The Straw That Broke the Camel's Back

The Straw that Broke the Camel’s Back

Remember situations like this at school?

“That’s it Johnny. See me after school.”

“What for?”

“You know what for.”

“All I did was flick Linda’s ear.”

“After school.”

“Why? Ben pulled Jane’s hair. You heard her cry out. And he doesn’t have a detention.”

“One more word and your time will double.”

“But––”

“That’s it. Your time just increased.”

Johnny’s perceived punishment hardly seems to fit his crime. Certainly it doesn’t to him. Some of his past actions and that of his classmates have been worse. There was no consequence. Why him? Why now?

In my novel, Baggage burdens., some characters receive a similar shock. A strong consequence is not expected even though signs of increased tension are evident. People often miss seeing someone else experiencing more and more stress until an emotional explosion. Often readers too fall into the same fault.

I wonder how many of my future readers will foresee Jill’s radical reaction after her father breaks her diorama. What signs did the author plant to foreshadow the following desperate reaction?

This technique to surprise the reader is used more than once.

Jill frowns, looking at the butts smoldering in the ashtray. She turns her attention to the lump on the couch looking for some sign of movement. Conscious that her mother is not there to protect her, Jill searches the room for something she could use for defense. No vase. No bookend. Nothing, just the filthy ashtray. Jill guesses her mother hid everything really heavy so they couldn’t be used against her. Jill’s helplessness angers her.

She looks at the destroyed stage in her hand. Staring at the senseless destruction and mourning the wasted hours spent building the stage; her anger rises. It stimulates a need to strike back. Glaring at the snoring bearded, unshaved face, she drops the stage as if it were a dueling glove. The sound is louder than she expects. No response. Without taking her eyes off the body, Jill advances, bends down and picks up the remote. She wants to smash the remote, his remote against the coffee table in an effort to even the score. The next instant she feels dirty, as if infected by his belligerent behavior. Ashamed about the streak of aggression, Jill presses the power button. Silence fills the room and goes unnoticed by her father.

“I can’t live like this,” Jill says quietly to the inattentive body. “I won’t.” She slowly backs away. Her eyes fall upon her stage. “I won’t need you either,” she says quietly. “School’s over.” Jill turns around and shuffles to her bedroom.

The living room scene fades as a smoky grey cloud descends. A foggy memory registers of stuffing two backpacks with her clothes, gathering some non-perishable food, the sun climbing into the sky. The motion of walking away from the house intent on never returning holds her attention. She nods approving her decision. 

‘Clean! As if showering after a workout at the gym.’

haiku capsule:        

             a sleeping danger        

                               Reactions wrestle. Fear. Anger.     

                               a tormented life.

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