(This is from a workshop I am in. We were required to identify when we were doing the narative, dialog and action parts of the asignment)
(Narrative)
Gethen Marduk hates his job. The job should be interesting. A tenured chemistry professor should be allowed to research what he wants, but the school constantly pressures him to research for big companies to make money for the college. Every time he thinks he has a handle on his pet project, the college has him on another tangent. The projects for the companies always take months. Even with the meticulous notes he keeps, it takes him precious time to get back into the swing of his research, only to be interrupted again by another project.
On top of the indignity of wasting his time making rich companies richer, the students are whiny idiots. The college never gets him teaching assistants worth anything, and he finds himself teaching most of the classes himself. And in the lab, they only seem interested in the chance to make money, not in learning the art of chemistry. The students in his most recent class make him cringe at their inability to absorb even the simplest topics in organic history. They whine and moan over the complexity of the subject matter, without seeing any of the beauty in it.
And the way they dress. No-one has pride anymore. The boys wear pants hanging below their hips, showing garish boxers. They don't even take their caps off in class. And the girls, they might as well not be wearing anything at all. While the weather in Pasadena is pleasant most of the year, that is no excuse to dress like a street-walker.
(Transision)
Gethen jerks slightly as his wife starts massaging his shoulders.
(Dialog)
“Sorry Gethen, I didn't mean to startle you.”
Gethen smiles and places his hand over one of hers, squeezing lightly. “No, no. don't worry Kaiolohia, I was just lost in thought again.”
“They must've been deep thoughts since you just called me by my full name again, and we aren't currently making love.”
Gethen laughs lightly, “Sorry Kai. It was just another frustrating day at the school.”
“What happened?”
“It seems that one of the students objected to my proper politeness. He started with the common mimic taunting that people seem to do so often. As usual, Harold was no help, and gave me the usual 'rudeness is not grounds for suspension' and took the opportunity to start in on badgering me to do the Dow project.”
“Oh hon. Maybe you should take the offer at Scripps Research Institute. They did promise to allow you to do your research.”
“It's tempting, but in the end, it's just working for one large company instead of a different one every few months. And I don't want to take Aalona from the life he's built here.”
“Al is young. He'd bounce back and make new friends in no time.” Digging her fingers in deeper, she continues, “You keep coming home so stressed.”
“I know dear, but it isn't necessary to upturn his life. Maybe I should just go fishing more often, though it does take me away from Al and you.”
“If you think that will help, I don't mind. You treat Al and me so well all of the time, maybe you should treat yourself more often.”
“Perhaps you are correct. Mind if I go this weekend?”
“I think that would be great dear. It's been a long time, and you deserve a break.”
“I'm going to make sure I have all of my supplies. Go ahead and go to bed. I'll be up soon after I check on Al and my supplies.”
(Action)
Gethen gives his wife a quick kiss and moves out of their bedroom to Aalona's room. He pushes the door open slowly, careful to not let it squeak. Moving silently, he steps to the side of his son's bed and spends a few minutes looking at the peacefully sleeping form. A smile on his face, he takes the same care leaving the room that he did entering. He moves through the suburban house, confirming that the doors and windows are locked. He ends his circuit of the house in the mud room, steps out into the garage, and locks the door behind him.
Gethen's breathing becomes shallow as he quickly checks the perimeter of the room, looking for anything new or moved. As he passes the internal latch on the garage door, he slides it over, securing the door. Continuing his circuit he sees a stuffed animal that he has not seen before on a shelf. Hands shaking, he picks it up and examines it closely. After a few minutes of studying it, he sighs in relief and places the bear back on the shelf.
Still shaking slightly, Gethen pulls a large tackle box from the shelf next to a G. Loomis's Bronzeback fishing rod. He takes a deep breath and fans out the tackle box. With care, he pulls the bottom tray out and places it aside. Stepping to another shelf, he pulls out an anti-freeze bottle and brings it to the bench. Slowly and carefully, he pours a small amount of liquid, that has no resemblence to anti-freeze, into the cap and carefully pours it around the edges of the bottom of the tackle box. He waits thirty of his rapid heartbeats and pries the false bottom from the box. The special solvent he made in the lab disolving the special plastic sealer he also made in the lab. Hands shaking badly, he pulls a rolled black cloth from the real bottom of the box and unrolls it.
As soon as his fingers run over the row of 20 shiny scalpels, Gethen's breathing calms and his hands become rock steady.
“It will be a fine weekend of fishing.”
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