Agreed re: the criticisms. It’s been reworked (and continues to be) considerably. Thanks for the critique.
Short Story / Fall
When I saw your eyes so suddenly changed, I remembered how, that very morning, I’d stood and gazed at the limp leaves in our driveway, drowning, drifting, piling up to choke the throat of the grid – you know, the one at the mouth of that oil slicked gutter, as they do at the end of a serious rain. I watched, entranced, their clamoring together, as if by intention, in some arrythmic spinning and splintering silence, and I knew it was this day; that it was time to leave again.
They are all so different in character – the leaves, I mean. Sometimes they look ashamed, not knowing that their beauty is indelible because it has existed, and cannot be diminished by their deaths, and that their vibrant, liquid colors are, and will remain, exquisite and victorious to my eyes. I think the one’s who know I love them so feel sorrow too, as if they wished that they could stay and play, perhaps, for one more day; just until tomorrow, when we’d whisper our sweet farewells, and awaken again from the trance. Fluttering down, we’d touch each other’s joy at dusk in our soft descending dance. It is this time again, and I know my role well, when I hold their sacred silence to my heart’s helpless swell.
It’s just Autumn’s passing, same as the last. It seems like it should be expected now. Not surprising or mystical at all. For eons, predictable and cyclical, the seasons, never late and ever simpatico in service to their God, the Sun, are always graciously eager to deliver their bounties; the gifts of themselves being the elements they bring to sustain the life of this Earth, in a deftly choreographed collage of motion, form and substance. I know it’s all very easy to explain by various scientific models.
It would seem very unlikely, and quite hard to believe that any person of sound mind who inhabits this densely patterned world, and understands that every bit of romance, mystery and sense of wonder can be stripped away from a self made myth of a hybrid of woman and season would persist in holding this lie in the palm of her hand. It sounds like it couldn’t really be true that one such person would continue to love and grieve each leaf as new, and could step inside to celebrate the grandeur of these rich and marbled few; every deep red and gold hued life as distinctive as a fingerprint.
All of this would be difficult to believe for most, and even distasteful to some, but it’s different for me, as I am Autumn’s Confessor and her Witness, as she is mine. And every year, as the designated drop of rain tells us when to merge, we weave our minds together and are, for moments, alive as one. It is a gift. Then, of course, as Winter calls (and he can be so bossy), each lone Autumnal leaf, given rain or shine, but always at some predestined time, does fall. I, as I always have, lie prostrate, arms outstretched, trying to touch them all.
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sSeton reviewed Version 1 -
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I definitely like this style—playing with words and their sounds; poetry in prose form. I would actually remove the line “(and he can be so bossy)” because I think it interrupts the flow of your piece (which is what parentheses are for, I know, but you have a nice rhythm going before that.)
I like the juxtaposition of the solid “I know it’s all very easy to explain by various scientific models” with all of the more ethereal themes in this piece.
I read this with each leaf as a person, because the line “not knowing that their beauty is indelible because it has existed, and cannot be diminished by their deaths” is so true of everything (and perhaps because it is innately human to hope one will be remembered after death.)
small grammar error:
“I think the one’s” doesn’t need an apostrophe
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Angela_Kay reviewed Version 1 -
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arrythmic (spelling) arrhythmic
I could see how this could be a poem. As a short story, it is very monotone. I had a hard time staying focused. As far as the spelling and grammar, it’s well written. Maybe it’s just not my type of genre.
Icarus_in_Asbestos reviewed Version 1 -
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Page one:
I really like your opening sentence:
“When I saw your eyes so suddenly changed, I remembered how, that very morning, I’d stood and gazed at the limp leaves in our driveway, drowning, drifting, piling up to choke the throat of the grid – you know, the one at the mouth of that oil slicked gutter, as they do at the end of a serious rain.”
Your words are very poetic and the imagery used really sets the tone for what follows. The dash between “grid” and “you know” slows the pace just enough so that the reader isn’t overwhelmed by your word weaving. Great job.
I really love the alliteration here, by the way:
“in some arrythmic spinning and splintering silence”
You misspelled arrhythmic, though.
Page two:
I am really liking this line:
“every deep red and gold hued life as distinctive as a fingerprint.”
Very nice analogy.
All in all, a very nice prose experiment. Just short of a story, though.
There are a few rhymes that come off a bit hokey, and it could use a few more commas to slow the pace (especially on the second page) but all in all it was enjoyable. Thanks.
Joel reviewed Version 1 -
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This would make a beautiful poem I think. I’m not so sure about the prose though. Your sentences are too long. You also have problems with sentence structure. Mind you, I don’t have nearly as much a problem with long sentences as others (I do love Dickens). It remains however that it isn’t the modern ‘style’, and that matters. I would suggest you give up and make this a poem. The poetic rhythm in the piece is distracting in any event.
Joel.
Context reviewed Version 1 -
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You have a gift with imagery – your description of the leaves and the rain was great. I also liked how you personified the seasons.
I was put off by the long sentences with numerous commas. I also didn’t see a real story arch. It seemed like more of a free write or stream of conscious piece than a story.
sheryl_chpmn reviewed Version 1 -
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My understanding of a short story does not agree with what I have just read. Althought I can identify the topic and concerns of the writer, I would leave it as a prose form. The problem of the leaves changing colors and falling,is beyond the writers controll. There is no suggestions of how I tried to prevent it or correct the situation. There is no real triumph to solving the issue. Your last paragraph just identfies the writer as a joined observe with the leaves.
ckbailey reviewed Version 1 -
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your long and complicated sentences obscure your meaning rather than illuminate it. so i don’t really get your meaning, and despite your occasional lyricism i don’t really feel that compelled to ferret it out. i guess dead leaves just don’t do it for me as a metaphor for…whatever.
gkm32 reviewed Version 1 -
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I’m sorry, but the style seemed much too flowery and over-the-top to me. I’m sure others would like it though. A couple of grammatical suggestions:
“I think the one’s who know I love them…” There should have been no apostrophe in “ones”.
”...from a self made myth…” I would have put a hyphen between “self” and “made”.
MisterP reviewed Version 1 -
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The first sentence goes on forever! I almost ran out of breath reading it to myself.
I think you could do without so many adverbs. ‘drowning, drifting, piling’ is all very descriptive but by using two or more makes it feel like you are making too much of the description.
I realise you are trying to capture a specific moment but it would be so much better if the narrator had a name as with the owner of the eyes that changed so suddenly.
I’m not being facetious, but have you considered trying to rework this as a poem?
PurlDruid reviewed Version 1 -
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I feel like smoking a cigarette, that is, if I did that kind of stuff anymore. This is beautiful and sexy; I’m thinking that you meant it to be that way..?
The rhythm is just perfect. A grand time we had, thanks for the ride my friend..
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