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Jarvy Jared

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Jarvy Jared #1 · Jan 11th, 2022 · 6 · ·

TDay Zero

Eighteen days ago, Wallflower promised Sunset that she would stop hurting herself. She's never regretted anything more.

Scampy · 1.1k words · 122 10 · 3k views

Author: Scampy

Description

Eighteen days ago, Wallflower promised Sunset that she would stop hurting herself. She's never regretted anything more.

Initial Thoughts

I think it’s important to note off the bat that this story, and thus, this review, deserve a Trigger Warning. Those who are sensitive to such subject matters as self-harm, suicidal ideation, and depression may want to turn away. I trust that Scampy is not one to glorify such things, and though this piece is a short one, I would think it will try to explore and consider such topics with a certain degree of sensitivity, respect, and gravity befitting the situation.

That said, a Wallflower depression-fic… I cannot say I am wholly unfamiliar with the genre. Though I have little knowledge of Wallflower’s character, from what I have seen in the fandom, the general consensus is that she has depression, and that the events of “Forgotten Friendship” can be correlated to depressive episodes and other harmful acts. Wallflower’s mental health has been the subject of many stories, but the degree to which a condition is explored, or diagnosed, or even brought to light in the first place, tends to vary piece-by-piece.

Thus this story has with it a set of expectations—if it is truly about self-harm, or, at the very least, the act of stopping it, then it is likely going to be a slow, mentally exhausting piece, one driven towards intense, personal focus for its subject. It is odd, though perhaps also illuminating, that the description should frame the story as a contradictory conflict: in wanting to stop herself from hurting herself, Wallflower apparently regrets it. How that is possible will likely be revealed in the story itself, though, based on the length, I am skeptical as to if it will do so in a full manner—but that may be besides the point.

As always, spoilers ahead. And I will reiterate that this story, and thus the following review, deserve a Trigger Warning. I will endeavor not to let such uncomfortable topics get in the way of a personal reading experience nor of my analysis of the work itself.

Summary

Wallflower resets the counter.

Plot

As is often the case with many stories, Plot becomes inexorably linked with Characterization. I believe that rule-of-thumb can be applied here, to Scampy’s “Day Zero,” for the sole reason that there isn’t actually much in terms of a traditional plot. That is to say, there isn’t an outward obstacle for the character to overcome, or a goal for the character to achieve, and, in fact, very little in terms of traditional action takes place that may allow the character to maneuver through the story proper.

What we get instead is a story about a moment—a critical moment, mind. And one that has all the hallmarks of those quiet tragedies which many, friends and family and strangers alike, go through on the side, in the shadows of our hearts, in the shade of our anxieties, the darkness of our doubts.

Wallflower wants to hurt herself. She has for the past eighteen days, and for the past eighteen days she has managed not to. It is today, day nineteen, that she succumbs, and thus begins the count again. That, essentially, is what this story is about—that moment of submission, and little else. It is one of those stories concerned with the rendering of the moment, not the evolution of a story—a plot that is essentially so minimalistic, the story might better be described as a “sketch.”

And it is a sketch that wallows—which feels appropriate, given the subject matter. And significantly, it wallows without feeling like it’s wasting its breath. It would have been easy, I think, for a sketch such as this to spend far longer than is either necessary or appropriate on demonstrating every facet of Wallflower’s psychological bearing. It might have gone to great lengths in an attempt to fully conceptualize everything that Wallflower feels. In that way, it might have gone the route of melodrama, which would undoubtedly have hurt the story and its impact.

But the story’s brevity allows it to avoid that hassle. It forces itself, and thus the reader, to become hyper-aware of Wallflower and what she’s doing. There’s an uncomfortable amount of intimacy associated with the writing, and also a sense of being unable to escape—we are caught in the spiral downwards and are forced along. In this way, though Wallflower cutting herself—the act itself—is told in only a few hundred words, it has the weight of so much more.

At heart, I think this story is trying not to present a solution or, actually, a “problem” to be overcome. It’s trying to present a scenario without casting judgement. Wallflower’s case is one of tragedy, and certainly deserves our sympathy, but the story does a good job of not letting up on the fact that this is not a situation we should judge. It is what it is, even if what it is, is Wallflower’s own personal prison. In a manner of speaking, it’s a Chekhovian or Carverian attempt at rendering harsh reality.

While this is laudable, and certainly is effective, one effect of this is the desire to know more. The story, after all, is presented as a sequel to another story, which, when taken into the context of some of the other stories Scampy has written, appears to be part of a long chain of recovery and downfall fics. Each one, I would think, builds upon some of the themes or ideas of the former. “Day Zero” may very well be the same, but that does mean that one may go into this story and be caught completely off-guard by some of the allusions cast intermittently throughout—things like, for example, that day counter, which, while innocuous at first, now suggests to me to be the result of a previous story’s plot (perhaps one that has Sunset ask Wallflower, as detailed in “Day Zero,” not to hurt herself anymore). If that is the case, then “Day Zero” cannot really be read in true isolation, because from its premise alone, it apparently must be understood in the context of a previous story. This may make its plot feel contrived or sudden; it may make it so that, when thrown into the story, a reader just wants to get out of it, or at least have something of it explained.

Yet that kind of juxtaposition and uncomfortable contradiction seems fitting, given what this story wants to do. As it is, from what I can tell, little more than a setting-stone, all that the story needs to do is present one single definitive moment—and I think, despite the above nitpick, the story does it successfully. Ideally I would have wanted a happier ending, or one that has a bit more hope shining in the back, but I reflect on the realistic nature of such non-choice scenarios. Sometimes there are no day nineteens.

Score - 8 / 10

Characterization

There really is only one character in this story: Wallflower. However, I think it may be possible to argue that, quite strikingly, she has two sets of discourses, two versions of free indirect speech. One, it seems, is the voice that propels her to commit the dramatic act; the other is the voice that narrates the events surrounding that decision.

I observe that from the story’s beginning we get a sense of that first voice, as well as a “characterization” for that voice. Note the following quote:

Stupid. This whole thing was stupid.

This, clearly, is Wallflower speaking, but it’s not the Wallflower whose “voice” appears in the next paragraph:

Wallflower lay on her bed, twisting around in the sheets. She buried her face in her pillow, only to flip back over and pull the sheet over her head. A second later, she groaned and tossed the sheet away, turning onto her side. She stared at the undecorated walls, at the dirty laundry on the floor, at the creaking ceiling fan, at anything other than the cartridge on her bedside table.

In other words, the voice in the first quote may be regarded as the character speaking through the narrator, in a kind of super-close third-person limited perspective, whereas the second quote may be regarded as another narrator speaking outside of the character (though still speaking on their behalf).

While not exactly a noticeable technique, the story appears to play around with free indirect discourse in order to blend together these two kinds of narrative voices. Strict narration occurs in a manner that is separate or at least partially distinct from Wallflower’s own personal voice. It’s more impersonal, able to describe the context around Wallflower’s depressive thoughts and eventual self-harming act. The other narrative voice allows us to peer into one facet of Wallflower’s personality, which seems inherently at odds with this other impersonal voice.

For who is the one saying “This whole thing was stupid?” Is it Wallflower? Is it the voice in the back of her mind? Does that make it separate from her? Does that make it separate from this other narrator? To what degree?

Whether or not this was intentional, I believe that this kind of narrative voice distinction allows a fairly complex scope of characterization through which Scampy is able to present a deeply personal, and therefore deeply uncomfortable, situation. Much like Wallflower, the reader is beset by these two voices, but whereas the reader is able to separate themselves from them, and listen to them both, Wallflower isn’t able to. This also subsequently allows the story to “get into” Wallflower’s head and present her emotions in a way that feels both like a huge invasion of privacy and yet also terribly honest.

In other words, this story presents a painfully poignant, uncompromisingly authentic look at a character’s suffering. And in this way, the emotions associated with such suffering do not feel exaggerated, hyperbolic, or “dime-a-dozen.” I must commend Scampy for being able to do all of this without a trace of self-indulgence, though I think that is also thanks to the story’s short length. Any longer, and I think our presentation of Wallflower might have felt a bit too on the nose—but as presented, she sounds as we might think she would.

Still, that does suggest that the story may have made Wallflower just a bit flat. Granted, in such a short space, one shouldn’t expect there to be much of an upward or monumental development—and honestly, I think it’d be more accurate to describe this characterization as a kind of inverse development (Wallflower does not rise; she falls; she does not develop up, so much as develop back down). It’s still worth pointing out, though, that even though the conflict is presented in a tragic sphere, and that Wallflower’s characterization feels fated to its end, that because of this sense of inevitability, there isn’t much wiggle room for that inverse development to, well, develop. The struggle makes sense, as does the end result, but I cannot escape the nagging feeling of, Is there really all there is to it? —even as, I am well aware, sometimes that’s all there is to it.

Score - 9 / 10

Syntax

There were no grammatical errors to speak of, nor issues of sentence structure or clarity. The story is technically sound. But, if I am to be honest, I did get a sense of the story not being particularly enticing in terms of its sentences—its style is about as ornate as one would expect, which is to say, it isn’t ornate. That’s perfectly fine and most definitely appropriate, but as a result, nothing in the sentences stuck out to me, either good or bad.

This really is a nitpick, though. The story reads fine and one experiences all of the emotions and ideas without interruption. I suppose, however, that in stories such as these, I almost expect—in a way that doesn’t seem realistic—there to be a definitive “sentence” or “sentence beat” that the story builds up to, which is meant to encapsulate the emotional mass of the story. I don’t know if this story had one—but then again, I doubt it really needs one to function.

Score - 9.5 / 10

Final Score - ( 8 + 9 + 9.5 ) / 3 = 8.83 / 10

Final Thoughts

“Day Zero” is an example of a story that doesn’t need to be overly complex, so long as it remains true to itself and is committed to revealing an authentic experience, however painful that experience may be. It also is an example of a story that does not glorify or overly indulge in disconcerting topics.

Its strength is in its brevity, though this does come at a slight cost to “completion.” One gets the sense there could be more—not that more is necessary, but that there is simply more room left in that fragile, emotional space. But this might be offset by the realization that, obviously, this is not a standalone story—that there are others, which may or may not suggest answers to unspoken questions, or, at the very least, keep that day counter going.

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