Does this story makes sense to you?

Question

I had a report to do and my teacher couldn't make sense of it. I think it was because of the first part, but it all ties together at the end... least I think it does.


The dull, off-white walls around me were calling out to me, crying, pleading for me to leave this place. As it were, I was bound by snakes that dared me to move any muscle of my body, so leaving was, sadly, out of the question. Occasionally they allowed me to stir, whether it be because they understood that I could sit still only for a little while, or because they tired of leaving me in a certain position, I do not know. That day, it was the footsteps echoing down the hall, becoming louder with every fall that sent my heart beating like the wings of a humming bird. Never before had any sign of life, other than the dwerks that teased me with their freedom, made its way to me before the scheduled war cry released by the fruns, but that day, someone came for me.
The all too familiar door that connected my realm to those humans’ realm disappeared and I screamed out in fear as I always do, praying that the door may revive itself and seal off those dreadful creatures. Only thing was, this being wasn’t like all the rest, I could tell by the look in her eyes. They were small, deep brown eyes, but that was not what gave her away. When her eyes met mine, they met them. For once she was looking at me, not through me or away from me, but she saw me. Slowly, I took in the rest of her features before she could disappear, like they always do. The height, which there wasn’t much of, was the first I noticed, then her fairly plump body and pale skin. Her hair matched her eyes and was cut just short of her broad shoulder blades and her smile was mystifying, one moment gentle, the other fake and full of loath, but not towards me I knew.
Sparks shot out through the air, we swam through the deepest trench, and it wasn’t until her small, pale lips, opened that a thousand questions caused me to have a concussion. The first was a highly original one, one of which deserves some sort of award for the creativity of it. “Who are you?” I asked before she could speak.
Her precious smile faltered before becoming nothing but hurt. “It’s me, Gertrude Stein, don’t you remember me, love? Born in Allegheny, Pennsylvania,” she waited and when I did not respond she continued. “Please now love, you must remember.” Again I remained silent and confused. “February 3, 1874, does that date mean nothing to you?” Guiltily I shook my head. “My birthday! Search into the depths of your memory!”

Additional Details

I could not. “I’m sorry, but I have no recollection of you.”
“But you, my fair Alice Toklas, were my inspiration, my partner, my editor and publisher. I wrote an autobiography, only in your name. My poems, remember them? You always loved my poems! About the strangest, most random things, food, rooms, and other objects, you must remember Alice.”
I’ll admit, it was a rather interesting performance, but I just could not remember who she was. I shook my head again. This time I spoke. “What year are we?”

“Oh, my love.” She sighed. “Does my presence not move you, not draw forth your attention? Are you unconcerned with me?” She did not wait for an answer. “Presently, we are at war with Japan, Germany, and Italy. Of course, I don’t write much about them, not my style. Remember you now?” Her gaze searched my expression and there she found her answer. Another sigh. “They bombed America, we met in France, and we lived there for some time, in Paris, which is where I did a lot of my work, before moving back to America. Pablo, he painted a portrait of me, Hemingway, Wilder, and Anderson, come now, you must have some idea of whom I speak of!” She was becoming desperate and searched frantically for something that would remind me of who she was. “I… I hated Roosevelt, his ‘New Deal,’ was preposterous. Franco, I adored him for fighting in the Spanish Civil War. I’m a genius for crying out loud! My work is the best thing to happen to this planet and everyone knows it’s true!

Bernard Fay and the Gestapo! Remember him? Of course you do, you must!” I hesitated this time, considered the thought of going along with her story, just to please her, but I decided to stay with the truth, so I shook my head.
I wasn’t expecting what came next. A poem recited by her, written by her that she called, “Glazed Glitter.” She even handed me a sheet of paper, which conveniently had the poem on it for me to read along. When she was done, more questions than before twirled around my mind.
“What was the deal with the nickel?” I asked.
“It simply forms the title, love.”
“That’s a bit strange. Okay, so how about ‘originally rid of a cover’, what’s that supposed to be?”
“It’s a metaphor really. It means that it has no concealment.”
“Oh. Sure. Okay, well…” I scanned the paper before me. “When it says, ‘The change has come’ what’s that supposed to mean? What does change have to do with anything?”

“Everything really, besides the fact that nickel is change,” I felt so dumb when she said it like that, thus making me realize change could have meant money wise. “It means that change has come.”
“Ah.” I sounded, though I still was confused. “‘Charming’, what’s it mean in that sentence?”
“It’s actually referencing to Carmen, which is a very beautiful song.”
“I’m unfamiliar with this word, ‘sinecure.’”
“Well, in plain English, it’s a paid job requiring hardly any work.”
“But…?”
“But in the sense of which I wrote it, it refers to sine cura, meaning ‘without cure of souls.’
“Why are Japanese people in here?”
“It’s not referring to them of course; rather it is speaking of japanning.”
“I see…” though I really had no clue, but at least we had trailed away from her trying to make me remember her, though she does seem to know me. But then, darn it all, my curiousty got the best of me. What if she wasn’t some psychotic person?

What if we really were together at one point in time and I just don’t remember? Though I think I’d remember someone as stunning as she.
“What else has happened between us?”
She searched again, searched further into her memory then I would’ve. A smile appeared on her face and I could tell that if I didn’t remember something, then she was going to go into some sort of depression. “I had an affair with May Bookstaver. Of course, not when I was with you, but you still got so jealous when I wrote about it that you crossed out every word that had ‘may’ with ’can’, ‘day’, or ‘today’.”
Everything had come to me. My love, my life, my beloved, Gertrude Stein, how could I have forgotten her?! But something had happened… something horrible…
“You died from stomach cancer,” my tears began to pour out and life ceased to have meaning. I choked as I finished, “1946… July 29… in Paris.”

Once again everything clicked. Wait a minute. I thought to myself, my brain working frantically, Gertrude was always my favorite poet, crazy woman, and I’ve always dreamt of marrying her, but she’s not of my time and I’m not Alice. My walls ceased to call out to me, Gertrude took form of some horribly disfigured being, which I slowly began to recognize as my doctor. The needle had just been taken away from my skin and I could see what I’ve been trying to avoid. I realized, for the hundredth time that I had been in a straight jacket, only allowed off after I take my medicine and always put back on before I go to sleep.

Answer 1

Best Answer - Chosen by Asker

Wow, I think your writing is really great, but I am also a little confused.
Is this a creative writing piece or a report? If it's an essay, it's a little strange, if it's an excerpt from a story it's very good. I was a little baffled when she was tied up by snakes and then all of a sudden she's swimming with this woman. You didn't represent any sign of her escaping. One minute she's a prisoner and then without warning free?
That needs a little work.
You have a really unique writing style I think which is very mysterious, I enjoyed going along with your story.

Oh wait a sec, you've seemed to have added more details...sorry I didn't get to read that part, perhaps it does make more sense at the end...

Asker's Rating:

Asker's Comment:

Lol, I see where my teacher may have got lost. Where she's swimming, it's a metaphor. Also, the snakes were part of her imagination; they were really straps from the straight jacket. It's a report. I don't like the standard way of doing one so I livin it up a bit.

Answer 2

I didn't read, but there are places to upload stories online. You could try fictionpress.net or writerscafe.com.

Answer 3

well at first there are a few questions, but once you learn that she's on medication it all works better.

i really like your writing! good job, its a weird idea but its cool!