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Experiment
I don't even know what the heck this is, I just started writing and finished it in one sitting. Tell me what you think.
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I don't remember the last time I didn't hurt. When my joints didn't ache, my voice didn't break
and crack, like parchment paper, old and stale. Where words once lived, but not anymore. A story that faded before it came to conclusion,
resolution, climax and falling action,
happy ending, walking arm and arm into the sunset. I never liked the sunset. For years I've sat in the front room while it's filled with that red glow as the sun falls down. My back hurts,
my eyes burn. Everything swimming in the red. Drowning in the hellfire and eternal damnation. I stopped going to church after Mama died.
Things just didn't feel sacred anymore.
The sunsets are almost over. I can tell. I'm close to escaping
this circle of hell. And I'm not afraid anymore, of the next one I'll find myself in. See, the priest haven't known anything since Mama died
God doesn't love everyone
But Satan loves the sinner
And I need some love. Not the belt kind of love, metal buckle kissing flesh, or the twisted kind of love
that everybody knows about, but no one will acknowledge.
Some used to stare like I was a monster and others just thought it was natural.
No, I don't care that people are scared of me in the village. And I don't care about the hate and the stories, whispered words when they catch sight of my cabin walking down that road into the gorge. Her mama died, they say, that's when she got strange
stopped talking to people, stopped looking at people
stopped going to church
And then her daddy died, they say, I heard the walls of that cabin are still stained red with his blood.
An uncle came and took her little brothers and sisters, and brought a man who married the witch, and no one was really surprised,
she was always so pretty
except for her eyes,
feral, like an animal's. They were married for a year before he died too. She didn't even come to the funeral, I heard she can't step foot on holy ground. No man has entered the cabin since, the sheriff tried
but she attacked him before he stepped foot inside. So stay away from there, or she'll get you too.
And when the self-righteous churchwomen say I'm going to hell, it doesn't touch me. Because why would Satan punish those following in his footsteps?
It was never about wrong and right, it was never about good and evil. It was about survival. And I have survived this life, and will continue to survive, even once I die.
And so I sit here, and close my eyes
and wait until the sun disappears, and the darkness finaly defeats the light.
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Comment by: onipar1 - 2007-09-25 17:49
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I found the structure intriguing. Really, I liked it, as it took it away from prose and into poetry, in one sense. Also, your language and voice give it a flowing movement too. I thought the language and flow were strong points of this.
Also, I enjoyed how the story seemed to form at its own pace. Little bits of information flying at the reader and combining to make some meaning by the end. The one drawback to this is that for the first half of the story, it felt almost like stream of conscious, with no direction. We get some stuff about light and dark, God and Satan, but none of that story stuff that I thought you did so nicely through the rest of the piece.
Overall, a great little story. I enjoyed it. |
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| I like the structure in this piece. The paragraphing works really well, and is really more like the line breaking of a poem...in fact I've seen 'poems' that are more like chopped prose than this is. A real 'illumination', I'd say. There were one or two places where the meaning got a little fuzzy on the first read through. (I got ' my cabin walking down that road' all joined up to begin with for example. I'd do it as 'when walking down that road they catch sight....'). But a great piece, hinting at lots more than it reveals, and an original piece of writing. Good stuff! |
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| Scotty + Stream of Consciousness writing = Fear. Don't ever ask me to do one of these. No telling what the hell my mind will come up with... |
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| This is one of those streams of thought that becomes something more because of its deeply found attachment to emotion. In other words <cause those are confusing>, This piece is rather jumbled and at times disorienting, but due to its tale and the power of the emotions it invokes, Its confusing nature is outweighed by its connection to the reader. The best pieces of literature, in every form of the written word, is made to guide the reader towards the emotional state they want the reader to feel and then amplify it so they make a real connection with the author. I don't know what emotion this piece was meant to invoke in the reader, but with me it was a mixture of several at an extreme level. Fix those few grammatical errors and you have an excellent piece. I also think dianelayers had a good idea with the possible name for this piece =). |
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Comment by: - 2007-05-30 13:04
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I read it, and as I was reading it, the word Karma, popped into my head. Might be an appropriate name for the work.
I'm not sure of the clasification, but reading it I envisioned gothic, a bit on the suicidal side, undercurrents and almost self defeating, but strong.
That is just off the top of my head and probalby not anything remotly close to what you asked for. Put it together, work it out further, delve into the ideas that are there, each bit and piece. There's a story there. |
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