Bloody Hands, Heartless Editors: 7 Deleted Chapters from The First Boy who was Broken Read online

ands, Heartless Editors

  –––––––

  7 deleted chapters from

  The First Boy Who Was Broken

  –

  J.D. Benabides

  Published by Silver Steam Books

  Copyright 2013 by J. D. Benabides. All Rights Reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form without permission from the author or publisher.

  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  – FORWARD –

  – DANNY NEVILLE – (Charlie’s Grandfather)

  Pendleton, North Carolina, 1949

  – KURTIS –

  Life in Every Breath

  Self-Esteem

  Character

  – BRIAN –

  Journal Entry (#43)

  Assignment #3 (Eng 461)

  Future Self (a play)

  – THANK YOU FOR READING –

  – ABOUT THE AUTHOR –

  – FORWARD –

  It's the harsh truth of being a writer. For every major work you put out, there are always going to be pieces that weren't good enough to make the final cut. These outtakes and deleted sparks of creativity will likely spend their days in a desk drawer or an editor’s inbox. And it's a damn shame.

  We get some of our favorite chapters cut out of books because they don't fit the theme, or the flow, or the character continuity. And cutting them out does make the piece stronger overall, but it never feels quite right to leave the chapter that you slaved over for 6 months, lying obscurely in some computer folder.

  The editors behind The First Boy who was Broken, heartless though they may be, have taken some of these expunged chapters and put them into a free ebook.

  I hope you enjoy reading them. I sure enjoyed writing them.

  Julian Deane Benabides

  -Author of The First Boy who was Broken

  DANNY NEVILLE – (Charlie’s Grandfather)

  Pendleton, North Carolina, 1949

  Danny Neville traced geometric shapes in the abandoned dirt lot on Langston Ave and 31st. Circles for tables. A rectangle for the stage. The hostess made out of clean, elegant triangles. As he rounded the corners constituting her shoulders he could have sworn he smelled her perfume- sweet, like lilacs.

  He formed the bar out of a series of clumsy rectangles, the liquor bottles behind it were made from awkward pentagons. Dirty glasses were ovals. The flimsy coat rack was a series of rough squares carved in jagged gravel. As the stick in his hand cut through loose stones and drying mud from the rain two days before, he could hear it- more like a whisper than a voice, but it was there. The doorman asking for tickets. A giggle near the stage. Two star crossed lovers whispering soft nothings in the darkest corner.

  And slowly it all came back to him- the music hall was cramped and dark. Sweet cigar smoke and deep laughter emanated from the back, where rugged old men exchanged rugged old stories. A few families in the middle. Some wide eyed children near the front, tapping their fingers against the hollow wood of the stage. The bakery next door always had fresh pulled pork sandwiches- the thick aroma mingled with the scent of the old cedar stage and made an appetizing, almost warming fragrance.

  And then as if out of a dream, there she was. The beautiful Marie- her long golden hair bathed in the warm glow of electric orange lights, dangling around the stage.

  She approached an old piano at center stage, dusty and scarred- salvaged from Mr. Lee’s basement when the old man finally croaked. Her fingers met the age-worn ivory, and a single chord cut through the room. And there was absolute silence. Slowly she brought life to the dark ambiance, more than life- it was purpose, excitement, the very essence of joy. She was giving rise to a gentle sonata, blooming out of the quiet, growing, searching, spreading across the captivated audience.

  Danny absorbed the immaculate woman playing immaculate music, and the whole of it wounded him somewhere, in a way that only true beauty can.

  He carried that wound with him for the rest of his life, in the place nearest his heart. He hummed that music while under heavy fire in Japan. He imagined that silky, blonde hair while burying his younger brother. He let her delicate fingers against rough ivory define his greatest ambitions while raising his only daughter. He let the memory of that moment bleed into every dream that ever followed, until it became something more, something absolute, something never ending.

  Danny opened his eyes and looked out at the empty dirt lot before him, covered with mangled shapes and fanciful nonsense. He looked at the beautiful Marie, eyes made from asymmetrical ovals, hair in long strands that cut through mud and gravel. He looked at her jagged smile, and quietly drew himself into the soil of the Earth beside her, wishing somehow that he could stay there forever, and the music would never end.

  – KURTIS –

  Life in Every Breath

  Kurtis is lying on a beach. Still a child. Still loved. His mother prepares tuna sandwiches in the hot afternoon sun as his father casts a line into a perfectly blue ocean- the man holds the fishing rod the way a Roman statue wields a sword. Kurtis could not be more in awe of him. His best friends, Charlie, Robin, and Christian play tag with the waves, each trying to see how close they can get without actually getting wet. Clouds drift by. The sea ebbs and flows across the sand as it has for millions of years. The little boy knows nothing of the world.

  Suddenly the reel turns, Kurtis’s father struggles as he pulls in the line. The boy is fascinated by the man’s battle with nature- watching, waiting, timid and unsure as the first fins come into view. Dorsal, pectoral, teeth- eyes that are an embodiment of everything cold. It is pulled up the shore, across sand and rocks, past the footprints Kurtis made when he was still a child. He’d have thought the act was cruel, if the creature was anything but a shark.

  Life is like this, thrown into a gamble in only a second- a millionth of a second. No prudence or preparation or fair warning. There was a shark, looking for food, and in an instant here it is, lying upon its deathbed. Gills rise and fall, hollow eyes dart back and forth, searching so fervently for salvation. The frightened little boy can see it now, really truly see it. Death, in its purest form. Life as it’s dangling by a thread.

  Christian pokes at the creature. Robin throws sea water on it so it can be breathe. Charlie watches with curiosity. In his naivety, Kurtis convinces himself that every life can be protected- that bad things don’t have to happen in this world. After his father takes out the hook with pliers, he looks to his son.

  Kurtis doesn’t wait for his dad to ask, he volunteers. With his best friends watching in awe, he carefully picks up the creature. It’s his life to save. It’s his childish innocence to preserve. He doesn’t give a damn about the shark, it's his perception of the world he’s keeping alive. He just doesn’t know it yet.

  Self-Esteem

  Kurtis is a teenager. Neither bully nor cool kid, neither heart throb nor jock, he is simply one with the crowd. His friends are devoted, his small town is boring, and his love life is lacking.

  But that last part’s about to change. He met someone on the bus last Tuesday- extra cute, with just enough confidence to really catch his interest. The two exchanged numbers, talked and texted for a couple days. He sent a few =) and received some :) and shared j
ust enough lol’s to keep the mood light. But now it’s time for the first date.

  He dressed up in his nicest jeans and his good luck shirt, hoping for it to work the same magic it did at his 8th grade dance- when he got to hold Amber extra close during that slow dance.

  But it’s difficult to maintain the levity he once had. She was supposed to meet him at 6:30, and Kurtis stares at his watch with agony across his face as the digital clock pushes past 7:02. He wants to call her, or text her, or scream out her name- anything to know why she stood him up. But he’s afraid of revealing how desperate he really is. He thinks maybe there’s some sort of valid excuse, some reason she couldn’t make it, some unforeseeable event that if he were to get angry about, would make him look like the ass.

  She probably stood him up because she didn’t like him, Kurtis reminds himself as he jabs at his self-confidence. She probably never liked him. She was probably just humoring him and was too nice to turn down a date.

  And after all, who’s Kurtis to ask for love in his life? He isn’t that good looking. He doesn’t have a clever way with words, and he stutters whenever he gets within 15 feet of a cute girl. His clothes are awful- he’s wearing the same crappy shoes he wore while doing cross-country the year before. His jeans aren’t faded enough, and aren’t tight enough. They look nothing like the jeans he sees on TV or magazine covers. His arms aren’t big, not like the massive kids who play sports. He isn’t tall. He has acne. He has braces. He would keep going, but his phone suddenly