tonic
Well-Known Member
I haven't written a short story in a long time, because I've been preoccupied and because poetry has been my newfound pleasure. However, I love to write and I've given it another attempt. This is the beginning of a short story I've started to write, please read it and tell me what you loved or hated. Grammar, plot, character...anything heh. Thanks.
The sweeping sound of the river played in the distance. Like an instrument embodying nature, its lulling and serene song enthralled me. I could not see the river, I could only hear it. In all my years visiting this place, I had never been able to enter the forest and experience its beauty first hand. I made due piecing together the memories of others, and now it seemed as if I constantly frequented that wilderness in my mind.
The forest surrounding the ancient home was large and stretched far. Miles upon miles of trees inhabited it, standing like sentinels constantly on guard. The sheer magnitude and raw nature of the place seemed archaic. The tall oak trees cast shadows as the last vestiges of light dissipated, and darkness approached.
“You used to hate it here, you know,” her voice brought me back, grounding me to reality. “She didn’t leave this all to you without reason,” I could almost see her, sweeping her arms in the air encompassing the forest and the house behind us both. I hadn’t heard her approach; she could always be stealthy when she wanted to be, “I think in the end, she realized how much coming here meant to you.”
Each of her words hurt. All of them reminded me of why I was here, and what I would be missing. I didn’t say anything; I just stared ahead into the darkness of the forest. She knew I wasn’t going to speak to her, she knew I wasn’t ready, maybe that’s why she didn’t put more effort into the conversation. Instead, she walked away, back through the garden and up towards the house, where the mourners all gathered in preparation for another session of communal commiseration.
They all sickened me, those beady eyed men and women who shook my hand and pretended to know how I was feeling. They gathered around me like a pack of wolves surrounding carrion. It was like some game where whoever could succeed in showing the most sympathy was the winner. It all disgusted me. I’d rather it was me and my sister, no words needing to be said just us sharing the hurt together.
The river called to me again; its sound was so surreal, so…eternal. I couldn’t think of anything but my own mortality and the mortality of others. Death now seemed like such a possibility, only because after all that had happened, it was truly as inevitable as it had always been.
I stood on the edge between a beautifully mowed lawn and the brambles of a forest, wanting to crawl into its depths but afraid. The forest exuded loneliness, a barren wasteland that mirrored my own feelings, but it was inconceivable to join the bestiality that man had abandoned in the evolutionary process. I hated the hustle and bustle of city life, but to gamble to that extreme was terrifying, enticing, but terrifying.
It was this new frustration that finally pushed me over the edge. It was almost completely dark outside, the crickets had begun to sing, twilight had taken reign, and I began to cry. The frustration of the past week, the deaths, that every-present loneliness, it all pushed in. Everything seemed darkened somehow when I thought about it, and I couldn’t stop. It felt as if someone was pulling me down, and I just kept sinking. The tears came hotly, searing my eyes as they poured down my face. Closing my eyes did not help as my temples burst into searing pain. My face was flushing and my breath came in gasps, trying to escape a throat constricted in grief. The lush earth, crisp and cold at the onset of night, met my body as I tried to control the uncontrollable.
Their faces seemed to taunt me, dangling in front of open or closed eyes. These were the faces of my family, and it hurt not being able to picture them with smiles, but in expressions of dread or fear. My memories were filled not with loving experiences, but with those brief moments of argument or hate that encumbered our relationships.
I did not hear her again, but it was the warm touch of my sister’s hand, ever maternal and protective, that began gently wiping away the tears; grounding me once again. It was that sweet loving caress that banished the appalling memories of the deceased.
I found myself closer to the forest then I’d ever been, right under the eves of the trees, rocking back and forth as my sister rubbed my back, much like our mother used to. It seemed that I had moved closer to the forest when I began that dirge of loneliness that was my weeping. We were both immersed in darkness, yet I would be able to recognize my sister anywhere. It was finally then that I could no longer hold it. “I can’t,” I croaked, the first words I’d spoken in days.
My sister’s hand tensed in shock, my spoken word had shaken her. Even I could hear the utter despair in my voice. Her hand continued rubbing my back, more fervently then ever, “Shh,” she said, “I know it’s hard, I know, I know” Like a lamentation to death itself, she took up both words and repeated them over and over in my ear until finally a calm settled. It was this commiseration; this knowledge that she was still here that finally ended my tears.
I felt empty and hollow. It was not two days since the attack. Not two days since I lost my mother, my father, and also my grandmother. In nearly a heartbeat, I had lost the majority of my support, my love, my raison d’être. I had succumbed to the sorrow and darkness that had threatened these past few days, and I was drained. My heart had been broken, my soul torn and shredded, and now after the dust had settled, I was finished, and I think that’s what scared me the most.
The sweeping sound of the river played in the distance. Like an instrument embodying nature, its lulling and serene song enthralled me. I could not see the river, I could only hear it. In all my years visiting this place, I had never been able to enter the forest and experience its beauty first hand. I made due piecing together the memories of others, and now it seemed as if I constantly frequented that wilderness in my mind.
The forest surrounding the ancient home was large and stretched far. Miles upon miles of trees inhabited it, standing like sentinels constantly on guard. The sheer magnitude and raw nature of the place seemed archaic. The tall oak trees cast shadows as the last vestiges of light dissipated, and darkness approached.
“You used to hate it here, you know,” her voice brought me back, grounding me to reality. “She didn’t leave this all to you without reason,” I could almost see her, sweeping her arms in the air encompassing the forest and the house behind us both. I hadn’t heard her approach; she could always be stealthy when she wanted to be, “I think in the end, she realized how much coming here meant to you.”
Each of her words hurt. All of them reminded me of why I was here, and what I would be missing. I didn’t say anything; I just stared ahead into the darkness of the forest. She knew I wasn’t going to speak to her, she knew I wasn’t ready, maybe that’s why she didn’t put more effort into the conversation. Instead, she walked away, back through the garden and up towards the house, where the mourners all gathered in preparation for another session of communal commiseration.
They all sickened me, those beady eyed men and women who shook my hand and pretended to know how I was feeling. They gathered around me like a pack of wolves surrounding carrion. It was like some game where whoever could succeed in showing the most sympathy was the winner. It all disgusted me. I’d rather it was me and my sister, no words needing to be said just us sharing the hurt together.
The river called to me again; its sound was so surreal, so…eternal. I couldn’t think of anything but my own mortality and the mortality of others. Death now seemed like such a possibility, only because after all that had happened, it was truly as inevitable as it had always been.
I stood on the edge between a beautifully mowed lawn and the brambles of a forest, wanting to crawl into its depths but afraid. The forest exuded loneliness, a barren wasteland that mirrored my own feelings, but it was inconceivable to join the bestiality that man had abandoned in the evolutionary process. I hated the hustle and bustle of city life, but to gamble to that extreme was terrifying, enticing, but terrifying.
It was this new frustration that finally pushed me over the edge. It was almost completely dark outside, the crickets had begun to sing, twilight had taken reign, and I began to cry. The frustration of the past week, the deaths, that every-present loneliness, it all pushed in. Everything seemed darkened somehow when I thought about it, and I couldn’t stop. It felt as if someone was pulling me down, and I just kept sinking. The tears came hotly, searing my eyes as they poured down my face. Closing my eyes did not help as my temples burst into searing pain. My face was flushing and my breath came in gasps, trying to escape a throat constricted in grief. The lush earth, crisp and cold at the onset of night, met my body as I tried to control the uncontrollable.
Their faces seemed to taunt me, dangling in front of open or closed eyes. These were the faces of my family, and it hurt not being able to picture them with smiles, but in expressions of dread or fear. My memories were filled not with loving experiences, but with those brief moments of argument or hate that encumbered our relationships.
I did not hear her again, but it was the warm touch of my sister’s hand, ever maternal and protective, that began gently wiping away the tears; grounding me once again. It was that sweet loving caress that banished the appalling memories of the deceased.
I found myself closer to the forest then I’d ever been, right under the eves of the trees, rocking back and forth as my sister rubbed my back, much like our mother used to. It seemed that I had moved closer to the forest when I began that dirge of loneliness that was my weeping. We were both immersed in darkness, yet I would be able to recognize my sister anywhere. It was finally then that I could no longer hold it. “I can’t,” I croaked, the first words I’d spoken in days.
My sister’s hand tensed in shock, my spoken word had shaken her. Even I could hear the utter despair in my voice. Her hand continued rubbing my back, more fervently then ever, “Shh,” she said, “I know it’s hard, I know, I know” Like a lamentation to death itself, she took up both words and repeated them over and over in my ear until finally a calm settled. It was this commiseration; this knowledge that she was still here that finally ended my tears.
I felt empty and hollow. It was not two days since the attack. Not two days since I lost my mother, my father, and also my grandmother. In nearly a heartbeat, I had lost the majority of my support, my love, my raison d’être. I had succumbed to the sorrow and darkness that had threatened these past few days, and I was drained. My heart had been broken, my soul torn and shredded, and now after the dust had settled, I was finished, and I think that’s what scared me the most.
