Song of Rhiannon

THE SONG OF RHIANNON

Characters:

Powaw-Priest

Askuwheteau-He keeps watch

Mingan-Gray wolf

Kanti-sings

Lady Lydia

Nuna-Moon

“When men yield up the privilege of thinking, the last shadow of liberty quits the horizon.”          --Thomas Paine

            The high plains sung a mournful tune that was heard from every direction.  It was slow dreadful music where the notes were flat and grated on the ear of the listener, as a fly refusing to leave.  However, there was calm in the far reaches of the high plains if one took the time to keep looking onward. 

A traveler under the white sun felt weighted down by the lonesome sound, and was forced to halt the horse that had been the traveler’s most agreeable companion.  A cracked hand pulled back a faded, brimmed hat revealing long shadowy hair.  It rested in a tangled mess on the traveler’s shoulders.  The face that peered from the hood of raven hair was dry, chapped, yet very beautiful.  A woman’s full lips suffered for moisture, while a rounded nose offered barely sustainable sweat.  Eyes were a deep umber that were strained but remained sure.

She had been riding endlessly for over a month.  The scenery never changed; there were only amber dust plains and dry vegetation.  Heat came in a constant barrage that was contained tightly inside of the woman’s jacket, making her body stink like rotting rabbit.  Despite daily discomfort and the threat of heat exhaustion, she refused to discontinue her ride, until that very moment.

The loathsome tune on the high plains was becoming louder and shriller.  With each new day, the music clung tighter to her subconscious like a parasite driving her into madness.  She normally ignored this and continued, but the sounds were becoming too unbearable for her to advance.  She had to resort to something she hated.  From somewhere inside of her jacket, she pulled out a small, metal canteen with small tribal engravings.  After fidgeting with the cap, she untwisted it to unleash a skunk and fire odor that singed her nose hairs.  The woman took a deeper inhale and flinched; it reminded her of her father.  Her head went back followed by the canteen.  Vile liquid burned her tongue, her throat, and eventually her belly.  Slowly, her mind became calm and the maddening tune was dulled in the back of her mind.

A sigh of relief came from her lips.  Once again, she could keep moving.  The horse was willed on by a clicking sound.  It trotted for a little while before it decided to stop on its own.  Frustrated, the woman grunted as she tried to move her companion along.  The animal whinnied back as if to say, we’re not going anywhere until you let me rest.  Hearing her partner’s plea, she grudgingly conceded.

She stood side by side with the horse and pulled out the canteen again, waving it under the horse’s nostrils.  Her companion jerked its head and snorted with seeming disgust, to which the woman grinned.   A bag of oats was pulled from a saddle bag and given to the horse that ate eagerly without further complaint. 

The land was in full view.  After traveling for as long as she had, seeing the same features, she had forgotten to truly look.  The high plains desert stretched on in most directions and the sky was as big as ever.  Evening was closing in.  What just a few moments ago, felt like unrelenting heat, was beginning to give way to a milder air.  Purple from above cascaded down to a deep red that lit the ground in front of the pair ablaze.  The inferno would soon be gone and it would be another night of begging for warmth to stay. 

Surviving the cold was a part of a well-established routine; one the woman had been following for a while.  It was something else that reminded her of her father.  He had flung her into the cold from a young age and she refused to look back.  Yet family remained the reason she rode on.  Somewhere out in the harsh desert there was still someone she loved and it was her hope to find them.

After wiping another layer of sweat from her forehead, the woman placed her hat upon her head.  Under the shade of the hat she scanned carefully.  Carefully trained hunter’s eyes finally pinpointed something they didn’t expect to see.  Amidst the swirling dust was a vertical column of smoke up ahead.  That’s a strange sight, she thought.

She stroked the smooth chestnut coat of her companion as if to coax it into coming with her to take a closer look.  The horse’s hair bristled; its eyes focused sternly on the smoke column ahead.

“There’s nothin’ evil where we’re going, brother.” She said.  The beast responded with a snort. “Not as long as we travel with purpose.”  A swell of music entered her mind and she clutched fiercely at her head.  That awful music, why does it stay with me?  What causes it?  Am I supposed to always suffer or is there danger nearby?  The woman frantically tore off her jacket, lifting the metal canteen into the air before it hit the ground with a thud.  She scrambled for the nectar, the one thing that had given her peace from the horror and loneliness of the desert.  Hands trembling, she grabbed it tightly and quickly imbibed the fiery liquid again.  It stung her throat and she gagged. 

“Ugh, horrible!”  Clutching her sides, she rested on her knees and waited for the music to stop.  She felt a nudge at her back.  Turning around, she could see her companion still at her side.  It nudged her again as a sign of its impatience.  The horse’s head pointed towards the west where the column of smoke still loomed settled in a haze over the setting sun. 

“You’re right, it’s a sign.  I can’t take the chance of not looking for her here.”  She nodded carefully at her companion, grabbed her jacket and canteen, and hoisted herself wearily onto the saddle.  As she secured herself upon her partner, the horse started for the column in a hurry. 

            As the smoke ahead appeared closer, the woman could see buildings.  A settlement way out here?  The horse pounded the ground, kicking up dust as it neared the small town.  The woman reached out to stroke her friend’s mane, whispering in its ear.

            “Easy Askuwheteau, be still my brother.”  The horse began to slow its gallop into a slow walk.  “We don’t wanna’ call too much attention to ourselves here.”  The woman jumped down from the saddle and slowly walked her companion into the center of the town.  There was utter silence.  Not a soul stirred outside the buildings, which were all well maintained and clean.  Wood was not rotting, windows were not broken and in pristine condition.  A single metal water-tower loomed over head, casting a shadow on the pair.  Dust swept across the boardwalks and the wind could be heard blowing a chime in the distance.  

            Storefronts seemed welcoming despite their inactivity.  A squat, sign made from pine had the words Welcome to Verdant carved in bold letters.  She looked in earnest for the cause of the smoke column from earlier.  Just up ahead, outside the town’s limits, a large bonfire could be seen through the swirling dust. 

            Approaching cautiously, the woman noticed a figure standing stoically to the right of the fire.  The figure was a man dressed in garments made from buffalo skin with colors of red, yellow, and indigo laced throughout.  His hair was dark with white streaks in braids.  A multi-colored blanket was draped over his left arm.  The woman looked closely at the man’s face behind the fire.  She squinted and realized she recognized him.  At his side, she gasped as she tried to speak.  The words at last came to her.

            “I know you.”  The man turned his head slowly to acknowledge her.  The wrinkles etched in his skin smoothed slightly.  He nodded.  “You’re Powaw, the medicine man.  You were with my mother.” 

            “It’s been a while since I’ve gone by that name, Kanti.  The woman averted her eyes for a moment.

            “So…you remember me too.”  Powaw bowed his head with a hint of guilt showing. 

            “Yes.” 

The woman sneered and spat.

            “You know what that did to me, what you did?  You let my b*****d father sell my sister!  You stood by like a coward as he threw me out for saying what was right! ”

            Powaw dropped the blanket to the ground, letting the wind torture it.

            “Your father was very ill.  You children did not deserve to be around that.  I cry everyday for what I had to do, Kanti.”

“Such bull-s**t.  I could have taken care of her, me!  And don’t call me by that name anymore.  My name is Rhiannon Edwards.  You’re not the only one who’s had to make sacrifices.” The woman called Rhiannon sneered again and walked away with her companion. 

“I’ve been summoning you.”  Powaw called out.  I know of your journey in the desert and I knew someday you would cross it to search for your sister.”

Rhiannon flashed her eyes at him.

            “Nuna?  She’s here?”  Askuwheteau whinnied and began scuffing the ground with his hooves.

            “She is with the other townsfolk.” 

Rhiannon snickered.

            “Nice try, but as you can clearly see, there’s no one here.  How this place looks as good as it does is anyone’s guess.”

            “There is no one in town because they are all in the Church of Saints on the other side of town.  Today is the rising, a day of atonement for the town’s inhabitants.  There is evil in this place called Verdant.  It may not look it, but a demon lurks here.  It’s a woman.  They call her Lady Lydia.  You must find out, because…your sister is in danger.  That is all I choose to say.  I have been given immunity as long as I do not speak of what happens here to outsiders.  I’ve already said too much.” 

            “Right, whatever you say.  If s**t could talk, it’d sound just like you.  Listen, if Nuna is here I want to find out how I can find her and the one in charge of this place.” 

The expressionless mien of Powaw opened up to one of fear.  His dark eyes widened. 

            “It’s as I’ve said Kanti, she resides in that little church.  She is a demon�"a demon in holy armors.  You must not take her lightly.

Rhiannon ignored Powaw and looked into the eyes of her horse for a moment.  Askuwheteau responded with a low grunt.  No evil, huh?  Rhiannon’s tangled hair dangled over her face as her eyes were drawn to the town in front of her.  The grating tune that had been plaguing crept into her consciousness from some far off place.

             “He drank that cheap whiskey poison, drove himself crazy, and he disowned us.”  Rhiannon murmured.  “I was thrown out of my family, my own tribe.  Not a damn one of you took me in or told me to stay.  The tribe elders just gave me a horse and told me to run.  Now I get in fights, get shot up, an’ wander through the desert with the curse of my father’s vice all ‘cause a sonofabitch like you gave up on me!”  Her eyes became sharpened blades.  “So don’t try and do me any favors by preachin’ to me about another person’s character, especially when you have no reason to.  And Nuna …” She quickly gasped for air which made her ache.  “Jesus.  I’ll be damned if I let some white woman take her from me.”      

Rhiannon reached at her side and pulled out an old Austro-Hungarian Gasser revolver that she had won in a horse race and checked the rounds in the chamber. She glared under the brim of her hat.

“You wouldn’t help us then,” she said.  “And you won’t do it now.”   Shame washed across her face.  “What I do, I do for myself and my sister.  No one else.”

Powaw bowed his head, his eyes sealed tightly. 

            “I see now why you take your mother’s name.  I respected your mother and loved her in spite of her being white.  You remind me…so much of her.

            Rhiannon’s eyes narrowed and she turned away to face the town of Verdant, already trying to forget ever meeting the old medicine man.

****************************************************************************

Askuwheteau’s hoof beats were the only sound through the eerie center of town.  Signs of life included a few vultures flying overhead and what Rhiannon thought was an armadillo.  She looked back, thinking she would still see Powaw standing motionless, but he was no longer in sight and his bonfire had been doused substantially. 

            Rhiannon came upon the church.  It was even more beautiful than the rest of the town.  The white paint of the building glistened under the setting sun.  A spire with a simple wooden cross that sat on top was comforting.  Truly, the church of Verdant was one of the few beautiful man-made sights she had seen in her travels. 

            A sharp ringing echoed through the town.  Askuwheteau panicked and vaulted himself onto his hind legs.  Rhiannon quickly yanked on the reins and the horse moved in a bucking motion. 

            “Brother, settle your fears ‘cause we don’t have time for this!”  The bell rang again with a cry even shriller than the last.  Rhiannon jumped down from the saddle and pulled the horse behind a shed.  In an effort to conceal herself further, she lifted the bandana around her neck and tucked it just above her nose.  Her fingers combed through her partner’s hair. 

            “Quiet now, brother.  If she’s here we can’t make ourselves known just yet.”  Footsteps could be heard in the dirt.  They sounded as if they belonged to one person, but they were quickly followed by others.  When Rhiannon saw the inhabitants for the first time, their feet moved with purpose, but their faces were listless.  Eyes were fixed straight ahead and lips tightly wound.  It would have made little difference to remain out in the open, they wouldn’t have noticed Rhiannon.  Rhiannon tied her companion to a nearby post, reassured him, and walked out onto the dirt street.  

All of the citizens of Verdant wore grey; men with work shirts and pants while women wore modest dresses.  Everyone walked in pairs; men and women, boys and girls holding hands.  As Rhiannon worked her way toward the church, she became bombarded by the town’s inhabitants that collided with her.  She moved through their very precise patterns that caught her like a salmon trying to go upstream in a waterfall.  All the while, Verdant’s citizens stared death in her direction.   

            Rhiannon eyed the street carefully, hoping that a small girl with hair like her own would be walking by any moment.  As the last of the entranced masses entered homes and businesses with doors slammed shut, a silence swept through Verdant once again.  No more footsteps were heard.  The quiet was maddening, and soon music became the only thing inside of Rhiannon.  She grasped for her dependence and swallowed hard before coughing it back up. 

Trying to stand straight, Rhiannon stumbled to the side of the church and looked into a nearby window.  The glass was immaculate enough to see clearly inside.  A simple room of two rows of wooden pews led to a plain altar.  No movements could be seen. 

            Rhiannon slowly ambled to the front of the building.  There was no weight to either of the two doors and they swung open easily.  Wood flooring creaked under boots, which released dust into the air.  A faint burning smell wafted away from the altar.  Leftover sunlight peaked through the glass and graced the top of the pews.  On top of the altar in between two candles sat a white, porcelain basin.  Upon closer inspection, the bottom of the bowl was stained pink.  A damp rag was crumpled there, which gave off an iron odor.  What is this?  Rhiannon asked herself.

            The smell of death was a smell that Rhiannon was no stranger to.  The death of her mother lived in the back of her mind.  Fading eyes and the sound of slowed breathing were nothing compared to the smell of the room when she finally passed.  The room was saturated and soon every pore, every hair, and every inch became saturated as well.  Once again, the smell was with her in the church. 

“Death ran its course here.”  Rhiannon whispered.  “But why?”

            A velvet voice was heard from the corridor.

            “Hello? Who are you?”  Rhiannon felt as if she had several armed men at her back, or at the very least one lone lawman.  But upon turning around, she instead saw a young woman standing just inside the door.  Her face and hair were plain and pale as a white lily with no signs of wear or toil.  Dirt was gone from her hands, which were non-indulgent.  She wore a cloud white, cotton dress that extended down her wrists and up to her neck which led to two hypnotic, violet orbs.  It was the woman in white that Powaw spoke of:  Lady Lydia.

            Rhiannon stood tall on the altar, wiping more sweat from her forehead.  A strange chill pricked her at the sight of Lydia.  Lady Lydia clasped her hands together piously.  A calm breeze was felt coming from underneath the two doors.   The sun was nothing more than a sliver.

“You’ve been here for a while now,” Lydia said.  “Something in this town must interest you.” 

Rhiannon’s mouth opened and closed as she struggled to vocalize.

“You have something I want.”

Lydia smiled pleasantly, but her eyes glinted weirdly.

“So you came…marvelous.”

Rhiannon felt the slight chill grow.  She swallowed hard.

“What?”

“The red man healer prognosticated correctly that a lone rider would leave the desert and arrive here for her sister.  You must be her…and I am pleased.”

Rhiannon stormed down from the altar and began to move to where Lydia stood, unconcerned and unnervingly pleasant.

“Where the hell is my sister?”

“She is at peace.  She is among friends.”

“Are you referring to that soulless congregation outside?”

Her smile was as brutal as ever.

“Their lives are enriched, their minds expanded.  I tell you, they know peace.”

“Yeah no one has to think, no one has to do anything.”  Rhiannon said sardonically. “Someone can just…tell them what to do.”

“God does not give us more than we can handle.  I am giving them the opportunity to be unburdened by human trivialities.  Needs and pleasures will be simple and therefore as plenty as a freshwater spring.” 

Rhiannon pulled out her pistol and aimed it carefully, so that the bullet would strike directly in between her eyes.

“Enough preachin.’  My sister’s here and I want to see her!  Don’t make me put you down.”

Lydia’s smile curled under stainless, pearl cheeks.  As nightfall set in, her eyes glowed even brighter.  A soft shuffling sound came from behind Lydia.  Two small bare feet appeared, followed by a young girl with dark, braided hair.  Her face was half asleep as she stood in front of Lydia.  Rhiannon’s trigger finger shuddered and the pistol drooped slightly to one side.

“Nuna?  Nuna!” 

“I’m afraid she can’t hear you.”  Lydia said.  “She no longer has to know the pain of abandonment and the tragic savagery of the Red Indian.”

Rhiannon’s arms sagged.

“No.  You...you…he sold her to you!”

“Your father, Mingan had a demon inside of him, one that I could not save him from, but your sister would have received the same agony and fire had I not rescued her.” 

Tears welled up in Rhiannon’s eyes.

“She should be with what’s left of her family.  You tell her that her sister’s here.”

“Very Well.”  Lydia placed her long, white fingers over the girl’s shoulders and leaned in to whisper in her ear.  Nuna lifted her head slightly, her eyes half open. 

“My family is here, sister.”

A wave of anger took over Rhiannon and she tightened her grip on the pistol in her hand.

“Enough!  She’s coming with me whether you let me or not!”

“Oh child, you would do well to stay…with us.”  Lydia said.

“Stay with us, Rhiannon.”  Nuna repeated.  “It’s not so bad here.”

“No baby, we’re going.”

Lady Lydia lowered her eyes, which went from a dull, violet glassy color to a harsh pink.

“You would do well to stay here.  You belong here.”  Rhiannon lowered her head down in agony.  The bright light from Lydia’s eyes was excruciating.  Once again the dreadful music entered her brain and it grew louder.  Her fingers grazed the canteen in her jacket.  With each enervating note she saw horrible images of her father and losing her sister.  Sweat poured off of her face as the music weighed her down, forcing her to fall to the ground.

“I-I’m a traveler.”  She swallowed hard.  “I’ve been…traveling for a long time.  I’ve battled heat, cold, and starvation to…”  Rhiannon’s eyes struggled to connect with Lydia’s.  “find this place.”  Lydia’s eyebrow arched.  “My life is misery.  I can’t find contentment because people have been against me my whole life, including my own family.  I just…wanted to find a place where I could erase it…all of it.”  Her lips trembled as she ripped the canteen from her jacket.  “That place is not here!”  She forced herself onto her feet and threw the canteen hard at Lydia’s feet.  Brown liquid poured out into a puddle.

Lydia’s eyes shimmered and her smile widened.  The walls and windows of the church shattered in splinters of glass and wood.  Masses of grey converged around Rhiannon.  The eyes of sixty men, women, and children scowled in her direction.  They rushed her all at once in a fury.  Hands grabbed, teeth gnashed all around. 

Rhiannon swung her pistol out and fired into their hands and legs.  Some of them doubled over and others kept coming.  She saw an opening through the sea of hands in the wall of the church that had been torn out.  Instinctively, Rhiannon rushed the two people in her way, one of which tore the hat from her head.  She dove through the opening in the wall onto a mix of grassy and dirty. 

Rolling onto her back, she caught two men in their kneecaps before she had to take cover behind a barrel to reload.  Managing to load three rounds before the barrel was ripped away, Rhiannon fired into the shoulder of a wild-eyed woman.  The woman flew backwards.  This isn’t real!  Rhiannon thought.  They don’t know what they’re doing.  I have to remember that.  I have to.

Rhiannon reloaded fiercely as she ran back into town.  The moon had risen just enough to cast a white glow on where Powaw’s bonfire once stood.  When Rhiannon approached, she vomited at the sight of the naked and butchered form of the medicine man lying on top of the blackened ashes of his fire like a pyre.

“Oh, God.”  She whispered.  Wiping spittle from her lips she got to a ready position as the deadened mob rushed madly in her direction.  The music in Rhiannon’s mind screamed at her now as they closed in on her.  Time to go, sister. 

Four hooves soared over her and Askuwheatu landed hard, standing in front of Rhiannon like a barrier.  Rhiannon hurled herself onto the waiting horse’s saddle and snapped the reigns. 

“Hurry, brother!”  The horse snorted as it started down the heart of Verdant, kicking dust into swirls.  Hoof beats hammered into the ground, approaching the throng of people.  Askuwheatu arched up and lifted its front legs into the air, spooking the crowd. 

Rhiannon looked desperately for Nuna, who was still lost in the mass of grey.  Show me those eyes, those awful eyes, Rhiannon heard in her head.  Lady Lydia came into view at the very back of the crowd, her pink glowing eyes now becoming magenta.  Nuna still stood in front of her.  She had to aim carefully�"right between the eyes.  It had to be perfect.  Sweat and blood from the last few moments of insanity dripped into her eyes, but she shrugged it off.  Her gun lowered, aimed, and fired.  The bullet whizzed past her hair.  Rhiannon remained steady.  Askuwheatu remained on course, feeling his sister’s rhythm as if they were one body.  She saw the pale spot between the glowing orbs and the sickening smile underneath, studied, and readied her hunter’s eyes.  The music vibrated in her skull.  Rhiannon became steel.  One shot.  She inhaled.  She released.  She let go. 

The bullet soared and struck its target.  Lydia’s orbs of light disappeared and she crumpled into the dirt.  It was over.  The town of Verdant was exorcised of its demon.  Askuwheatu went into resting position as if he knew.  Rhiannon stowed away her pistol and looked upon the denizens. 

None of them charged at her.  They instead stared dumbly up at her and at eachother as if they didn’t know what to do without the thing that had stood in for their thoughts and awareness.  No one in the town of Verdant moved, even the ones that sustained injuries from Rhiannon’s weapon.  They only looked down at their injuries in wonder as if that was always how it had been.  Seeing the spectacle, Rhiannon’s heart sank.  She stepped down from Askuwheatu and pulled him carefully by the reins.  Moving through the crowd, she became increasingly anxious at the sight of the empty, saliva-drooling masses around her. 

“You’re free!”  Rhiannon shouted at last.  “She ain’t coming back.  You can live your lives the way you were meant to…be free…see freely…think freely.”  The masses did not respond.  They only looked out like lifeless husks of wood.

Disconcerted, Rhiannon rushed towards her sister at the end of the crowd of people.  She threw her arms around Nuna, held her close, stroking her beautiful hair. 

“Please baby…please be well.”  Rhiannon’s tears stung against her skin.  Looking into the child’s eyes, Rhiannon could only see deadened and ashen eyes that drooped like wilting junipers.  “Nuna, listen to me…you’re free.  Do ya’ hear?  You’re free, baby.”  The child remained a pallid and unfilled being.  It was no longer her sister. 

Rhiannon called for Askuwheatu who trotted slowly behind her.  Grabbing a blanket from her companion’s saddle, she wrapped it around Nuna and carefully lifted her onto the saddle.  She took a rope and tied her waist to hold her into place.  Looking at her sister’s face, Rhiannon noticed a tear trickle from her half-opened eye. 

Rhiannon climbed onto the saddle and made a clucking sound and slapped the reins.  Askuwheatu clopped along the road taking them away from the paradise that was once Verdant.  Rhiannon noticed as they moved into the cold, airless night that she could no longer hear the music that plagued her.  There was nothing left but utter silence as eternity stretched out before her.            

Author's Note

Take some time for a review if you're stopping by. I don't bite.

Reviews

[gavintonks]

The high plains sung a mournful tune that was heard from every direction. It was slow dreadful music where the notes were flat and grated on the ear of the listener, as a fly refusing to leave. However, there was calm in the far reaches of the high plains if one took the time to keep looking onward.

Baaruuuuuuum, the dirge droned across my ears, and vibrated through my teeth, God I hated this sound. Another hour of this hideous noise and I would be out onto the high plains and away from the mindless drone of the wind.

what causes the sound?
what is the action related to the character of the sound"
what is the charcters emotive response to the sound?
How does this sound fit the story? - must it end, is it good or evil. will it likk?

A traveler under the white sun felt weighted down by the lonesome sound, and was forced to halt the horse that had been the traveler’s most agreeable companion.

bruuuuuumh the sound just did not stop, he tried talking to his horse, at times the noise was so bad that even the horse could not hear. The sun bleached the landscape, he shifted the anti glare googles and turned his head as the glare from the white horse under him almost blinded him again. I must stop doing that he thought.

The horse snatched at some grass, he thought to let him eat a bit it would be a while before there was some more food for him, and in any case I feel thristy, the noise made it diffiult to even think to yourself.

He unbucled the water bad and sipped carefully, he offered the horse a few sips as well. he sucked the water from pursed lips, he had become used to drinking like this.
damn he saw a blurr come horse he said hide here, I have some preditors to take care of

one needs conflict and hooks in the story to make me want to read further and give me more insight into the where and when of the story and what it actually is

Heat came in a constant barrage that was contained tightly inside of the woman’s jacket, making her body stink like rotting rabbit. Despite daily discomfort and the threat of heat exhaustion, she refused to discontinue her ride, until that very moment.

Margorie opened her jacket, oooh god I smell like a dead rabbit, she gagged and spat. she flapped the jacket to get rid of the stench, the heat clund and just burned her. She looked up at the sky another day, how many days was it now 24, 28, 31 she opened her watch cap, it told her she had done this ten minutes ago, 28 days, oh god no 28 days how many more to go.

you can use your charcters to add emotion and make me feel for their distress.Plus give me information in the form of hooks

the cap was hot, damn this place everythng wsas hot, the horse p[lodded on he had done this before many times

I am not sure who the pov is in the story

taking them away from the paradise that was once Verdant./ dscriptions like this are wordy and long
the horse clopped away from the once verdant paradise, he looked back and remebred how it used to be, a knot formed in her stomach and she shed a tear

good luck with your story

I know this is a personal choice as a writer, but I just feel I have more value as a reader with a little more emotional depth

Is the song from the planes themselves?

I get the sense the writing is written backward like firt the description and then the action
I also see very little emotive reasoning from the charcters, which is hard to bond with them
at times the story is telly, she did this and she did that

[Delmar Cooper]

The writing seemed lavishly self indulgent. Me? I like self indulgence, it's fun. But you might hear other opinions. I'm not a fan of this type of fiction, that is to say I read it if it is laying around, but I don't buy it from Amazon. However, I was interested.
Thanks for sharing.
Cooper

[Argonaut1]

Self-indulgent you say? Hmmm, I guess I buy that. But don't we all need a self-indulgent phase? I'm not even sure this is a phase I'm in because, honestly, I don't want it to be a phase. I'm still at that age where I want it to be something important.

But, this is a story that was meant to be pure entertainment with some action, suspense, a little mystery and horror thrown in. I honestly didn't intend for it to be much else, but man I'm getting to this crossroads where I'm starting to wonder if what I will write will ever truly make an impact other than just be some week's garbage that someone's reading the inside flap to at Walgreen's or reading the description online on their Kindle device.

Yeah I know, this existential funk is probably not what you were expecting to get and for that, I'm deeply sorry. But I do want to mention a trend I see on this website a lot. No one is really giving any reviews. It's just another god-awful comments section. I know the link says "post comment" down there, but this isn't you-tube. This is a writer's forum, a website that not unlike a writer's workshop should actually have reviews that include constructive criticism and how one can improve upon their writing. I've gotta' say, I'm not seeing any of that on this website. I've been in a lot of writing workshops and any time you share writing with other people you go over those two previous things and more. I've been putting down several paragraphs of stuff on this website. I'm sorry, I guess I'm a little disappointed

So, with that being said, I'm offering you and anyone else who happens to read this post a challenge. Write me a review, not a post, an actual review that includes these things:
1.) Discuss positives and negatives. What are things you felt the author did well? What are some things you felt they needed improvement on? Come up with one or two examples for each.
2.) Does the poem/story/play/whatever seem complete to you? One constant of writing I learned from a professor is that the work is never truly complete. Ask yourself that first question and then ask where can the author go next with the piece? There's always something, even it's just as simple as adding (or omitting) a few extra lines here or there.

And that's all you really need in a review. It's not overly elaborate and not terribly time constraining, plus it does a great deal for the author; it gives them something to shoot for and work towards. Hey, I'll make you a deal. If you write me a review with the aforementioned criteria, I'll do the exact same for your writing. Guaranteed.

At any rate, thanks for this review and I'll just keep writing. Take care.

[Delmar Cooper]

I like everything you said and agree that reviews are rare here. I will read your piece and give you the best review I can manage, but since any candid statement I make seems to anger someone I will end it via a message. By the way I don't have anything against self indulgence.
“Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin, as self-neglecting.”

[Argonaut1]

Don't mistake my response as anger. I agreed with everything you said about it being what it is. My passion just naturally boils to the surface like that and it can lead to one existential funk after another, especially after a drink or three. But I really do believe there's a certain place for this kind of writing. ..entertainment. My biggest complaint was that after finally getting a response that was candid and real it turns out it was just another comment not a review. If anything angered me at all, that was it.

But I want to thank you for finally being as candid as you were and I want you to keep doing it for other writers. Writers have to develop a thick skin. I also want to thank you for taking up my challenge. You've inspired me to start a group about this. Anyway, thanks for sharing and don't stop doing what you're doing!

[Delmar Cooper]

I would stop if I had a grain of sense, but...