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Literature Text
I thought it was a dream.
In torrential rain the ferry pulled up to the dock, buffeted by brown river water and sheets of icy drops. There was no one in its cabin; just a towering black form standing at the back, waiting for me to drive aboard. I was in my old Pinto, the one with the driver's seat that flung forward every time I touched the brake and crashed back whenever I accelerated. The one I hadn't driven in almost forty years.
I rolled aboard, and the ferry started plodding along across a river as vast and flat as the prairies where I'd grown old. The dark figure knocked on my window, and I rolled it down. His head was tilted down, so I could only see the top of his head. He held out a hand, and I gave him two dollars.
"Sorry I'm late." I said, unsure why.
"Forty years is a long time, sir." The man answered in monotone.
"Yes. It was all a misunderstanding, though. An honest mistake."
"When the price is this high, mistakes are not tolerated."
"What do you mean?"
"How did you lose this car, sir?"
It came back to me. The fifth of whiskey, tearing around the hard corner at the end of Main Street, and the headlights of a much smaller car. I broke a few bones, my Pinto was totaled, but I got away without anyone knowing I'd drunk a drop.
"What...what did you mean by a high--"
He gripped my wrist and raised his head. It was shattered--eyeless, toothless, the forehead open and oozing black, coagulated blood. I screamed, I tried to rip my hand out of his grip. But he stared at me, through two dark, empty pits, and he said in the same horribly emotionless way;
"Forty years, sir. That's what you took from me. That's what awaits you across this river. Forty years, and a painful death for every day of it."
I thought it was a dream. But the shore's coming up, and I don't think I'm about to wake.
In torrential rain the ferry pulled up to the dock, buffeted by brown river water and sheets of icy drops. There was no one in its cabin; just a towering black form standing at the back, waiting for me to drive aboard. I was in my old Pinto, the one with the driver's seat that flung forward every time I touched the brake and crashed back whenever I accelerated. The one I hadn't driven in almost forty years.
I rolled aboard, and the ferry started plodding along across a river as vast and flat as the prairies where I'd grown old. The dark figure knocked on my window, and I rolled it down. His head was tilted down, so I could only see the top of his head. He held out a hand, and I gave him two dollars.
"Sorry I'm late." I said, unsure why.
"Forty years is a long time, sir." The man answered in monotone.
"Yes. It was all a misunderstanding, though. An honest mistake."
"When the price is this high, mistakes are not tolerated."
"What do you mean?"
"How did you lose this car, sir?"
It came back to me. The fifth of whiskey, tearing around the hard corner at the end of Main Street, and the headlights of a much smaller car. I broke a few bones, my Pinto was totaled, but I got away without anyone knowing I'd drunk a drop.
"What...what did you mean by a high--"
He gripped my wrist and raised his head. It was shattered--eyeless, toothless, the forehead open and oozing black, coagulated blood. I screamed, I tried to rip my hand out of his grip. But he stared at me, through two dark, empty pits, and he said in the same horribly emotionless way;
"Forty years, sir. That's what you took from me. That's what awaits you across this river. Forty years, and a painful death for every day of it."
I thought it was a dream. But the shore's coming up, and I don't think I'm about to wake.
Literature
In the Syllable
...then there is a way in diswaiting.
Dust some yellow sand covers,
here uncover bare bedding.
...suffusing red planes, blushed dunes,
under incidentally quilted blanket
wet as arid curves, as sounds.
...in a persistent pavement,
in a solemn unsuited promise,
some written words erase
some letters drip and soak
unto a perfuse miracle,
a dislocated split,
a letting go of...
Literature
Love
Kiedy czujesz woń bezduszną utoń w niej,
bo serce potrzebuje tego nie głowa.
Ty nie kochasz tej miłości sercem,
ty jej nie rozumiesz.
Pozbądź się ciężkości,
pozwól sobie na to co najgłębsze.
A dojdziesz do miejsca w którym zrozumiesz...
Że miłość po prostu jest.
Wiersz mojej koleżanki. Pozwoliła na publikację. B.G.
Literature
A Lover of Sorts
A wandering ace roamed far and wide
Hoping to catch some education in stride,
But Western Wedding University, dead set,
Asked her, “Have you found a lover yet?”
She said, “I am looking for one, of course,
But they must only be a lover of sorts.”
“Of sorts?” McVay curiously replied.
The ace only smiled, heart filling with pride,
For he knew not everyone could understand
That all he ever wanted was to hold someone’s hand
And cuddle at sunset on a cold winter’s night
While drinking hot cocoa by the campfire light.
A kiss or two but nothing more,
Anything else he would abhor.
A lover of sorts woul
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It's pretty simplistic, that's for sure. I wrote it in a notebook one night in Vancouver, and came across it the other day.
Feedback's always appreciated.
Feedback's always appreciated.
© 2014 - 2024 SgtPossum
Comments8
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Overall
Vision Originality Technique ImpactI like literature that's simple, especially flash fiction/shorter "short" stories. Though, it still has some mistakes.
The thing that bothers me is how the car plays a part here and the unclear execution/delivery into the story and the other man. The part of the car being "lost" is somewhat unclear because it's clear the car isn't "lost" because the main character is driving his old car, the one he totaled forty years ago. That's a prime example of unclear/muddy delivery of a plot point because the plot point doesn't make sense. Also, the sudden description of the other man ("it was shattered--eyeless, toothless...) also doesn't add anything to the story and the suddenness of that without buildup makes it seem redundant and cliche. It didn't build up suspense well. However, the overall premise of the story is somewhat entertaining. The setting isn't overdone and bogged down with unnecessary descriptions, but rather it's kept plain and simple. Also, another good point is how just enough is left to the imagination to ponder the ending and total outcome, yet not too much that it leaves you needing more information. (TL;DR Just enough to make me wonder, not so little I'm left questioning.)
Overall, it's a nice story. The buildup and some plot elements seem out of place or done incorrectly, but the overall flavor, tone, and the ending make it good enough to want to read it again.