A little something I wrote. (SF/Romance)

[worldofmutes]

She stared up at the stars tonight and told herself with all of her heart that she doesn’t love him anymore. She’s told herself this so many times under these same, troubled stars. Nothing he did could make her love him, not for all the of stars in the milky way. His problem was that he couldn’t accept that, never could see himself for what he really was; beneath the surface of his innocent veneer, he was boisterous, immodest, beseeching. He knew too, that he couldn’t love a sick woman, and the more he tried to love her sickness, the sicker she became.

So while the stars shimmered beyond the zenith, casting in it’s path a parabola across complex webs of dense vacuum and reaching the threshold of her eyes, she relented that, Yes, I did love him, once. She could never have loved him again, no matter. Seemingly, it was a long and sinistrous path to one anti-climax, a sort of overhurling of antipathy. No, there was nothing there.

Like the stars in the vague outline of deities, he struggled to grasp their shapes, and the shape of things to come. Things that the Gods had foreseen. It wasn’t practicable for him to finally understand that, not a soul loved another uninhibited, eschewing all conditions of self- and self-less fulfillment. For love to blossom, it must have been under a star, it must have been fated truly.

What did I do wrong? He asked, over and over again, but only the cockroaches could bare witness to his pathetic charade. Certainly, he knew; for it was always there from the beginning. No, he was a petulant child of abandonment. He knew the fortune, and not the substance. Wasn’t it he, the very curator, who diminished in his own eyes the suitors he might’ve claimed, had he been compelling, arresting? Had he neglected pursuit of serenity for a proud and obsequious quest for purpose? His beliefs about the world would forsake ritual, custom, gallantry. All that was to be done was to obliterate his opposition- fear, a landscape of anxieties within: overcome fear, be courageous, and create madness within a vessel of iniquity.

Kinship never meant throwing all cards on the table; it was never meant to compensate for identity. The love he felt for her became his very identity, enraptured and embraced between a reckless game of wit, and malice; without the fruition of his epodes, he would just be another failure- yet, it didn’t bother him. What bothered him most was the belief that he would never know the love of a woman again; for underneath the posterior is an insufferable itch- some caustic displacement that begs him, please- somebody love him. Even a father couldn’t love a son who lived indiscriminately for unconventional morals.

The reason she sits in the light of her stars is that, perhaps she has found a new intrigue; someone who knows his value, a man who doesn’t bite off more than he can chew. Actually, a man who can, in fact, chew, with his mouth closed! The pressure of his touch, the force behind his words. The pull of his eyes. It never mattered to her what he had been through for her, it only mattered that he would stand for something, something that wasn’t her.

Feelings recede like an electric bulb burning out. Our heart’s marrow shapes whom we choose to recognize as lover’s and admirers. No matter what they tell themselves, she is beautiful; more beautiful than the stardust of Perseus. And he was not beneath her dignity, in other words- he stumbled upon her, fell into her, and she rejected his advance. She deserved the kingdom, it’s castle, and all of it’s cavalry. Something he could have given her, once. If love can’t blossom naturally, than neither can reality. And so the story goes…

 

[AnRoinnUltra]

Good work @worldofmutes , I'm not the right person to give you a proper critical breakdown, and the only technical thing that stood out of place to me was:

Seemingly, it was a long and sinistrous path

The 'seemingly' bit seemed odd -it might be better to leave out that word.
I like what I've seen of your work in the micro competition stuff and the previous audio story -it reads to me like a sort of literary jazz, what I mean is even though I don't get all of what is going on it reads well. Was chatting to a writer (unpublished, if that makes any difference) last week. He said ya need to keep in mind the reader is there to discover the story so you should let them know where they are -not to simplify things but just to give background. I coulda done with a bit of that for this piece; maybe a short cover intro explaining who the characters were and what they were up to.

Anyway, take that with a pinch of salt -thanks for the story

 

[Mon0Zer0]

Hi WoM!

A piece that's full of passion and longing with a good smattering of melodrama. I get from this a love of language, poetry and some intense emotion. It's nice to see a writer reaching for pretty sentences.

Purple Prose - Overall, I think it would benefit from reigning it in a little. You want to make sentences that convey the sentiment without appearing too overwrought. Some of the prose is a little too purple.

Telling not showing - For me, there's no real sense of who these people are, the way they talk, the way they act. This would much benefit from being an actual scene with two people communicating. At the moment it reads like exposition.

Time, Genre, Place - As a reader I'm adrift. I don't know where the scene takes place, what specific genre the story is*, or what period this is set in.

* You mention a castle, cavalry only at the end - which I guess is fantasy or historical fiction? Having a clearer grasp upfront helps me to contextualise everything.

Characters - Who are the two people? You talk about Kinship - are they related? What do they look like? What are there mannerisms? Personalities?

I've highlighted a few sentences below:

She stared up at the stars tonight and told herself with all of her heart that she doesn’t love him anymore.

This sentence struck me as a little odd. It seems a bit contradictory to tell someone with all your heart you no longer love them, as it implies a lack of heart.

She’s told herself this so many times under these same, troubled stars. Nothing he did could make her love him, not for all the of stars in the milky way. His problem was that he couldn’t accept that, never could see himself for what he really was; beneath the surface of his innocent veneer, he was boisterous, immodest, beseeching.

There's an awful lot of telling going on here - is there a way you can show this by having the characters act it out?

He knew too, that he couldn’t love a sick woman, and the more he tried to love her sickness, the sicker she became.

Mentally or physically sick? Is she dying? Why would he love her sickness - it sounds like he's realising he doesn't love her.

So while the stars shimmered beyond the zenith, casting in it’s path a parabola across complex webs of dense vacuum and reaching the threshold of her eyes, she relented that, Yes, I did love him, once.

I love a good sentence, and your use of language is very pretty, but I'm not sure the sentiment is enough to justify the verbiage. I think you're saying that the light of the stars travelled a vast distance to her eyes - but the conclusion of the sentence does not support the preceding clauses - it doesn't seem to be causally related. Why would starlight make her relent?

She could never have loved him again, no matter. Seemingly, it was a long and sinistrous path to one anti-climax, a sort of overhurling of antipathy. No, there was nothing there.

I think this would benefit from a little less purple prose and making it clearer what you mean.

Kinship never meant throwing all cards on the table; it was never meant to compensate for identity. The love he felt for her became his very identity, enraptured and embraced between a reckless game of wit, and malice; without the fruition of his epodes, he would just be another failure- yet, it didn’t bother him.

You mention his identity - but what about his identity is noteworthy? Who is he? What's his name? What's their relationship?

What bothered him most was the belief that he would never know the love of a woman again; for underneath the posterior is an insufferable itch- some caustic displacement that begs him, please- somebody love him. Even a father couldn’t love a son who lived indiscriminately for unconventional morals.

Think about the connection between the first sentence and the second one. Why would he never love a woman again? Has he done something immoral or scandalous? At the moment I'm confused about what is happening or why this is mentioned.

The reason she sits in the light of her stars is that, perhaps she has found a new intrigue; someone who knows his value, a man who doesn’t bite off more than he can chew. Actually, a man who can, in fact, chew, with his mouth closed! The pressure of his touch, the force behind his words. The pull of his eyes. It never mattered to her what he had been through for her, it only mattered that he would stand for something, something that wasn’t her.

It sounds like you've swapped perspective here from her to him - is he trying to work out what she feels?

Feelings recede like an electric bulb burning out.

Using a modern simile in fantasy fiction feels incongruous. What feelings specifically are you talking about? Have they become utterly numb?

 

[bedyak]

It is rare to find emotion like this in scifi. I found it hard to follow as the perspective shifted a little too fast between the he and she. My only suggestion would be to add some description to the characters, at the very least some little foible "she chewed her hair anxiously" or something, to help the reader sort out when she is thinking and when it is he who is doing the thinking. Overall the concept it so universal and you write it so well that it reaches and touches that nerve: Love Lost/ Impossible love. Polish it up with descriptions to transport your reader. My thoughts anyway.

 

[worldofmutes]

Thanks for the feedback everyone!

 

[Please Be Nice]

I think it should be spaced out more and have the characters interacting with eachother as way to show the reader all these things that are being told to us.

 

[Bramandin]

I stumbled at "What did I do wrong" as switching to his thoughts. It seems like a miasma of pretty words about why their relationship didn't work and I'm still not sure what their problem was. I have a feeling that she believed he was a narcissist and he views it as not being good enough in other ways.