Death's dinner table

Based on the actual death of my aunt, and the actual absurdity of my family. Not a creative writer, so feedback would help a lot.

Death’s Dinner party

Death is a weird phenomenon, all around us there are people of all sorts that are losing their lives. Death is a magnificent miracle that all organic bodies are essentially programmed to do.  It’s a beautiful thing, but it’s the world shattering impact on those around us that make it a scarring and depressing thing.  The ending to one’s life can bring out the worst in us, we can cry and scream because we want the person to come back, or we cry and scream because we didn’t get enough money or land from their will. I’ve seen women jump into graves after their husbands and sisters fight over jewelry because their mom secretly hated her children. I’ve also seen the peaceful looks of completion at the end to a long painful battle for life on a person lying cold in their death bed. I envy them sometimes to be honest, I envy them because they are no longer there to hear the wails of my grandmother and the rambling spiritual tongues of my aunt, or the sobs of my mother and her siblings behind me.

Luckily those images are now memories and in the past, officially two days back into the past. “Are you ok?” whispered Eban.  A peculiar couple, A woman with dark raven hair and averagely attractive, and her lover, soulmate, confidant, and  her devil’s advocate were in a funeral parade going into Atley; to the little church where the girl’s parents got married and now where her aunt was going to be put to rest.  “I like you” cooed Amra, their secret phrase which meant “I Love you, I’ve found you.” “I love you too” said Eban right beside his best friend always since the first day they had met, and Joel Amra’s 4 year old shadow in the back draining what was left of Eban’s phone. Amra’s lover stroked her hand that gripped onto the stick shift that was taking all anxiety and grief that Amra was secretly trying to keep to herself “I’m so sorry aunt Claudia” she thought over and over again.

Claudia was one of Amra’s many aunts, Claudia meaning lame was a perfect description of her aunt’s life. Growing up as the middle child who felt invisible, sought out meaning and value from a man that could only be portrayed as poison; A poison that injected itself into poor Claudia. The poison he called love was put into her head, that the beatings were right and her fault not his, and then to her heart when he gave her 4 children that he would later take away. This poisonous snake did not only poison her but the entire family that desperately tried to love her and rescue her through prayer and expensive lawyers. When he finally thought he had drained the life out of her and left; she gathered the little that was left and recreated something to resemble what anyone would call a life. In and out of hospitals because of diabetes, hire and releases from different jobs along main street, and the many questionable men she would bring to her home looking to feel alive.  Then to her death bed where her children were allowed to visit supervised by their father for 10 minutes. The room where the light created warmth that was a mercy to her and her family that stayed there day and night for 2 days waiting for her to pass away. Amelia, Amra’s grandmother and Claudia’s mother never thought she would live past to see one of her children die. To her that’s not how life was supposed to work. “A parent is supposed to celebrate their children’s life, not grieve for it” she would say each time her children checked up on her. In the midst of the quiet talks and patience, Molly the 4^th child would come and lead worship. “The day she dies is when we will yell and cheer for her!” she would say. Molly the righteous and one of the most obnoxious Christians ever, would play music with annoying woman and their raspy noises yelling for Jesus as Claudia laid in her coma. One could never forget the moment when Claudia died; Molly got up and started yelling and speaking in tongues as the Holy Spirit “entered” her body. The look of horror and disbelief that she could something so sacred and use it during a loved one death. Amra really couldn’t believe it, “aunty, take it outside” she said while consoling her mother. As if it were Amra being rude and sacrilegious Aunt Molly stopped, “Everyone come on get up, she is going back to our creator, today is her birthday.” Before anyone could stop their sobs and protest, Molly and her two kids, with children of their own, began the most unfitting song to sing next to a dead person. The nurses walked in to see a family in a circle and hear “ HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!” followed by clapping. The religious crack that had started small had now widened into a monstrous steep cliff that now separated family, and who knew if it could ever be fixed.

 That night Amra called Eban, her hands calm and precise called his number. “I need you , now.” , “ I’ll pick you up.” The amazing thing about Eban is that he didn’t take Amra’s grief process for granted. Amra was quiet about her feelings vocally, but physically she could tell Eban everything she was feeling. Under the covers and her touch she would tell him what she was feeling, and with his body he would listen and respond with his lips. That night she had a lot to say, there's nothing like death as an aphrodisiac. That night frustration, anger, and grief were outshined by candles he had laid out adding to the definition of his toned body as he responded to each thing she said with his body and thrusts. His strong arms wrapped themselves around her body as soft I love you’s were whispered after a kiss or pause to look into each other. The way he looked at her was a look of admiration, if she only knew the way he really felt about her and the way he saw her then maybe he would’ve never felt the small scars hidden around her body. The small scars that were made out of guilt and shame were small reminders of how he had first seen her. If she only knew that in the next room was a box holding the thing that would signify the next stage of their life together.

“Stop it…Joel how you doin’ bud” said Amra desperately trying to come back to the present and the road. The poor kid was gone with his head against the door, his tie again out of place after the many times I had fixed it during the wake. Squeezing his hand she wanted nothing more but to be back in apartment and he knew this. He turned to give her that smile, that smile that God created must have carved himself, the smile that tore down structures like Jericho. "How much longer?" inquired the 4 year old little shadow, his tiny body was already wiggling with impatience.  "A little while longer bud", turning back to give him the most reassuring smile she could muster.  The road was wide, with curves that would send a less cautious driver into the thick trees that grew right along the side. She loved this drive; when the sun would set to the west light would peak between the branches and leaves causing shadows and flickers that calmed her as she drove.

The Sun remained at a distance and at the long end of the winding road. The church service was short. Wooden pew, wooden beams, wooden crosses and statues were organized throughout the white church with Glass stained windows. It was chilly, but the light had no problem making it’s way into the church to show the dust that caught most of Amra’s attention. Across the pew with three children covered in snot and possibly soiled diapers, sat Jezabel. Jezabel’s beautiful brown eyes now dark and muddy from alcohol, and maybe meth, no one really knows. Her hair tied up in a bun and pants that barely covered her backside. Jezabel made her way to Amra and Eban, through the pews and people. She smiled as if she had the warmest relationship with her and throwing her arms open to embrace her. Amra’s back stiffened and sought out any possible excuse to evade the oncoming attack that was about to come “Amra, you look wonderful in black!”. “F**k me” Eban elbowed her arm, “Jezabel … hey” Amra was already pulling Eban through the pew seeking salvation at the end of the altar where her godmother was. “So you brought the black stallion huh? You always like being different”

Author's Note

I suck at grammar feed back on that would help.
Is the story ok, so far?
this is also a work in progress. I'll update each time I add or make changes.

Reviews

[Taylor]

Hi Sari12: Good start to an interesting story. Please take my remarks as constructive and also worth a grain of salt, if you don't agree with them. I'm just giving you my honest reaction in the hope that it will be helpful but certainly I am no farther along as a writer than the most inexperience.

In general, I'd suggest trying to "show" rather than tell -- at first, I allmost felt like you were writing an essay because so much opinion was expressed as narrative. That "show rather than tell" was a constant theme in my instructor's commentary of my writing in the only writing group I've ever belonged to and I think it was very good advice except it is far easier to say than to do.
I'd also suggest shorter paragraphs and care in creating transitions from one "scene" to another. The story also switches back and forth between third person narrative (often the opinions) to first person. To me, when you move to first person, it's more interesting and powerful. In paragraph 2, there are so many characters introduced rapidly that I had trouble following; it almost felt like stream of consciousness. I wanted you to slow down and give more details about each person, what they looked like, any particular ticks, anything that distinguished them. Also, if you separate dialogue for each speaker -- get a book on short story writing and it would cover that -- it will help with clarity. I love some of your combinations such as in paragraph 3, "prayer and expensive lawyers." I wonder what would happen if you started the story with the powerful scene of Molly et al singing "Happy Birthday" to the corpse. That constrasted with the other characters could say it all about the strange combinations of people within the familial mourners. At times, the narrative summarizes what the reader should deduce, such as "the religious crack that had started small had widened into a monstrous cliff that now...." If you set the scene juxtaposing the various elements of the family, the reader will understand the chasm between them.
Did I already say I felt the transitions were abrupt at times -- for example, you move from the love making scene between Amra and Eban into the car scene with Joel.
Sorry for being so verbose. Again, I think you have the core of a very powerful and poignant story. Hope my comments are helpful. I've tried to be honest so that you have at least one person's perspective, for whatever it's worth. Keep writing. I enjoyed reading.

[Sari12]

No, this is exactly what I needed to hear. To be honest I know I suck at transitioning, I just really don't know how to do it.
Thank you so much for this it will really help.

[Taylor]

I've borrowed books from the library on writing short stories and some have been helpful. I think also when you move from one scene to another you might ask yourself, how can I explain to the reader that I've moved to a new part of the story? Of course, probably the best way to learn is to read lots of good short stories paying attention to how famous writers transitioned from one part of the story to another. Hope these suggestions are helpful.

[Sari12]

So I re-read this and I can already see the changes that need to be made.

[Chris]

well, in truth - at the moment, with just a lowercase "s" displayed - it does seem a lil "thin".

Chuckling here, welcome to WC Sari.

[Sari12]

Lol I'm not a writer, I'm taking a Creative writing course. No idea what I''m doing.

[Chris]

we were all new... you'll do ok.

[Taylor]

For some reason, I cannot access your story. Sorry, I was hoping to review it.

[Sari12]

I went ahead and put it in the text body, thank you.