|
04-05-2009
|
#1 (permalink) |
|
Bouncy Bouncy Fun Fun
|
The Reporter
Ok folks, after a long hiatus, I am starting a new story. For anyone who can remember "The Addict", this story is a prequel to that one. As you may also remember I write VERY long stories, more like a novella. I will submit a new chapter every week or so, so it will take awhile to get the whole thing out - but I like to think it's worth it!
Enjoy the ride -- ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 1: Will stared at the blank sheet of paper and rubbed his temples. This was always the hardest part, starting a new report, that white piece of paper with nothing on it. Where to begin? Somehow staring at a blank paper did the same to his mind – Blank – Nothing – No ideas. As a seasoned reporter he knew the importance of getting those first few words written on the page. The rest of the story would flow naturally. ‘A reporter writes,’ he told himself. A reporter writes and writes and almost never stops writing. He had written so many stories over the years that he stopped counting. He had done probably hundreds of investigations, yet each time was the same, each one started with the blank white paper. And so, Will took a deep breath and began to write. This would be the most important story of his career. “The children begin to arrive each morning at 7 A.M. One by one they are led in by their parents, usually a Mom, sometimes of Dad. By 8 A.M. the class is full and bustling with the noise of about 15 busy kids. “Susan is there first to greet the early arriving kids. She is the lead teacher in the room and uses those early minutes to organize the room. The next “assistant” teacher to arrive is Diane at about 7:30. Diane is not a morning person. She arrives half awake clutching a large mug of coffee and sits lifelessly well past the class start time at 8:00. Susan doesn’t seem to mind Diane’s morning laziness, as Diane will become energized by mid-morning and practically take over management of the children. “The last to arrive is Crystal, usually at 7:55 or exactly at 8:00 when class starts. Crystal is energetic and young, and you get the impression that she arrives late, not because she sleeps in, but because of poor time management. Her title is also “assistant” teacher, but she functions more as a classroom aide, and honestly older playmate for the kids. Susan and Diane do seem to be annoyed by that. “The classroom is physically open, bright and appealing. There are three skylights to let in natural sunlight and large floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall. Several bushy ferns hang from the ceiling, there are terrariums in every corner of the room, and two aquariums – one fresh water, one marine – with sparkling fish. “The room is divided into three areas by two rows of bookshelves and a plush sectional couch. The largest area has three tables, sitting 5 children each, and serves as the project room, lunch room, and overall main classroom. The other two areas are smaller but equal in size. One area is designed for quiet activities with several bean bags for looking at books, and a pretend kitchen and house set up. The other area is for gross motor play with slides, climbers and building blocks. “And, the ages of the children? Well, let me put it this way. Just close your eyes and give it a few minutes and your nose will tell you. “‘I smell poop,’ Susan will announce to the room. ‘Who did it,’ as she goes from child to child checking their diaper. This is a toddler room, young toddlers just starting to walk, a few of them still crawling, pulling to a stand. “Off to the side of the main classroom is a small alcove with a sink and three changing tables, one for each teacher to use if necessary. The culprit is found, and Susan whisks him away to be changed. She is a professional, and returns the boy seemingly within seconds to rejoin the others. For a few blessed minutes that smell is gone, but soon you smell it again. “Over the course of the day, every one of the children will have pooped at least once, and had several wet diapers in between. With 15 kids, you do the math. Someone is ALWAYS being changed, and the smell of poop comes and goes at regular intervals throughout the day. This is the life of toddlers. It takes some getting used to, but the three teachers in the room are real pros and hardly seem to care. “Crystal isn’t nearly as fast and efficient as Susan or Diane. The older women can change three children in the time it takes her to change one. Still, Crystal’s kids seem to be happier and giggling when she finally finishes because she is more playful. She tickles bellies and toes, and tells animated stories to each child while she doing the dirty business. As much as Susan and Diane seem to be annoyed by her slowness, she makes the kids happy, and happy kids make for happy teachers, so the two older women put up with her.” Will paused writing, rubbing his temples once again. ‘Where is this going?’ he wondered staring at the words that seemed to just appear on the paper. ‘What is the story here?’ he groaned. Nobody wants to read a story about an ordinary nursery room – boring – and certainly NOT the details of a diaper – gross. ‘So where is the story?’ Will rolled his eyes. “I am the story,” he said out loud. He started writing again. “If anyone ever reads the words I am writing here, if this story is ever published, it will be arguably the most stunning and shocking news event EVER reported. I say this with humility yet certainty. You see, this story isn’t about me observing the lives of 15 toddlers in a nursery room. No, this story is about something at once incredible and unbelievable. This story is about how I have inexplicably, miraculously, and terrifyingly become ONE of them. “That’s right, I am ONE of the 15 children, and I can’t explain how it happened. A few weeks ago, I stood 6 feet, 2 inches tall and was investigating a story about a drug rehab center for the Times. Now, I stand just over 2 feet and am writing this story with a red crayon on a piece of coloring paper, in secret, while I pretend to be one of them…in every way.” Will gulped. Yes, he even had his own diaper. It was the worst imaginable undercover assignment, but he had to do it. This story was too important. He would not give himself away to the three women in the daycare, which explained his particular obsession at the moment with the diaper. He had to both wear and USE it, contributing to the smell in the room just like the other children. “What the Hell happened!?” he wrote in extra bold crayon. “I hope to answer that question over the course of this investigation. I MUST answer that question, as I MUST get this story out to the world. “This is William Anderson writing for the Times.” He heard steps coming down the hall toward his room. Will quickly folded his paper and slid it into the narrow gap between his drawer chest and the wall. It was the only reasonably good hiding place he could find for it. Will stared at the door waiting anxiously to see who would walk through. |
|
|
|
05-05-2009
|
#8 (permalink) |
|
Bouncy Bouncy Fun Fun
|
Hey guys/gals, thanks for the encouraging words so far. It IS a bit confusing at the moment (Will is just as confused, has no idea how this happened), but all will be revealed. Thunder, regarding Mack McElvoy, I unfortunately started publishing chapters almost as soon as I had written them. This made it impossible to go back and edit and/or change the direction of the story. I ended up writing myself into a corner that I wasn't happy with, so...I quit. I think that story has promise and may go back one day and finish it.
For now, I'm working on The Reporter. Not to fear, I am well into writing it and can see the ending in sight, so I won't get stuck this time. MyWorld 
|
|
|
|
 |
| Thread Tools | |
| Display Modes | |
|
|
Linear Mode
