It's not fun, it's not light,
not filled with the giggling of children and rustling of costumes that
characterised the second last night. It isn't lit by the glow of paper
lanterns and burning pumpkins, or sweetened by wafting scent of candy.
It simply sits, floating, slithering, spreading, weaving between
gathered families and solitary figures and idle passersby alike.
It
makes me remember. Remember warm days and passionate nights, bright
mornings and soft smiles. Remember hopes, dreams, possibilities.
"...never thought I'd be this happy..." "...will you marry me?..." "...think I've finally found my place..." "...I love you..." "...don't ever let anything change us, please..." "...forever."
And,
just for a second, it makes me forget. Just for a second it wipes from
my mind the memories of cold hospital waiting rooms and empty
reassurances. It banishes, however temporarily, the ever-present phantom
stench of sterile beds, and silences the never-ending echo of a
flatlining monitor.
"...there's been an accident..." "...you can't go into the surgery room..." "...it's a difficult procedure..." "...we've established stability, but only just..." "...they're doing all they can, please..." "...I'm sorry."
It
teases the border between an itch in the mind and a physical heaviness
on the wind. It flits like an insect, making itself known with a flutter
of wings only to vanish before its presence can truly be determined.
And it tells a tale, of life and loss, of things not yet gone but not
entirely there. For as long as I stand amid the cooling breeze and it's
hidden berth I can never really feel it clearly, and I never will.
There's
something in the air today. It's a cloud of memories, sad, happy, of
regret, of promise. But it's not quite thin enough to drift into my
heart, and it's never thick enough to carry me away.
Written on an overnight plane ride on my Ipod. Apologies for typos.
Idea from a November/December holiday contest. I chose All Souls' Day, November 2nd, which celebrates those who have died but still remain on Earth (following All Hallows' Evening on October 31st and All Saints' Day on November 1st).
My Review
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Your style of writing here is beautiful. I loved how the part in italics told so much of the story, and how the last lines in each both said so much. I enjoyed that part about it being like a flutter, so fleeting.
You have really outdone yourself here. I think this is one of my faves. I can't even think of what to type because the details are still hammering away at my brain.
I loved the juxtaposition of poetry and prose, and the images. The way you arranged the poetic sections, the dialogue, also made it feel like a leaf in the wind some how.
Really nice writing. You have a smooth readable style and have made some really nice word choices. This is some of the best prose I've read on this site.
A quick note about the last phrase of your first paragraph: "and idle passer-byers alike." It looks like you've taken some artistic license with your hyphenated use of "passer-byers." I often do this with hyphens in my own writing (and it can be quite fun). It's like I'm saying, "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. It's not exactly a word, but I'm an artist and this is my piece and I'm using it because I like the way it sounds. So if you don't like it, you can go take a hike!" However, if this was not your intent (and if we want to be really nitpicky), I'm almost positive that the correct form of the word is "passersby." Once again, great piece and keep up the good work.
I like this. It's vague enough to let each individual reader apply their own take on it, yet it still has those specifics that we all know. The partial quotes are what does it. Me personally, I have a friend who's a nurse, so the partials about accident, surgery, difficult procedure, etc., all mean something to me. Last line is fantastic. And you wrote this on a plane? Cool. All I ever do on a plane is order more booze.
I'm from Australia, so some people may find that I spell things differently. I love writing and have had a couple of publications of short stories and novellas under a pseudonym.
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