First of all, I want you to know, I am not mad! Despite what you may have heard, I am quite sane and those who malign me do so because they are callous, unfeeling fellows who cannot or will not comprehend the pain I've endured. They see me dressed in filthy rags, talking to myself, and think they know my life...and know me. Impudent fools, what do they know of sanity...or torment? Yes, my actions may appear somewhat manic and my words a trifle frantic, but so would yours if you had been possessed by the devil as I have...do not judge what you cannot comprehend, for my fall is not one that was brought about by insanity, no...that is too easy an explanation, and I'll try to explain...if you'll let me.
I hadn't a care in the world. I was happy, I never thought I had any real passions, certainly no obsessions...and had no concept of what those might be. I would have called you a fool had you suggested that I would be living in this asylum, this nut house, hiding from the shadows that I've been forced to ignore. I had to live, see, and if I were to live, I had to hide. I had to avoid what possessed me...so they tell me.
Yes, I was indeed happy once, but then I saw HER. Never have you seen a more beautiful woman. a tall, lithesome brunette with dark eyes...how can I describe them...they were demure but coy, sharp and penetrating, like Ingrid Bergman, no...like someone else...but who?
All you men who are reading this, be honest...wouldn't you fall madly under the spell of that alluring glance, that beguiling charm? Well I soon did, and I make no apologies.
Yes, I was happy, hadn't a care in the world. I lived easily, freely. I worked as an unassuming bookkeeper, did my job, came home, read, went to bed and started the routine again...what was there not to be happy about?
Then I made the mistake of opening a magazine that my sister had left behind at my home. Holly came to visit once every two weeks. She tidied my apartment for me. I think she liked that she was of use, that her baby brother still needed her. In truth I didn't really care whether my apartment was tidy or not, it was all the same to me, but it made my sister happy to think that I needed her, and maybe I did, I'm no judge of such things; and while I may not have cared one way or the other about the cleaning, I did appreciate that she cared.
The magazine was one of those fairly innocuous, "Who's Who In Hollywood" periodicals. Who is dating who? So and so stormed off the set of such and such a movie, that kind of thing. It's not exactly my usual reading material. It's not the New Yorker, or The New York Times, but it was colorful, and had mildly lurid photos of wide-eyed, beautiful women, and as old as I was even then, I still was not immune to a pretty face.
So I flipped through the pages, mostly stars I'd never head of, doing things I could have cared less about. But then, toward the back of the magazine, I turned and there SHE was...those eyes, how can I describe them? They caused my heart to beat fast, as they do now as I re-tell the story...my breathing, short, quick, like I couldn't get enough air...those eyes, have you ever been so entranced by something or one, that you thought, life until that moment had been meaningless? Those eyes, they made my life before that moment trivial, no, worthless!
I suppose it wasn't right, it wasn't my magazine, but I cut the photo from the page. I then threw the magazine away, if my sister asked, I'd just tell her I hadn't seen it...but she didn't ask, and I never mentioned it. I wanted to ask her if she knew who the woman was, but to do that was to admit that I cut out the photo, and she'd find that strange, and I didn't need her awkward accusations and assumptions about obsession. Those eyes were meant for me and I didn't want Holly ruining it. Like she did...but never mind, that isn't important.
You who read this, you are men and women of the world. You understand about life, about lust...about desire. You know that photo wasn't enough...how could it be...was it flesh and blood? Did it have a mellifluous voice, did it move gracefully, float across a room as if on air? Did it bat those expressive, wondrous eye, closing, then opening them wide, with small creases in the corners when she smiled, laughing at my witty jokes, or when she gazed dreamily into my own eyes as we whispered the little secrets we shared?
No, it wasn't enough...but, what was there to do? Who was she? The magazine did not say. Was she a starlet? Maybe she was the magazine's editor, or a contributor, or maybe she was a model. I scoured the thing from cover to cover, not a word was there about this woman...how could there not be? Her name should be written in bold print, should be on everyone's lips, written in the sky, seared into our consciousness, wired into our subconscious. If I had only known her name...I would have run out into the street and shouted, told the world of the great injustice done to the most beautiful woman in the world, to the woman with those bewitching eyes!
It nearly drove me mad. I called the magazine's publisher...but I was so nervous, spoke so shrilly, that they brushed me off, eventually ignoring my calls all together. I asked people on the street, would rush up to them, waving the picture, begging, pleading...but they thought me mad and would hurry away, or threaten to call the police. One woman screamed and began to cry...and it was wrong of me, but I didn't care, I couldn't concern myself with her irrational fear...I just scurried across the street to another pedestrian, to another strange stare.
I bought magazines, dozens, no, hundreds. I poured over them day and night. I couldn't really eat...dining meant time away from my quest...I'd grab a piece of bread, a glass of water and rush back to the magazines...it became my preoccupation, my job...my life...Existentialists are laughing while reading this...they see the irony...they know where this story is heading...damn them all...but they are right.
One picture wasn't enough. I had the one I cut out photo-copied and I placed one in my bedroom, another in the living room...another I folded up in my wallet...and one...I kept in my heart! That sounds trite, well it is, so be it. All I know is, I couldn't be separated from HER or those EYES!
Who was she? A month passed, a year, then two. I grew frail, gaunt, I looked older than my 47 years. My body ached, I had headaches all the time...I took aspirin like they were candy, nothing helped...only one thing would...well, two things would...but the second one meant relinquishing the first forever, and I wasn't prepared to admit defeat, to admit that I could never find her...know her...or know of her.
I snapped...you knew I would. I'm a textbook case...the madman's descent into the maelstrom, into Dante's Hell...into...you get the idea. Unable to find her...or accept that I could not...I became weak, exhausted, my head throbbed, it seemed to propel outward, bouncing off the walls, then finally slamming back into my skull, reverberating my failure...excuse my melodrama, I couldn't find the right words to express the pain. Apparently I raved, screamed at the top of my lungs...the other lodgers became frightened, the landlady called the police...it was a good thing, they saved me.
So I write these lines. My doctor tells me its good therapy, that I can only be cured by facing my mania. He too thinks I am mad, but let him. He says that I will get better, that it was a "typical case" of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. but I looked it up, and that isn't me. The book said that people with obsessive disorders have inappropriate, intrusive thoughts, and that isn't my situation ...there isn't anything inappropriate about my passion...you'd have to see those eyes to know what I am talking about.
Still, the doctor is a good man, he means well, though his smile is a trifle patronizing. But he never nods at the nurses to get my medication when I start to get excited and explain...he just lets me go on...he winks confidentially toward the nurse when he thinks I am not looking...yes, he thinks I am mad...but I am not, I never was...I just fell under the spell of those eyes...those marvelous, splendid, inexplicable, intoxicating eyes...and though I shouldn't do this...the doctor would not be pleased, and might even call the nurses to bring my medication...I must show you, maybe you know who she is...could you help me, could you take a look, just a quick peek while the nurses aren't looking. Do you know this woman? Please, if you know her, save me from this misery, you must help me, tell me, who is this mysterious, enigmatic woman with those wondrous eyes?
Author notes
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A Shocking Tale Of Horror!
Comments
1 - 27 of 27
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this is awesome
I am killing myself laughing Yem
and you are correct
she has the most beguiling eyes
you poor man
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Ah, it is still on Yem, I didn't know that. The link to her photo was that last word, "eyes."
The story wasn't originally meant to be her, I had no single person in mind but part why through I knew I needed a pair of eyes and I thought of Ms. Hepburn.
Thanks for searching it out.
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and what beautiful eyes you chose
I love the piece for its intensity
but also for the mixture of humour the whole story simply dances along and yet kept me wondering about...
those eyes?
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Oh! After reading the excellent story and clicking to see the beloved female I wondered if you might have gone back in time by now to find her, such as that novel of times past that starred the Superman actor, Christopher Reeve. Am I remembering correctly?
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LOL, sure I know what you mean. Scary enough I once wrote a story about a girl who went back in time to try to kill her grandmother.
Thanks for stopping by!
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She has incredible eyes! I'm always mesmerized by their depth and beauty and recently sighed over how fragile she seems...evanescent. She bewitches, most certainly not a spirit given to the mundane.
And there you have it, because you certainly are not given to the mundane, either, given the dictates of your pen and the visions of an inquiring mind. I'm guessing you may have brown eyes, too...and full of fire.
~ Karen
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Excellent description of how she seems. I always got that same impression. Wow, I do have brown eyes...but there's no fire in them! That burned out long again.
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Good edit, line 2.
It's a great opening---compelling!
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I am beginning to notice ...
that you have a talent for story writing and a pleasant sortof humore to go along with it. This story truly could be about a lot of folks who are obsessed with the power of love ... be it real or imagined and while some folks just trade in the picture-only idea for the first-good looking person with 'eyes' that appears before them, there will always be that unspoken image that sets them in motion and has them dreaming into between trying to exist amongst the other marginally insane people. "Welcome to the Monkeyhouse?" I feel you did a good job with your story as I felt compelled to read it from beginning to end. (and that's saying alot)! I did note one typo that you may want to edit:
Paragraph 2 - I hadn't a care in the world. I was happy, I never thought (I) had any real passions,
I was glad to have this as my morning read,
Good luck, j
y
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Ah thanks! Another cool comment. I make a lot of typos. Some are mental errors, some poor typing and a bunch are just poor spelling and grammar. I appreciate better eyes (and brains) than mine helping you out.
I like fiction. Poetry is fun to write but I do it hastily and without much thought. My head just seems to need more space to move around.
I like taking that picture you mentioned in your comment and then distort it, make it ridiculous or a hyperbole, etc. Maybe it's just my gimmick to say the same thing that has been said a million times and not get caught.
Oh, I saw your comment on the 1918 poem on OP.
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And one more note---"but then I saw HER."
So perfect, the melodrama that extended from
the early silents to black and whites of
the 30s, 40s and 50s. Action stops, then
romantic music plays louder and louder!
I shall stop, before your head explodes! -
I use all my discipline when reading a piece,
not to scroll down to look ahead, to read
any author notes or previous comments,
for that would take away from the experience.
So, in addition to following the story,
my mind is searching for young starlets
of the era of movie fan magazines,
so new to the scene as to be uncredited.
Between the lines, however, I find another story,
one that could apply to anyone with a strong obsession
for anything from a political cause, a particular food,
a star, a drug, a form of excercise or even love.
How often is an excited, persistent person
turned aside, ignored, scorned, termed mad
rather than having anyone truly listen to him.
Insert environmentalist, health care advocate!
So deep the meaning, so applicable to many,
so easily referenced in today's world.
And so true, the patient eyeing the doctor,
undrestanding better than he even attempts.
And there is Audrey. And thanks to you, Yem,
I now--after a few clicks---know the reason
of her dedication to UNICEF. That fluttery
Holly GoLightly, exposed to childhood horror.
This is a most significant, intelligent,
layered piece to be appreciated on many levels,
the headache allusion, the misunderstanding,
the avoidance of the "crazy" ones, the condescension.
This desrves bravos stretching to infinity...
Now join with me, everyone, in shouting to the author:
"DON'T MOVE OR DELETE THIS YEM GEM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
M-C
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Wow, one of the best comments I have ever received. Far too flattering but since I don't get much, I'll suck it all up.
Ah you noticed that I called his sister Holly. I was going to be a larger parallel between Holly Golightly and her brother but I got bored and just kept it simple.
Audrey Hepburn seems to have had a pretty difficult youth, sad for her but makes for great reading. Yes, obsessives (you mentioned above a few examples) don't get listened to. They fail to realize (i think) that if they want change (or results in my character's case) they have to work with those in control...you win the game by persuading the other side that it is their idea for change...find a way to make it to their advantage. My poor fellow just ran with his obsession, it was all about him, what he wanted, what he needed...I guess that is what obsession is.
Thank you, a wow comment.
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And the Holly hadn't struck a note yet
as I first read, thinking Bette Davis
as in "Bette Davis Eyes," but not named,
born too soon, Grable, perhaps, but too glam;
like Bergman, hmmm, Crawford, too soon, but
Liz Taylor, right magazine era timing, but
known from choldhood. Then, the click----
oh, Holly. of course! And she was on the
cover of Time, Sept. 7, 1953. (Wikki)
Great note about "persuading the other side that it is their idea for change"---for that is necessary for survival, for any patient. If one is too sick to speak for oneself, one needs an outspoken family member who protests drugs that may have more side effects than good results!!
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Although this is fiction and humour, there are lots of people doing the same, being obsessed by people they never met but only know from magazines or tv. Of course, a woman like she can drive men insane.
I like the story, as usual well told, rich in details, good chronology of facts and all those things you know how to use to write good stories and keep the readers attention.
I enjoyed it!!!
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Thank you whatever your name is again. Jean is it? Close enough...
Thank you again, not only for the compliment but for the patience of friendship, et all and for reading all my crap. I should have hid this, not fair to everyone here. But thanks.
And I'm almost done of the Dun Kram biography.
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WOW! Magnificent story!
Tell me Yem. How did you do that? the click HERE bit!
Your story I found very compelling to read.
I thoroughly enjoyed reading every part of it!
Audrey Hepburn certainly did have very alluring eyes, no wonder you were mesmerized by them.
I hope you don't DELETE this poem!!!!!
A bonza story.
Love Joan
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Thank you!
The link...hard to explain. I stole it from when I had a gold account. I just change the text and link when I need to and paste it where I need it. If I wasn't so cheap and bought a gold account it would be a lot easier to do. If you want I can send you the snippet of code I use and you can just replace your words and link.
Thanks again Angelica, I certainly don't expect people here to read my fiction, that is asking too much, but I do appreciate it.
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Your story exudes power right off the page.
It is so filled with accuracy of insight that its emotion drills into the listeners' very souls. An angle that is rarely approached with skill, this peek into the madness of love is masterful and strikes a universal chord. I feel sorry for the poor old chap, that he is trapped in a cuckoo's nest with so many other madmen, important men, and powerful drugs. I think it too bad that he's there, but then that's the way it is sometimes. I wonder what you have planned for him, there in that Hollywood imagination of yours? I bet it will be good.
As for me, oh I think I've seen those eye once, too. Yowser. Yes, I think I did.
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Wow, thanks Mythicdreamer...MD is easier to type with my two fingers.
I owe you a read, just saw you have only one...will read tonight, off to work now.
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my master did that one time
my master said oh piccolo if i could just see her
and she looked at her picture and looked and looked at it
she still looks at it sometimes
but she is not mad anymore -
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Poor Piccolo...you have a master? That seems wrong! We must break those chains Piccolo! Freedom to pickles...or small flutes or whatever else a piccolo might be!
Thanks for reading.
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Dear Yem (continued)
If 1630 words rates as a story that is 'short'
then I am going to disregard that maxim I was taught
at college where they told me: "Brevity's the soul of wit".
Perhaps they meant an ass-soul? Well I just don't give a stuff.
PS: Hubertus Hyde wrote this. Hugh Wyles wrote the good one below!!
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Actually 1630 words is only about a 4 page story...quite short in the real world.
Hubertus Hyde? Dr. Wyleyed?
Yem Louis Stevenson.
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Dear Yem,
Well, I completely empathize with this story because, in my college years, I carried a photo of Jean Simmons inside my straw boater for months on end!! The only reason that I fell out of love with her was because the photo became saturated with Brylcreem and got so dark it was more like one of those Gospel singers with measles than the beautiful goddess whose every film I made a point of seeing at least three, sometimes up to six times!
I always thought Ingrid Bergman was a bit on the cool side but I go along fully with Audrey Hepburn and her eyes. However they all fell behind Jean Simmons in the queue because, quite apart from her facial beauty, she had (you guessed it!) GREAT BOOBS!!!
BTW. I don't use Brylcreem any more.
So I relate very fully to this story and am prepared to swear that the subject of it is no madder than I am myself the only difference being that I knew who my idol was and his sentences tend to be shorter and more articulate than mine or should I say succinct?
Brilliant story and great photo (psst! do you have any of her naked?)
Appause and appreciation.
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In this day of photoshop I'm sure someone out there has created photos of Ms. Hepburn naked...and no doubt with more front and back amplitude than she actually had! If I find them I shall send you copies...If I can't find any I'll just cut out the head from Ms. Hepburn's photo and paste them on a playboy playmate. I'll do the same with Claudette Colbert, Myrna Loy, Marlene Dietrich or any other starlet that I think could use a Yemish enhancement.
Thanks for reading my story Hugh. I don't expect poets on AP to read my fiction. I know that isn't fair to ask of them. I had just come back to remove it to my semi-secret AP vault for that reason but will leave it now.
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You are so silly. I was caught up into it in a way, I imagined a love story here.. HA!!! From you.. I thought it would end "happily ever after" Yeah right... Anyways, I dont think youre mad, maybe a little obsessive but not crazy
Mal
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