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Banned
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Originally Posted by tecoyah
Read Between the Lines
The sound reminded him of the reason he had made the phone call in the first place. Decay and brittle disintegration screamed under his feet, as he decided on the best way to say what he felt was needed, without coming off as the bastard he was walking with. Sometimes ego is a really good thing, it helps people become confident, and allows for a certain level of swagger in once timid steps. Unfortunately, it can sometimes corrupt people into thinking they are better than others, looking down upon the “less fortunate” and ready made insignificant.
Thinking back as he tripped a bit on a sidewalk crack, Thom played the comment over in his mind for the fifteenth time in an hour. “If you want something easy to do, you don’t belong here anyway”, followed by the tears and sobs of the new girl in the office. She was naïve Thom agreed, as one would be after 3 days in the field and fresh out of college. This was not the first incident of soul wrenching Bill had induced however, and Thom wanted it to be the last.
As they approached the third bench in the park, they slowed. Thom brushed the dry leaves off the bench and motioned for Bill to have a seat. There was a small , black and yellow caterpillar under the leaves which Thom was careful to relocate to the grass. As Bill sat down Thom reached into his breast pocket, pulling out his billfold, and a few papers, at the same time he removed the 44 magnum, steel blue handgun from the holster under his arm with the other hand. “ What the hell are you doing?” was the only thing Bill could think of to say. Very slowly, Thom opened the billfold and slid his badge out of the well worn leather that held it in place for 32 years. “ I don’t think I belong here anymore, either” he said as he handed the badge, pistol, and letter to Bill.
As Thom walked away, Bill opened the letter to read the resignation letter from the best Cop he had ever known. Tears rained down his cheeks, and softened the leaves at his feet.
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I liked it. It conveys a fair amount of information for a short story, but doesn't really give me an impression of their surroundings or general appearance for me to make a mental picture. I see that you want to hide that they're cops until the badge line, but it'd be good to have some indication of the scenery and their look.
Overall, nicely done. I enjoyed it. 
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Originally Posted by ngdawg
It had been too long since they last saw each other and Therese was surprised at her own calmness as she slowly strolled down the unfamiliar sidewalk.
College was another planet, another life. They swore they would always be together, friends to the end, but it was not to be. Mel wanted the picture perfect life with with the Norman Rockwell house and kids while Therese needed the urgency only a large city could give. Now, as she took in the scenes of this small eastern city, she questioned her own choices. People looked different, they looked happy and real.
Bricks rose and sunk with the growth of old Sycamores. It was a warm spring day and the remnants of winters past were evident in the few decaying leaves in the wet gutters. She took in the scent deeply; the West Coast has no such sweet smell.
A woman came into view and Therese recognized her by her gait. The long flowing hair was replaced by a 'practical' short cut and the shape that she'd envied so much was replaced by years of not caring, but the smile was the same, the walk one of a still content and aware woman of younger years.
"I've missed you so much!" Mel exclaimed as she wrapped her arms around her long lost friend. She linked her arm into Therese's and they turned to head for a leisurely lunch. "I've missed you too", she softly responded.
Therese switched her cane to her other hand and took a deep breath. College was a lifetime ago......
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Lovely imagery, including a great touch with the inclusion of the character's sense of smell, is used to paint a rich picture for me to imagine. It seemed like the story itself was rather short, comparing to how much of the content is description (which IS great). So really, the only "negative" (such a bad word with criticism) note I'd have is that the storyline itself is rather abridged.
Apart from that, it's a story that really captures the essence of the surroundings- which in a short story that's just about people walking outside, is pretty important in making the story come alive. Well done.
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Originally Posted by Yukimura
I feel a new sort of feeling this day, one like I have never felt before. It isn't the excitement, the adrenaline that courses through my veins. No, that's the kind of pleasure I sought before. This time, there's something better. It's a kind of spiritual high. I feel as though I've transcended my mortal woes, reaching on to something bigger. Looking over, I see Dan, walking on the other broken line. He looks back at me, and there's a deep connection. It's as though we smile inside, and see it clearly in each other. Our expressions don't change though, we are entranced. We are staring death in the eye. We are ascending.
"Ascending," said Dan over the noisy traffic. It is as though he's reading my thoughts.
I feel the heat of each car's exhaust, feeling them pass by as though in slow motion. It's as though all the world has slowed down around me. Very aware of the air around me, I almost feel like I'm swimming through it. The cars are all so busy, so determined to meet their schedules, that they cannot even stop when they pass us. In fact, most of them are honking and yelling. They don't even care that our lives are likely to end. A truck swerves, a half-hearted display of concern for human life.
From the back of the overfilled truck, a large pile of leaves comes flying out. It immediately spreads in the air, carried by the wind of the speeding cars. They seem to swirl around me. I am aware of each one. Every single leaf has a place in my mind. I feel, for a moment, a long-lost feeling of oneness. I do not look over at Dan, but I'm sure somehow he's looking at me. I imagine myself in the eyes of another, barely visible through a cloud of swirling dead leaves, crackling in the wind, scraping on the asphalt.
At one point, each of them was a part of a great whole, a simple extension of a grand form of life. Then, they were separated, or more likely, shunned by the grand being they were once a part of. They were each cast aside as an unnecessary burden, and now they were probably being carried off by men to be used or discarded as trash. They don't breathe anymore. They don't feel the sweet touch of cold rain. They are husks of the life that once flowed within them.
I suppose that's what we are too. All around Dan and I are these leaves, green and glowing, full of life, full of purpose. They all know exactly what role they play, and they go on in doing so, allowing nothing to interrupt them. Dan and I, we've lost our place. We were cut off, and there's no way for us to be attached again. We'll never again know the fullness of drinking in the sunlight. All we know is darkness. All we feel is numb.
Somewhere in the distance, I hear sirens. Another tragedy in a tragic world. Someone's being robbed, someone's burning, someone's dying, and one leaf fulfilling his purpose will try and stall death for them. I see the police car coming in the distance. It's lights flash brightly, seeming to cut through the traffic. It seems as though the tree moves its branches aside, all of the individual leaves pulling over to allow this one shining light to pass through. As it draws near us, it slows, and it stops sideways along the road, stopping traffic. As the officer opens his door, I can't help but smile.
"It looks like someone did care after all."
**Edit: Edited to fit a rule I had forgotten. All better now and ready for brutal critique.**
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A nice story, told well. I particularly like the heavy use of metaphor in linking the life and death of the leaves to his own sort of existential daydream. The story is a good length, it didn't seem like it was over quickly or gave a fistful of unnecessary narration.
I could see using a little more description to capture the environment through which these cars are zooming... day or night, if it's hot or comfortable, or if the breeze you discuss is cool, warm, or just blowing around. I was also confused a little at the end; was he hit by a car or in an accident... (what was with the police car)?
A nice story overall, and it's easy to go overboard with metaphors/similes and big words when making deep, contemplative observations, but I think this was a great balance and, as such, came off very genuine- instead of coming off like "the dude who wrote this just wanted to write something deep". Good work.
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Originally Posted by Strange Famous
The good boy and the bad boy were not walking in a wood, but they walked heavily through a covering of dead leaves. To the left, a migraine of traffic shuffled and lurched through the late afternoon; the bicycle couriers weaving in and out of the lumpen buses and creaking black cabs. To right, a coffee shop - American of course; a dark cavern of a pub, a long narrow London boozer already half full; an employment agency that employed only Poles; a cheque cashing place; a single office above full of old ladies who sold sex down the telephone; and on they walked - the good boy and the bad boy. A North wind cut through the calm of the day, sending the dead leaves scurrying like a child's kick from underneath the feet of the bad boy. He smiled to himself, and then frowned again. Dead leaves and city streets... the thing that is life is dying, and the thing that is dead seems to live - electric, gaudy, unhappy and lonely. The bad boy raised his face and saw only frames of people, all hurrying to the same place, all moving in different directions. The bad boy looked across to the good boy, who did not gaze his way, or speak.
"I'm sorry" said the bad boy at last.
The good boy shrugged, looked unhappy, looked unhappier than before. The bad boy quickened his pace as the good boy slowed slightly.
"Always. It was always so" said the good boy, as he reached inside his long old fashioned raincoat.
The bad boy was about ten feet ahead now, head upright, striving, purposeful; never looking back. Moving slowly, but without any hesitation, the good boy levelled his revolver with the middle of the bad boys back, inwardly he shrugged, felt movement to his left, movement away from him, and this was the last thing he knew before everything changed and nothing ever would be the same.
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feel free to comment. I probably made a lot of spelling mistakes and grammar errors, but I just wrote the first thing I thought of down without thinking about it as I went.
edit - shit, now I read the rest of them everyone will just think I ripped off Tecoyah. oh well.
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What you've written fits well into the mold of a "stream of consciousness" writing- something with a large body of itemized details, something to be taken in and digested whole, rather than read as a story. It's a good effort, but it would need some careful attention to make into a short story... since you mentioned that you wrote as you thought, I'm assuming that means it underwent minimal, if any, editing or re-reading. This would need some structure, ways of putting all the good details you've created into a format of storytelling.
While "stream of consciousness" can be a good writing tool in itself, especially to hash out ideas, it's not the best format for leaving your thoughts in, for others' reading consumption. As for the storyline itself, it seems there are details lost either through the format, or the relatively short length of the story itself. I'm left a little confused as to what the scene is really playing out, other than two guys and a gun. Also, naming people unconventional things like "good boy" and "bad boy" works best when the storyline itself supports the playfulness of the names. In this case, your story would be better served with real names.
Just keep in mind: No one writes the perfect story. If you really enjoy writing and want to pursue it further, you're in the same company of every other writer, no matter the current skill level... it's a never-ending learning experience. No good writer ever stops honing their skill. If you feel that you're not on par, don't worry- no one ever stops practicing, and that's what we're all here for.
Last edited by analog; 08-24-2007 at 12:31 AM..
Reason: Automerged Doublepost
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