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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1578057-Unfinished-Business
by Summer
Rated: ASR · Short Story · Dark · #1578057
A response piece to Hills Like White Elephants by Ernest Hemingway. An English assignment
Our world is a disaster. The chaos of it all chokes us, and we cry out for help. We are waiting for a savior. We call to our fellow man to hold out a hand, to accept an alliance. There are those who intuitively grasp at one’s finger in an innocent effort to be connected. Sometimes, we reject them. The world goes on, completely oblivious to the fact that our savior might have died. This is because every man needs to be nurtured before he can stand on his own, and some of us find it painful to give our sustenance away. Our world is a disaster, and resources are limited.

The man walked into the white room. Everything was immaculately clean, and it was white. The linoleum tiles were visually indistinguishable from the concrete. It was a pure and fundamental white, though; not a deeply scoured and smelly white. There was a clerk at the front of the room. She hardly deviated from the overall color scheme; she had no color to her eyes, and her skin was translucent. He walked up to the desk.

Meanwhile, a voice penetrated the space:

They look like white elephants

“Hello, sir. What can I help you with?” asked the clerk, cheerfully.

The man remained silent.

Four reales. We want two Anis del Toro.

“Birth or death?”

Still silence.

“…Something a little less permanent, maybe? Near-drowning? Coma?”

“I’m not sure if it’s birth or death,” muttered the man.

“Excuse me?”

They were silent for a while.

I know you wouldn't mind it, Jig. It's really not anything. It's just to let the air in.

A look of understanding appeared on the clerk’s face. “I’m sorry.”

“No you aren’t, you just pity me,” said the man, sounding resigned. “You can’t feel sorrow here, or happiness. Just pity, anger, frustration, monotony. Feelings without charge to them. I want to feel…”

“Well, until we know what’s going on, you can stay here, and I’ll wait with you,” said the woman, trying to pacify him.

“Why don’t they want me? I don’t understand it. People have babies all the time, don’t they?”

“I’m sure they want you. Everyone loves babies. I’m sure this has just come as a surprise. They’ll come around,” she assured him.

That's the only thing that bothers us. It's the only thing that's made us unhappy.

“Oh, I can tell.”

The clerk looked down at her feet. “Your mother seems to want you,” she responded weakly.

Then I'll do it. Because I don't care about me.

“No she doesn’t, she fears for her life. She may be pregnant, but she is as barren as those hills she keeps staring at.”

“Oh, I’m sure she cares for you.”

“Why won’t they give me a chance?” he yelled in frustration. “I want to experience things, to live! I want to see something. I want to feel. I want to be happy and sad, not just angry and anxious all the time.” He sighed, “I’ll be stuck here forever, won’t I?”

“Well, in a few days you will be able rest, if you like. You may stay here as long as you please, but most choose rest eventually.”

“If she keeps drinking like this, I may not have to wait that long.”

“Oh, it’s not so bad here. The world isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, really. It’s much more peaceful here. I know, let’s get a name down for you.”

He smiled bitterly. “Just put Elephant.”
© Copyright 2009 Summer (summoora at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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