Thunder-head

I. Mathematical Shadows

 

The people I went to high school with

weren't really people,

they were ghosts

 

I went to high school with hallways

full of shadows and ghosts

 

When they laid down to sleep, they didn't dream, 

as ghosts don't dream of other ghosts

 

nothing passes through their minds,

and nothing ever happens

thunder clouds moved slowly through their minds

 

 

Mathematical shadows

lay across across the floors of our hallways

 

 

 

II. Darkly Lit

 

One time, in high school, we broke into an old abandoned house. My friend kicked through the door, and a beautiful plume of dust arose and curled up into the air. It arose like a ghost, and we thought we could see a spirit in it, the spirit of the lady who used to live there, but it vanished. We smoked cigarettes, and drank beer, and we spilled beer on the carpet. We wondered if the ghost of the old lady who died there would then arise, and chase us out with a broomstick.

 

My friend knocked out a board that was covering a window, and the bronze fist of the sun punched its way through. Streams of god-like sunlight illuminated the dust, and it lingered silently for a moment. For a moment, there was silence, and there was only thought. As we stood there in the slinece, I swore I could hear the thoughts of the people around me.

 

Darkness threw shadows onto the field, and our shindig slowly morphed into a night party. The darkness rolled across the sky. Lightning Bugs and the fire in the yard were the only glow that lit us. We wandered around, under the gigantic and dark summer sky. The bow of the dark summer sky was slightly illuminated at its edges. And you could smell the wet grass of summer, even through the dark.

 

Autumn was rumbling in. Darkness spread and spread, until it enveloped everything. Like a splotch of black ink spreading across a sheet of white paper. A single solitary ember crackled from a Tiki lamp and trailed up to the heavens. Somebody said that Maura was on her way to the party. There, I promised to tell her that I was madly in love with her. I would do it. I would just do it right there, all among the musty shag carpets, the fire-smell and the spilled beer. I never did, though, and she just left for college that Autumn. Like a ghost she vanished, and was gone.

 

 

Author's Note

This is a tale of the teenage years. It is meant to have a bit of a gothic feel of a vivid red rose on a black background. The beauty in the dark, as it were. I like for some of my writing to have a "dark and clear" feel to it.

Reviews

[Glen Yumang Manese]

I see you did a poetic theme into a story line of a narrative to accent this read of yours to the audience...and the whole conclusion seems to fit together...thanks for the invite...just busy with my copy writer work and my RR's just keep piling up to an above the water mark...I'm sinking to catch up...

[Samuel Pennell]

Glen-Whenever you want is fine with me! -Sam

[Glen Yumang Manese]

thanks for understanding...the next few months will be busy for me...

[s y e]

This is great Sam (can I call you that? ;-)) This is a good dark write. My favourite is Darkly Lit write, that is my favourite one. You have some stunning lines.

Well done.

[Samuel Pennell]

Sam is what people usually call me. That is totally fine. Thank you for saying that they are stunning! I like that. What a great compliment! :) The reaction to this poem has been surprisingly big. People are enjoying it even more than I thought they would. Thank you for reading!

[s y e]

Awesome blossom! And you gotta have faith dude! It's a great write!

[Samuel Pennell]

That is beautiful-"awesome blossom!" Very nice expression.

[It's Me, The Miracle]

A fascinating poem that set ground for the following short story. Though, I liked both, Darkly lit is my favorite. Thank you Samuel for sharing this profound piece

[Samuel Pennell]

Thank you! The response to this poem has been pretty amazing, and people seem to like "Darkly Lit" a little bit better. I think it paints a slightly more vivid and human picture. I appreciate you reading this.

[icelandicblue]

I love your part II Darkly lit. You've got a number of fabulous images in that. My favorite one is:

the bronze fist of the sun punched its way through

How gorgeous is that!

[Samuel Pennell]

Thank you Icelandic! That really does mean something coming from you. You write really amazing imagery, and I've really loved your writings since we "friended!" Stay in touch for sure.

[wordwarrior]

...the bronze fist of the sun punched its way through..., love this part!!! I also love that word...shindig...

There is a contrast between parts 1 and 11, whereby the second part becomes much more poetic in its word choices and metaphors. I like it very much! It's almost like the writer in part 1 has been strangled from flowing thought, lining in a kind of vacuum where no one appreciates anyone else. Hence the ghosts and shadows that are there one moment, gone the next.

That was what I got from your words. Enjoyed this very much

[Samuel Pennell]

Thank you, wordwarrior! You really nailed it on the head. The muted experience.

[Pryde Foltz]

This was an intriguing write. I think the poem set the moos beautifully for the short story that followed. And yes, we might as well be dead if we aren't going to live.

[Samuel Pennell]

People need to get busy livin' or get busy dyin'. Teenage melancholy was epic and painful. What a weird time.

[MsJewel]

I like the "Stephen King" dark feel to this - truly an amazing write. You have a wonderful gift.

:) Julie

[Samuel Pennell]

Thank you, Julie. I haven't read much Stephen King. Are a lot of his stories like this? I was under the impression that they had a lot more gory action, and played out like a horror story. A lot more people with their heads exploding and more limbs flying through the air. I like being compared to someone so respected, though! Thank you! I shoot for things that are "dark and clear" in pieces like this. That is the feel I am looking for.

[MsJewel]

Stephen King isn't always gore, his writing is very chilling. If dark and clear is what you were looking for you did achieve this. I enjoyed it very much. :) Julie

[Sami Khalil]

"When they laid down to sleep, they didn't dream, because

ghosts don't dream of other ghosts



nothing passes through their minds,

and nothing ever happens

thunder clouds were moving through their minds'

A very nice , little dark write . I like those lines alot...:)

[Samuel Pennell]

Thanks, Sami! I like the fact that you really seem to pick up on the philosophical parts of my writings. You see the grander points, and that is great. I really try to reach people who think philosophically, and it seems that you get that. I respect your writing and it seems that you respect mine. Very nice!

[Sami Khalil]

Wow. Good to know . You are welcome...:)

[Laminators Dubai]

that was awesome and enjoyable...and sure i enjoyed!
thanks for sharing the horror.^^

[Samuel Pennell]

Haha.......I hope it wasn't too horrible! Maybe more dark and lonely like a lot of teenagers feel. I hoped to create a snapshot of high school.

[Laminators Dubai]

yeah...high school is horror...
you did amazing job...
thanks...

[Samuel Pennell]

Horror School and Junior Horror School. ;)

[Laminators Dubai]

yeah..........^^

[jacob erin-cilberto]

i wondered also about the ghosts in the hallway, and about Maura and who that was...

but you create a feeling, much like Poe or Stephen King--

something about the heaviness of spirits...those caught in between...

[Samuel Pennell]

Thank you, Jacob! The "ghosts and the darkness" were what this one was all about. Maura was the same girl as the one in "The Red Ribbon in the Snow." A luminous girl. If I just breezed over some subjects, I guess I was going for whispers and snapshots in the dark. Thank you for reading.