In smiles of porcelain...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

White fingers, stretched and malformed, float through the sky in a slow, unrehearsed way. They fragment for brief moments and slowly reform into dragons and fleeting feelings.

 

A girl with porcelain cheeks, her face torn by scraping shadows, stands alone. Her streaked black hair wavers restlessly in the breeze as she stares at ancient, faded photos, covered with dust and tears. Her feet feel hollow to her as they begin to kick up mounds of loose sand and broken shells. This sand, a cool, cold ice, with twisting feathered fingers, creeps up her worn, fragmented dress.

 

Reefs of jagged, black rock rise like lone pillars; monuments to the sempiternity of the sea. They try to crawl from underneath their constant cover, but are ever forced adown under the relentless onslaught of the pounding, green waves; deep green waves that rise up like arched wings, then fall and shatter into glassed fragments and foam.

 

The smell of dry fish and salt fill the air, as she walks further. Rhythmic thunder drowns out the sound of circling, gray sea birds.

 

Her eyes turn. Ahead lays a piece of misshapen drift, cast from the belly of the sea. From its form, a face appears, an arm grows, as does a leg, and the girl draws near.

 

A young boy, his body nestled against his arms, seems to sit awkwardly still. His yellow hair stands, then falls abruptly, echoing the pattern of shifting wind. Her dark shadow blankets his face as she sits beside him.

 

Two stone bookends rest side to side, looking out to sea. One turns with curled velvet lips, as if to speak, but hesitates in silence for a moment.

 

“Do you come here often?” she says, after what seems a short stretch of hours.

 

“I see you are here alone,” she hears him reply, without his lips ever twitching. She stares intently at him, trying to see past the wooden glare.

 

Dark shadows cover them as ancient ghosts of iron and steel roar through the sky, leaving trails of gray, black smoke. “I’ve never been here before,” she says.

 

“Parents bring you here then, did they?” he says. Her head swings slow and steady, back to a neutral position, back to the endless drummer.

 

“Moved me here,” she says, as though reciting for a play. “We had to move. I feel so...”

 

“Isolated?” he asks, as tiny crystal bottles begin to fall from the sky and shatter on the sand. The girl stands. The boy remains still.

 

“I really must... must leave be...fore I am...soaked,” she sputters, as she runs off.

 

Her room is small with enormous walls, covered with yellowed winged patterns that move and flutter. It is cold, hollow.

 

The girl lies. Her back rests against her bed. Tightly sealed gold chests, filled with murking memories, lay scattered about the room. Her eyes are caught, holding to a figurine hanging on the wall.

 

Red. Deep red and brown. An oddly shaped wooden owl stares back at her. It rests in the crest of a wooden moon. A twisted smile creases its tiny face, though it can’t be seen.

 

The girl now sits on the moon, looking down on the world below. Figures move about like clockwork statues beneath her, shifting and scuffling as she goes unnoticed above them, watching their hollow eyes shedding hollow tears. Outside her, all is deep red; a scorched and smokey red.

 

Awakened from a solemn slumber, the girl walks again along the barren sand. Dark shadows grope and slide around her, as the black waves beat time in the distance.

 

A darker shadow appears ahead. The boys’ body is still resting on his arms. The girl feels the cold grabbing her legs and arms and she sits beside him.

 

“How long have you been resting by this sea? Do you never wander the waterway?” she asks, as pools of ice well up in the pockets of her eyes.

 

“If only I had feathered wings,

that could bend and curve and reach,

beyond imagined dreams,

unhindered by the weight of earth.”

 

The whisper comes from the shadow. A tiny ball of crystal slides down her cheek.

 

Laced gray blankets fragment in the air, revealing small candles in the sky.

 

The girl begins to choke and cough on her tears, and she leans toward the boy. She feels the boy wrapping his arms around her, holding her. Her body relaxes against his. A soft smile lifts her porcelain cheeks, though it can’t be seen.

Reviews

[Warrior]

Great story telling. This did justice in the realm of getting the message across. Great message. There's lot of times where a story can have a great message to aim for, and have a lot of under lining things but then no one gets it, and if no one gets it, then the point has failed. But in my opinion this did well to get the message across. You made it clear, which is why I think it's good. Keep up the good work. What was also great was that I could imagine the story as I read it, and that is also a strong point of stories. The ability to have the reader imagine it because after all we're reading not watching it, but it was as if I was there as I read this, and that is great. Good job once again.

[An owl on the moon]

I deeply appreciate thoughts, and your time to read my story. This comes from a very dark chapter of my days.

[Anonymous]

Excellent imagery! You are very talented. Please keep writing and inspiring

[An owl on the moon]

Ah dear poet, you found glimpses from my book! Thank you for your very kind, uplifting thoughts. :)

[...]

absolutely an exquisite haunt!

[Kristallo]

This is absolutely fantastic. I loved your imagery here, "pools of ice well up in the pockets of her eyes" and the line, "her porcelain face torn by scraping shadows stands alone" --that is so cleverly worded! This story is exquisitely written, with charming metaphors, vivid imagery, and a dream like setting. Sometimes I feel like this girl, alone and very sad, swallowed by the sea... you did a fine job here, loved the write.

[Alana McGuire]

Wow. Wooow. This is beautiful. Really lovely.
You're so talented! You should really be published.
I have a piece on here called Porcelain. You're welcome to read it if you would like.

[Keve]

I liked this very much; the setting, characters and especially the feel of it. There is a sense of fragility strenthened by shadows and water.

[Shellie]

Excellent story; really enjoyable. Its different- in a really really good way. There's so much to take from this. Its so mysterious. The imagery is fantastic.

[Desert Dreamer]

A wonderful story, almost mythical. I found myself thinking this is a dream, or the boy is a god. You are an excellent story teller.

[Wolf's Dark Song]

A very strange and extraordinary story. It unfolds like a dream as dreams are often very odd and bizarre, but still really wonderful and interesting. And it ends on a rather odd note too. I like it. Its very different and unique.

[HiddenFantasies]

A very strange story. You almost use too much imagery and metaphor, so much so that the actual setting gets kind of lost. I find it was nice for a small piece but I, personally would have difficulty reading an entire book in this style. Though it seems most other people have enjoyed it, so perhaps the style is just lost on me.