Deja Vu

November 14^th, 2012

My Style-#2 Déjà Vu

Mr. Garrioch / Creative Writing

11b4 111150 Ho InHee

 2. Deja Vu.  Write a 500-word sketch of a scene in which a character has an experience that causes her to recall a startlingly similar past experience.  Juxtapose the two scenes, the present one and the past one, on top of each other, writing, for instance, two or three sentences of the present moment, then alternating back and forth between present and past that way.  Show the reader the remembered scene by use of Italics.  Why would a character be haunted like this?  Think of a convincing reason for the deja vu experience.  Or don’t worry too much about convincing reasons—just let some strange set of events impinge on the present moment of your character.  Be playful with the relationship.  Simple advice to beginners: don’t be heavy-handed.  It’s easier said than done, I know, but you can train yourself to relax and honor your readers with difficult and unusual human patterns of behavior.  Always flatter your readers by proposing a complex and unexpected reality.

Rays of light from streetlights entwined together and formed a large bright yellow circle right in the middle of Joyce’s sight. She blinked her eyes several times, as if blinking them would clear her visibility. It of course didn’t do any good at all. The sight was still indistinct with blurry golden lights. She adjusted her grip on the hand bar and slowed her car down a bit. Nervously. The night blindness she earned from Lasik surgery last year had blurred her sight under darkness, and she had to quite anxiously drive to home from work every day. The Lasik surgery she had received a year ago left her with a severe night blindness. But no regret receiving such. She could instead have a much clearer sigh during the daytime. She could see her boss’s face clearly now. She could read letters on street signboards. She did not have to squint any more. She worked for ten good years without stopping ever since she had gotten a job, and she deserved such convenience. On the fifth year she could get nice house from rent to her own, could buy a small car on the eighth ear, and only then she use money more ‘for herself’. Lasik surgery was the first thing she spent money for herself.

A red spot of light suddenly interfered in her yellow sight. It probably was a red light. She stopped her car. The crossroad was still with very few cars on it. One or two maybe. Street in residential area in Christmas Eve was always empty, as far as she had seen for last ten years. People went downtown or at home in such national holiday. They didn’t rove around the street. She vacantly looked whatever was ahead where she and her car were standing.

-Why is there no car on the street now?

-Because it’s late.

-But is the street always empty like this every night?

-No, dear.

A high voice probably that of a little girl asked a man with low voice.

-Then why?

-Because it’s Christmas Eve. People are all in their home with their families.

-Then why don’t we go home too, dad?

No, Joyce didn’t want the next response. She did not wish to listen to the answer. Heavy silence in her car left her with disturbing but intimate noises from deep inwards. She turned up the volume of radio. Golden familiar beat soon filled the car. And a man’s voice hummed along the melody. Quietly, in a low and soft voice. Keep the world in time spinning around like a ball, never to unwind. Just like a father singing a lullaby bedside to his daughter.

-Hey,dad. Stop singing? I can’t hear the song!

The young girl who had pestered the man and Joyce whined. Why would the girl want to stop the man’s voice, Joyce liked the man’s comforting voice. Never to unwind.

-Dad? Dad! Don’t ignore my words?

And the peaceful and mild humming stopped.

-Joyce, do you know what your name means?

Joyce, she got puzzled. Was that annoying girl’s name Joyce?

­-No. How can I know?

The girl’s voice sounded irritated. Perhaps she was wearied of a long drive. Joyce sighed. She was wearied, just like that little girl. She pressed the accelerator. The car advanced rapidly, and she pressed the accelerator harder. The light was still red, but who cares. The street was empty, and she deserved a breakaway.

-Joyous.

The low voice Joyce loved rung in her ears, speaking a single, short word.

-It means joyous. Dad has always wanted you to always be joyous, dear.

Joyce could feel a beating pulse from her hand gripping a hand bar. She held the accelerator down. The engine started to make some loud, precarious noise. The man’s voice had started to sing the song again, but Joyce could not hear them anymore.

 Never to unwind.