Hai. This is a story. Read it. I'm done. - 4/5/08 EDIT: NOTE: In case you guys don't happen to use the word incipiency every other day, one of its definitions is "beginning". So, its not like I'm so conceited I used my own frikin' username for my story title, it jut means several things to me. No reason to get into that, however. That tale gets boring, and fast. Well then, its been a few days since I've even looked in this section of the CC. Someone posted a comment!! *Dies* Time to put up more story stuff. - 4/17/05 1 Syrem looked into the old woman's eyes, ashamed at the tears he had put there. Ashamed, even more so, at the tears coming from his. He hadn't cried in a long time. He had hoped she wouldn't come home until after he'd left. No such luck. He just wanted to leave his memories behind, let her look if she'd like, believe them if she wanted to. Facing her was harder than he'd imagined. She had aged, and hard. Her hair, like a white fluffy cloud atop her head, face lined with wrinkles, worry lines etched her forehead, crow's feet crinkled her mouth and the corners of her eyes... Deep bags were under those pretty eyes. It even seemed she had shrunk. He had to look down at her and, years ago, he remembered them almost being the exact height. He brought a hand to his eyes, swiped at them once, turned around, and exited her apartment. He hoped she would believe the journals he left her, but how could she not? She had seen his face. He almost fell as he walked down the rusted metal stairs leading down to the street, his eyes still blurring. The man glanced up as he walked down the street to the Industry District. Glancing up at the window, he managed to catch a glimpse of her shadow moving away from that very spot. Syrem faced forward again, like he had done for many years until now, and continued on. 2 A small boy, about eleven, walked along Wilkes' River, named after the boy who had perished trying to cross it years before. This time of year, it was flowing at a steady pace, not the raging river it truly was during the spring, when it rained all the time. The onset of summer was in full swing, flowers bloomed everywhere, and the heavily thicketed area around the river was bursting with birds' song, bees buzzing, and squirrels nut-gathering. The boy had a shaved head, wore a simple cotton shirt and breeches, and carried a long stick in one hand. A well-worn leather satchel was swung over one shoulder. It was too big for the boy, so he constantly was hiking it up, attempting, and failing, to stop it from dragging on the ground. He took a look at the sky above him, and immediately looked down again. Midday, the sun was shining brightly down at him. It was always so bright, and it seemed so close. He sometimes wondered if he could touch it if he were to climb to the top of the highest tree and reach out for it. He was growing tired, and he was supposed to be back to the village an hour before supper, if he were to show his parents the fish he caught. So far, he had only one decent sized one, the others had been too small at his last fishing spot. The boy was hoping to find his favorite spot, everyone's favorite spot, empty. After a few more minutes of walking and bag dragging, he could see the huge rock hanging over the river's edge. No one was on it. Excited, the boy picked up his pace, and made it to the rock. It was twice his height, and long enough that it hung out maybe three feet over the river's width of several yards. He clambered atop it with some difficulty due to his satchel, and then crawled over to the edge of the big rock. He pulled out some string his mother had given him earlier that morning, there were several feet of it remaining, and gnawed off what he determined to be a suitable length. He tied it to the end of the stick, and then realized he didn't have any bait left. He glanced at the fish in his bag. He didn't want to do it. He decapitated the fish, gutted it, and cleaned the nice filets he got from it in the water below him by leaning over the edge of the rock. He threw the head and most of the guts into the water just below him, and then took a piece of the stomach lining and tied that to the end of the string. Already, he could see fish attacking their once very lively brother or sister. He dropped the line down among them, and seconds later pulled up another fish almost the same size as the one he'd just fed to the fishies. Overjoyed, he whacked it hard on the rock, causing it to drop dead, and then stuffed it into his bag. Half an hour later, and with many fish in his bag, he took off his shirt. After gingerly laying down on the rock, letting himself get used to the heat, he put his shirt over his eyes, and decided to catch some sun. There was this older girl who said she liked boys who were tan. The boy thought she was very pretty. He exhaled heavily, and put his arms behind his shielded head, content with the beautiful day, and the fact that he had managed to snag some time to relax. Suddenly, he felt something - a droplet of water - hit the back of his throat. He wanted to move, to figure out what it was, but found that he couldn't. He suddenly felt groggy. Another droplet hit him again, and suddenly he realized that he was soaked with water, and that it must be raining or something. Just then, a stream of water managed to work its way into his mouth. He sat up quickly, spluttering, causing his soaked shirt to fall into his lap, and the puddle on top of it to splash over his already wet body. Rain was falling. It was dark, too dark for it to still be daytime. He must've been asleep for several hours. He was harshly brought back to reality by the boulder shifting forward - toward the river. He looked down in fear, and then noticed the river. It must've been raining for a while, or several of the dams blocking the other streams broke, for the river had swelled to several times its size. It was roaring past him. How the hell had he not woken just because of the noise!? His favorite spot lurched forward, and he suddenly found himself clinging to it for his life. The banks of the river had turned into mud, and the ground was too weak for the rock. It slid into the water with a splash, immediately starting to sink. Gasping heavily, spitting water out of his mouth from the geyser the rock had created, the boy noticed that the rock was starting to drift slowly along with the current. It must have hit bottom already. The large rock hit a higher ridge of the riverbed, causing it to spin 180 degrees. He was now facing the bank he had just recently left. He thought he could make it if he jumped. He slowly released his hold from the sides of the rock, and, careful not to fall, pushed himself up into a crouch. He waited for the rock to quit listing, and then pushed himself up more, getting ready to leap. He tried to steady himself, and shifted his weight a little. He slipped, and fell into the raging river. He went under, water filled his mouth... ... and then Syrem woke up.
interesting to see no one has commented on this yet. I like your use of imagery and the subtle comments you use in explaining your choices. Didn't see many mistakes, but i'd also like to point out your take of the seriousness of the piece with the lack of dialogue. It works, adds an aire of longing and removal. Keep this up.
