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Lillian Harper

The Perineum Falcon · 5 · 1490

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The Perineum Falcon

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on: February 15, 2004, 12:37:10 AM
Here's a short story I wrote for class. It's not perfect, but it's been received rather well by everyone so far. The revision is due tuesday, so I'd love it if you folks would read it and give me your opinions.
What's good about it? What sucks about it? Is it too similar to something you've seen or read?
Thank you, and enjoy:

‘Lillian Harper.’
Lillian Harper. Lillian Harper. Lillian Harper. Lillian Harper.
Your name resonates in my heart. My soul utters it as my lungs draw breath. Each night I sleep with the thought of your warmth next to me. I live to smell your fragrance on the wind. Your soft breath, warm and wanting, playing on my shoulder as I lose my soul in search of yours.
‘Lillian Harper.’
‘Lillian Harper.’
‘Lillian Harper.’
‘My love, how I wish I knew your face.’

Your name etched in my wall as it is etched in my heart. How strange it was that I, by chance, came upon it. Now I leave the wall bare and naked of the paper that sought to disguise you from me.
And your name, to the touch, leaves me enveloped in your warmth:
L. I. L. L. I. A. N.
H. A. R- ‘Who could be at the door at a time like this?!’
Kiss, kiss, My Darling. Though the wall may leave my lips cold, I know your soft skin will not.

A distorted look through the door shows me the form of a librarian of a woman. Straw-like hair, large coke-bottle glasses, and a long Puritan dress that only complements the shape of her non-form. Only one way to rid myself of her, I start by opening the door.
“Jackie! Oh Jackie, Jackie, Jackie! Come, give us a hug!”
‘Joanne, what are you doing here?’
“Well, I was just thinking, you know, in the neighborhood,” such an irritating giggle, “and thought I’d stop by!”
‘But Joanne, you’re always in the neighborhood. You live right down the hall from me.’
I’m truly sorry My Sweet, My Angel, My Love. I’ll get rid of this vexatious woman as soon as I can.
And that laugh of hers!
“So, I am! Oh Jackie, Jackie, Jackie.”
‘What. What is it.’ I manage to get out. I wonder if I come off as interested?
“You’re just so funny! Anyways, I was just having a get together tonight....”
Always with these invitations, time and time again. Her eyes blink vacantly below the crooked monocles and her hair seems likely to catch fire at any moment. What could anyone find attractive about this woman?
Come to her party?
‘No, I don’t think so, not tonight.’
Or ever, for that matter.
“Oh, are you feeling sick? Cause if you’re sick-”
Of you.
‘A bit. My head hurts.’
“Oh, maybe you have a headache.”
Lillian Harper.
‘I’m sorry, maybe some other time.’
Ugh, she talks to me still, through the door.
‘I’m sorry, My Dear, you must excuse them. They just wouldn’t understand. And no, she doesn’t interest me in the slightest. Only you, My Love, I only have eyes for you.’
P. E. R.

Harper, Lillian. This does seem like the place. The tag is horribly written, not to mention faded. Who’s responsible for the upkeep of this building? This seems more of a place of assisted living. That worries me....
The little red button. ‘Hello?’
Krssh-krackle, “Yes?”
Is that the voice of Heaven?
‘Ahem, Lil-Lillian Harper?’
krack-krackle, “Yes, dear? May I help you?”
‘I’m here. To see you.’
Krssshh, “Be right there.”
Oh, sweetest of days! This could be the moment I’ve dreamt of for these past months! To think, My Dearest stays only a few blocks from me!
Quick check:
Tie straight. Hair Combed. Fly zipped. Smile.
And your door opens.
“Yes, dear? Do I know you?”
This can’t be....
“Oh, my eye-sight’s been gettin’ the worser ever lately.”
No, no, no!
‘Lillian? Harper?’
“Yessir. My, I don’t believe I know you a’tall.”
And I feel the same way.
‘I’m terribly sorry, but how old are you, ma’am?’
“Why, I just turned eighty-sev’n just this past week.”
I smile, ‘Thank you.’

I knew it was too good to be true. Heaven’s Gift could be found so easily, so simply. Ha! That’s number twelve.
‘Old or dead.’
These women blessed with your name are either old, or just dead. Three are resting in the same field. I’ll find you, Beautiful, I’ll find you soon. Only one more on the list.
Lillian Harper....
“Mind if I have a seat next to you?”
‘No. No, not at all.’
A withered old man. Skin worn and weathered. Is that what I am to become before I find you? Ha! Me and everyone else, right? This bus seems full of them, and full of the odor of pudding. Disgusting. I can hardly keep my shoes unstuck long enough to uncomfortably shuffle them. This is what it’s come to, I suppose. I’ve resorted to public transits. The air seemed so much easier to tread upon before. It’d be so much easier if there weren’t so many old people. So many old people. Why? Why so many?!
Ugh, I shouldn’t’ve taken the bus.

I wake to find the sun kiss your name. God’s grace seems to call you. And then I see you. Your golden spun hair, shimmering in the light’s devotion. Devoted to your rosy cheeks and the deep pools of your eyes. I swim in them. And you stretch your perfect form in the morning’s haze.
Oh no, that can’t be Joanne again.
And it is.
Okay, okay. Lillian. Harper.
‘What is it, Joanne. It’s seven A.M. You know that’s too early.’
Her twisted figure through the peephole, I don’t dare to open the door:
“Oh, Jackie, Jackie, Jackie! Good Morning! You wouldn’t believe this, but I made breakfast for myself but ended up making too much,” and her grinding laughter. Lillian Harper.... “So, would you like some?”
Of course not.
‘Cough, hack, sniff, hack. I mustn’t. I’m sick, you see.’
“Oh no! You sound terrible, Jackie! Maybe I could help you!”
‘I’m afraid not. Must get some rest. Hack, cough, and hack again. Rest is best for the morning’s test.’
“You’re taking a test? Do you need help studying?”
‘Forget it.’
And her whiny, opossum voice muffled by the door.
Kiss, kiss, L-I-L-L-I-A-N. Not so cold today. Is that a good omen?
Errands to run, My Dear. Bless me Love.
Joanne seems to have left. No telling how long she’d been there, or when she’ll return, for that matter. I can’t believe she stood at the door to my vacant room! Undoubtedly, if I hadn’t gone to get the train ticket I would’ve had to deal with her again. I’d better hurry myself through this yellowed hall and to our safe haven. I’m almost there, but I can’t help but feel odd. Something unsettling. Is that weeping? I don’t remember any children on this floor. It sounds like its coming farther down the hall, but I can’t see. The fluorescents must’ve gone out down there. I wonder who it is?
If nothing more than to ease my curiosity, I should check it out, don’t you think? Bah! My curiosity piqued betrays my hesitation; I need to see who it is before she comes back, after all.
But it’s her. Huddled in a corner, beneath a blanket of shadows, Joanne is hiding her face. What’s wrong with her? She’s a frightened animal to my touch and turns my hand away.
“Please, Jackie, just go.”
Her words find me strange. And her tears mock her insistence of health. Oddly enough, I find that I can’t just leave her here.
“No. Please, Jackie. I can’t let you see me like this. I just want you to go away.”
But I can’t. She rises slowly to her feet within the support of my arms. She turns at her door and looks down. I venture to ask what it is that bothers her so, but the way is shut.
That poor girl....

“Ticket, please.”
‘Oh, pardon?’
“Your ticket, sir. May I have it?”
‘Oh, yes, certainly.’
“Thank you, sir.”
It’s been a day, and what a day it’s been. Though I rest safely in your arms, My Lillian, my heart can’t help but pity that poor girl, that poor Joanne. I find myself watching as her soul streams from her eyes, only magnified by her glasses. What would cause her to grieve so?
Lillian Harper.
It is you who sheds my soul’s pain. Your love brings me to the brink of blissful innocence. So soon will I hold you before me, and you and I will begin forever together.
However, I’m beginning to consider the fact that taking a train was a bad idea. Never have I felt so shaken, and yet another form of public transit. But, if this is something I must suffer to find you, then I am willing to suffer for all the days of the world. I only wish you were closer, My Sweetness. But it’s you there. It’s you that lies across the country. It’s you who waits at the end of these tracks. It must be! Oh, how my joyful heart boils! Lillian Harper. Lillian Harper. Lillian Harper! I’m coming for you!
“Excuse me, sir. Do you mind if I sit with you?”
And who is this forward woman?
‘Uh, I suppose not.’
Why does she close the door behind her? And that inviting smile....
My eyes follow her figure as it takes shape on the seat before me. Her black hair curled about her finger. Her crossed legs. Her skirt. Her feet. Her breasts. Her eyes and warm glances. Her loose shirt. Her thin, black glasses.
Do I smile back? What does she want?
“Hey, Jack. I’m...Vicky.” That laugh of hers. And her soft hands.
Why does she bite her lip? Luscious and scarlet....
“Oh Jack....”
‘Yes? Vicky?’
“I feel so alone.... I’m so far from home. I’ve never been on a train before and I’m scared to be alone. Will you stay, with me? Keep me safe?”
Her laughter. “What’s the matter, Jack? Do you,” her delicate hands holding mine, pressing it to her thighs, guiding them to the hem of her skirt, “like what you see?” Her teeth and lips.... Her open legs.
‘I. I can’t....’
She smiles at me. “Why can’t you? Are you married too?”
Her sweet breath in my ear, whispering invitations.
“Why don’t you come by when you’re ready, Jack? I’ll be waiting. Room 12. Don’t make me wait too long, Jack.” Her tongue. Her lips. Her walk to the door and look back as she leaves.
Visions of a night’s liaison dance in my head. Inviting words from a woman so unknown. To be in the company of a lady. Room 12. If only for a night, most would jump at the chance. In leaps and bounds, even! But there is something else. What is it? What is it that cries out to me?
Lillian Harper.
My Flower! Forgive me so for thinking of this woman! This Vicky. Though I do regret to break her heart, for a reason unknown to me, it seems it must be done, yes? Oh, My Lillian, how many hearts have you broken today?

‘Could you drop me off somewhere near this address, here?’ That smirk this bus driver has. ‘Do you know where that is?’
“Yea. I can read ya friggin’ address.”
“Nothin’. Forget about it!”
Such strange people. Such a strange part of town. A little rundown, too. This bus reminds me of a traveling rest area. From the looks, and smells, of things it would seem that I’m hardly the first to feel this way. Pudding is a delightful alternative.
He can’t be taking me to the right place. This place is so...dirty. Such filth. Are you not only My Angel, but My Diamond-In-The-Rough, too?
My Lillian Harper.
I will rescue you from this dreadful place and give you the pleasures of....
A bath. This place smells horrible. And the bus needs new breaks, gradually reaching a sound that I believe only dogs can hear as it comes to a halt.
“Alright. Come along! This is yo’ stop.”
‘Are, are you positive this is the right place?’
‘Oh, okay. Alright. Thank you.’
This can’t be right. The asphalt broken by poverty. The sky burnt by the waste of fire. But the numbers are getting closer to yours. Is it really you? Are you really the last one? Are there any unlisted?
My limbs carry me forward; my heart calls me back. I do not want this to be false.
And here it is. Your shack. Your house. The thirteenth one. The last one.
Not quite the palace I was expecting. Instead of brick and iron gates, a wire one. A Beware Of Dog sign, but no dogs. Your lawn suffocated by the weeds. And your fragrance....
Is that urine?
Lillian Harper!
My hand knocks at your door as your name knocks at my heart. Oh please, be you. My Darling, My Dear, My One and Only!
Quick check:
Tie straight. Hair Combed. Fly zipped. Smile.
Your door cracks open! I can feel the warmth inside me rise to overflowing! A Heaven-blown wind takes my breath! I can feel the Light of Angels wash over me! This is it! This is our moment!
“Fuck you want.”
“Fuck you want?”
No, no, no, no! Not again! This can’t be! Who is this woman? This awful woman!
‘Um, I’m here for Lillian? Lillian Harper?’
“You got ‘er. Now, wha’chu want, cocksucker. You ain’t no police, are ya?”
This is all wrong! My Lillian doesn’t foul her mouth with that language. My Lillian doesn’t smoke. My Lillian isn’t balding and doesn't have a baby sucking at her teat. And she isn’t missing teeth. Are those track marks?
Who is this woman!?
‘No, no ma’am.’
“I dunno Herb! He ain’t sayin’ nothin’! Jus’ stan’in here! Dress kin’a nice tho’. Those flo’ers fer me?”
My Lillian doesn’t have a Herb! She doesn’t have a fat, stinking man who wreaks of feces coming to her door!
“Fuck you want, boy.”
“The Fuck. You. Want. Boy. Can’t talk no clearer.”
This isn’t it. It can’t be. This is all wrong. This can’t be her.
‘Nothing, sir. Wrong place. I’m...sorry.’
Oh God. Oh Jesus. No, no, no! This pain wells up inside. This unbearable feeling.
Oh, My Lillian, how many hearts have you broken today?

EDIT: This is the 2nd draft. It just keeps getting longer and longer. I'll be editing in all of the drafts I go through, though I can't imagine there being many more. So please, pardon my dust.
We often went to the cinema, the screen would light up and we would tremble, but also, increasingly often, Madeleine and I were disappointed. The images had dated, they jittered, and Marilyn Monroe had gotten terribly old. We were sad, this wasn't the film we had dreamed of, this wasn't the total film that we all carried around inside us, this film that we would have wanted to make, or, more secretly, no doubt, that we would have wanted to live.


  • The Return Threshold
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Reply #1 on: February 15, 2004, 06:17:11 AM

have you published sth already?, because people should read this.

El Duderino

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Reply #2 on: February 16, 2004, 01:48:27 PM
great job, bro...it's a great read
Did I just get cock-blocked by Bob Saget?

The Perineum Falcon

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Reply #3 on: February 17, 2004, 03:59:56 PM
Thanks, guys. It's very encouraging to read those kind of comments. It's hardly finished and I'm afraid that I might've fucked up the balance with the few additions I've made. I'm working on this and hopefully will have the final draft ready within a week or so.
I'd love to get it published, molly. I've also considered turning it into a screenplay or something.
We often went to the cinema, the screen would light up and we would tremble, but also, increasingly often, Madeleine and I were disappointed. The images had dated, they jittered, and Marilyn Monroe had gotten terribly old. We were sad, this wasn't the film we had dreamed of, this wasn't the total film that we all carried around inside us, this film that we would have wanted to make, or, more secretly, no doubt, that we would have wanted to live.

El Duderino

  • The Master of Two Worlds
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    • Posts: 1554
Reply #4 on: February 17, 2004, 09:33:52 PM
i think it'd make a great short
Did I just get cock-blocked by Bob Saget?