I have plenty of hunting apparel, or how I never seem to bring back a quarry. Whatever their concerns might be, they keep it to themselves.

 

            I got out of the pickup and prepared to walk the hundred yards or so over to the blind. I pulled the 12-gauge off of the gun rack and threw it over my shoulder like an 18th century tin soldier, and picked up the brown paper bag with a six-pack of cokes and handle of Canadian Whiskey. I had enjoyed the terror and discomfort I instilled in the girl behind the counter at the liquor store as she checked out what appeared to be the invisible man. I really savor watching people squirm as they look at an unreadable face wrapped in gauze and eyes hidden behind aviator sunglasses. Being a ghost is truly a wonderful feeling.

 

 

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Discussion

  here in Arkansas since my discharge

"here in Arkansas" seems like a forced fact, as if you want us to know about Arkansas, so you're going to force it in here.  It just doesn't read smooth.

the person behind these eyes...............the emptiness behind my pale blue gaze

The main character, first person point of view, is being broken here because he can't see his own eyes, or read his parents thoughts.  Is there a better way, perhaps an overhead conversation, that could show this?

Fuck, it’s Christmas Day. Christmas seems so out of place in such an unholy year…all those flower children smoking pot and spitting on us “Baby Killers” as our bodies shuffle off the plane will surely look back on this year as one of the best of their lives. But I won’t. Neither will my buddies whose brains where splattered over low-lying jungle vegetation. The gooks who got turned into ash by the thick flaming Jello we dump on their asses from B-52s won’t look back on ‘68 too fondly either. They won’t look happily back on shit, cause they’re dead. Put that in you’re fucking pipe and smoke it before you call me a fascist, you goddamn draft dodging hippies.

This is a bit of rant and I question the necessity of it.  If all is necessary, I would rather read a condensed, tightened version because I'm losing interest about here.

hospital in Saigon basically without a face

The word "basically" really throws me off here. Was he, or wasn't he, without a face at this point.  Take a stand.

I have no need for your sympathy, save it for someone else.

I'd like to see this line stand alone.  It says a lot about the character.

It's an interesting hook with potential for a great story here.  I wonder how far it can go, but because I don't know, I'll just wait and see.  You have a concise tone and characterization.  Setting would be nice to see more of because I've never been to Arkansas, so I don't know what it's like. 

I'll check back and see when you post more.  Great Job,

Amber

This critique applies to the 1st draft of this work.

You have a strong voice and seem to take on the persona of a vet rather well. 

I thought the second paragraph would work better as the first paragraph.  The first line is so powerful, I think it would be great to set off the story.  It captures the discontent of the narrator and sets up the tone of the piece.  You could then use the dirtiness of war to segue into the dirtiness of the truck.

It can tend to ramble, so perhaps really slice and dice.  Cut and condense lines to give each one the most meaning. 

I don't get the following line:

I humped a lot of jungle,

The story about his face doesn't come through until about half way through the story.  It seems to be more important towards the end.  This could be a theme revealed later on, as well as his relationship with his parents. 

Also, perhaps hunting could be made more evident that it is a way of going back to his time in war?  I may very well be wrong on this since I don't know a lot about being a soldier.

Thanks for sharing this!  I enjoyed your unique voice.

 Good stuff mate!

I gotta say I love the noir, (needs to be more of that on this site) and I like where your going with the character as well: the faceless vet (an awesome image.)

Now I do have a few concerns though:

your protagonist seems a bit of a monster for one. Not that thats a bad thing, if thats where your going with it. However assuming you are NOT trying to make a monsterous antagonist as the protagonist, this is going to be a problem later on. We as the audience realizes that he has gotten a raw deal in life...but he is also acting like a total dick about it, and lets face it, no one likes that. People want their heroes to overcome such adversity, to go through the meat-grinder of veitnam and come back...changed, but still ADMIRABLE. As its set it looks like he is not going to be a very admirable person.

Aside from that the veitnam is kinda all over the place...which again: not neccesarily a bad thing, but if the story is in fact NOT about veitnam...you might want to keep it confined to a couple of paragraphs here and there for character.

And speaking of character let me say this: Your work has it! in spades! and I LIKE that. If anyone else tries to get you to tone that down in future revisions you just spit in their eyes! Cause its grim and tough and hard and EXACTLY what noir is supposed to be.

So keep at it mate!

-P.F. White

Hi Kieran,

Well, I definitely got a sense of character in this story, but I was waiting for the plot to develop. That wouldn't be a huge deal to me if I got completely engaged with the character. But so far, I'm still waiting. The main character tells me a lot about himself, his state of mind, and examples of why we should agree with his point of view. But I think it needs more of a setting and story for me to truly be persuaded. In otherwords, I want to see him in action.

I had only been stateside for 2 months, and I’ve spent almost every day out by the lake in our family’s duck blind. I’ve been staying with my parents

Is this going to be written in present-tense? When is the narrator writing this down? Is it a journal, a memoir, or something else?

The dirt and grime coated onto my pickup gave it the appearance of extreme dilapidation;

...because this is written in past-tense.

Neither will my buddies whose brains where

"brains were"

This story isn’t about Vietnam, so I’ll spare you too many details;

Who is he addressing this to? This sort of breaks the believability barrier a little bit because it makes us feel like you (the author) are trying to tell us something directly.

I made it through 11 of the 12 months of my deployment before an RPG found its way through the co-pilot’s window of the chopper I was riding in

I don't think RPGs were used very much by the NVA during Vietnam. Maybe I'm wrong, but I think it's more of a modern weapon, beginning with the Russians in Afghanistan.

I have no need for your sympathy, save it for someone else.

I didn't really like this line, mostly because it's too defensive and it makes the reader go, "whoa, don't be so snippy buddy" I get the emotion behind it, but since we haven't really established who he's writing this to (whenever a "you" statement is made), it's hard for us to understand who the intended reader is. In short, I wouldn't want to be indicted by a narrator personally.

as she checked out what appeared to be the invisible man.

Is this literal? Since it's written in first person, he can't know what she sees. So it might work better to say, "she checked out what I assume to appear like the invisible man" or something like that. But I'm still not sure with the whole invisible/ghost analogy.

Again, it seems like a good start to something. I didn't grasp it just yet, but that's just one reader. I would, however, recommend just paring it down a tad, and (not that you've done any yet but) be careful of Vietnam cliches. Most of us, I think, weren't actually there, so all we have to draw from is history books or movies like Platoon or Rambo.

Good luck!

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