/lit/ - Literature

Alright, /lit/. You've got me interested in learning how to tell an appealing story. would you like to help me? here is a rough beginning, fraught with imperfections and things i am uncertain about

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Politely, tentatively, Rodolfo held up a finger.

"One moment," he said to his guest, "I'll be right back, then you can keep telling me your story." He left the living room for the kitchen and sent a text to his next door neighbor: Call the police. There is a madman in my house.

He returned, smiling, with a pitcher of water and a glass for the young gentleman on his sofa. "All right, please continue--Timón, is it?"

"Teemo, you know, short for Timothy? It doesn't matter, I made it up. You can call me anything." He took a sip of water and with a shaking hand set his glass on the coffee table. He glanced out the window to the street, gray in the morning light. The truth would be out there, and it would be gone soon--if it wasn't already gone, or if it was ever there. But he couldn't leave Rodolfo without an explanation. It would be worth it, he thought, to miss the evidence in the street, if he could just explain. This would be his only chance.

"I'm sorry if this is confusing, Rodolfo. It's hard to get it all straight, I never planned to tell you any of this, and I'm awful at thinking on my feet," the corner Teemo's mouth quirked up and for a moment he seemed on the verge of laughter, but he subdued himself. "The beginning's too long to start with, and the end makes no sense without the middle, so we have to start in medias res. Is that alright?"

"Of course. Of course it's alright. Anything you like, Teemo."

"Did you ever notice a snail on your bedroom window?"

"Er, yes, all the time. Lots of them."

"I mean, a particularly ugly one?"

"I never, uh, I never studied them individually. Sorry. Um."