direstraits
Well-Known Member
Now that the contest is over, I'd really like some feedback on my piece. I'll post it unedited (it won't wildly improve the story, it's just the way I had written it).
I welcome anything - good or bad (particularly the bad, please), why you liked it and why didn't you.
Thank you!
==================================
Folly
by direstraits
"This is a mistake, Ling."
As she stepped into the house, finally ready for the task at hand, her inner voice seemed to be playing on her fears, repeating what she had heard earlier in the day. Sweat beaded in her head, she remembered, when she was having this dialogue.
"Every single step must be adhered to without exception! The invitation, the dismissal, everything. It has to be flawless. Flawless! But the risk!"
Yeah, but I could also get what I wish for. And it's payback time anyway.
"Forgiveness, Ling. Please."
No!
"Oh, hi Ling! What are you doing back before midnight?" Joyce laughed. Joyce was her housemate, endlessly prattling, endlessly annoying. Having just appeared from the kitchen with a huge bowl of popcorn, Joyce must have no plans tonight. Unfortunate, but not disastrous. Ling didn't even bother answering, but went straight up the flight of stairs, flicked on her room lights and locked herself in.
Ling had immediately known she wanted the relative peace and privacy of her own room for this task. She had cleared as much of the space between her bed, which rested against the room's far wall, and her room door, for this purpose. In the middle of this space as she entered her room now was a small wooden table, square and simple. It was draped in a ruby red table cloth. Her makeshift altar.
Right in the middle of the wooden table was a small porcelain urn filled to the brim with fine grey ash. On either side of the urn sat two thick red candles, unlit. Also on the table were a bowl filled with rice, a bowl filled with chicken blood, and most importantly, a stack of fu. Chinese talismans. The strips of yellow paper are normally drawn with chinese words to imbue them with magical properties. These were unmarked, allowing Ling to write on them in the course of the ceremony.
Ling began to stuff the underside of her room door with folded towels. This was important. She made sure she got every inch.
Then she drew close all the curtains in her room. The curtains were new, bought specifically for tonight's purpose. The old ones, folded and stored in the closet at this time, were thin silk and frilly with lace. The ones drawn closed now were thick, heavy navy blue. Like the ones you'd see in a stage or cinema. Well, not that thick, but close. Light from outside her window will not get through, that's for sure.
She took in a final appraising look at the altar in front of her. This is it, she thought. I will get back what's mine.
Her jaws set, she walked over and switched off the room light.
It was pitch black. The curtains and the stuffed towels under the door were doing their job. Excellent. Ling struck her match. The flame danced, throwing shadows on the altar that waver to and fro, like creeping madness. She lit the two candles.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a fresh packet of unopened joss sticks, what she had gone out of the house to get. Tearing the top of the packet, she counted out twenty of the thin sticks of incense, and lit them. When the tips of the joss sticks caught with a slow steady flame, she extinguished the flame by fanning it with her free hand, leaving the incense glowing bright red with slow burn. A trail of whitish incense smoke drifted from each of the glowing red tips, snaking up skywards with slow deliberate swirls. The smell filled her senses, calming her mind, but only somewhat. She was at once fearful, but eager to begin.
She closed her eyes and mouthed a prayer. Clasping the joss sticks with both hands in front of her, she bowed three times. Then she reached forward and set the joss sticks into the middle of the porcelain urn, burying the ends of the incense into the fine ash. It held fast, keeping the joss sticks upright.
It begins.
Ling started to chant. It was a low murmur, like singing. She took her brush, moistened it in the ink pot, and began to write on the stack of fu. Chinese calligraphy. Spells. It began slowly, and as each fu was written Ling took the fu and flung it high in the air, letting it flutter this way and that as the fu slowly dropped to the floor. The writing began to hasten, and soon Ling was throwing fu in the air faster than the previous fu can reach the floor. Soon it was like yellow snow, the fu falling down all around her in slow motion. The stack of fu grew thinner as fu after fu got written on and let fly.
"With these words, I summon thee."
Slowly, but perceptibly, the air around her seemed to cool. It was coming. She continued to chant has she wrote furiously on the fu, one after another, not pausing.
Then she saw it.
The smoke from joss sticks began to coalesce, intertwining, like a dance. The smoke, formless before this, now seemed to gather in front of her, twisting into shape. Wispy features began to take hold in the air, becoming clearer.
A face made of incense smoke now looked at her with unblinking eyes.
Ah. The invitation of the spirit was successful. Flawless, even. Ling smiled.
I welcome anything - good or bad (particularly the bad, please), why you liked it and why didn't you.
Thank you!
==================================
Folly
by direstraits
"This is a mistake, Ling."
As she stepped into the house, finally ready for the task at hand, her inner voice seemed to be playing on her fears, repeating what she had heard earlier in the day. Sweat beaded in her head, she remembered, when she was having this dialogue.
"Every single step must be adhered to without exception! The invitation, the dismissal, everything. It has to be flawless. Flawless! But the risk!"
Yeah, but I could also get what I wish for. And it's payback time anyway.
"Forgiveness, Ling. Please."
No!
"Oh, hi Ling! What are you doing back before midnight?" Joyce laughed. Joyce was her housemate, endlessly prattling, endlessly annoying. Having just appeared from the kitchen with a huge bowl of popcorn, Joyce must have no plans tonight. Unfortunate, but not disastrous. Ling didn't even bother answering, but went straight up the flight of stairs, flicked on her room lights and locked herself in.
Ling had immediately known she wanted the relative peace and privacy of her own room for this task. She had cleared as much of the space between her bed, which rested against the room's far wall, and her room door, for this purpose. In the middle of this space as she entered her room now was a small wooden table, square and simple. It was draped in a ruby red table cloth. Her makeshift altar.
Right in the middle of the wooden table was a small porcelain urn filled to the brim with fine grey ash. On either side of the urn sat two thick red candles, unlit. Also on the table were a bowl filled with rice, a bowl filled with chicken blood, and most importantly, a stack of fu. Chinese talismans. The strips of yellow paper are normally drawn with chinese words to imbue them with magical properties. These were unmarked, allowing Ling to write on them in the course of the ceremony.
Ling began to stuff the underside of her room door with folded towels. This was important. She made sure she got every inch.
Then she drew close all the curtains in her room. The curtains were new, bought specifically for tonight's purpose. The old ones, folded and stored in the closet at this time, were thin silk and frilly with lace. The ones drawn closed now were thick, heavy navy blue. Like the ones you'd see in a stage or cinema. Well, not that thick, but close. Light from outside her window will not get through, that's for sure.
She took in a final appraising look at the altar in front of her. This is it, she thought. I will get back what's mine.
Her jaws set, she walked over and switched off the room light.
It was pitch black. The curtains and the stuffed towels under the door were doing their job. Excellent. Ling struck her match. The flame danced, throwing shadows on the altar that waver to and fro, like creeping madness. She lit the two candles.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a fresh packet of unopened joss sticks, what she had gone out of the house to get. Tearing the top of the packet, she counted out twenty of the thin sticks of incense, and lit them. When the tips of the joss sticks caught with a slow steady flame, she extinguished the flame by fanning it with her free hand, leaving the incense glowing bright red with slow burn. A trail of whitish incense smoke drifted from each of the glowing red tips, snaking up skywards with slow deliberate swirls. The smell filled her senses, calming her mind, but only somewhat. She was at once fearful, but eager to begin.
She closed her eyes and mouthed a prayer. Clasping the joss sticks with both hands in front of her, she bowed three times. Then she reached forward and set the joss sticks into the middle of the porcelain urn, burying the ends of the incense into the fine ash. It held fast, keeping the joss sticks upright.
It begins.
Ling started to chant. It was a low murmur, like singing. She took her brush, moistened it in the ink pot, and began to write on the stack of fu. Chinese calligraphy. Spells. It began slowly, and as each fu was written Ling took the fu and flung it high in the air, letting it flutter this way and that as the fu slowly dropped to the floor. The writing began to hasten, and soon Ling was throwing fu in the air faster than the previous fu can reach the floor. Soon it was like yellow snow, the fu falling down all around her in slow motion. The stack of fu grew thinner as fu after fu got written on and let fly.
"With these words, I summon thee."
Slowly, but perceptibly, the air around her seemed to cool. It was coming. She continued to chant has she wrote furiously on the fu, one after another, not pausing.
Then she saw it.
The smoke from joss sticks began to coalesce, intertwining, like a dance. The smoke, formless before this, now seemed to gather in front of her, twisting into shape. Wispy features began to take hold in the air, becoming clearer.
A face made of incense smoke now looked at her with unblinking eyes.
Ah. The invitation of the spirit was successful. Flawless, even. Ling smiled.
