Little Ethan, An Introduction
This is a little intro to the Little Ethan post that I just made public today. See, I was sitting here a couple of days ago, and I felt the need to write something that wasn't just a random collection of words and punctuation that only describe the lack of things I have to talk about. So I started thinking of what I might be able to write instead.
I decided to write a story about a boy. He would be called "Little ______." I then took 10 minutes trying to think of a name that wouldn't be immediately associated with anyone I know. I wasn't writing a story that was some thinly veiled attempt to tell a friend something that I didn't want to come right out and say. I just wanted to write something. I ran through the gammut of names from Rob, Joey, and Ryan to George, Bill, Jack, etc, etc, etc. Finally I came up with one. Ethan. No one I had known since I left Cleveland had shared the name, and it wasn't the name of some famous person that I could think of at the time. So Ethan it was.
Then I started writing. Just a random collection of words and punctuation to describe... well... nothing in particular. But a storyline seems to be forming, so we'll see if/when I do Chapter 2 what happens. Any comments or suggestions about editing, writing, stories, etc are always welcome.
Little Ethan: Chapter One
One day, a young boy named Ethan took a walk around his street. He ended up in a neighborhood he didn't know, on a street he didn't recognize. Feeling panicked, little Ethan decided that the best thing to do would be to knock on all the doors, of all the houses, on every street until he could find his way back home. Or a cookie. Because cookies always made things better.
As Ethan approached the first house he managed to find someone home, but the person was an old and cranky woman who wanted little to do with young boys and even less to do with cookies. So Ethan thought that the old woman could use a hug, and he told her so.
"Old lady, and I'm only calling you 'Old Lady' because you have not done the polite thing and introduced yourself as I have done," and he had, "I think that today is a good day for you to get a hug from none other than me, Ethan."
"No. I already told you to go away once, don't make me get the bug spray." replied the Old Lady, she really was a cantacorous one.
"Hmm... I think I'd rather you just let me give you a hug. I won't bite, and I've had all my shots." Ethan tried again, this time he used a joke that he once heard his older cousin use when talking to a girl at the grocery store. His cousin used to take him shopping, you see.
The old lady laughed, "You've had your shots you say? Well... ... no, I think I'd still rather not."
At this point, Ethan was getting both restless and concerned that this grandmotherly woman would not behave like his grandmother at all, and instead spray him with Bugg-Off. Ethan decided that it might be time to move on, but would give it one more shot. "Lady, look. I'm sorry to have bothered you, but I'm lost. I don't know where home is, and I just wanted to give you a hug, since it seemed like you could use it. If you don't want the hug, then I'll just ask if you know where Shaker Road is."
"Well, since you asked so nicely, yes. I do know where Shaker Road is, and if you'd used proper grammer instead of the hip-jive the kids have been using today, maybe I'd tell you. Now, go away!" And with that she slammed the door.
Ethan decided it was time to leave, and he walked to the next house over. The windows were dark, and even though he swore he saw one of the curtains move when he knocked no one answered the door. All the rest of the houses on the block were dark and empty as well. One of them was really dark. And empty. And open.
Twenty minutes later, Ethan climbed out of the second story window, climbed down the dogwood tree that grew next to it, and vowed never to speak of the house again.
After the first block of houses, Ethan thought it would be a good idea to turn, and try the next street rather than the next block. As he went down this row of houses, all painted in primary colors that contrasted with their neighbors, he got the distinct feeling that he was being watched; Ethan had always had a sense about these things. Suddenly he turned around, like they do in the movies, to see what was watching him. All there was was an old school bus, dead and decaying, on the front lawn of a bright blue house with bright green grass. He thought it was a bit odd for a schoolbus to be there so he crossed the street to look inside. As he was climbing into the bus he heard a scream, high pitched like his mom used to scream when she thought she saw a mouse; usually it was just some yarn Ethan would wad up and roll across the floor. Ethan wasn't, you see, above pulling a joke every now and again. He is above it now, it's just that back then he wasn't. Back before his mom left. She didn't leave because of the yarn and jokes; she left because "Daddies and Mommies sometimes need to live in seperate area codes so they can get to know themselves better." But Ethan knew better. Ethan knew it was because Mommy always wanted to be a dancer, and Daddy thought that was stupid and wrong. Ethan thought it was stupid too, but that's just because Mommy didn't have any rhythm. Ethan didn't have any either.
Ethan heard the scream, turned around and ran out of the bus. He didn't get into the bus enough to see that there were people on the bus, or that they were watching him with hungry eyes.