(This story began as an Inktober 50-word installment beginning with “Mute” and continuing on with “Mute II” and “Mute III.” Feeling some limitations with writing metanarrative with 50-word constraints, I decided to combine these three, making some necessary revisions, and pushing it forward a bit with this post. I will entitle this “Brother John.” Hopefully, I will add to this. Thank you for reading.)
The writing instructor said Greta Engevold’s story about a benign homeless man who lives in the Central Florida woods behind a suburban family’s home was naïve. He had meant she was a simpleton. That night, she dreamt she haunted the instructor, contorting her face and howling in anger, but his face registered nothing.
The houseless man confronted the instructor in his driveway. “Hey man, I’m in Greta Engevold’s story.”
The instructor sidled away but the man grabbed his arm. “If you keep undercutting her confidence, you interfere with my existence. Ergo: You’re dead, buddy.”
Pale and shaking, the instructor nodded.
“I think he gets it, kids!” The man did a little two-step, performing for an invisible audience of fans.
“And you were so busy humiliating Greta, you didn’t even ask if I made it through the hurricane.”
“You’re right, man, I’m sorry.”
“And now you want to erase me from my own story. That is the limit.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Look, I get it. I’ll bet Greta wouldn’t even imagine that I might threaten someone and make good on it. She’s a sheltered young lady. But let her alone. She’ll know soon enough how things are.”
This was all too much time to spend on one student’s limitations, thought the instructor. This was usually why he kept his feedback short and curt, hoping that in the end, it will all make sense to them.
“They made a documentary about me,” said Brother John. “That’s where she got the idea of me. But then she thought of the idea of these little half-feral kids whose parents work and who come to visit.”
“Film is a different medium,” said the instructor, unable to help himself.
“You really are something, aren’t you,” Brother John grinned. “I’ll bet you really don’t believe a lot of us are tucked away in the woods in neighborhoods everywhere. around here. We’ve rigged up tents. I have tv, an easy chair. A cookstove.”
(Well, I’ve got some things to do today but I really did feel guilty about possibly leaving Brother John hanging for much longer. The little 50-word limits I have set for Inktober were hurting my progress, but maybe I will go back to them to make another future installment, or maybe I will increase my limit for this project. Have a wonderful day.—Margaret)