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Lennon's Glasses : Your Story • Writing Forum | WritersDigest.com

Lennon's Glasses

Read the top five entries and vote for your favorite in the current Writer's Digest Your Story competition. (You must be a registered member of the WD Forum to view and vote.)
Scott Francis
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Lennon's Glasses

Postby Scott Francis » Tue Oct 18, 2011 2:20 pm

“The documents are good,” Will had said, “But try not to use them.”

Yet here I was, in the parking lot at Muir Overlook, a California Highway Patrol officer looming over me, smugness overlaying the fake concern on his face as he peered into my car and demanded license and registration. He couldn’t have been more than 28, although my ability to judge human ages has been dampened in 99 years of bloodsucking. His face was handsome and smooth and lightly tanned, damp with sweat. His smell was offensive: the sweat, of course, and exhaust from his motorcycle, the plastic of his helmet and the metals of gun, cuffs, and radio. Inside the tall leather boots his feet were beginning to brew an earthy fungal scent. It was the most appealing thing about him. Inside the man: the arrogance of received authority, impatience, and a mix of personal garbage (the unsatisfying sex life, worry over money, irritation with a roommate, anticipation of some social event). Loathesome. Had it not been for the fresh ocean breeze cresting the rock cliff of the Overlook he would have been intolerable.

“License and registration,” he repeated sternly, the aroma of authority flaring.

The hell with Will, he could get new documents. Or I could commandeer some for myself. Perhaps it would have been wiser to have tried to employ the usual feminine charms. Thanks to my dark chestnut hair and light gray eyes, not to mention the fact that I had stopped aging at the perfectly-ripened moment of twenty-five, I was only on my fourth set of documents in eighty years. Alas, feminism; I had aged out of only the first two sets.

In my irritation I punched the button to the glove compartment too abruptly, without regard for the contents. The door popped open, the owner’s manual and other contents scattering onto the floor and white leather seat of the little two-seater.

Including John’s glasses.

John Lennon’s glasses, to be specific.

John Lennon’s bloody glasses, to be precise.

The smell of the dried blood was strong enough, for me (though not, of course, for the gaping highway patrolman) to push everything back. I snatched them up and pressed them to my lips. It was December 8, 1980 again, and I was in the foyer at the Dakota, dematerialized, hovering over John’s body and his spilling blood…

The memory pushed me further back still, to 1968, the mild summer evening next to the pool at his house, when I leaned over him in his rocking chair, and he allowed me a taste so that I could understand him, and the Beatles, and 1968, and how the world had evolved since my transformation. The richness of his talents laid over the bitterness of all the loss and anger of his life, so that the experience of him, like a fine, dark chocolate, made me wish I could weep again…

And then back again, to 2009, and a different bitterness, the bitterness that I had been speeding away from when the CHP pulled me over. Stupid Yoko put John’s bloody clothes on display at the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. I went to smell them, to get close to him again. She’d cremated him, that bitch, and the last experience I’d had of his naked self before the exhibition was of hovering powerless over his dying body, panic ricocheting between us. At the Hall of Fame exhibition I was not the only one of my kind there. Of course I wasn’t. Three in five of the souls that mobbed the bloody bag coyly hiding his clothes were vampires, feeding through glass on the shadow of what had been the essence of John Lennon. In life he had been only mine, whatever the human women around him might have thought. I felt violated.

So I found where she had hidden the plastic-framed, blood-smeared glasses, and I took them, took John back to be mine only once again. To the freshest, purest place I could find, to remember the dream of love is all you need and we all want to change the world.

And this stupid, slack-jawed patrolman who hadn’t even been born when John died was going to get in the way of that. And worse, I would probably have to taste his blood to be alone, one more time, with my John, and to preserve the anonymity that had preserved me for 99 years.

God, he stank.

Jonayla
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Re: Lennon's Glasses

Postby Jonayla » Mon Oct 31, 2011 1:05 pm

Comments:

Vampire story. :mrgreen: My new favorite genre to read about.

I was told at a writer’s convention to always write out numbers…28 should be twenty-eight and 99 should be ninety-nine…according to the agents, editors, and publishers at the convention. I don’t think dates count though. Hmm. I'll have to look into this again.

Eww. I am sooo glad I don’t have the sense of smell of a vampire…though, your description of how the cop smells is fantastic…so vivid…I can almost smell him (thank goodness I can’t).

Had a little trouble with some sentences…had to read a few of them several times for understanding. Might just be me and the fact that I like to keep it simple.

Nice short story! :D
"An author is a fool who, not content with boring those he lives with, insists on boring future generations" ~ Charles de Montesquieu

cindyash
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Re: Lennon's Glasses

Postby cindyash » Tue Nov 01, 2011 10:38 am

Thank you kindly for your comments (and your reminder to be constructive on the voting thread)! I appreciate the point about spelling out the numbers. When I reread the story I realized I had been inconsistent about that, as well, so another thing to take into account. Thanks for taking the time to read the story, I really hope you enjoyed it!

Jonayla
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Re: Lennon's Glasses

Postby Jonayla » Tue Nov 01, 2011 12:40 pm

Many people don't write out numbers, Cindy...I was just pointing out that in formal writing (stories, books, essays, etc...), they should be written out. There are, however, plenty of people who don't do this (or agree with me on the matter). But, consistency would be good. :mrgreen:
"An author is a fool who, not content with boring those he lives with, insists on boring future generations" ~ Charles de Montesquieu

gregwendland
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Re: Lennon's Glasses

Postby gregwendland » Sat Nov 05, 2011 4:44 pm

Just to clarify, you spell out any numbers that are less than 3 words. Any number less than one hundred, is hyphenated. For example, twenty-two. You would use numerals for anything that would use three words or more (eight hundred thirty four = 834) and dates, time of day, and exact measurements.

What I loved most about your story, over the other submissions, is that I wanted more. The descriptive detail drove the story and the exasperation and superiority complex was palpable.

cindyash
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Re: Lennon's Glasses

Postby cindyash » Sun Nov 06, 2011 10:57 pm

Thank you! And thanks for the clarification on the numbers. So much to learn...

Westie
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Re: Lennon's Glasses

Postby Westie » Tue May 08, 2012 4:08 am



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