I saw...

[Crystal]

A voice told me this story as I fell asleep on a Thursday afternoon a month ago.

I saw I was dead, locked in a black box, descending into infinity.

"Hi, dear, why look at the black box in that way. It is only a skeleton. I am here, right behind you. Hey, silly, I am here." I yelled at him, grabbing the corner of his suit. He did not hear, did not notice, and it was just wind. Biting my lips, I wanted to kick him, dammit, yearning, and pleading, “I am here, you hear me, I am next to you, that is only my skeleton. See? Feel it. I am climbing on your back, and coiling you like that wind. Am wrapping you in me.” He was staring, as if his stare could bring me back, could make me stand from that so-called coffin. motionlessly, he was stiffened like my grave stone, hi hands in the pockets. A stone as he was, and the gentleness flowing from my fingers could not soften this dammed one I loved so much.

Nearer I moved to him, quietly. I was in the wind, embracing him, breathing air into his ear as I always used to do when he was upset, biting his earlobe softly with fondness.

He titled his head as if he was trying to shake off an unpleasant thoughts. Complaining tears drenched the wind.

Pinching his arm to draw his attention to me, I was as disappointed as surprised. He simply drew his hand out of his pocket.

I stared at him, dumfounded. A wail of wind, a wetly wind. And a red apple on the grave stone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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...
...

Hi, there, would you please kindly tell me what you have felt from reading this. Thank you very much! I just want to know whether one can feel something from this.

will delete it later, and very sorry about that---Because i am not that confident! .

 

[True@1stLight]

A definite improvement seems to be occurring in your writing. Your ideas, ones that used to be muffled, are coming together coherently. I particularly like just reading the first paragraph alone, without the rest. In that paragraph you very delicately touch upon an event outside of time.

While the rest of the story gives us more information and background, I'm not sure that's necessarily better in this case. The simplicity and despair of the first paragraph feel more forceful under a slightly enigmatic veil. Think of it as a picture that is just out of focus, and thus forces you to feel the missing pieces rather than be told what they are.

In any case, well done ! It is easy to see you are working diligently to sort out your thoughts. Keep at it.

~True

 

[Crystal]

I can only say "thank you!", but which isn't enough.

I had intended to blur the reality and dream, but seemed to have failed. I still need to improve my language. Again, thanks for your encouragment!

 

[Irene Wilde]

I think it's marvelous. I'm so glad I got to read it before it got deleted!

You do a fine job with the surrealism, but also with the emotions, and the little details that show the emotions so well that don't need further explanation.

It reminds me of a dream I had once, which is too long to go into right now. (Maybe if you leave this up, I can post it here after work.)

Irene Wilde

 

[hay82]

I will start by saying that I like it.. The begining makes it easy to get into a sense of loss and sadness. (I'm not really good at putting words to my emotions. hope it's okay )

He was staring, as if his stare could bring me back, could make me stand from that so-called coffin. motionlessly, he was stiffened like my grave stone, hi hands in the pockets. A stone as he was, and the gentleness flowing from my fingers could not soften this dammed one I loved so much.

I don't know why but this part seems out of place, like part of a different story. Don't know if I'm the only one to think that but it might the word dammed I find out of place.

I stared at him, dumfounded. A wail of wind, a wetly wind. And a red apple on the grave stone

I actually have no idea what that means but I love it anyway..

Hope that you find something usefull in my reply, not sure what that should be.
Keep up the good work.

Hay

 

[Ashlea]

I love the imagery in it, the references to the wind. Very nice!

 

[novella]

A voice told me this story as I fell asleep on a Thursday afternoon a month ago.

I saw I was dead, locked in a black box, descending into infinity.

"Hi, dear, why look at the black box in that way. It is only a skeleton. I am here, right behind you. Hey, silly, I am here." I yelled at him, grabbing the corner of his suit. He did not hear, did not notice, and it was just wind. Biting my lips, I wanted to kick him, dammit, yearning, and pleading, “I am here, you hear me, I am next to you, that is only my skeleton. See? Feel it. I am climbing on your back, and coiling you like that wind. Am wrapping you in me.” He was staring, as if his stare could bring me back, could make me stand from that so-called coffin. motionlessly, he was stiffened like my grave stone, hi hands in the pockets. A stone as he was, and the gentleness flowing from my fingers could not soften this dammed one I loved so much.

Nearer I moved to him, quietly. I was in the wind, embracing him, breathing air into his ear as I always used to do when he was upset, biting his earlobe softly with fondness.

He titled his head as if he was trying to shake off an unpleasant thoughts. Complaining tears drenched the wind.

Pinching his arm to draw his attention to me, I was as disappointed as surprised. He simply drew his hand out of his pocket.

I stared at him, dumfounded. A wail of wind, a wetly wind. And a red apple on the grave stone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
...
...

Hi watercrystal,

So glad I have the chance to read this before you take it away! It’s a brave thing to share one’s writing, something not everyone can do. It took me a long time to get over self-consciousness about that. I used to get on the verge of tears in writing groups because I would write these emotional things and feel so exposed! You have the ability to really throw yourself into the piece, which is the most important thing, so keep on practicing being brave.

The scene you've written is really between two worlds, on a couple of levels, and you’ve captured some very poetic moments. Obviously between the worlds of the dead and the living, the ground and the air, the physical and the metaphysical, but also you, the writer, can't decide whether you want to inhabit one voice or try to get outside that. You have to make that choice. I would go with with one voice.

If this were mine, I would play with it. First, I would try to get further into the first-person (dead girl) point of view and try to erase all traces of the other person’s viewpoint (like the idea of him trying to bring her back), because how can she know what he’s thinking and if she spends her time here guessing, then the reader loses trust and involvement in the voice. It seems to me that she is affecting him like the wind, that her physical presence is windlike, and that is frustrating for her. Also that she has emotional pain, not just frustration. Go there.

Also I would give the physical scene some unique details. What you have is a guy crying, the wind,, the grave. That’s why the apple is so wonderful. It’s unique and unexpected and colorful. Can you do that with the whole scene? What does the gravestone look like, what does it say, are there other graves near it, are they family graves, is there a tree, are there other people nearby? Does the windgirl feel comfortable there, uncomfortable, does she have choices or know what has happened? Like that. I want to see more. That’s a good thing!

Hope you do not find my approach here critical or discouraging. The piece is not finished, right? I always think writing is never finished. At some point, you just say, that’s it. You might find yourself writing a long poem with this, some of the language feels that way to me. Well done and keep at it!



Novella

 

[Delta_doh!]

Reading Life of pi....

Leave it on here please...
want to read again when I have more time... should be left for others anyhow... x

 

[Crystal]

my gratitude



How can I express my gratitude for you all! Boy! I was moved! It was true. Because I really did not expect this. First of all, thank you for taking time to give it a read. Secondly, thanks for your responses! With sincerity!

I knew very clearly that you all can write really much better than what I have put down here. and you just did not know how I admired your fluency and clearness in writing and telling whatever was on your mind. As I was reading any of your posts here, I either went admiration or exclamation. Well, I would not ramble too much on that though. What I could do was just trying to make myself clear.

It reminds me of a dream I had once, which is too long to go into right now. (Maybe if you leave this up, I can post it here after work

Irene, your kindness is just touching! Yah, please, if you find the time, write and share.

don't know why but this part seems out of place, like part of a different story. Don't know if I'm the only one to think that but it might the word dammed I find out of place.

Hay, I did not know whatelse to say. Shrewd? Sensitive? I was not sure. But you felt it right. When I was making corrections on that sentence, the illusion of ‘him’ hit me at the time. Seemed I have lost my control for a minute. Anyway.

Thank you!

I love the imagery in it, the references to the wind. Very nice!

Ashlea, you are so nice to me. I thank you for that!

Hi watercrystal,
…
Hope you do not find my approach here critical or discouraging. The piece is not finished, right? I always think writing is never finished. At some point, you just say, that’s it. You might find yourself writing a long poem with this, some of the language feels that way to me. Well done and keep at it!
Novella

Dear Novella, your openness and sincerity almost made me feel guilty about the awkward comment I had given to you. The comment you gave was completely not at all discouraging, but very enlightening. I appreciated your being critical since I can read the honesty between the lines.

So glad I have the chance to read this before you take it away! It’s a brave thing to share one’s writing, something not everyone can do. It took me a long time to get over self-consciousness about that. I used to get on the verge of tears in writing groups because I would write these emotional things and feel so exposed! …

I have been impressed by your very clear and strong self-confidence since you were on the bookforum. I really had no idea that it was not easy for you either. Thanks for telling me this. (but you wrote so well that sometimes as reading your posts I said to myself, ‘I will never arrive there’. Or ‘when I can write that well’… etc, etc.).

If this were mine, I would play with it. First, I would try to get further into the first-person (dead girl) point of view and try to erase all traces of the other person’s viewpoint (like the idea of him trying to bring her back), because how can she know what he’s thinking and if she spends her time here guessing, then the reader loses trust and involvement in the voice. It seems to me that she is affecting him like the wind, that her physical presence is windlike, and that is frustrating for her. Also that she has emotional pain, not just frustration. Go there.
Also I would give the physical scene some unique details. What you have is a guy crying, the wind,, the grave. That’s why the apple is so wonderful. It’s unique and unexpected and colorful. Can you do that with the whole scene? What does the gravestone look like, what does it say, are there other graves near it, are they family graves, is there a tree, are there other people nearby? Does the windgirl feel comfortable there, uncomfortable, does she have choices or know what has happened? Like that. I want to see more. That’s a good thing!

*nods head* That is as constructive as enriching!

 

[Crystal]

Leave it on here please...
want to read again when I have more time... should be left for others anyhow... x

Delta, it would be unreasonable if I still go ahead to delete it. Since many of you are so lenient and genuine to me.

Thanks!

 

[Irene Wilde]

Sorry, this bronchitis is kicking my ass, so I was sofa-bound last night. But here quickly is the dream:

I was wandering a sort of post-apocalyptic landscape, a wasteland of ruined buildings, burnt-out cars, piles of garbage and debris. It was late in the day and I was looking for shelter for the coming night. Standing atop a heap of rubble I was momentarily caught in the beauty of the sunset, despite the ruin all around me. Behind me, a man approaches. He is very tall and powerfully built, wearing a long black cloak with a hood that hides his face. I do not know him, but I don't fear him. He stands close behind me as the sun sinks below the horizon. He puts his arms around my waist and lean back against him. We may become lovers, I don't know, I only know it feels good to rest and share this moment with someone. I look down at his hands encircling my waist and I see that, despite the fact that his chest feels very solid against the back of my head, the hands are only the bleached bones of a skeleton. Still, I am not afraid. Whatever he his, he will not harm me. If he is death, then death has come to be as a lover, and moment is very peaceful.

Irene Wilde

 

[True@1stLight]

Lol, Hope you feel better soon!

 

[lahondas]

i was dreamedi was in a box to, it was dark i was so sad, but i realized its becuase in real life, i was not free, i was so couped in my home, and i couldnt go out and do much. i realized i needed a vacation.

 

[Crystal]

i haven't dreamed a dream of my death yet. in fact, there should be some twists in what i have written down. but sadly, i have failed.

 

[Crystal]

Sorry, this bronchitis is kicking my ass, so I was sofa-bound last night. But here quickly is the dream:

I was wandering a sort of post-apocalyptic landscape, a wasteland of ruined buildings, burnt-out cars, piles of garbage and debris. It was late in the day and I was looking for shelter for the coming night. Standing atop a heap of rubble I was momentarily caught in the beauty of the sunset, despite the ruin all around me. Behind me, a man approaches. He is very tall and powerfully built, wearing a long black cloak with a hood that hides his face. I do not know him, but I don't fear him. He stands close behind me as the sun sinks below the horizon. He puts his arms around my waist and lean back against him. We may become lovers, I don't know, I only know it feels good to rest and share this moment with someone. I look down at his hands encircling my waist and I see that, despite the fact that his chest feels very solid against the back of my head, the hands are only the bleached bones of a skeleton. Still, I am not afraid. Whatever he his, he will not harm me. If he is death, then death has come to be as a lover, and moment is very peaceful.

Irene Wilde

wow, seemed like a fragament film scenario. Beautiful+scary!
and also this reminded me of the first page of The Gravity's Rainbow

Thank you for puting down here.

best regards,

 

[Wabbit]

I liked it a lot. Keep on writing

 

[nighthawk]

Hi! I liked this. I could feel the frustration, could picture the man at the graveside. the wind.. and her .. 'coiling around him', the awareness at the end.. .

 

[Eugen]

Hey watercrystal,

First and last two paragraphs are very beautiful; you got the bones there:

I saw I was dead, locked in a black box, descending into infinity...
A wail of wind, a wetly wind. And a red apple on the grave stone.

 

[Crystal]

I thank you, very sincerely.. all of you made my last night of 2004 a sweet and warm one. we had the snow as deep as 20cm yesterday!

Wish you all, a very happy and healthy 2005!

watercrystal