What a Wonderful World

A work I'd written as an example, it is a story that COULD take off and yet has not. This is by design; I leave this as a piece that COULD tell a story to give an example, of sorts, to other authors.

"What a Wonderful World"

'My mother once told me, back when I was a young boy, that "The Cosmic Eye blinked, and the world shattered." Now I really didn't think too much of it, Son, at the time. I didn't really think it meant nothing. She said that right up until the day she died, and on her death-bed, she added something. She told me, that day, that "God was done wit' us all." She told me, with her last breath, the same damn thing she'd always said, but it was different. "God was done wit' us all," and "The Cosmic Eye done blinked."

The very next day, Sonny, her world ended, and our world ended with her.

The note said nothing else, nothing further. I stood, boring into those words as if trying to discover some hidden truth to his sentiments, but this was all he'd written. Just, " . . . And our world ended with her." In his own sort of way, Gra-pa was confessing a secret he'd kept inside of himself for all these years. He was confessing, and for the life of me I didn't even understand what my grandfather was telling me. Forever I'd known the man, and here I stood, realizing the worlds of distance between us. A tear fell down my face, but it was hollow, dead. I was only sad in body, but my heart was iced and numb from the frigidness of this new world.

Hearing a stepping, very lightly announcing itself in the hallway, I was instantly alert. A .38 special revolver, once laying beside the envelope on the oaken table before me, now rested with its back to my palm, and bared its muzzle at the intruder.

"Glad to see you -- Daryl, you're crying." Devon walked forward a few steps, and I gently folded the note up and stuck it back into its paper-thin home.

"Just. . . ." I tried, but the next words caught in my throat. I dismissed them as a cough, and held up a hand to halt her advance. "Did you find out anything? Do we have visitors?"

"No, I. . . ." She was upset now. God-damn it, she was always upset about something. "Daryl, I swear I didn't mean to let them."

"I don't have time for this!" I screamed at her, silencing her. She looked afraid of me, and I knew why. A man of six-foot-five, six-six, weighing just under two-fifty with a loaded gun and the face of a maniac ready to finally burst at the seams, was really not something most people were overly-comfortable around. I knew she was afraid of me, and hell, if I'd seen someone who looked half the psychopath I remember seeing in Gra-pa's mirror I'd be, too.

So, for her courtesy, I lowered the gun. "I don't want to hear it," I spoke more calmly, though my blood boiled nonetheless. "Just go do something." I turned away, firearm slack in my left hand, and heard her leave without another word. I felt unusual peace just then, standing and staring out of Gra-pa's dining room window, letting my imagination run wild. I knew it was almost time, and I'd snapped at her, and I'd gotten frustrated with her. She was terrified, and she needed me now.

"Devon? Sweetheart, can you please come here?" I turned from the window, swallowing my guilt and holstering the .38. I grabbed up my grandfather's note, for whatever that was worth, folded and pocketed it too. I heard a coughing in the other room, Gra-pa's bedroom where she'd be staying the night. She'd gone off to sleep already, and probably figured I'd yell at her some more.

"Devon? It's alright, I'm not mad. Just, I'm scared too. Scared and frustrated that I can't do anything to help you." I finished, rubbing back my greasy black hair and letting myself be wholly-consumed in guilt. I stepped into the hallway, turned right. The walls were lined with old photos, some of me and some of Gra-pa and others of people I didn't know immortalized in black-and-white and faded brown. Every single person had a smile on their face, and upon seeing them a small one crept up on me as well.

I turned left, following the short hall to Gra-pa's room, whereupon I heard the noise. It was her song. Louis Armstrong singing "What a Wonderful World," in his scratchy, warbling voice brought me to cry, silently. There was nothing else I could do, but I let it all out. Nobody would see me, and nobody would hear me.

And, yet, the door opened that moment, on a full-grown man crying his eyes out. "Daryl, come on," she insisted, holding out a hand. This was the woman I'd fallen for, the woman I loved with all my heart. This was the woman, offering me something. "One last dance, before the end?"

"I'd be honored, my Dove," I told her, in the same way I'd said all those years ago when we'd wed. It was the corniest thing, then, to say that just after the pastor's 'Kiss the Bride' sentiment, but I'd not felt shy then and I didn't feel shy now.

I took her hand, brought her forehead close to my chest, and in that small hallway we slow-danced. We danced without energy, but with passion.

("And I think to myself, ah, What a Wonderful World!")

We danced for an entire minute, an eternity with my beloved. She coughed then, went slack in my arms, but her feet, her legs, still moved with mine, and I cried. Tears ran down my face, droplets tapping her auburn curls and flowing down her own cheeks. Or, were those her tears?

It didn't matter. We danced for that eternity.

Then, she growled. It was subtle, quiet, and I tried to ignore it. She made the noise again, a little more insistent, and struggled against me a bit. "No, you don't," I cried quietly.

"Hurrrrrr. . . ." she went on, her fingers digging into my chest, and instantly I shoved her back into Gra-pa's room. Her eyes blazed redness, as she came at me again.

("Yes, I think to myself, What a Wonderful-")

(BANG!)

("World.")

The gun fell from my hand, hit the bare hardwood floor but made not a sound. I fell to my knees, but made not a sound. She breathed her last breath in this world, but made not a sound.

The first sound was made, subtle. It was the clicking of the .38 as I pulled back the trigger. I didn't even notice it was in my hands, before the time was right. I didn't notice it was over, before it was over. "I love you, my Dove," I whispered to the room, and closed my eyes for the Close.

Author's Note

Thank you for reading!

Reviews

[CommandoDolphin]

Reading this I had to update my music knowledge, (I listened to What A Wonderful Word) and I liked it. Reading this story the irony of it caught my attention, it was fascinating that you placed such a happy song in a such a dreadful time for them; in my mind you put a wonderful juxtaposition through that scenario. Your words were consuming and the flow was great. When I arrived at where the change was happening it was so subtle but so intense. Your words flow wonderfully. And the tragic love was enthralling. Thank you for writing this. It was a pleasure.

[S. D. Forogar]

Thank you for this review!

It's much shorter than I'd want for a piece that does tell such a powerful story (ignoring the plot of course haha!), but perhaps its shortness is the reason this piece is so well-received. Either way, I'm glad you liked it!

[Windy L. Kitty]

Btw, Sorry that I ask, umm.. How do you make friends on this website? I know I know stupid question Im just new to this

[Windy L. Kitty]

Daaaaaaaaaaaam! This is wholey s**t good! I think we have a talent with pride. If you actually made this a book with other short stories I think it would work! Sure, it might be dark, but still be good! ;)

[S. D. Forogar]

Thank you very much haha! As for friends, just click the name link and select the option on that page on the right. There are other ways, but that's a start.

[Senu Jayasinghe]

It appears to me like this guy deryl is a person who has a burning coal temper under a cover of ice. Which I think is a dangerous personality. Or is it just the situation he is going through... he is confused with the relentless change of the world as was known to him. The photos in the hall talks about the happy past in the world he knew. There were lot of people in his life and he was happy., even the memories can plant a smile to his lips .... Now , he is lost. He doesn't know what to do anymore. As he says to devon he IS scared. And helpless. He seems overwhelmed by sorrow and hopelessness. The blinks of the contented past of his wedding day speaks of how lost he feels at the moment. The way you convey his sorrow is amazing. I like the different reactions and his memories that you used to mirror the complicatedness of deryl's mind in the story..

[S. D. Forogar]

Thank you for the review! This was an example I'd made for someone else, and I'm posting it here since they'd declined it. This is pretty much exactly how it was when I'd written it up, but it seemed to work as is haha!

[DoormanDan]

This story is one of the best put together sory i have ever read. The flow of it is perfect in every way, your descriptions are top notch, and i could almost feel the main characters sadness. Plus I didnt expect the story to end the way it did AT ALL. Overall, this is a truly great story! I wish my story writing skills were as good as yours!

[S. D. Forogar]

Thank you for your review!

[Polymath Chameleon]

..so simple and yet with many shades to a writing. You don't understand how much I love this. Can I ask how long it took to achieve this level of maturity in your writing style? I aspire to write like this one day and I know it doesn't happen just overnight.

[S. D. Forogar]

I can't really be sure. I've loved literary works for quite a good portion of my life, more than simply enjoying a single or multiple genres. I can read any story, and immerse myself into it, even if it involves themes that I myself cannot usually tolerate (such as teenage angst, or monster romance). I've come to read a great deal of works both good and bad, of a plethora of genres, and so I would conclude that how I write has nothing to do with how long I've written. More is to be gained from experience than simple age, and the two are not synonymous. You have to WANT to learn, then you have to actively seek out the knowledge you desire, and then you have to understand how to apply that knowledge to your chosen field.

I don't claim to know a great deal, though I do feel that I've picked up some wondrous information over the years and have hit the "trial-and-error" nail a little too squarely on the head, and so I guess my advice would be the same as Stephen King's might: "Read a lot, and write a lot." I'd add to it though, and state that you should experience things you never have, learn about things you couldn't care for and strive to fill any of the gaps in your abilities that you or others can perceive.

If you lack in an area, it's good to practice to the other extreme, as well. For example, if you don't detail things well (as almost all amateur writers suffer), shoot to the other extreme and attempt to overdo the descriptive work. This will help to bring you closer to a 'moderation,' of sorts, which is where you want to be; large excerpts of description bore, but nothing in this area confuses. A good amount of each lets the Reader imagine the scene, but still leaves it open for interpretation at once.

I'd be happy to help you out, check out some of your content, if you'd like to send me a sample or post it on your page!

[VALORMORE DE PLUME]

I like that this is cryptic enough to beckon the interest. Elusive enough to imagine alternate meanings. You impart emotion well in few words. This is capable of continuing in a number of directions.

[S. D. Forogar]

Thank you very much! I've no immediate intentions of continuing this work at present, though I may at a later date.

[VALORMORE DE PLUME]

I can see this as a character piece about two elderly people slowly dying of an incurable debilitating mental condition, perhaps hereditary, rather than sucoming to the ravages of the condition they make a pact to end it while they are still able to make that conviction. Thusly sparing their family the expense of a long hospital battle and the associated emotional turmoil.

[Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere]

Wow, dramatic piece, you write very well. That's something I never be able, I mean as a non native English speaker. I think it would be a great prologue for a bigger story, but that's only my opinion. Glad you shared this. :)

Rudi

[S. D. Forogar]

Thank you very much!

[David Ung]

amazing, really emotional, very intriguing and I love that!!! Please help me out because i am very new here. help me review my first part of my very first chapter. And please don't really mind if I made some grammatical errors. Lol. Thanks would really appreciate it.

[S. D. Forogar]

I would be very happy to, and thank you for your review!

[Delmar Cooper]

"implement emotion into an even shorter story" You said in a reply to a comment about "What a Wonderful World." Maybe so, maybe so. I saw the emotion you had your character(s) display. I think I should have been more empathetic. I think the story demanded more empathy. Perhaps I didn't feel so much personal, emotional imvolvement because the story supplied all the tears and remors None were necessary from me- no tear void for me to fill. Or maybe I'm an insensitive type.

The story supplied plenty of information in a seamless logical manner. Huge accomplishment in so few words. The writing is mature enough to expect the reader to fill in omissions of situational detail. That's rare.

I appreciated the irony of the title/song. Thanks for that.

[S. D. Forogar]

I thank you for the review!

Despite your kind words, I do understand that this piece lacks, but it only lacks because it stands at a crossroads, and I haven't quite decided whether to omit the unnecessary or continue on with it. As such, it remains in its unedited form still.

Once more, I appreciate the review, and I'll be checking some of your stuff out soon!