Price You Pay

[Hephastus]

Hello there.

I've decided to repost all my stuff. This is a one shot I wrote.

Just for the sake of remembrance and preservation, here's what the first post looked like on NSider:

"Hello!

As some of you may know, I've been having extreme difficulty with sitting down and writing lately. So, the other day, I figured that instead of trying to continue one of the projects I've already started, I'd take a stab at something new and different. Seeing how many pieces of writing pertain to love somehow, I thought it may be a good idea to introduce myself to writing that kind of stuff, anyway. So, here's the end product. It didn't turn out too long, but I think it can be called a one-shot. It was completely unrelated to anything Nintendo at first, but after a brief conversation with Boom, I found a way to barely tweak it to make it forums-appropriate (Thanks a lot, Boom. No sarcasm implied.).

Speakin' of Boom: Seeing as he may have just written his last Fic, has established himself of King of One-Shots here, and (I think) likes this sort of story, I kind of want to dedicate this to him. He may hate it, it may be a stupid idea...I dunno, he can let me know later, XD.

One last thing: Just for the record, none of this little story is based on any personal experience...At all. Not even close. So, if it seems unrealistic or poorly executed in parts, that's the only excuse I can give.

Alright, now. I've been off on a tangent for too long. Please let me know what you think."

[Hephastus]

Oh, the price you pay, oh, the price you pay
Now you can't walk away from the price you pay

"The Price You Pay", Bruce Springsteen

He sits there in bed, mired in depression, lost in thought. Oftentimes it is described that one in such a situation may toss and turn, but there was no tossing or turning to do. There was nothing that could be done at all: no action to be taken, no pride to swallow, no forgiveness to ask for, no negotiations to be made. All that's left is a price to pay.

She was his. Everything he had ever wanted and everything he had ever been bereft of had been filled by her presence. He had been a practical man, to whom financial success and material knowledge were imperative to life, but all that was washed away when she walked in the door. The worth of all tangible things were measured by how much they could please her, or whether they could make her happy. As all planets and stars revolve around one sun, everything he ever did was dependent on her. Her presence and her happiness were the only two things that would ever concern him, while everything else dangled on loose ends.

It was not even a week ago that she left. On the edge of Saffron City, whose shadow was cast over the small suburb in which the couple lived, there's a train station. The spot is nearly forgotten, as Saffron is no longer the economic colossus it was years ago, and the outside world no longer has any need for the place. She told him that she wanted to hop on a train and move on. He was her "funny guy", who was there for smiles and laughs. But she saw no depth to him, or to her home. There was more to see and do elsewhere. Her world, unlike his, was earthly and mundane. It did not revolve around one person or concept, but around the sun.

He hid his sadness. There was a moment of shock at first, but he quickly buried it. He covered it with a stupid smile and a fast joke that didn't even come close to amusing her. Behind the superficial smile, the two priorities of his world did combat: her presence and her happiness. He had always thought that one would lead to the other, but now this rationale had proven false. He wanted her to stay. If he were run by instinct and reason alone, he would've immediately done what he could to keep her from leaving. But logic and reason had died in this man long ago, and the powerful emotions and conscience that had governed him for so long took precedence again. She would be happier that way. And so she left, eager to find what else life holds for her. The long, lone whistle of the train finalized the choice made, and marked the departure of what mattered most to his life.

He still had money. He still had the house that he had lived in with her. He tried to live life as he had before, but the realization came fast and hard that what had happened was real as well as permanent. Things were different; he could not live like before. Every minute something was there to remind him of what he'd done, and there wasn't a moment that he didn't regret it. Forgetting was simply impossible: it was impossible to forget what he always loved to remember, to not care about what he had loved most deeply, to be ignorant to something that had been the corner stone of his life. After a few days passed, he decided to try to run away from everything. He left his home and checked into a nearby motel alone.

So now he sits in bed motionless as this plan fails. Even the sight of a bed or the concept of sleep sets his body and mind afire with memories: what it was like to bask the warmth of another body, and how sleep was thin and dreamless, as no dream could possibly be better than being with her. Never before in his life has he felt so lonely as he does now.

He turns on his side and closes his eyes. For a moment there is darkness, but soon she appears beneath his eyelids. He throws his hands over his eyes and rubs them relentlessly to distort the image, opens his eyes, and closes them again. The same still picture of her reappears. He releases a disgruntled sigh and gives in to himself, taking in her beauty as his mind remembers it. Everything about her is perfect. Even things that he normally would consider unpleasant or unattractive have become perfect fits on her body. Within a few moments he delves into a deep sleep, and experiences the same dream he had slept through every night since her departure.

He jolts awake. At first he doesn't recognize his surroundings, but soon remembers that he has left his home...their home. Slowly the pain comes back to him. He takes a fast look at the clock to discover that it is an ungodly hour of the night. The human mind is caught between rest and wakefulness at this hour and is thrown into confusion. No difference can be found in the mind of this man, though, as his mind is always in a state of disarray now, awake or asleep, as he suspects it will be forevermore.

He resets his head on the motel's dirty white pillow. He closes his eyes again only for the same string of events to occur. Wearily he thought of what he should do with the house. He can't live there anymore, but he didn't really want to sell it, either.

"Don't sell it."

His body springs up from the bed. He whips his head around.

"Don't sell it...No, please don't sell it. It's still ours."

He knows this voice. Where is she? Where is she?

"I'm back at home. Where else would I be at this time of night? It's a rotten, cold night out there...A lonely sort of night. And God, I feel lonely in this room."

He jumps out from under the sheets and quickly dresses himself. How is he hearing this? Can she hear him? What about the train?

"Oh, I boarded the train...It was my mistake. I was over-thinking things. I wanted something more...But what more could I ask for than what I have back here?"

He grins. He visualizes her grinning, too. Without hesitation he grabs his keys and darts out the door. The stairwell is nearby. He rips the door open and goes running down it, without even considering the elevator.

He pushes the ramshackle door of the motel open. It swings back behind him as he sprints to his car in the small parking lot. He jams the car key into the car door, flings it open, throws himself into the driver's seat, and slams it closed. Any other time he would allow the engine to warm up for the sake of his car's longevity, but that didn't matter now. He mashes his foot onto the pedal and swerved onto the road, speeding unabashedly. There may be a cop nearby with nothing better to do at this time of day, but that didn't matter, either. It's the cop's problem that he hasn't got somewhere important to be, as the speed demon darting down the road does.

He reaches his destination and jumps out of the car. He runs across the street and toward the door of the house. With a steady tattoo his heart presses him to keep running. It throbs with such power and hunger that he feels that his chest may break open. He reaches the door, turns the knob and tries to push it open to find that it's locked. He stands perplexed for a moment before voice returns.

"Under the plant, under the plant. Your ability to forget this every time is unbelievable."

He finds the potted plant near the door and lifts the pot from the ground. There sits the key. He snatches it, absent-mindedly dropping the pot and causing it to shatter. He stops for only a moment to think that she may be upset with him but then resumes his efforts in opening the door.

He turns the key and feels the door unlock. He steps into the house, leaving the door hanging open behind him, and begins climbing the stairs two or three steps at a time. As he reaches the top of the stairs, he sees the door to their room. He exhales slowly, listens to his heart pound for a few measures, rushes toward the door and swings it open to hear it bang against the wall.

The room was dark. Their bed was empty.

"Maybe I would've listened. Maybe I would've stayed," the voice echos hauntingly as it fades away.

He drops to his knees and feels water building up in his eyes. His heart slows dramatically, pauses for a bit, as if it wants to stop completely, but then realizes that it must keep beating. The long, lone whistle of a city train cuts through the night as a final reminder: this is the price he must pay.

[Retronerd]

I think this one is a little bit worse then the other one. I liked how this one had more description and the word choice felt better. But I liked the other ones story more. And how it was written in first person.

The word choice was really good. You used magnificent words that built the atmosphere just superb.

I liked the way you described his love. He's whole life focused around her and when the thing you love most in the world disappears what happens? You have to imagine them beside you. I would keep imagining there head popping up if I just lost them out of my life.

One problem I found: when the girl left I found it a bit sudden. You explained how much he loves her and then suddenly she's just gone. I would suggest you could have expanded more of her feeling for him and then made her leave. But it's your story.

This might be a typo:

He jumps out from under the sheets and quickly dresses himself. How is she hearing this? Can she hear him? What about the train?

Shouldn't it be she because it's the girl who's hearing him?

Well good story overall, keep up the great work.

[maji]

A very intriguing start, Hephastus. It pulled me into the story beautifully. Yes, a lot of narrative "telling," but it was strangely contemplative and seemed to fit the mood well. I liked it.

The tense at times seemed a bit jumbled, but I think what got to me the most was your switching back and forth between the past and present rather sporadically. I can't say it was all to the best effect, however, as it drew a lot attention to the writing itself and kept me from truly being immersed in this story as deeply as I could've been had it kept to a single tense.

Nevertheless, the story did immerse me considerably. I found it hard to turn away. I wasn't entirely certain what was going on when he started hearing her voice, but the building of tension was exquisitely done and quite suspenseful. I had no idea what would happen when he reached the room, but when he ran in to find it empty, to hear the train call lonely, it was a powerful release of tension, in a good way, too. The ending was great, incredibly awesome.

I loved this story, Hephastus. It reminded me of a story I read in Realms of Fantasy, actually. That story had a long title, something like "When the Train Calls Cold and Lonely," or something like that, but it was really good, too, definitely worth the read if you can find it. It was a love story of a similar kind to this, even if it began—and ended—much differently than this did.

[Hephastus]

I think this one is a little bit worse then the other one. I liked how this one had more description and the word choice felt better. But I liked the other ones story more. And how it was written in first person.

I think I pretty much agree with you on all of those points...I feel a bit more comfortable writing in the first person for whatever reason, and, though I like that this one is much more compact and potent (...hopefully, anyway), the other one has a much more obvious beginning, middle and end, and should give the reader a little more to walk away with.

The word choice was really good. You used magnificent words that built the atmosphere just superb.

Strange how a lot of people told me this at NSider, too, about the word choice. I really don't know what I did, either, but I'd definitely like to know how to do it again, XD! I was definitely going for a certain mood and atmosphere, though, and it's nice to hear that it came across the way I wanted it to.

I liked the way you described his love. He's whole life focused around her and when the thing you love most in the world disappears what happens? You have to imagine them beside you. I would keep imagining there head popping up if I just lost them out of my life.

Yup. Though I've yet to be anywhere close to such a situation, that's the way I'd pretty much see it as happening...

One problem I found: when the girl left I found it a bit sudden. You explained how much he loves her and then suddenly she's just gone. I would suggest you could have expanded more of her feeling for him and then made her leave. But it's your story.

Good point. The reason you found it sudden, I think, is that the story was taking place in the present tense, and so I had to do her leaving in the past...And if I just stuck around in the past tense forever, than jumped back into the present, everything would be far too confusing. So I kind of ran through the stuff in the past, so...It'd seem to me that when something that's supposed to be so important is rushed, it wouldn't feel right. ...A long way of saying that I see your angle, XD. As for expanding on her feelings for him...that seems like an entirely separate issue to me. I can see how maybe you felt like that was underdeveloped, though, because everytime I start to write into the area of a woman's feelings or thoughts, I feel completely lost, XD.

This might be a typo:

He jumps out from under the sheets and quickly dresses himself. How is she hearing this? Can she hear him? What about the train?

Shouldn't it be she because it's the girl who's hearing him?

Well, it actually isn't a typo, as awkward as it is. This is why I like the first person better, XD. ...I meant it to be him asking himself how he's hearing it, and then asking himself again if she can hear him. It'd be much easier if it were "How am I hearing this? Can she hear me?" ...Alas, though.

Well good story overall, keep up the great work.

Thanks for reading both of these...I truly appreciate it.

A very intriguing start, Hephastus.

I try for one everytime, Maji. Gotta keep the reader interested...

It pulled me into the story beautifully. Yes, a lot of narrative "telling," but it was strangely contemplative and seemed to fit the mood well. I liked it.

Yeah, though I wrote it in the third person, a lot of it seemed to be first person writing, just because of all the inner struggle and thinking. Glad you liked it.

The tense at times seemed a bit jumbled, but I think what got to me the most was your switching back and forth between the past and present rather sporadically. I can't say it was all to the best effect, however, as it drew a lot attention to the writing itself and kept me from truly being immersed in this story as deeply as I could've been had it kept to a single tense.

...Well, if I told it in the past tense...Yeah, maybe it would've worked. Like feeling comfortable in the first person, though, I feel comfortable in the present tense. It's just easier for me that way, for whatever reason. I know there was a lot of tense-jumping, complete with present, past, and past perfect (or pluperfect, whatever >.> ), and I imagine it'd be kinda annoying.

Nevertheless, the story did immerse me considerably. I found it hard to turn away. I wasn't entirely certain what was going on when he started hearing her voice, but the building of tension was exquisitely done and quite suspenseful. I had no idea what would happen when he reached the room, but when he ran in to find it empty, to hear the train call lonely, it was a powerful release of tension, in a good way, too. The ending was great, incredibly awesome.

Definitely glad to hear all of that...Thanks O_o

I loved this story, Hephastus.

Thanks!

It reminded me of a story I read in Realms of Fantasy, actually. That story had a long title, something like "When the Train Calls Cold and Lonely," or something like that, but it was really good, too, definitely worth the read if you can find it. It was a love story of a similar kind to this, even if it began and ended much differently than this did.

Though I have no confidence in myself to remember the name of the story or to muster up the will to seek it out and read it (XD), it doesn't surprise me that it reminds you of something. Pretty thoroughly cliched stuff, I think...The train and the love scenario both.

Anyway, thanks for giving this a read, Maji!