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hmpf"Sisters", 2nd edit. Still incomplete. Roughly 1040 words. Marvel at the subtle changes in punctuation, the total deletion of descriptive passages, and other great modifications!
***
“I said no! *No.* No interviews. Is that concept so difficult to grasp? Do you need translator microbes? You know, you really should see a doctor about that forgetfulness. Or maybe you should just write it down, this time. Should I spell it out for you, so you can write it down? I'll spell it out for you: N-O I-N-T-E-R --”
“Liv. It's me.”
“. . . . Susan.”
“Yeah, just little old me. . . . . . . .The press really that bad?”
“What do *you* think? Everybody wants a piece of us. It's time to get a new number. Again.”
“They've been calling here as well. Not as many as you get, probably. Annoying enough, though. Mind you, it's understandable, today.”
“ . . . . . . ”
“Liv?”
“Yes.”
“Listen, I'm --”
“How was the conference?”
“Oh, never mind the conference --”
“No, I want to know. It was obviously really important. So, how was it? Tell me all about it. I want to know every boring little detail.”
“Oh, Liv. Livvy, please.”
“How was the conference?”
“Liv, I didn't call about the conference, you know that.”
“How was the fucking conference?”
“Liv, please! Stop it! I feel guilty enough! Will you please stop rubbing it in!”
“ . . . . . . “
“Listen, I'm sorry I couldn't be there today. I really am. I feel like . . . I feel like crap, actually.”
“Good.”
“You know it wasn't the conference, don't you?”
“ . . . . . . “
“Oh come on, Livvy, this isn't fair! You cut him all the slack in the world. Why don't you cut *me* some?”
“I don't cut him any slack. I never needed to cut him any slack.”
“Oh come on, girl. Now you're being ridiculous, and we both know it. You've been oh so careful not to hurt his feelings, virtually every *minute* since he arrived.”
“How would *you* know? You were hardly here.”
“I know because you're like Mom that way. And I know . . . no, I don't know him.”
“ . . . “
“You know exactly what I'm talking about, don't you?”
“ . . . “
“Listen, I called because I felt we should talk about the situation --”
“There is no situation. He's gone. You weren't there. End of story.”
“You're really determined to make this difficult, are you?”
“ . . . “
“Maybe I should call later. Yeah, I really think I should call later. When you've calmed down a --”
“Well, at least I *need* to calm down! You know, Susan, I find it *very* telling that you attended his funeral but couldn't be bothered to take a day off to tell him farewell now.”
“ -- ”
“Well, bye.”
“Liv!”
“ . . . “
“Wait.”
“I *am* waiting.”
“Let's talk.”
“About what?”
“About him. What else could there be to talk about now?”
“All right. Talk.”
“Do you think I found it easy to attend that memorial service? We were never that close, but he was my little brother, for heaven's sake!”
“Don't talk about him in past tense.”
“All right. So. We were never particularly close --”
“Damn right you weren't.”
“-- and I envied him with a vengeance, yes, but I *still* loved him. You know that, too, even if you don't want to believe it right now. Well, neither did I, for that matter. For all these years I'd thought of him as. . . as the bane of my existence or something, and then, when he was suddenly. . . *gone*, I discovered that I missed him! Do you hear me? When he disappeared, it hurt. It hurt like hell, Olivia. God, I felt guilty for every time that I'd envied him, every time that I'd wished he weren't such a goddamn genius. . . . Don't ever believe it was easy for me to think him dead. My grief may not be as. . . pure as yours, but I *am* grieving.”
“He's not dead.”
“No. . . . He isn't. . . . That's what makes it so difficult, isn't it?”
“Would you prefer it if he were? You would, wouldn't you?”
“Liv, don't be silly.”
“You know, you may get your wish.”
“Liv. . .”
“When he left, I got a feeling, like he's not coming back. . .”
“ . . . “
“Aren't you going to tell me not to be silly again?”
“Oh, Liv.”
“We should have held him back. We should have found a way. We should have. . . I dunno, locked him in the cellar, called the men in white coats, knocked him out and sat on him until he saw sense. . . We should have thought of something.”
“Liv . . .”
“He's going to get himself killed. He's going to get himself fucking killed.”
“. . . Pumpkin, you're crying. I'm sorry.”
“. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 'S okay. . . . . . . . . .'s okay. . . . . . . . . . . . Not your fault. . . . . . . . . . Not your fault. . . . .”
“You okay? Maybe you should get a handkerchief. . .”
“'M alright. I'm alright now. Just tired. Listen, can we do this some other time? I'm too tired to bitch, and, frankly, I don't want to talk to you.”
“He did the right thing, Liv.”
“Yeah. Right. So *you* say.”
“I know you don't want to face this right now. But he had to go.”
“To do what a man must do? To save us all from the invasion of the little green men?”
“To live his life.”
“His life should be here. With us.”
“All right. All right, let me tell you a story. A story about my little brother who went away almost four years ago.
As I said, we were never that close. I was a bright girl. He was. . . competition. The child prodigy, solving mathematical equations at five, skipping third grade. . . The most infuriating thing was that he didn't seem to *care*. Well, I excelled in exams, too, all of them, instead of just *most* of them like him --”
“You were always trying to be better than him. Sometimes you were.”
“I crammed. I *lived* for school. He? He just behaved like every other obnoxious hormonal teenage boy, partied, got drunk, fooled around with girls, crashed Dad's car, and then went and aced the exams. Just like that. It drove me mad.
I graduated best of my year. He graduated best of his. He had finally discovered ambition then – and DK, I suppose; I don't think he would have done as well without DK. He had figured out what he wanted, he wanted to go into space, and he knew that he had to be good. From then on, there was no hope of beating him anymore....
***
Hehe. To Be Continued.
***
“I said no! *No.* No interviews. Is that concept so difficult to grasp? Do you need translator microbes? You know, you really should see a doctor about that forgetfulness. Or maybe you should just write it down, this time. Should I spell it out for you, so you can write it down? I'll spell it out for you: N-O I-N-T-E-R --”
“Liv. It's me.”
“. . . . Susan.”
“Yeah, just little old me. . . . . . . .The press really that bad?”
“What do *you* think? Everybody wants a piece of us. It's time to get a new number. Again.”
“They've been calling here as well. Not as many as you get, probably. Annoying enough, though. Mind you, it's understandable, today.”
“ . . . . . . ”
“Liv?”
“Yes.”
“Listen, I'm --”
“How was the conference?”
“Oh, never mind the conference --”
“No, I want to know. It was obviously really important. So, how was it? Tell me all about it. I want to know every boring little detail.”
“Oh, Liv. Livvy, please.”
“How was the conference?”
“Liv, I didn't call about the conference, you know that.”
“How was the fucking conference?”
“Liv, please! Stop it! I feel guilty enough! Will you please stop rubbing it in!”
“ . . . . . . “
“Listen, I'm sorry I couldn't be there today. I really am. I feel like . . . I feel like crap, actually.”
“Good.”
“You know it wasn't the conference, don't you?”
“ . . . . . . “
“Oh come on, Livvy, this isn't fair! You cut him all the slack in the world. Why don't you cut *me* some?”
“I don't cut him any slack. I never needed to cut him any slack.”
“Oh come on, girl. Now you're being ridiculous, and we both know it. You've been oh so careful not to hurt his feelings, virtually every *minute* since he arrived.”
“How would *you* know? You were hardly here.”
“I know because you're like Mom that way. And I know . . . no, I don't know him.”
“ . . . “
“You know exactly what I'm talking about, don't you?”
“ . . . “
“Listen, I called because I felt we should talk about the situation --”
“There is no situation. He's gone. You weren't there. End of story.”
“You're really determined to make this difficult, are you?”
“ . . . “
“Maybe I should call later. Yeah, I really think I should call later. When you've calmed down a --”
“Well, at least I *need* to calm down! You know, Susan, I find it *very* telling that you attended his funeral but couldn't be bothered to take a day off to tell him farewell now.”
“ -- ”
“Well, bye.”
“Liv!”
“ . . . “
“Wait.”
“I *am* waiting.”
“Let's talk.”
“About what?”
“About him. What else could there be to talk about now?”
“All right. Talk.”
“Do you think I found it easy to attend that memorial service? We were never that close, but he was my little brother, for heaven's sake!”
“Don't talk about him in past tense.”
“All right. So. We were never particularly close --”
“Damn right you weren't.”
“-- and I envied him with a vengeance, yes, but I *still* loved him. You know that, too, even if you don't want to believe it right now. Well, neither did I, for that matter. For all these years I'd thought of him as. . . as the bane of my existence or something, and then, when he was suddenly. . . *gone*, I discovered that I missed him! Do you hear me? When he disappeared, it hurt. It hurt like hell, Olivia. God, I felt guilty for every time that I'd envied him, every time that I'd wished he weren't such a goddamn genius. . . . Don't ever believe it was easy for me to think him dead. My grief may not be as. . . pure as yours, but I *am* grieving.”
“He's not dead.”
“No. . . . He isn't. . . . That's what makes it so difficult, isn't it?”
“Would you prefer it if he were? You would, wouldn't you?”
“Liv, don't be silly.”
“You know, you may get your wish.”
“Liv. . .”
“When he left, I got a feeling, like he's not coming back. . .”
“ . . . “
“Aren't you going to tell me not to be silly again?”
“Oh, Liv.”
“We should have held him back. We should have found a way. We should have. . . I dunno, locked him in the cellar, called the men in white coats, knocked him out and sat on him until he saw sense. . . We should have thought of something.”
“Liv . . .”
“He's going to get himself killed. He's going to get himself fucking killed.”
“. . . Pumpkin, you're crying. I'm sorry.”
“. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 'S okay. . . . . . . . . .'s okay. . . . . . . . . . . . Not your fault. . . . . . . . . . Not your fault. . . . .”
“You okay? Maybe you should get a handkerchief. . .”
“'M alright. I'm alright now. Just tired. Listen, can we do this some other time? I'm too tired to bitch, and, frankly, I don't want to talk to you.”
“He did the right thing, Liv.”
“Yeah. Right. So *you* say.”
“I know you don't want to face this right now. But he had to go.”
“To do what a man must do? To save us all from the invasion of the little green men?”
“To live his life.”
“His life should be here. With us.”
“All right. All right, let me tell you a story. A story about my little brother who went away almost four years ago.
As I said, we were never that close. I was a bright girl. He was. . . competition. The child prodigy, solving mathematical equations at five, skipping third grade. . . The most infuriating thing was that he didn't seem to *care*. Well, I excelled in exams, too, all of them, instead of just *most* of them like him --”
“You were always trying to be better than him. Sometimes you were.”
“I crammed. I *lived* for school. He? He just behaved like every other obnoxious hormonal teenage boy, partied, got drunk, fooled around with girls, crashed Dad's car, and then went and aced the exams. Just like that. It drove me mad.
I graduated best of my year. He graduated best of his. He had finally discovered ambition then – and DK, I suppose; I don't think he would have done as well without DK. He had figured out what he wanted, he wanted to go into space, and he knew that he had to be good. From then on, there was no hope of beating him anymore....
***
Hehe. To Be Continued.
