Leviathan

Gris comes face to face with an old legend of his youth

“Are you sure you brought enough underwear?” My mother asks from the front of the car, holding onto my father’s right hand as he makes his way down the interstate.

“Mother I - ” I’m interrupted by my sister’s giggling next to me. Underwear is such a fun word to her. My eyes pass over her, her preteen-early puberty charm. Dark hair and golden skin, things she inherited from my mother.

“Rosa,” my father says to my mother. “He’s fine. Whatever he forgot is on his own conscious isn’t it boy?” I see his eyes flash to me from the rearview mirror, and then he checks traffic and changes lanes.

I nod to him, although I doubt he sees it, and then looks at my mom’s curly mass of dark hair. “I’ll send you a letter if there’s anything I need.”

Her laughter fills the car, warm and booming. “Mi hijo, that’s not how it works. I’m not your maid to send you things at your beck and call. You’re eighteen now.”

“Then when am I going to drive myself?” I respond without missing a beat.

“Next week, after I pick you up, like I told you.” My father says.

“You can have your car after we release you from our parentage.” Mom’s voice follows my father’s. It’s condescending but warm, joking.  

I follow their words with a humming, my fingers drumming on the window and watching as a forest looms into view. Beyond it, behind the forest, is Mount Sallin, which is the tallest mountain for hundreds of miles. It’s a constant view from the camp. Camp. My mind repeats the word over and over again. The drumming of my fingers gets longer and louder.

--

My parents dropped me off at Head Quarters, which is a brick two-story cabin right at the beginning of the valley. They would’ve followed me after I met the director, found my assignment, and moved on but I didn’t let them. No, I didn’t see a single soul here so I wanted to make friends with the woods I had spent the last ten years amongst. My sister would come here like I had as a youth in three weeks.

My fingers grazed the bark of an old worn oak near HQ that is affectionately known as Grandpa. It’s rumored that long ago, when they were building this establishment, that this tree was the cornerstone for the entire setup. It’s the place where Directors take their inauguration speech. Where all the camp photos are taken. On every piece of merchandise a red creek - the namesake of the camp - flowing next to an oak trunk, that of Grandpa.

Grandma, counterpart to Grandpa, is a spruce tree at the opposing end of the field.

I make my way up the worn gray brick stairs. My bags, neat but already disorderly from being away from my mother’s grasp, tucked to the side. I do not need to carry my luggage with me wherever I go.

When I enter the building, a man is sitting at a desk. He’s drumming his tongue to the roof of his mouth, a usual air of rushness to him. He can never get anything done because he always adds too much to his plate. Always working, always busy. Probably going over youth registration, or something of the like. He doesn’t notice me when I enter.

I make myself known. “Leviathan - ”

“Please call me Ryan.” He says when he finally notices me, jumping up to shake my hand with a smile on his face. I’ve once heard the term Jack Russell Terrier, people with relentless energy. He is one of those people.

I cringe when he tells me this, mostly because I’ve grown up with him as Leviathan. It wasn’t till a few months ago that I learned his real name, and have ever since wanted to forget it. “Yes, sir.” I smile, first at my shoes then at his face, “I’m not sure if you remember me - ”

“Josh Mathers, a camper for the last ten years.” His tongue goes to his teeth in a smile of recognition. “Of course I do. I’d be stupid not to.” I smile shyly at that. “But I understand your camp name is Gris. Why so?”

“My mother’s name is Rosa, and it’s been a long tradition for each of my siblings to be called after a color. My sister’s name is actually Azul, but me and my older brother go by Gris and Rojo, respectively.” These lines have been rehearsed in my head for the past month.

“Ah yes of course,” he says, and retreats quickly to his desk looking for files of some sort. In my ten years of knowing him as staff I still do not understand how his brain works.

Leviathan started the year before I started coming as a cook. He was that for two years, then did counseling for four. For another two he was the waterfront director. Then for one year as assistant, before moving onto full-on director last year after the director of twelve years, Gazelle, retired. He’s always been an inspiration to me, but I never had him as a counselor.

I never had any of the greats.

That was until…

My fingers begin their drumming again, eagerly awaiting to get out of here and onto my next assignment.

“Where do you want me to put my things?” I ask, almost blurting.

He looks up at me for a second, studies my face, then a map. “Whitetail unit. You’re actually only the second one here so you get first pick of your cabin.”

“Oh who’s the first?”

“A freshie - ” the term that is used when someone wasn’t a camper before working here “- called Tigger, in Hickory Falls.” Leviathan looks at his watch, “be at the lake in two hours.” He says to me, dismissing me and resuming his work.

As I’m leaving I hear him call out to me, “oh and Gris? I hope I made the right choice about hiring you.” I find out later in the year that he said this to everyone.

--

Whitetail unit is on the western side of the camp, up against West Ridge, which is appropriately named. Camp Red is on the northern side of the Chalachala forest. It’s located in a forest canyon, with two ridges sweeping on either side. In the south, where the camp boundaries begin, both ridges come within a hundred feet of each other. To the north, where the forest sweeps down exposing a wide range of visible distant plain, the canyon veers aways and fades. From the amphitheater, which serves as campfire, Mount Sallin is visible.

I reach the unit within ten minutes. Unlike most people, who would pick the closest cabin to the road, I pick the one closest to the ridge. From my bed is a view of the cliff-face.

Whitetail unit was once a clearing where whitetail deer often gathered. It’s flat and spread out, and still retains some clearing aspects to it. However, fern fronds, blackberry bushes and spruce trees now litter it. I can see the sky from my window, but it’s only roughly 30% if my view, obscured by trees.

Of course, I’m not really focused on the sky but rather at the ridge. Neatly I pack my stuff into my bedding, check the clock, and walk to the ridge.

My hand goes on an invisible threshold. Eyes looking up at the deep green trees high above me. Studying them, memorizing their branches and pinecones.

When my eyes fall back onto the muddy stone in front of me, eyes stare back at me. They’re eye-level to my own, deep brown and warm. Golden, almost red-looking skin. Broad features, long black hair that reminds me of my mother’s. These eyes are all-knowing, neutral but fearful.

“You.” The words are hissed, and they take me by surprise. I did not know the forest could speak. And I didn’t know it would sound like honey, either.

Reviews

[JCat]

So if you haven't figured it out, it's Lily. And I'm just going to be honest and blunt because I do that for everyone else.

As always, I deeply apologise if my blunt review offends you. The greatest dishonour I could insult you with would be to lie. However, I do always try to focus on the positive as well as what needs improved. Remember, take on what's useful from my review and throw in the trash what isn't.

Detailed Read Through (This is usually more critical than complimentary. If I don't have a lot of time, or the piece is longer than 1000 words, then this part can be not-so-detailed):

Usually I'm picky on opening lines and whine like a lil b***h if you have anything less than an utter mystery. But this one I like. It doesn't have that sense of mystery about it, but it does open us right into the scene of family and serenity.

I think instead of using the word "her" at the end of "Underwear is such a fun word to her" you should use something like "a twelve year old" because you will be using "her" again in the next sentence.

And speaking of the next sentence, I think you should remove the "her, her" to "her". I get what you're trying to do, stagger it and make "her preteen-early puberty charm" a different section of the sentence, but I don't think it quite works. If you still want to keep the effect use maybe "her, and her" or something like that.

"[[name]] had dark hair..." rather than just putting the description without a pointer to it. Yes, it's implied the description is about the sister, but it takes the story out of obscure poetry and into a flowing story.

"conscious, isn't it boy?" perhaps? with the comma?

"and then look" rather than "and then looks" or even better, use "and then I look"

Sentence "In every piece...that of grandpa" is a little confusing. Make it clear that "a red creek" refers to lettering on the merchandise, and using the word "flowed" instead of "flowing" might sound a little better.

Again, a little cleaning up of the sentence "I've once heard...relentless energy" I think taking out the comma and using the phrase "used to describe" would make it flow a lot better, now it seems stagnated. Like notes.

"found out later in the hear" rather than "find"

make a new line before the last two sentences.


Overall Analysis:

This is lovely. God I enjoyed it. Not too long, perfect length for what your describing. Good solid characters, and obviously your using your personal experience at camp in features of this story.

Wonderful twist at the end. I was expecting a calm and neutral ending but now you've spiced it into something that can continue onwards. Something I'd like to read.

Your description is good, especially of people. Got a nice American feel to it, which is obviously foreign to me. However, it's something that you do quite well in general.

Now, the main problem with this piece was that it was confusing. Sometimes you jump tense's without good reason, and you are missing some words of basic description which I've highlighted in my detailed analysis above. However, why this is such a big problem in this story is because of the genre. This is young adult and a 'camp' story. Most people reading this will be expecting an easy-to-read story. However, when you're writing about your more obscure genre's (like the greek gods/judas ones), that kind of style is tolerated better. Because the people reading it are edgy.

Also, since you've got a big background in poetry, I don't think that would help when it comes to the confusion thing I'm bringing up here. This style you could totally get away with in poetry.

However, this is overcomeable! Once you go through a few times and edit it, there's nothing stopping this piece from becoming perfect.

8/10