The White Mole (1. strana) | Články -


The White Mole

Autor : Lucylle   6. června 2012   Povídky
Krátký příběh v AJ do školy. Zadání bylo, že máme vymyslet postavu, co nosí něco v kapse, má tajemství a musí to mít nějakou zápletku či zvrat.

What I am about to tell you actually happened. I personally am still a little shaken, but I really must tell someone. My name is Seph. No not Seth, Seph. I have been adopted since I was twelve and before that happened I used to live in an orphanage in Winchester. My biological parents are dead. My adoptive single father is a backer and he also sings in his free time. I am the fourth adopted of his five sons. I am sixteen I have a beautiful funny and smart girlfriend named Linda and a pet albino mole named Zack. I love them both so much I’d die for them, no second thoughts. This is the story of how I became a better person and accepted something vital.

It all started one Sunday afternoon. It was raining and I was enjoying the rain by laying face up on a park bench, letting it trickle down my cheeks. Zack was sleeping in my inside breast pocket, I could feel him breathing on my chest.

 People think I’m crazy, but I’m just free-spirited. Linda, Dad, Zack and everyone else relevant likes me this way, so there.

I fell asleep since the feel of the rain on bare skin was extremely soothing. Someone must have seen me and told the local authorities there’s a passed-out junkie on the bench. I opened my eyes to see three police officers eyeballing me as if I still had a heroin needle sticking from my forearm.


I blinked and tried to adjust my sight to the sudden burst of sunshine. It had stopped raining while I was sleeping. Well now, this is going to be awkward.

I am the luckiest son to have such an awesome Dad. Not only did he come to pick me up at the police station, he also believed my side of the story and laughed like crazy when I told him. We stopped at a pet-store to get some live bait for Zack to eat.

This is how my life is. My Dad is really nice, he might be prone to have fits of irrational rage, but they blow off quite soon and he turns to his normal annoying self. Dad is annoying, but in a fatherly way. Not having parents will teach you to value everything they give you. Even if you have just one. I can’t complain about lack of love or parental interest.

Lately I have been feeling strange. Sad and lonely for some reason. I mean, I have four brothers, a nephew, Dad, Aunt Maggie and all sorts of family friends, not to mention Linda. Linda is my girlfriend. She is from the same orphanage I came from, so we have known each other for a long time.

My depression was getting worse for the past weeks. The old woman who comes to our bakery is the center of things. She never eats anything, but she talks to me sometimes. Wonder what business she has with me.

On Tuesday Dad was “very displeased” with me, as he put it. I dyed my hair and he doesn’t particularly approve. Tough luck, he should be glad I chose brown over whatever other people have on their noggins. I’m glad to have Zack he only cares if I give him enough belly-rubs. Such a good pet.

I met up with Linda the next day. She doesn’t like my new style either. We talked about it for the longest time. She keeps saying how unhealthy it is for my hair. Screw this life.

On my way home I found a pound on the sidewalk. Later I bought a bag of worms for Zack. He crawled on my lap and ate a good third. I am SO glad he’s paper-trained. By the way, do you know how hard it is to paper-train a mole? It took me a while. But now he has a place to do his business at and I just empty it every evening so the smell doesn’t kill me in my sleep.

Oh glory me, would you look at what happened while I was sleeping! Zack, bless him, littered my bed with bits of worms. Really charming, it even looks esthetic. I spent the entire morning cleaning the mess.

Later at school I got into a fight with a bully. Black eye hurts. At home I asked Aunt Maggie to borrow her make-up. I look like a tranny. When I went to help out at Dad’s bakery by selling ice-cream a woman came up to me and said: “Chocolate chip, please, Miss.” Dad couldn’t breathe from laughing so hard. I’ll shave his head in his sleep for this insolence.

Big bro Mitch came home drunk at three in the morning by the way. I can think of more than one better pass-time, than bobbing into the toilet for him every ten seconds. He bit me and called me things I can’t even write down.

I spent rest of the morning training Zack to fetch a little trinket. He just loves to dig up things. Bless him, I love him so much.

Later that day, Zack dug up something dead and brought it home to show me. Dad told me to rinse his car. Linda hung up on me she still holds one of her little grudges, so cute. I had pizza for lunch. Trained Zack to burry things rather than dig them up. I can’t find my wallet, have a bad feeling.
I have decided to think positive. I really must interrupt this string of depression. This ends and it ends now. I wished Dad a good morning and a fruitful day at breakfast. Later, when I was brushing my teeth, he brought me a cup to pee in for a drug test.

I tried to write a poem for Linda and failed miserably. Nothing rhymes with her name. Maybe Spinda? Must revise it. My black is eye much better.

Aunt Maggie dressed me up in her clothes and did my hair, I feel fabulous. I danced to I wanna be like other Girls from Mulan II. Linda came and saw me, I was worried, but she joined in, so no biggy. I have decided to brighten up everyone’s day today.

So, I’m going to school in a tank top, skirt and stilettos, wearing fake lashes and make-up. Such behavior funny only until the principal calls you in to talk to the school counselor about gender confusion. Still, I feel fabulous. In the evening I went drinking with my classmates. I’m not legal to drink yet, but no one cared. I got all my drinks paid for me. I learned a new life lesson: never ever should I spread my legs while sitting in a skirt. Or wear boxers under. The breeze is fine, but the embarrassment of the people around you is probably permanent.

Zack loves to sleep in a bra, so he makes a good fake boob. Best day ever.

She has been coming for ten days now. The old lady. She always sits in the corner scanning the room like she is some sort of bird looking for small woodland creatures. She’s not getting Zack, that’s for sure. I sent her cake one day and nothing; she left it, than biscuits, and ice-cream. She must be evil. I mean, come on, who doesn’t like ice-cream?!

Okay, I confronted her. I sat opposite her at the table and we engaged in a staring contest. She spoke, she said I was a pretty boy, but I shouldn’t be ashamed of myself. ME! I have self-esteem falling from my butt. I am the very definition of “lack of shame”! I went to school in a tank top and heels for crying out loud!

The day after, I was too damn depressed to go anywhere, too depressed to beat up bullies, too depressed to talk to Linda, too depressed to give Zack a belly-rub. I was officially too damn depressed to live, let alone crawl out of bed. Dad brought me a snack and tried to lift my spirit with a cheerful song. I am not ashamed of ANYTHING, hear me, old lady?!

Hear me?! This has got to stop. It has been going on for three days. I crawled down to the bakery. She was there. Sitting, smiling… Smug old something, I thought. I was wrong. She sat there, smiling at me, eating cake and biscuits and ice-cream. I went to sit by her, as there weren’t too many people to tend to. Something was different about her. She seemed… I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it. I looked her in the eye and asked her “Are you even real?” and there, all of a sudden, as if it were clear as pure crystal on a sunny day, she said in a calm voice: “No.”

I was still shaken the next day when went out with Zack and Linda. Well, I always take Zack with me, so… Never mind. Distracted, I’m so distracted. She kept going on and on about how my hair is going to wilt from the dye or I don’t even know what. I snapped and called her on her blond highlights. She’s not speaking to me. I actually started crying like a kid when I got home. Dad has been very supportive. He keeps asking me how I am and how he can help me. I can’t think of any way.

Uncle Zachary took me to church the next Sunday. I can tell he means well, but I’m far from being religious and I really can’t stand crowds. But on the other hand, I haven’t the heart to tell him.

Man, it’s huge in here. The murmur of people praying and the ever present sound of them handling those bead things is filling the air. It smells like the old folks home here.

 Zachary and I sat at the front and he told me to kneel down and fold my hands. And pray. How am I supposed to do that? I can see old people looking at a huge plastic of the crucifixion. I guess I’m getting the point now. It isn’t about asking for what I don’t have, but realizing how petty my problems are compared to this.

Quick peek at Zachary reveled he is in a trans-like state.

Stupid whispering, it is worse than screams of tortured kittens for me. Who makes these places? The acoustics here multiply every tiny little sound into the most earsplittingly awful bangs, shrieks and I can’t stand the old air here. Doesn’t anyone ever open the windows in this place? They are bigger than my room, I’m sure opening one can’t hurt. I have to leave.

I ran out for my dear life, bumping into benches, zigzagging around people, finally making it to the back and forcing the giant wooden door open. I took a few deep breaths and threw up into a nearby bin. I’m sure God can hear me just fine from out here.

I finally managed to calm down my stomach as I made my way to the graveyard behind the church. I touched one tombstone wondering, if my mother has one such somewhere. It felt cold and was wet with rain. I crouched down to see the letters. They were gone with erosion, but I could decipher at least the first name by touching the stone. It felt strangely warm. I sat into the wet grass my back to the stone.

“Hi, Jack, my name is Seph. If you can hear me and if you are in heaven say hi to Mom for me. Tell her I’m doing fine and… everything is fine.”

I felt some cold fresh rain on my head and fell asleep.

My aching head, my aching stomach, my aching everything! I will never sleep on a grassy surface in the rain again. I have pneumonia. Everything hurts and I can’t consume solids. Dad confiscated Zack, so he doesn’t catch it from me, so I am now in total isolation. My brother Lex came in with some food and he was wearing a surgical mask. Ha-ha, so funny. Not. It’s a good thing, because if I would laugh now, I’d probably throw up. Again. I have done so about six times since I woke up. I want to die, this is torture.

I keep having these strange dreams. Every time I fall asleep, I see this girl. She isn’t Linda, or Aunt Maggie. She looks so… Distant. I’m so sleepy…

Where am I? Is this the dream again? How can I know it’s a dream, if I’m dreaming, this makes no sense.

There she is. I should go talk to her. “Hi.”

She winced. Looked at me with bueish-green eyes and blinked. “You can see me? You are not allowed to see me, we can’t be talking.”

“Tough. Who are you?”

“Eh…” she said. She looked as if she wasn’t sure. “I-I am… I am not real here.”

My eyebrows swung up high. “Am I?”


“Okay… So… I see you often.”

“Everything is wrong!” She stood up and started to panic. She was no taller than me, even a little shorter, but she must have been older. I came closer and grabbed her by the hand. “You were never supposed to see me, this changes everything you have destroyed the story!”

“The story?”

She clapped both hands over her mouth, but I grabbed her and demanded she told me the truth. She went limp and sat down. “You are… I… I wrote you.”


“You are a story I have wrote for school. I made you, you are not real in my world, but I am in turn not real in yours.”

My brain is doing backflips!!! What the …? I don’t even…! My mouth just hung open.

“I shouldn’t have told you, but we weren’t supposed to meet in the first place.” Her eyes puffed, but she wasn’t crying just yet.

My mouth still hung open. What?! Why?! “Okay. Okay. Not okay, what does this mean? You control my life?”

“Not now,” she mused. “You have escaped the story and it lives by itself now. I have no power over it now.”


“For you,” she suddenly said with a smile. “You can now live just the way you want. You can be happy.”

I ran my hand through my hair and scratched my head. “I can live without you writing?”

She nodded.

The image dissolved and I was in my room, Dad over me, smiling as he handed me bowl of chicken soup in his hand. I didn’t feel sick anymore, but I was really shaken. “Dad… I’ve just had the craziest dream.”

The dream got me thinking. The girl was real for me, even if her name stayed a secret. She told me my life is in my hands and I intent to hold it tight. I will seize every day as if it is the last. And I will die my hair back to its original color white. I intent to do all this. And I can. This is my story. I control it.

The dream got me thinking. The girl was real for me, even if her name stayed a secret. She told me my life is in my hands and I intent to hold it tight. I will seize every day as if it is the last. And I will die my hair back to its original color white. I intent to do all this. And I can. This is my story. I control it.

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Lucylle - 14. června 2012 08:19

Annox 13. června 2012 22:27
Koukala jsem na to, mám to tam špatně ododstavcovaný, ale už na to dlabu. Jinak délka byla na našem uvážení. Nejkratší na dvě strany, nejdelší bylo na pět. Mpje zlatej střed.
Přicházíme na svět všichni stejně - kopající, křičící a celí od hoven. Až v průběhu života si z nějakýho důvodu vezmeme do hlavy, že je nám souzeno dělat velké věci.

Annox - 13. června 2012 22:27

Děvče... tvůj učitel je divnej, pokud chtěl takovou délku :-D A pokud ne, tak jsi divná ty. :-*

Ale pěkné.
Moderní realista uznává pouze pesimistický optimismus.

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