Excerpt from "Nameless," new short story submitted to Glimmer Train and Kindle Shorts:
Nameless knew the truth. Knew that there was no forgetting, that leaving him behind was no accident. It was just part of the punishment. It was the same reason none of the others talked to him. The same reason they relaxed and talked more to each other when they realized that he was leaving, wandering down the road. That was amazing. He’d never been able to make anybody do anything, not really. But he could make a van full of felons clench up just by being around. He almost laughed at the thought.
He exercised some more of the punishment when he found the pile of trash leftover from some teenage party on the side of the road. Bottles, cigarettes, condoms. All had been used, completed their purpose, and then discarded. As they should be, he thought. He picked them all up without gloves. He always did, left the gloves they gave him in his pocket.
He thought that the grossness, the exposure, would make people happy if they knew about it. Certainly it would delight the van driver, probably his passenger buddy too. If they knew about it, which of course they wouldn’t. Nameless never spoke to anybody if he didn’t have to. That wasn’t really part of the punishment. He had always preferred not to speak to people.
Dr. Theodore wouldn’t have liked it. Wouldn’t have approved of the grossness or the not talking. He didn’t approve of much that Nameless did.
“Don’t punish yourself,” he’d said. Said it again and again, in one-on-one and in group. Nobody should punish themselves.
That was funny to Nameless. Punishment didn’t work unless you were willing to participate, willing to punish yourself. A lot of his life was spent in figuring out the rules of the punishment. What you were allowed to do and not to do. The people in charge weren’t any good at teaching you that. Not really. His probation officer told him a lot of rules, but they were never the ones you really needed to know. What do you do when the van forgets to pick you up for work crew? What do you do when you walk in a store and someone with children speaks to you? What do you do when you think a thought or want to do a thing and nobody knows? They never taught him anything about those things. Those things were his problem, his job to figure out. They just taught him that he needed to be punished. He had to figure the rest out for himself.
Dr. Theodore confused him. He wondered why the people in charge of punishing would send him to this odd little man who told him to stop doing it. He wondered if being confused was a part of punishment, or if it was just somebody’s idea of a joke. Wondered what people like his van driver or his parole officer would say if he told them he wasn’t going to punish himself. What his father would have said. What anybody but Dr. Theodore would say. Maybe it was a joke, it was a little funny.
Dr. Theodore hadn’t liked his idea to change his name. That was also funny, since he’d got the idea from a file on Theodore’s desk. He read it upside down while he was supposed to be listening to instructions to stop punishing himself.
“Nameless victim,” it was written right on the file. He had liked it immediately. Liked the sound and the feel of the phrase. He often rolled it around in his mind, said it out loud to himself when he was alone. Nameless Victim.
The term Victim didn’t fit, not for him. But he liked the Nameless part. Liked it enough to start calling himself that.
Nameless walked farther down the road. This stretch was fairly clean.
Excerpt from "Nameless," new short story submitted to Glimmer Train and Kindle Shorts:
ReplyDeleteNameless knew the truth. Knew that there was no forgetting, that leaving him behind was no accident. It was just part of the punishment. It was the same reason none of the others talked to him. The same reason they relaxed and talked more to each other when they realized that he was leaving, wandering down the road. That was amazing. He’d never been able to make anybody do anything, not really. But he could make a van full of felons clench up just by being around. He almost laughed at the thought.
He exercised some more of the punishment when he found the pile of trash leftover from some teenage party on the side of the road. Bottles, cigarettes, condoms. All had been used, completed their purpose, and then discarded. As they should be, he thought. He picked them all up without gloves. He always did, left the gloves they gave him in his pocket.
He thought that the grossness, the exposure, would make people happy if they knew about it. Certainly it would delight the van driver, probably his passenger buddy too. If they knew about it, which of course they wouldn’t. Nameless never spoke to anybody if he didn’t have to. That wasn’t really part of the punishment. He had always preferred not to speak to people.
Dr. Theodore wouldn’t have liked it. Wouldn’t have approved of the grossness or the not talking. He didn’t approve of much that Nameless did.
“Don’t punish yourself,” he’d said. Said it again and again, in one-on-one and in group. Nobody should punish themselves.
That was funny to Nameless. Punishment didn’t work unless you were willing to participate, willing to punish yourself. A lot of his life was spent in figuring out the rules of the punishment. What you were allowed to do and not to do. The people in charge weren’t any good at teaching you that. Not really. His probation officer told him a lot of rules, but they were never the ones you really needed to know. What do you do when the van forgets to pick you up for work crew? What do you do when you walk in a store and someone with children speaks to you? What do you do when you think a thought or want to do a thing and nobody knows? They never taught him anything about those things. Those things were his problem, his job to figure out. They just taught him that he needed to be punished. He had to figure the rest out for himself.
Dr. Theodore confused him. He wondered why the people in charge of punishing would send him to this odd little man who told him to stop doing it. He wondered if being confused was a part of punishment, or if it was just somebody’s idea of a joke. Wondered what people like his van driver or his parole officer would say if he told them he wasn’t going to punish himself. What his father would have said. What anybody but Dr. Theodore would say. Maybe it was a joke, it was a little funny.
Dr. Theodore hadn’t liked his idea to change his name. That was also funny, since he’d got the idea from a file on Theodore’s desk. He read it upside down while he was supposed to be listening to instructions to stop punishing himself.
“Nameless victim,” it was written right on the file. He had liked it immediately. Liked the sound and the feel of the phrase. He often rolled it around in his mind, said it out loud to himself when he was alone. Nameless Victim.
The term Victim didn’t fit, not for him. But he liked the Nameless part. Liked it enough to start calling himself that.
Nameless walked farther down the road. This stretch was fairly clean.