Mirage

A Story by Eugene Conard

In a world gone to hell, a man journeys through the desert.

The horse trots through the desert at a slow pace. Its rider kicks it in the side, telling it to speed up. The horse ignores this command and instead collapses, falling into the white sand. The rider brushes the sand off his coat and looks down at his horse. The horse is thin; weeks of walking through the seemingly endless desert have taken their toll. Skin clings tightly around the horse’s ribs. The rider peers into the horse’s black eyes. Judging by its empty stare, the horse is dying of thirst.
The rider grabs a canteen from his pack and takes a sip. The cold water rushes down his throat, quenching his thirst like heavenly nectar. The rider wipes his chin, grabs his gun, and fires, putting the horse out of its misery. The rider kneels down, pulls out his knife, and starts cutting.
The last time he saw another person was three weeks ago. Deep down, he doubts that he’ll ever see another human being. The desert stretches for a thousand horizons in every direction. The unrelenting wind blows away any footprints he leaves, destroying any trace of his existence.
He takes another sip from his canteen, finishing the last drops of water. He sighs. The last time he was dying of thirst he was lucky enough to come across a man with a horse and several canteens full of water. Back then, his gun had four bullets. Now it only has two. If he doesn’t find an oasis or another traveler soon, he has a feeling that he’ll use one of his remaining bullets.
The rider cuts the horse into slabs of meat and dries them using the sand. He takes what he can; the rest he leaves for the buzzards. Food isn’t something he’ll have to worry about, at the very least. He munches on the horse jerky as he marches through the desert, searching for salvation.
After two days of walking, he sees what looks to be sparkling blue water. He races towards it, ignoring his screaming legs. When he reaches the “oasis” and realizes that it is nothing more than a mirage, he collapses to his knees and starts crying.
He spends the night under the stars, dreaming of raining. In the morning, he sets out again. After a few hours, he collapses. His lips are chapped and swollen. His mouth tastes like sand. He struggles to keep his eyes open. With a sigh, he grabs his gun. He places the barrel on his temple.
He takes one last look at the world. He sees a person walking towards him. The rider ignores this as nothing more than another mirage. He falls deep into unconsciousness before he can find the strength to pull the trigger.
When he comes to, he is lying in a comfortable bed. His sweat soaked clothes are folded neatly in a pile at the foot of the bed. His pack sits by the door of the small bedroom and his gun sits on a small nightstand.
Sitting next to his gun is a large pitcher of water. Without thinking, the rider grabs the pitcher and pours himself a glass of ice cold water. As the water rolls down his throat, he starts to wonder where he is. After downing three glasses of water, the rider grabs his gun and slowly exits the bedroom. He explores the small house, discovering several plain rooms. Finally, he finds the front door and walks out into the scorching desert once more.
An old woman is sitting on a bench, reading an old book and sipping a glass of tea. “Hello dearie,” she says. “Did you have a nice rest?”
The rider draws his gun and points it at the old woman. She laughs. “There’s no need for that,” she says.
“How did I get here?” the rider asks.
“I found you out in the desert and brought you here.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m just a kind old woman, trying to survive in this messed up world. Would you like some tea?”
The old woman hands the rider a glass of iced tea. He begrudgingly takes a sip and tries to ignore how good it tastes. The old woman returns to reading her book. The rider sits down next to her. “Where am I?” he asks.
“My home.”
“Your home?”
The old lady takes a sip of her tea. “You are not the first man to try and cross this desert, nor will you be the last,” she says. “My family and were like you once, weary travelers crossing an endless sea of sand in search of paradise. We came across this oasis a years ago and decided to live here.”
She stands up and grabs the rider’s hand. “Come, let me show you around,” she says.
She leads the rider away from the porch, guiding him to a spring surrounded by trees. “When the seas dried up, this region became a hostile land. My family heard rumors of a paradise beyond the sands. We found this Oasis.”
“There’s an underground well that flows into this spring. I’ve been here for years and it still hasn’t gone dry,” she says. “My family decided that this place was as close to paradise as we could find. We built our house using wood from the trees. We made this place our home.”
“This is amazing,” the rider says. “What do you eat?”
The old woman leads him to the house’s cellar, where tables lined with potted plants sit. Bright lights hang from the ceiling, illuminating the room. Jars of canned meat line the walls of the cellar. “I was a botanist, before the world went to hell,” the woman says. “Over the years, passing travelers have left me with the things I needed to make this garden. Pieces of metal, glass bottles, the occasional seed, you get the idea. It took a long time, but I eventually managed to make this garden.”
“Travelers?”
“You aren’t the first person I’ve ever found passed out in the sand. Every few weeks someone makes their way through here. They never stay long, but they do give me what I need to survive.”
“I grow potatoes, lettuce, cabbage, and a few herbs,” she says. “It isn’t the most flavorful diet, but I manage.”
The rider notices a pot filled with pink flowers. “What’s the point of this?” he asks.
“You’ll figure it out eventually,” she says.
When dinner rolls around, the old woman invites the rider to have dinner with her. She serves him a bowl of delicious soup that melts in his mouth. “This is amazing,” he says. “What’s in this?”
“Cabbage, water, and a certain secret ingredient,” she says.
“Can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“Why did you save me?”
“Because you're a person. It would be a terrible waste to let you die out there.”
The pair finish their meal and the woman leads the rider to her parlor. “This house is enormous,” he says. “How did you build this place?”
“My husband was a carpenter. He put his heart and soul into building this place.”
“Your husband? Is he-”
“He’s dead.”
The old woman sighs. “Johnny was a kind man. Too kind. That’s what did him in, in the end.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“No. It’s fine. Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?”
“There isn’t much to tell. I wanted to get away from the reds, heard about the hidden city, and decided to risk my life by crossing the desert.”
“I have heard that exact story a thousand times from a thousand different travelers. Sometimes men, sometimes women, sometimes children, all chasing that dream. A paradise where the water runs freely. A place where the reds don’t dare visit. A mirage.”
“A mirage?”
“I was like you once. It took the death of my children to realize the truth. There is no paradise beyond this desert. If you leave, you will die. Please, stay with me.”
The pair go to their respective bedrooms. The rider lies in bed. Even though the call of sleep feels so enticing, thoughts swirl around in his head like a whirlwind, keeping him awake. He grabs his gun and sneaks out of his room. Being sure to not make a noise, he creeps into the old woman’s room. Through the darkness, he sees a vaguely human-sized shape lying beneath the covers. He raises his gun and fires.
The gun just clicks. He looks at it, confused. The old woman opens the door to the bedroom. “I took the gun apart when you were unconscious, making sure to leave a few pieces out when reassembling it,” she says. “Not that it matters, of course, judging by the fact that you just tried to shoot a pillow.”
The rider aims his gun at her and fires again. Once more, the gun simply clicks. “You’re a bandit, aren’t you?” the old woman says. “A man who kills others for the supplies he needs.”
“So what if I am?”
“Let me tell you a little story. I was like you once. I heard of the hidden city and convinced my husband and children to come with me. As we traveled, our supplies began to dwindle. That’s when the bandits showed up.”
“I wish I could say that they killed my children,” she says. “That would have been so much more bearable. I attacked the bandits. I killed them. It felt good. One of my children died at the hands of those bandits. The other one died of thirst three days later.”
“My husband forced me to keep going. Then we found this place. This oasis. Our salvation. We built a home here. Then others showed up. My husband, the kind man that he was, invited them to stay with us. Of course, there wasn’t enough food for all of us. Back then, my garden was only a figment of my imagination.”
“Those people killed my husband. They didn’t kill me. Since then, I’ve found a lot of people lying out there in the sand. Trust me, cabbage soup is much more palatable with a little meat in it.”
“You’re probably wondering why your body feels so numb. Remember that pink flower? It’s called valerian. It’s a potent natural sedative. I slipped a little into your soup earlier. Don’t worry. You’ll be asleep, so you shouldn’t feel anything.”
“Wanna know how I know the hidden city is fake? Because, much like this “oasis”, human kindness is nothing but a mirage.”

© 2019 Eugene Conard

My Review

Would you like to review this Story?
Login | Register

Reviews

JayG

Your bio said you’re an aspiring author. And you write well. But there are some issues that will guarantee rejection, if not addressed, and I thought you would want to know.

In this, and the other pieces you have posted, you, the narrator, are talking TO the reader. You’re visualizing the scene, and telling the reader what you see happening in it. In other words, you’re providing a chronicle of events that reader would witness, were they able to see the image you held as you wrote.

But wile the mental image generated the words, the words can’t generate that image in the reader’s mind. And, knowing what CAN be seen is not the same as seeing it. You live the scene as you read it, because the image that gave you the words resides in your head, along with full knowledge of the backstory, the characters, the situation, and your intent for how the words are to be taken by the reader. But the few words of description you provide can’t generate that same image in the reader’s head.

In an eyeblink’s time, a viewer watching the scene live could see the totality of it. In little more than that they know the soundscape, too. But it is truly said that a single picture is worth a thousand words. That would take four standard manuscript pages. You provide ten words: “The horse trots through the desert at a slow pace.” But “the” horse implies that we already know, or at least see what the speaker does. And the term desert can refer to an expanse of sand or baked dirt, so you provide little in the way of setting that’s meaningful to a reader. But shouldn’t the first line provide, or make the reader recall, the necessary context?

One of the problems that comes with outside-in storytelling is that while we write we tend to focus on visual items, and assign the characters dialog and actions as required by the needs of the plot. So if we need smart, the character sees whatever we want him/her to notice. If we need them to miss something to make the plot work they obligingly turn dumb. How can that seem even remotely real? Everyone will speak with your voice and think as ordered to. And the reader will notice that.

And because you are thinking in terms of the visual, and plot progression, the prose is a chronicle of events: “The horse trots…the rider does…the horse does…the rider brushes…the horse is…and after that…”

That’s the format of a report, not a story. Reports are nonfiction, so they’re fact-based and author-centric, as is your posted writing. But in that you have a LOT of company, because it somehow, never occurs to us that every profession and trade requires that the practitioner acquire specialized knowledge and tricks of the trade—including screenwriting, playwriting, AND fiction.

Because we learn a general skill called writing in our school-days, and the name of our profession is Writing, we assume there is some relationship between what we learned and the profession.

If only. Failure to realize that truth is the single most common cause of rejection.

Another thing we miss is that because we begin reading with full knowledge of the plot, the situation, the characters, and the setting, the story will always work well for us. We also have the advantage of being able to hear the emotion in the storyteller’s voice and see their performance. But what does the reader have? Only what the words, and their placement, suggest, based on each reader’s background. So what you mean to say isn’t quite what they’ll hear, because their internal translators are working without knowledge of your intent. Hell, half of your readers will be of a different gender. Many are from a different area, and view words and expressions a bit differently. And they’ll have different preconceptions based on age and tastes in entertainment.

Sounds bad, I know, but put that all aside, because there’s a far worse problem: You’re thinking in terms of plot and action, and explaining the situation to the reader. But readers aren’t with you to be informed. They want you to entertain them by making them feel as if they’re living the story, as-the-protagonist, in real-time. They want to be made to feel what the protagonist IS FEELING, not know if it.

Think of yourself reading a horror story. Do you want to be informed that the protagonist feels terror? Or do you want the author to terrorize you, and make you afraid to turn out the lights?

See the problem? No way in hell can the nonfiction skills our schooldays gave us do that. And we do NOT learn the tricks of writing fiction by reading, any more than we learn to cook by eating.

I’m certain that something like this wasn’t what you were hoping for when you posted this, any more then I was when a paid critique showed me that I had not a clue of how to write fiction. But on the other hand, after a bit of study and practice, I sold the next novel I queried for (Samantha and the Bear), and the next three, as well. You already own the descriptive skills needed, but…

If you’re not aware of the differences between a scene on the screen and on the page, and the elements that make it up; if you don’t know what an acquiring editor looks for in a query, and what makes them smile, can you write one that will please one?

Another artifact of outside in storytelling is that you miss a lot because you’re looking at the events as plot points, while the character looks at them based on their personal needs and analysis. As an example, look at a few events of this story:

• Coincidence is NOT a writer’s friend. The reader will notice, and react badly. You have the nameless protagonist about to shoot himself when he notices the woman. But at the same time, he’s so groggy he faints before she arrives. Given his condition, why would he have bothered to suicide? And given that he’s not seen the trees you mention he was a long way from the oasis, even if it was behind a hill and he’s crossed no hills of the same size that would give him a view of it. How did she get him there? How far could any woman you know carry or drag a 175lb dead weight?

• The woman hands him an iced tea. She has no connection to an electrical grid or he would have followed the wires. So she has no refrigeration to make ice, and the water at an oasis is room temperature.

• No one in their right mind would leave a loaded gun near someone they know nothing about, if for no other reason than that it makes an effective club. She would be holding it, or her own gun, just in case. And HE would notice that, or at least react to the fact that it’s there and she appears to be unarmed. Given what you later say about her, and what she suspected about him…were you her, would you have risked your life by being unarmed while someone you think a monster has a gun? I sure wouldn’t. Had you looked at the situation AS her, knowing the situation as she does instead of as the author, you would have had her act accordingly. But because the plot needed her to be a bit stupid…

• No one who lives by the gun would assume that a pistol that was taken from them wasn’t modified or unloaded before it was returned. Had you looked at the situation as he saw it in their initial conversation, he would, at least, have checked to be certain it was still loaded.

• She wouldn’t have bothered to “modify the pistol,” when she could simply keep it from him till she had reason to trust him.

• He’s been fed, and treated well. You provided no motive for him to want to murder her, especially given that she’s asked him to stay there with her. So that act doesn’t ring true, as presented. But follow that further. She’s sedated him. She can’t know hen he’ll try to kill her, so the little drama when she confronts him would be too dangerous to chance. If too soon he woun’t be sedated and strangle her. If too late, he’ll notice, and have reason to hate her, so she has to kill him. Again, coincidence—in the form if him trying to shoot her at the perfect moment for her to confront him as he goes numb—is not your friend.
- - - - -
My point? That had you written the story from the inside-out, viewing the scene as-the-protagonist, AND as the woman, they would have told you of the points I mentioned.

SO how do you fix this problem? That’s simple. You have the desire, the perseverance and the writing chops needed. But you’re missing the professional knowledge and tricks of the trade of the fiction writer. So add them. And the information you need is as close as the local library’s fiction writing department, or any online bookseller.

Unfortunately, simple and easy aren’t synonymous. It is a profession, after all, and there is a lot to it. Plus, it will take a fair amount of practice till your existing writing reflexes, honed till they feel intuitive, will stop grabbing at the controls to “fix things” and make the writing “feel right.” But it does come. As you learn, there will be more than a few times when you slap your forehead and say, “That’s so obvious. Why didn’t I see that for myself?” And, I think you’ll find the learning fun, like going backstage at the theater. I KNOW you’ll like the result

My personal suggestion is to pick up a personal copy of Dwight Swain’s, Techniques of the Selling Writer from any online bookseller. It is the best I’ve found to date for providing the nuts and bolts issues of creating and linking scenes that sing to the reader into a whole that satisfies.

But as you read that book, allow lots of time for thinking about each point as it’s raised, and practicing it till you own it, and won’t forget it exists in a few days. In my case, I went back and edited everything I’d written for that point, before going on, for every point.

Once you’ve mastered the basics, and have a good feel for what you’re doing, a good book on stylistic issues is Donald Mass’s, Writing the Breakout Novel. And after about six months of using the techniques you’ve learned, go back and read that book again. Knowing where he’s going, you’ll pick up as much the second time as you did the first.

For a bit of an overview of the issues you’ll be covering you might dig through a few articles in my writing blog. But whatever you do, hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/

Posted 5 Years Ago

Your bio said you’re an aspiring author. And you write well. But there are some issues that will guarantee rejection, if not addressed, and I thought you would want to know.

In this, and the other pieces you have posted, you, the narrator, are talking TO the reader. You’re visualizing the scene, and telling the reader what you see happening in it. In other words, you’re providing a chronicle of events that reader would witness, were they able to see the image you held as you wrote.

But wile the mental image generated the words, the words can’t generate that image in the reader’s mind. And, knowing what CAN be seen is not the same as seeing it. You live the scene as you read it, because the image that gave you the words resides in your head, along with full knowledge of the backstory, the characters, the situation, and your intent for how the words are to be taken by the reader. But the few words of description you provide can’t generate that same image in the reader’s head.

In an eyeblink’s time, a viewer watching the scene live could see the totality of it. In little more than that they know the soundscape, too. But it is truly said that a single picture is worth a thousand words. That would take four standard manuscript pages. You provide ten words: “The horse trots through the desert at a slow pace.” But “the” horse implies that we already know, or at least see what the speaker does. And the term desert can refer to an expanse of sand or baked dirt, so you provide little in the way of setting that’s meaningful to a reader. But shouldn’t the first line provide, or make the reader recall, the necessary context?

One of the problems that comes with outside-in storytelling is that while we write we tend to focus on visual items, and assign the characters dialog and actions as required by the needs of the plot. So if we need smart, the character sees whatever we want him/her to notice. If we need them to miss something to make the plot work they obligingly turn dumb. How can that seem even remotely real? Everyone will speak with your voice and think as ordered to. And the reader will notice that.

And because you are thinking in terms of the visual, and plot progression, the prose is a chronicle of events: “The horse trots…the rider does…the horse does…the rider brushes…the horse is…and after that…”

That’s the format of a report, not a story. Reports are nonfiction, so they’re fact-based and author-centric, as is your posted writing. But in that you have a LOT of company, because it somehow, never occurs to us that every profession and trade requires that the practitioner acquire specialized knowledge and tricks of the trade—including screenwriting, playwriting, AND fiction.

Because we learn a general skill called writing in our school-days, and the name of our profession is Writing, we assume there is some relationship between what we learned and the profession.

If only. Failure to realize that truth is the single most common cause of rejection.

Another thing we miss is that because we begin reading with full knowledge of the plot, the situation, the characters, and the setting, the story will always work well for us. We also have the advantage of being able to hear the emotion in the storyteller’s voice and see their performance. But what does the reader have? Only what the words, and their placement, suggest, based on each reader’s background. So what you mean to say isn’t quite what they’ll hear, because their internal translators are working without knowledge of your intent. Hell, half of your readers will be of a different gender. Many are from a different area, and view words and expressions a bit differently. And they’ll have different preconceptions based on age and tastes in entertainment.

Sounds bad, I know, but put that all aside, because there’s a far worse problem: You’re thinking in terms of plot and action, and explaining the situation to the reader. But readers aren’t with you to be informed. They want you to entertain them by making them feel as if they’re living the story, as-the-protagonist, in real-time. They want to be made to feel what the protagonist IS FEELING, not know if it.

Think of yourself reading a horror story. Do you want to be informed that the protagonist feels terror? Or do you want the author to terrorize you, and make you afraid to turn out the lights?

See the problem? No way in hell can the nonfiction skills our schooldays gave us do that. And we do NOT learn the tricks of writing fiction by reading, any more than we learn to cook by eating.

I’m certain that something like this wasn’t what you were hoping for when you posted this, any more then I was when a paid critique showed me that I had not a clue of how to write fiction. But on the other hand, after a bit of study and practice, I sold the next novel I queried for (Samantha and the Bear), and the next three, as well. You already own the descriptive skills needed, but…

If you’re not aware of the differences between a scene on the screen and on the page, and the elements that make it up; if you don’t know what an acquiring editor looks for in a query, and what makes them smile, can you write one that will please one?

Another artifact of outside in storytelling is that you miss a lot because you’re looking at the events as plot points, while the character looks at them based on their personal needs and analysis. As an example, look at a few events of this story:

• Coincidence is NOT a writer’s friend. The reader will notice, and react badly. You have the nameless protagonist about to shoot himself when he notices the woman. But at the same time, he’s so groggy he faints before she arrives. Given his condition, why would he have bothered to suicide? And given that he’s not seen the trees you mention he was a long way from the oasis, even if it was behind a hill and he’s crossed no hills of the same size that would give him a view of it. How did she get him there? How far could any woman you know carry or drag a 175lb dead weight?

• The woman hands him an iced tea. She has no connection to an electrical grid or he would have followed the wires. So she has no refrigeration to make ice, and the water at an oasis is room temperature.

• No one in their right mind would leave a loaded gun near someone they know nothing about, if for no other reason than that it makes an effective club. She would be holding it, or her own gun, just in case. And HE would notice that, or at least react to the fact that it’s there and she appears to be unarmed. Given what you later say about her, and what she suspected about him…were you her, would you have risked your life by being unarmed while someone you think a monster has a gun? I sure wouldn’t. Had you looked at the situation AS her, knowing the situation as she does instead of as the author, you would have had her act accordingly. But because the plot needed her to be a bit stupid…

• No one who lives by the gun would assume that a pistol that was taken from them wasn’t modified or unloaded before it was returned. Had you looked at the situation as he saw it in their initial conversation, he would, at least, have checked to be certain it was still loaded.

• She wouldn’t have bothered to “modify the pistol,” when she could simply keep it from him till she had reason to trust him.

• He’s been fed, and treated well. You provided no motive for him to want to murder her, especially given that she’s asked him to stay there with her. So that act doesn’t ring true, as presented. But follow that further. She’s sedated him. She can’t know hen he’ll try to kill her, so the little drama when she confronts him would be too dangerous to chance. If too soon he woun’t be sedated and strangle her. If too late, he’ll notice, and have reason to hate her, so she has to kill him. Again, coincidence—in the form if him trying to shoot her at the perfect moment for her to confront him as he goes numb—is not your friend.
- - - - - 
My point? That had you written the story from the inside-out, viewing the scene as-the-protagonist, AND as the woman, they would have told you of the points I mentioned.

SO how do you fix this problem? That’s simple. You have the desire, the perseverance and the writing chops needed. But you’re missing the professional knowledge and tricks of the trade of the fiction writer. So add them. And the information you need is as close as the local library’s fiction writing department, or any online bookseller.

Unfortunately, simple and easy aren’t synonymous.  It is a profession, after all, and there is a lot to it. Plus, it will take a fair amount of practice till your existing writing reflexes, honed till they feel intuitive, will stop grabbing at the controls to “fix things” and make the writing “feel right.” But it does come. As you learn, there will be more than a few times when you slap your forehead and say, “That’s so obvious. Why didn’t I see that for myself?” And, I think you’ll find the learning fun, like going backstage at the theater. I KNOW you’ll like the result

My personal suggestion is to pick up a personal copy of Dwight Swain’s, Techniques of the Selling Writer from any online bookseller. It is the best I’ve found to date for providing the nuts and bolts issues of creating and linking scenes that sing to the reader into a whole that satisfies.

But as you read that book, allow lots of time for thinking about each point as it’s raised, and practicing it till you own it, and won’t forget it exists in a few days. In my case, I went back and edited everything I’d written for that point, before going on, for every point.

Once you’ve mastered the basics, and have a good feel for what you’re doing, a good book on stylistic issues is Donald Mass’s, Writing the Breakout Novel. And after about six months of using the techniques you’ve learned, go back and read that book again. Knowing where he’s going, you’ll pick up as much the second time as you did the first.

For a bit of an overview of the issues you’ll be covering you might dig through a few articles in my writing blog. But whatever you do, hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/

Rating /100