The Gown

A grown bought at an auction sale that revives memories.

His eyes were red. A red deeper than soils on Mars. He wasn't angry. Not sad also. Hemight have stared at the dress all morning. He'd spreadit beautifully on the bed. He recalled every detail of it. Right from the night he purchased it. It had been a little after twilight. At exactly 6o'clock pm. He'd bought it at anauction sale. The Lady Magareta, ageing decided to empty her closet. The only girlamong her eight children was such a tomboy. Laconically, there was no 'girl'. He'd only went to the sales because he yearn to be far from his dad. Being with his father is to say he's marooned. Everything at the sales were archaic. Just the mien of Lady Magareta. Then that colour won his attention. He'd love the colour from childhood. It was the same as that of the spring in the meadow. The fishes were crystal clear from the transparency of the colour. He'd never sleep without looking at that picture on pageten of his bedtime storybook. Turquoise, thats the colour he'd kill for. A step closer and he loved it more, not the colour per se. The gown was embodied with beads on the sweetheart shaped bodice. The empire waist accented by pleated band. A chiffon A-line skirt of floor length completes it adding a shape-flattering silhouette. No doubt the gown was from a trend in Britain. Hepicture old Magareta in her mid-twenties entering a ballroom as the chiffon sashayed to every mince she take. The price tag showed anamount of $350. He'd use his credit card in the exchange. The lady was euphoric that hewas the buyer of her best gown, but he knew she was ina state of nostalgia deep down. His eyelids blarted as a tear drop. He knew why he bought the dress. The colour. And to see his younger sister in it. She was to return home for the autum break two nights from the night of the LADY MAGARETA SALES. The dress was still beautiful and the teardrop patch on the navel point made it sassy. Butit was never won again. His sister died before she could return. Another tear.

Author's Note

Please review my work. Please!

Reviews

[Fabian G. Franklin]

The storytelling reminds me of Guy de Maupassant. But it lacks clarity and the words are all ran together... an edit is in order.

"His eyes were red. A red deeper than the soil on Mars. He wasn't angry. Neither was he sad . He might have stared at the dress all morning. He spread it beautifully on the bed. He recalled every detail of it from the night he purchased it. It had been a little after twilight. At exactly 6 o'clock pm. He'd bought it at an auction sale. The Lady Magareta, aging, decided to empty her closet. The only girl among her eight children was such a tomboy. Laconically, there was no 'girl'. He'd only went to the sales because he yearned to be far from his dad. Being with his father was to say he was marooned. Everything at the sale was archaic. Just the mien of Lady Magareta. Then that colour won his attention. He loved the colour from childhood. It was the same as that of spring in the meadow. The fishes were crystal clear from the transparency of the colour. He'd never sleep without looking at that picture on page ten of his bedtime storybook. Turquoise, thats the colour he'd kill for. A step closer and he loved it more, not the colour per se. The gown was embedded with beads on the sweetheart shaped bodice; the empire waist accented by pleated band. A chiffon A-line skirt of floor length completes it adding a shape-flattering silhouette. No doubt the gown was from a trend in Britain. He pictured old Magareta in her mid-twenties entering a ballroom as the chiffon sashayed to every mince she'd take. The price tag showed an amount of $350. He'd use his credit card in the exchange. The lady was euphoric that he was the buyer of her best gown but he knew she was in a state of nostalgia deep down. His eyelids blurted as a tear dropped. He knew why he bought the dress. The colour. And to see his younger sister in it. She was to return home for the autumn break two nights from the night of the LADY MAGARETA SALES. The dress was still beautiful and the teardrop patch on the navel made it sassy. But it was never to be worn again. His sister died before she could return. Another tear.

© 2012 Junert

Do what you will with the edit...

[Junert]

Thank you. I admit to what you are saying. There wasn't much spacing cause my phone wouldn't allow. Thanks for checking it up.

[∠( ᐛ 」..]

This story is so beautiful and so sad.
I loved this amazing story!
100/100

[Junert]

Thank you so much.

[Ryan Zeller]

There are a lot of spelling and grammar errors here that take away from what sounds like a potentially interesting piece. It's basic advice, but always be sure to spell check for typos and read your words aloud to see if the grammar is sound. (For example, "He wasn't angry. Not sad also." should be "He wasn't angry. He wasn't sad either.") There are also a lot of instances where you need spaces between your words.

Spelling and grammar is boring stuff, but they are the building blocks of a great piece of literature. Tough critics will never respect a piece of writing until everything in it is grammatically correct.

[Junert]

Thank you for being honest with me. I did notice some errors and you are very right.

[axel]

dont plead with anyone to review your work, it has an aurora of its own,beautiful, just beautiful i am lost for words, i love this

[Junert]

Thank you so much. You don't know how much your words mean to me. Thanks dear.

[Admiral Kirk]

This work brings feelings of nostlgia and intense regrets... You write very descriptively, and I enjoy reading your work. No problems here, exceot I would have said, "Not sad either"... Other than that, fantastic work!

[Junert]

Thanks for that, I would try to be able to bring out emotions more clearly. Thank you.

[Admiral Kirk]

You're quite welcome. :)