The Willow and The River

a romantic tragedy similar to Romeo and Juliet, just like every other romantic tragedy

 

The Willow and The River

Ayza Soza

 

 

                After the sun set, the early evening transformed into a cool, autumn night. The harvest moon was out and about, shinning down upon a lazy river that calmly flowed through the entire town. A weeping willow tree stood beside, stretching its long, limbs over the river. A light breeze gently shifted the leaves of the tree. An orchestra of insects and frogs along the river created a melodic atmosphere that could sooth the soul.

                The sounds of leaves crunching broke into the night as a young man journeyed towards the smooth moving river and mighty tree. He walked carefully, so he would not trip over the uneven landscape. The moon provided a helpful light that made his late night outing easier to see. In his hand were two blankets; one rather large, and the other smaller. As he reached his destination, he sprawled the larger blanket on the ground underneath the mighty willow.

                The young man walked towards the river bank. He looked up at the glowing stars cascaded across the sky, everyone a shimmering piece of perfection. The moon was a palette of orange, yellow and red; thin strips of cloud cover flew by quickly with the calm evening breeze. He listened to the sounds of the nightly creatures sing their songs of life. With the light of the moon, this young man focused in on his image in the river; messy medium brown hair, dark eyes, a slight smirk. He admired it, but with a quick jump, a mosquito landed and scattered his image like a broken piece of glass. The ripples expanded and traveled until they too, dissipated. The boy sighed.

                A sound was heard, coming from behind him. He cocked his neck back in order to get a brief sight. A lovely young woman, curly brown hair to her shoulders, hazel green eyes; that was only known by the light of day, a small backpack was hanging on her shoulder, was seen. He turned his head back around. She walked alongside the tree and placed the backpack carefully on the ground. From there, she admired the young man who still stood quietly like a statue, staring into the river. Slowly, as he had walked before, the young woman stood beside her male companion.

                “It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?” she commented in a soft delicate voice, staring out at the river along with him.

                “Yes, very much so,” he answered. “The night has always seemed beautiful to me. I’ve always connected to the evening more romantically, then I did with the morning. Nature has a unique way of coming alive in the afterhours. Too bad most people miss the loveliness of it all.”

                “Um-hmm,” the girl responded. She took a deep breath of the air; the smell of the river was drawn in. Her eyes drifted toward the sky, looking at the moon and the stars. How she loved it. For a brief second, she turned towards her partner, who stared blankly towards the woods on the other side of the river bank.

                “Did you have any trouble getting out?” the young man asked.

                “Not at all, everyone was asleep. It was easy to get out. How ‘bout you?”

                “Nah, it was simple too.” He had yet looked at her. As if hypnotized, his eyes stayed pinned to everything in front of him.

                “Good, I’m glad,” she said softly.

                He turned his head towards her and gave a delicate smirk. His arm wrapped around and pulled her towards his body. She leaned against his body as he held her. Comfortably, she nuzzled her head into his shoulder and gave a sigh of happiness. “C’mon, let’s go sit down,” he suggested.

                With that, they turned away from the river bank and walked towards the willow tree, where the blanket had already been placed and still rested. The young man kicked and cleared away loose leaves and twigs that had fallen from the tree. Now clean and presentable, he allowed the young woman to get situated first, joining her soon after. They both rested against their heads against the rough tree bark and stared out at the moonlit landscape in front of them.

                “I used to love this tree when I was little,” the girl stated. Her partner turned and gave his full attention. “When I was a little girl, there used to be a swing right on that branch. My dad put it up and took me here every weekend so he could push me on it.”

                “I have a special connection with the river,” the young man reminisced receiving the girl’s attention. “My parents taught my older brother and I how to swim in the lake where the river empties into. We went every weekend of the summer from the time I was four to the time I was eight. It was the greatest part of my childhood. On that dock over there, my grandpa and I went fishing twice a month in the summer. Even though the river and lake are filled with fish, we barely caught anything, but it was just great to be able to spend time with him, before he died.”

                “Under this tree, when I was 12, is where I got my first kiss.”

                Surprised, he turned toward her and with an anxious tone, “Who?”

                She giggled and patted his leg. “Don’t worry, it’s no one you know or even need to care about. It was a kiss that brought nothing except the thrill of a girl’s first kiss. Nothing in any way happened afterwards. I promise.”

                He began to relax and laid his head back against the tree. The young woman’s giggle continued as she watched him. She inched her way closer to him, her body fitting perfectly with his. His arm moved around her back as she tilted her head onto his shoulder. They sat there in the cool, moonlighted air.

                “Are you sure were doing the right thing?” the girl asked.

                “Huh? What do you mean?”

                “I don’t know, do we really have to do it this way? There’s no other way that we can be together?”

                “I’ve told you this is the only way to escape everything.”

                “What if we tried talking to them again, maybe they would accept us and then we wouldn’t have to go through with it.”

                “Our parents would never hear of it, their stubborn and hard to persuade. It’s a fruitless attempt to even consider. Besides, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if your step-dad hurt you again because of me. I just couldn’t, the guilt would be too much.”

                The girl pulled away to stand up and moved towards the river. She continued, “What if we ran away where they could never touch us? We would be free from everything and best of all, we would be together.”

                The boy stood and walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “It wouldn’t last long. We’re 17 years old; we have no car, no money, no shelter, and no way to survive. We wouldn’t last long before they found us and we were brought back to this God forsaken place. We’d be back to square one with stricter rules.”

                “What if we stole one of our parent’s cars?”

                “Then when they catch up with us, we’ll be in even more trouble. The car can only get us so far before we have to fill the tank anyhow. This is the only way.”

                She turned around in his arms, a tear, glistening in the moonlight fell down her cheek. “I don’t want it to be this way though. I don’t, I’m scared.”

                He pulled her close, and embraced her tightly. Her single tear shortly turned into a storming sob. She pushed her head into his chest as she continued crying. He did his best to console her; scratching her back lightly, running his fingers through her hair but most of all just held on tight. “I don’t want it this way either. But let me tell you something, not only will we be together, but we’ll be scared together as well. I won’t leave your side, I promise. I’ll stick with you through it all.”

                He rocked her in his arms, as she was regaining control of her emotions. They swayed together into an unsynchronized dance, under the moonlight; the insects as the evening ensemble. She moved her hands up and behind his neck and began to join in with his movements. The dance was eternal; a joining of their spirits that would last through time. They felt uplifted, as if they were dancing on a cloud. Each others heartbeat was felt by the other; both in time with one another’s.

                He lifted her chin with the tips of his fingers and stared deep into her eyes. Sympathetically, he said, “Are you ok now?”

                “A little bit. I’m still scared though.”

                “C’mon let’s go sit down now.”

                They separated and walked back to the blanket together. Once they reached it, the young man bent down and swept away the stray leaves again. Once cleared, he invited the young lady to sit down again. He joined her and allowed the young woman to rest her head against his shoulder. “How do you think life would be if our parents accepted us and we didn’t have to go through with this?”

                The boy thought for a moment as he watched the fireflies flutter through the sky. “Happy, that’s how it would be, no doubt about it. We’d have our parents around to enjoy everything joyous that goes on through our life. Plus, we’d be together, to actually experience life’s gifts. It would truly be great.”

                She smiled. “That would be nice. To bad it will never be that way.”

                A cool breeze blew through them, with an autumn chill that sent the spine into a shivering spasm. The girl shuddered at the wind, which gained attention from the boy. He questioned, “You cold?”

                The girl giggled, “Only a little.” She continued to shiver.

                The boy pulled from the side of the tree the second blanket he traveled with. He opened it up and pulled it over both their bodies. “This better?” he asked.

                “Yes, much better. You think of everything don’t you?” she smiled.

                The boy smiled and wrapped his arm around her back. She laid her head and hand on his chest, listening to his breath with her ear and his heartbeat with her hand. She looked at him; staring at his blank expression. He seemed to be concentrating on a thought that was bouncing around in his head. All he did was stare out at the woods on the other side of the river.

                “Do you believe were doing the right thing?” she asked breaking their silence. He turned his head towards her. “I don’t mean not to go through with it, but, how do you know someone else isn’t going to come around for you? What if we were only meant to be a fling and someone great will come around for both of us? What if were truly not meant to be together?”

                The young man thought hard on the subject before coming up with a response, “I believe were meant to be. I believe that the moment we met was suppose to be the start of something beautiful and that we were to hold on forever. Whether or not someone else will come around in our lives is unknown, but, if we wait to find out, only to regret our decision in the future. What if only one of us will find happiness with someone in the future? I’m happy with you and I know I was meant to be with you for eternity.”

                “I know there has to be someone out there better for you than me. For me, I don’t know who could possibly be better than you. No one has been nicer, sweeter or more romantic than you have. I just don’t want you to throw your life away---” the young man interrupted her by tipping her chin up and pulling her in for a passionate kiss. After a few seconds, she returned the kiss, placing her hand gently on his cheek and pulling him closer. The tender kiss seemed to have gone on forever, as time stood still.

                They both pulled away at the same time and were greeted with each other as they opened their eyes. The boy looked deep into her eyes, “I know you are the one I was supposed to be with, there’s no doubt of that in my mind.  My feelings for you are as infinite as the number of stars in the sky. I have no regrets of what we have done and will soon do, as long as I’m with you, I don’t care. Despite my parent’s objections, I love you. I have loved you since the day we met and will continue to for the rest of time.”

                Stray tears fell from her eyes. She jumped into his arms, wrapping hers behind his neck. “I love you too. I love you so much.” She had dreamed of the day these words would be muttered between them. Sweet words of commitment had finally been uttered, making her heart beat faster. She finally knew what it meant and felt like to be in love. At the conclusion of their hug, she tenderly kissed her partner; holding him tightly as she did, never wanting them to part. The kiss, however, did end, each with a smile on their face.

                She returned to his arms; her head laying on his shoulder again. They sat in silence, staring up at the moon, listening to the insects sing and the river flow. Silence was golden to them, a chance to just appreciate each other’s company. They learned that the best moments they shared were when they were quiet right in this very spot; listening to the countless, ear pleasing sounds that surrounded them, the many and the appealing visuals that entered and exited their sight.

                Their escapades had been going on for nearly a year now; two days out of every week. Soon they would be together forever. A cascading pink slowly crept across the canvas as the early morning sun was making its appearance. Both of them knew that it was time. They separated as the girl retrieved her backpack. The boy pulled out a piece of paper and a pen and began to write:

 

  You refused to accept our relationship due to A senseless quarrel. Now you will learn that you should of let us be and live our own lives. Just because you are enemies with one another doesn’t mean that we have to be As well. So long and realize this all could have been avoided if it weren’t for your selfish and stubborn attitudes  

 

 

            He signed both their names, folded and placed it in his pocket. He looked up to see his companion waiting for him with a large glass bottle and several orange, plastic containers. She passed him one of the containers and together began to swallow its inhabitants, which was washed down their throats with a flash flood from the bottle. They continued to devour the entire substance and tossed the containers behind them, which was quickly accompanied by the now empty glass bottle.

                They each gave a sigh and rested against the tree once more. The boy invited his companion into his arms, which she graciously accepted with a smile. His arms wrapped around her stomach as she leaned her head onto his shoulder. Time never moved more slowly for them as they waited for the inevitable, but they both new it shouldn’t take that long. They looked in each other’s eyes once more, wishing they could stay locked this way forever. A tear leaked from the corner of her eye, which was quickly and gently swept away by the young man.

                He moved his fingers under her soft chin and lifted her head. He placed a long, passion filled kiss on her lips; the last that they would share together. With this he proclaimed, “I love you.”

                With a smile and another tear trickling down her cheek she responded, “I love you too.” As the sun rose, their last kiss and words to one another had been shared. They each took a deep breath and closed their eyes for the last time, encased in each other’s arms.

 

Reviews

[Sara Muschweck]

This was such a sweet tragic tale of love. Finding that in death they would be able to be together. It is such a sad read, yet you were able to capture the frustration of the couple, as well as how they felt they were given no choice in the matter. Such a beautifully descriptive and eloquent write.

[JayG]

Mine is a slightly different view, more that of an acquiring editor or manuscript critique service.

You are going to hate me, I’m afraid, but there are some things about the profession I thought you’d want to know, beginning with the fact that the creative writing courses you took did damn little to make your writing attractive to a publisher. And since you’re probably thinking in terms of a MFA, the information may directly effect your future.

For an idea of what I’m talking about, look at your first paragraph from the viewpoint of a publisher, or a reader in the bookstore who is auditioning your opening pages:
- - - - - -
After the sun set, the early evening transformed into a cool, autumn night. The harvest moon was out and about, shinning down upon a lazy river that calmly flowed through the entire town. A weeping willow tree stood beside, stretching its long, limbs over the river. A light breeze gently shifted the leaves of the tree. An orchestra of insects and frogs along the river created a melodic atmosphere that could sooth the soul.
- - - - - -
Your English teachers would love this. Your CW teacher, with CW’s focus on literary writing, would also be pleased. A publisher? They’d reject this before the end of the paragraph. And the reasons they would is at the heart of the problem.

1. You open by telling the reader that night follows sunset. But no matter how prettily you may phrase it, the reader already knows. So the first line is a throwaway so far as story.
2. Next, you provide a weather report, in the same way that “It was a dark and stormy night,” did, and that’s, arguably, the worst opening ever written.
3. You follow that by telling the reader that the river, like most rivers that flow through towns, was calm. But that aside, does the state of the river figure in the story? No. Does it matter that there IS a river? Again, no. The story wouldn’t change were they meeting in a park, or the back yard of the houses. So again, a throw-away line that serves only to slow the narrative and delay the opening of the story. As a reader who came to you for a story—expecting something to happen, the first 74 words contains zero action, and, the protagonist has yet to appear on stage.
4. The next line tells the reader, either that there is a single willow tree by the river in the whole damn town, or that a tree—one that’s is never mentioned again, stands next to an unknown spot on an unnamed river, in an unknown town, in an unspecified year. Why does a reader care? You’re trying to impress the reader with poetic turn of phrase, but the reader is saying, “What in the hell is going on?
5. Next, we learn that breezes make leaves move. Hardly a surprise, or…a reason to continue reading.
6. Next, there’s an abstract line on how night noises are calming. But…who in the plueperfect hells is noticing all this? It’s not you because you’re neither on the scene nor in the story. The protagonist has yet to appear, so it’s not him/her. And the reader has no reason to care. In fact, they might be thinking about the buzzing of mosquitoes that goes with those noises. So what’s going on, and why is this data important enough that the reader WANTS to know the information? I mention this so strongly because the end of the first manuscript page is coming up. If we reach it without giving the reader a reason to keep reading, they won’t.
7. From start to finish neither character are important enough to have a name? How can we care about an unknown character?

Think about why readers come to fiction. Look at what happens in the same amount of words in the opening section of four novels, yours included. Which one do you think is the least likely to result in the reader turning to page two?

a) A woman has come home from a trip and is looking for the man she loves for some “welcome home” loving. But it turns out his body is in the refrigerator, dismembered.
b) A woman wakes to below zero temperatures in her cabin—temperatures that will kill her quickly unless she finds a way to keep warm.
c) A frontier judge is interrupted at lunch and made to conduct a trial for a man accused of rebelling against magic.
d) A travelogue paragraph on an unspecified town is followed by lots of detail on what an unknown man is carrying to the river, for unknown reason, to the riverbank of that unspecified town as he makes ready to suicide.

See the problem? You’re talking to the reader about detail, not story. As the great Ernest Hemingway said, “Never confuse movement with action.”

But of far more importance are the words of E. L. Doctorow: “Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader, not the fact that it’s raining, but the feeling of being rained upon.”

You’re talking about what CAN be seen, not what the protagonist is paying attention to in their moment of “now.” When you say, “A sound was heard,” it’s abstract. You have never, in your entire life, heard “a sound.” You’ve heard jingles, rattles, and a host of things, but everything you hear is SOMETHING, even if it’s “something odd.” Only the author can talk about abstracts like what CAN be heard. But…

The moment you step on stage and the characters in the story don’t ask you who in the hell you are, and who you’re talking to, all sense of realism, and momentum, the scene might have built vanishes. Story happens. It’s not talked about. And it happens in real-time, moment-by-moment.

Bottom line: You are not presenting a story as a publisher views that act. Instead, you’re transcribing yourself telling the reader a story aloud. The only voice is yours, as you explain the sequence of events, to the reader in general terms. No one hesitates or restates before speaking, the events, as in any report, roll along with no uncertainty, just facts not yet read. Making it worse, unlike you, the reader can't know what emotion to place into the narrator's voice. They can't know what gestures you would use, the body language that you'd use, or your facial expressions as the storyteller. So al that's missing. Have the computer read the story aloud.

In short, you’re doing exactly what you’ve been taught, and writing this as a report. After all, through your schooldays your writing assignments have pretty much all been reports and essays. Why? Because professions are learned in addition to your schooldays skills. Our schoolday skills are given to provide our future employers with a pool of potential workers who have useful skills—to help YOU earn a living, not provide you with a profession.

Not one of your English teachers explained why a scene ends in disaster for the protagonist—and must. And if your CW teachers didn’t do that it wouldn’t surprise me, because I’ve not seen a CW course that wouldn’t make a publisher snort with disgust. Remember, they’re teaching you to be creative, not be a professional at writing fiction.

So...the problems I mention above are neither your fault nor a matter of how well you’re writing, or talent. They’re the result of applying the nonfiction skills we’re taught in school to the task of writing fiction.

But the job of nonfiction is to inform. So we TELL the reader what they need to know. It’s fact-based and author-centric, as this story is. The goal of fiction is to entertain the reader by stirring their emotions, beginning by making them care about the success of the protagonist’s struggle to control their environment. That takes a set of techniques that are emotion-based and character-centric. But how much time did your teachers spend on those skills? Did they explain why a scene on the pages is so different from one on the screen, and the elements that make it up? If not, how can you write one?

The answer is that you can’t, and that’s what you need to fix. You, and everyone you know, has been choosing professionally written fiction since you learned to read. Given that the reader expects to see the result of those techniques in use, doesn’t it make sense to invest a bit of time, and perhaps a few coins in your writer’s education? Of course it does. As Mark Twain put it: “It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.”

Make sense?

A suggestion or two: Take a look at a few of the articles in my writing blog to see how different the approach to fiction is from the nonfiction skills you’ve been given. There are a few stories there, too, that show those techniques in action.

But in the end, go with the pros. Spend a few coins for a personal copy of Dwight Swain’s, Techniques of the Selling Writer. It’s the best I’ve found, and is, literally, a commercial fiction-writing course between two covers. He wastes not a word on style. Instead he focuses on the nuts-and-bolts issues of creating scenes that sing to the reader.

So…This was pretty far from the “Good job!” you were hoping to hear—and have heard—I know. But on the other hand, every successful writer faced this same problem and overcame it. So it’s more a rite-of-passage than a disaster. And if you are meant to write the learning will be fun. If not? Well, you’ll have learned something important. So it’s win/win. Right?

But whatever you do. Don’t let it throw you. Hang in there, and keep on writing.

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

[Céce]

Oh my gosh, what a lovely, lovely story. I have no criticism. There are a few little spelling errors, but really that is nothing to what an amazing and tragic story this is. The ending seemed so perfect. It played like a dream.

Beautiful beautiful beautiful!

Jane

[~*~Peace Keeper~*~]

WOW!!!! i love this story so much...you did a very good Job...some parts of it reminded me of my poem called "Dance With Me"...very very good...so lovely...im so glad that they finally got together...even though they died...at least their love will last forever :)
you are really good at catching someones attension...i really dont read stories...but im glad i gave this one a chance...it is one of the best i have ever read :D
Great Job :)

[Philosophile. (Maddy)]

Simply beautiful. You don't mention in the beginning that they plan on killing themselves which was really crafty on your part. So well written! Also, I loved the imagery and could imagine the scene vividly.

[[untitled]]

WOW! This is ever so beautiful, very descriptive, I could see the whole thing, i generally don't read stories cause they are to long and don't hold my attention but this was wonderful, you held on to the plot all the way through, wonderful write.

[MissDragon]

I loved it. Amazing and very descriptive. =)

[Steffi]

I thought this was a really good read. It flowed so well that it made me want to keep going. I loved the Romeo and Juliet tie but you didnt smother it in someone else story and you made it your own.
Also the detail and descriptions in here are really nice. Not to much, yet enough to bring in an audience.

**Steffi**