Critiques and Writer's Discussion

"Last time we watched Friday the 13th you were screaching like a little dog whenever Jason appears on screen, but if you want to watch it, who am i to judge?" Asana says calmly as she crosses her arms

How is everyone 

Godphus: 😎😎🙏

Hey PeterLupus!  Would be happy to chat about topics and see if there is any spark. Feel free to drop a message in my DMs if you wish! 

Here's a silly little idea I woke up with the other day… would love to hear what anybody thinks about it. I'm mostly just happy that I managed to finish a short story while still being short for once     Accident Report Gail adjusted the glasses perched on her nose, a clear sign that she was ready to go. Anyone who knew her would know that gesture as a sign that the most experienced accident investigator was on the case. And she wasn’t going to make any careless mistakes, not this time. She turned to look at the drawer with her files in. She didn’t need to open it to visualise them; a dozen folders labelled in block capitals. There was a time and date at the top of each, and waxy coloured strips along the edge of the folders as if she needed a visual aid to remind her of the severity of each incident. She could remember every case she had investigated in the past. The different causes, and the consequences in each case. And she had no doubt that the investigation in front of her now would proceed like any of the others. Before she started this investigation, she glanced up to the corner of the room. The director was there, not investigating himself but just watching. She was sure that she would be able to gather enough evidence to prove that her theory was right, and then his praise would be the biggest reward possible. There was no doubt that he was in charge here; but he was more of a protector than a tyrant, and Gail knew that his support felt almost paternal at times, making sure they were free to investigate each case fully without outside interference. Her next glance was for her partner, Barnabas, who met her gaze with an unemotional calm. She knew without saying a word that he was ready to follow her lead. He was a teddy bear really, but he could be imposing when he had to be and Gail knew that he would have her back. “He’ll probably say it wasn’t his fault,” she said softly. “We need to get him to admit it, or he’ll never learn. You can be the bad cop when we get to the pen, okay? And I’ll try to get his trust.” The only response from her partner was a wry smile, but they had known each other for most of her life now, and there was nobody else she would rather have supporting her. Then she turned back to the director; not exactly asking for approval, but telling him what she had in mind. “We’re going down to the pen. See if we can get him to tell the truth. One more file for the drawer, right? He needs to learn. I mean, we got all the classic signs here. Ignoring the warning signs, focusing on practice instead of what’s happening right now. Looking for someone else to blame. Just have to hope that once he owns it, that’ll be enough to head off any future accidents.” He didn’t say anything, but offered a slight nod. He was in charge, so he didn’t need to carry out his own investigations anymore. But she knew he would be watching over everything she did, looking for signs of weakness that might need support and correction. When they got to the pen, Joe was sitting on the floor. He didn’t seem to be interested in the table set up in the centre of the space, preferring to lean back against the bars. And Gail didn’t see any reason to fight him on that. It wasn’t like the table was full of paperwork, anyway. The only document for this interview would be the report she was writing, so for now the table held only a brightly-coloured desk calendar. She glanced at her partner to make sure they were on the same page, and then sat down opposite Joe. “Okay, Joe,” she said slowly. “Is it okay if I call you Joe? You can call me Gail or Chief, it’s up to you. And this is Barnabas, I think you’ve met him already. We’re conducting an investigation into the accident. Have you got time to talk to us now?” Joe looked back and forth between the investigators. First he shrugged, and then he nodded. “Might be easier for you if you talk,” Gail said, realising this wasn’t going to be the easiest investigation to start. “We already know what happened. We’ve investigated the scene. But what we need to know is your story. What you think caused it. If you can talk to us, then maybe everything will make a little more sense. Maybe it wasn’t your fault.” “It wasn’t!” Joe’s first words were loud and angry. “It wasn’t my fault, it was just…” Gail and Barnabas both watched him carefully, waiting for his anger to subside before they spoke again. Gail wondered if this would be easier than they had thought. That kind of fury had to be directed at himself; he wanted to confess even if he wouldn’t admit it. “I’m just asking you to tell me what happened,” she said. “Can you tell me what happened on the morning of April 23rd? In your own words. You had an early start that day, didn’t you?” “Yeah,” Joe finally answered, after a series of deep breaths that could just as easily have been an attempt to calm his nerves, or a way of buying time while he decided if he wanted to cooperate. “Yeah, I was going to fly Calgary to McMurdo. It’s a tough route, especially the landing, and I wanted to be sure I got it right. So I was on the simulator almost as soon as I woke up, trying to get some last minute practice.” “So you did this simulator flight first thing. What time was that? About?” “I don’t know,” Joe shrugged again. It was a gesture he relied on a lot. “I woke up and I was so excited about it, you know? Couldn’t get back to sleep. Before the alarm went off, anyway.” “Right. So… before breakfast?” Joe nodded, but he couldn’t meet their gaze now. Gail wondered if Barnabas should say something here, to crank up the pressure just a little, or whether two investigators completely focused on Joe would get him to admit why that question made him so nervous. “Did you have breakfast?” she asked, when her partner remained silent. “Did you have a break at all while you were on the simulator?” This time, Joe shook his head, and it was easy to imagine that skipping breakfast could have made him a little less alert than usual. She didn’t need to say it out loud. “So, you tried this flight on the simulator. How did it go?” “Had to divert because of a storm over the Rockies. Otherwise good. Strong tailwind most of the way, no technical issues, nothing that should have given me a problem. There was low visibility on final, but I–” “Did you land safely?” Gail asked, sensing that her interviewee was about to go into a whole slew of technical data about a simulated flight that had little to nothing to do with the actual accident. “Uhh…” this time there was real hesitation. “I might have come in too fast that time. But that’s why you do practice runs, right? So you can be sure you’ll get it right when it matters.” “So, you tried again?” she asked. And after a brief pause, she continued: “And again. How many times did you try that landing on the simulator?” “It wasn’t just the same one,” he protested. “I could do it the second time. But I didn’t just want to keep doing the same flight. I changed the settings, did it with different weather. With a storm, or a diversion. With mechanical faults. I wanted to be sure I could do it whatever happened.” “How many times?” Gail asked again, leaning towards him a little now. “Five? Six?” “I don’t know. I lost count.” “And did you manage it?” “Yeah. Most of the tries. Some of them were really hard. The unlikely faults that would never happen unless you’re trying to make it a challenge.” “Was it only the hard ones you struggled with?” Gail asked. She knew that there was no real benefit to talking about what he’d been doing with the flight simulator in any detail; but it was something that got him excited and willing to talk. So if she could keep him in the same mood, maybe he would find it easier to answer the hard questions. “Well, easy ones are easy. I hardly made any mistakes at all, on the normal runs.” “But you made mistakes. Did you get better the longer you practiced?” His silence might as well have been an answer. “Let me ask something else, then,” she said. “How many times did you try to fly the simulator without a break? Were you getting tired after a few?” “Not tired,” he said, and there was something there lurking below the surface. Something Joe didn’t want to admit. “You didn’t take a break, though. Staring at the screen, no rest, no food or drink?” “I got a drink,” he said after a brief pause. “Orange juice. Kind of… instead of breakfast, cause I didn’t want to stop.” “Okay. Were you feeling hungry? Did it get harder to focus on what you were doing?” Another long pause. “Okay, maybe…” he started, but didn’t continue. “Maybe?” “Yeah. maybe… maybe I tried too many weird things. Like I’d do the wrong thing, because I didn’t remember if the windshear warning was this time or last time. It kind of… all blurred together after a bit. Maybe I should take more breaks.” “Maybe you should,” Gail said. “And it’s brave of you to admit that. Well done. So…” “I was lining up an approach,” he said. “I was distracted. There was a storm the last time, that could have made it harder to reach our alternate. I thought I should… I mean, I needed to use the bathroom, but if I asked to stay in the holding pattern so the auto-pilot can keep circling, I didn’t know when the next approach would be. And if the weather came down hard, that storm might have meant we didn’t have enough fuel to reach the alternate. I thought I was sure that the storm was just a silly challenge I’d done before, but I wasn’t sure. Visibility was poor outside, but maybe there was fog in my head as well.” “So, did the weather get worse?” Gail asked. She decided not to follow that story to its conclusion. It was clear that Joe was ready to come clean. “I don’t know,” he said. “All the ‘what if?’s. All the stuff that could have gone wrong in five minutes if I took a break. I thought I could wait until we were on the ground. So I didn’t have to interrupt the landing when we were so close to McMurdo. I’d done so well up to then, I didn’t want to think about anything that wasn’t the landing.” “How did that go for you?” “It was okay until we were on final. We got clearance for runway 02. We were coming in high, over some low-lying cloud to the north, but we defended to capture the glideslope at one thousand feet, two miles out. No visibility, but you don’t expect it there. I thought it would be an easy landing, then.” “What went wrong?” “I was… I needed to keep my eyes out for the runway. We should have visual confirmation to be sure we were stabilised. But I wasn’t focusing. I squirmed in my seat, wishing I’d thought to go pee before we came out of cruise. But I was sure I could do it, I just wanted to put that bird on the ground. Then I could just relax the rest of the day.” “And…?” “So I followed the glideslope. Trusted the electronics to keep us on course until we dropped out of the cloud. I was… I couldn’t sit still. I knew I couldn’t wait until we got to the ground, I’d left it way too long.” “So what did you do?” “I jumped out of my seat. Tossed the controller on the bed, and ran to the bathroom as fast as I could. Then I pushed the door and it didn’t move. You were already in there. I banged and shouted for you to hurry up. But…” His eyes darted over now, to the silent figure sitting in the corner of the room. There was a moment of understanding, the kind that didn’t need any words. “It was too late,” Joe said. “I couldn’t help it.” “What happened?” Gail asked. “I had an accident,” Joe said, and then met her eyes for a moment. The inquisitorial stare that said she was still waiting for an answer. He looked at Barnabas in the hope of a reprieve, but the teddy bear still remained silent, and he glanced back to Daddy. He knew that he had to tell the truth, or he would be in even more trouble. “I did a wee in my PJs, right in front of the bathroom door. I’m sorry.” “And then what?” Gail asked, pressing home the advantage. She hoped that the answer was obvious now, so he’d have no reason to lie. But she always liked her accident reports to end with a proper confession. “I said… I said it was because you took too long. I tried to tell Daddy you wouldn’t let me in the bathroom.” “And is that true?” she asked, finally picking Barnabas up from his seat again to give him a congratulatory squeeze. “No,” Joe shook his head slowly. “I was playing Flight Simulator all morning and I didn’t go potty until it was already too late. Maybe I could have made it if there was nobody in there, but… I should have gone sooner.” “I’ll put that in the report,” Gail said softly. She didn’t want to punish him, really; she just needed Daddy to know the truth. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll let you read my report when it’s finished.” “And I think we’d best get you cleaned up, champ. Now you told us the truth, I think you earned a nice warm bath.” “With bubbles?” “With bubbles.” Gail couldn’t help a little laugh as her pencil hovered over the page. It was amazing how quickly the promise of bubbles always seemed to cheer up the little one. “Aaaand…” Joe said, eyes darting back and forth for a moment to suggest that he wasn’t completely sure about the next question. He reached out to take Daddy’s hand, and stepped carefully out of the playpen. But he couldn’t hold the question in for too long. “And can I be investigator next time?” “You’re the one that has accidents,” Gail jumped in quickly, before Daddy could answer. “So I’m the one that investigates them. Maybe if you were a bit bigger…” “Aww, pleeeeease?” Joe whimpered; the same tactic that he always tried, no matter how often it failed. “Please Daddy?” “No,” Gail answered abruptly. “I said I’m the investigator. It’s my game, so I can choose. You don’t get to cheat by asking Daddy.” “I don’t know,” Daddy interrupted with a thoughtful expression, and this time Gail knew not to say anything. There was a long pause while she wondered what he was thinking, but that just built up the tension for his next, decisive word. “Cut!” Any tension in the room snapped instantly, and for a moment Gail found herself giggling when she thought about how seriously she had taken a box of ‘reports’ colour-coded with crayon lines. It was always like that when the Director gave them a scene; she would get so caught up in the role that she didn’t think of assessing her own actions. For a little while she could believe that he really was her Daddy, rather than one of the most trusted people in her life, and she could play out the role of an “accident investigator” without laughing at how ludicrous that job might be. She knew that she had probably said some embarrassing things, and that she might have been a little mean to Joe. But it was all part of their roles, and she could see from the waves of blushes and giggles fighting for control of his features that he had enjoyed this little scenario as much as usual. “You want to be the investigator, champ?” the Director asked, showing strong Daddy vibes even when they all knew he wasn’t a real parent. Joe nodded, a little more hesitantly this time. “We can do something else if you want,” he said, after a little thought. “No, I think another investigation would be fair,” the Director said, glancing back over at Gail. “Someone was rather protective of the investigative role, and I think that might mean you’d learn something by being on the other side. Maybe you’ve been the investigator too many times, and we need to shake the formula up a bit, hmm? How many accident reports are in your filing cabinet, Gail?” She quickly leaned over to a red plastic truck which had turned out just the right size to hold pages from Gail’s Teddy Lupin notebook. She lifted out the files, guessed there were more than a dozen, but started counting them more carefully so she could give the right answer. But it seemed that the Director only needed a glance. “Pick the next one under your thumb,” he said. “Take a look over it, and see if you can remember that investigation.” Gail glanced down at the paper. Thick lines of crayon to colour code the type of accident, and words in childish block capitals. If she had time to write before the scene ended, even the reports came out a little childish. She quickly glanced at the title for this one, ‘tantrum / messing to get daddy’s attention’, and remembered the interview instantly. “Okay?” she said. “Do I not need to write today’s report?” “You can still do that,” the Director said. “I think Joe would still appreciate some bathtime while you write a report. And then we can play investigators again. The one you’re reading now will be your script. That’s how your accident is going to go, so Joe can investigate. Okay?” “But…” Gail said. “This one’s…” “Let me see,” he held out a hand and took the small file from her, then glanced over the first few words on the page. “I think that should work, while I’m giving this little soldier a bath. You should try to finish your report first, but let us know when you need someone to investigate. Unless that game would be a little too much for you?” Gail paused, mind racing as she imagined how that scene might go. It probably should have been too embarrassing for her to even consider being interrogated about that. But then, Joe hadn’t objected to the last round of the accident investigator game. And he was clearly excited, trying to peer around the Director, in the hope of getting a little clue in advance. Gail gave a smile, the only response they really needed. “Then… action!” Daddy announced. Gail quickly imagined how she needed to feel as he continued: “I’ll have to get Joe all cleaned up now, so can you keep yourself busy with your report for a bit?” Gail nodded. She would have liked to play with Daddy, but she was still excited to do the things he’d told her. And if Joe’s bath took too long, she was already thinking of ideas about how she could get Daddy to pay attention to her again. She was sure this afternoon was going to be at least as much fun as the morning, or maybe even more.