THE WANDERER

Short storie about deepness of human being in my point of view.

The Wanderer

 

A Short Story by Alexander Tomov Junior

 

         I’ve been a wanderer all my life. I travel round the world to forget people I meet every day. I dream of meeting someone who will remain in my memory. It hasn’t happened yet.

         Tonight I stop in a remote village, at the house of an old woman. She lays the table for me. I look at her wrinkled face and empty green eyes. There is a wooden bed in one corner of the simple kitchen. Somebody, covered with a blanket, stirs on it.

         “Who is sleeping there?” I ask her.

         She looks at me and doesn’t answer. She sits opposite me.

         “I want to ask you a favor. There is no one else to turn to,” she says cautiously.

         “What favor?”

         The woman takes two gold rings from her pocket and brings them closer to my eyes.

         “Tonight my daughter is getting marrying to a man who left her years ago. Now he has returned again, to make her happy. I want you to marry them!”

         “What do you mean, she is getting marrying? And where? Why should I give them the rings? And why should I marry them? I am just a wanderer.”

         “I have no relatives or close friends. There is no one else except you that I can ask. He won’t take the ring from me. He hates me because I drove him away. I thought he was not the right man for her at the time. But I was wrong. And since then my daughter is not feeling well.”

         “Okay, but I don’t understand how…” 

         “Come,” she takes me by the hand and we walk towards the small fire-place. She puts the rings into my pocket. “Lie down and listen to the fire. I’ll be beside you. Hold your hand near the flames to feel the slight burning. That way you won’t get lost…”

         I obey, although I don’t know why I am doing it. I close my eyes and start listening. The burning of my skin is getting less and less intense.

         I found myself in the twilight of a forest. On a small clearing I see a man and a woman. They are dressed all in white. They are beautiful. They stay side by side…

         “Come closer. They are expecting you,” I hear the old woman’s voice.

         I do. Everything is vague and is turning around. Their eyes are piercing me. I take out the rings. I hand them to the man. He takes them. Puts one on the bride’s finger and the other on his own finger.

         “Do you love him?” asks the distant voice of her mother.

         “Yes,” says the daughter.

         “And do you love her?”

         “Yes,” answers the man.

         “How do you know he is not lying? He has left her before, hasn’t he?” I ask the old woman ridiculously, in the presence of the newly married couple.

         “He is not lying! Dead people always tell the truth!” she answers.

         “You are now a husband and a wife, till death do you part,” I pronounce, endlessly surprised, with the voice of a stranger.

         They smile.

         I feel a sharp burning on my hand. I jump. I am again by the fire-place. The old woman is smiling. She sheds a few tears.  

         “Thank you. Now they will be happy forever,” she says to me and leaves the room.

         I am confused. I walk up to that bed. And lift the cover.

I find a woman as pale as death under it. I realize she has just died. This is obviously the old woman’s very ill daughter. I cover her again. I call the old woman. She doesn’t answer. I start looking for her all round the house. There is no sign of her. I take my baggage. I set the house on fire. It’s dark outside. The fire tears down the darkness. I turn my back to the place and leave, not knowing where.

And suddenly I understand…

All dreams are dead now.

 

 

         Translated from the Bulgarian by Margarita Dogramadzhyan

 

 

 

Reviews

[Effervescent Dreams]

That was a wonderful story!

[tomovjunior]

Thanks for the positive comments Nimmi! I appreciate!

Best regards: A. Tomov - junior

[...]

A very interesting story, sir. Dreams can be very strange, even insightful, and in this case...creative :)

[tomovjunior]

Thanks lynn, I appreciate!

Best regards: A. Tomov - junior

[Workvio]

A quite errie tale ... Dry, cold, and dark ... Excellent dialogue, and an interesting storyline ... Not your ordinary run of the mill story for sure ... Well done ... Very enjoyable ...

[tomovjunior]

Thanks :)

Best regards: A. Tomov - junior

[Mati]

This was a wonderful and engaging read. Now I am excited to read your other works. Keep writing for I will keep reading.

[tomovjunior]

Thanks :)

Best regards: A. Tomov - junior

[Kead]

Great short stories I have ever read in my life . wonderful. Beautiful.

[tomovjunior]

Thank Kead :)

Best regards: A. Tomov - junior

[Kead]

Great short stories I have ever read in my life . wonderful. Beautiful.

[S. D. Forogar]

Thus far, Mister Tomov, I have been prompted twice to join a group of yours. Needless to say, my interest was piqued, and so I have a review to grant you, as your work is interesting to say the least. Since you've received NOTHING but praise and goodness, I figured it also wouldn't hurt to provide you with an honest viewpoint from an analytical perspective. As I found this to be the best work of yours uploaded, I've elected to review it. That said, my Good and my Bad!

The GOOD: The concept, first and foremost, and the application second. Both go hand-in-hand in this case, as I felt the twinge of excitement and the tingle of goosebumps, respectively, while reading through this. Though it was a VERY short piece, and most assuredly rushed as a result, it had the power I so adore in a story. For that, I praise this piece!

The BAD: Generally, I'm going to say that this story's most lacking portion is also the point I find I complain about the most: the detail. Detail should be enacted as per the content of a story, and so I won't say that every hair follicle should have been outlined with care. However, neither will I dismiss a complete LACK of detail for what amounts to a fictional prose, as this piece displayed.

' Tonight I stop in a remote village, at the house of an old woman. She lays the table for me. I look at her wrinkled face and empty green eyes. There is a wooden bed in one corner of the simple kitchen. Somebody, covered with a blanket, stirs on it. ' Par. 2 full.

In the above, EVERY scene is compiled into a handful of words, words which beg the READER to fill in the blanks. This is a clear sign of amateur or "lazy" writing; in fact, the only imagery this story had presented me was the work that I did for myself. The powerful idea was excellent, but the setting rivaled it in terms of weakness, which evens it out to a "passable" rank. More description should be imparted, especially on the Wanderer's journey through the village to this place, the home itself and the very reason for ANY of this to be taking place. The plot is also a weak suit in this regard, but I'll get to that further on. For now, let's just take the first paragraph I've listed, and extrapolate upon it:

FROM:

' Tonight I stop in a remote village, at the house of an old woman. She lays the table for me. I look at her wrinkled face and empty green eyes. There is a wooden bed in one corner of the simple kitchen. Somebody, covered with a blanket, stirs on it. '

TO:

' Tonight, I stop in a remote village sunk beneath the shadows of a nearby mountain chain. Chronos, were those mountains, and Chrona was this village named, both apt namesakes. This village seems one lost in time, simple and small, three dozen one-storey homes lining its rugged terrain and split by two roads which meet at a cross near its centre. They know I am to arrive, and yet they will know not that I have.

' I dart to the left, turning from this peaceful scene of mountain-below tranquility, and sight my "in." Three there are, ways to enter Chrona, including two main roads between those mountains Chronos and my new path through a dark crevice cut into South Chronos. 'Tis not inviting, this dark passage, but neither do I fear the uninviting; my line of occupation does not allow for such trivial concerns. And so it is, that do I trudge onward in boots of thick hide. . . .

' Coming to pass the canyon dark, do I spot a simple hut on the outskirts of this village. Its door is dark, its exterior light, respectively fitted logs and plain slab. A chimney stands tall above a black-topped roof, though through it no smoke puffs. Surrounding it, whispering the intrusion of an outsider, stand precisely fourteen conifers, and yet clear the path is from where I stand to where I must travel. And so, travel I do.

' I take careful, yet determined steps, and half-way from the canyon to the door I halt. It opens a crack, and from its depths simply beckons a single hand with a single finger spry. It invites me closer, beckoning with but one gesture, and retreats as suddenly as it had appeared. The door remains open a crack, which narrows my eyes but does not still my step.

' I stride the distance, near a hustle, business-like. Touching the door, I note that it feels cool, but cooler than cool. It chills me to my core, frost-burns my fingers and I flinch slightly. "Come on in, please," a wispy voice presses. "You'll let the heat out."

' Nudging the door with my foot, I do accept the invitation, sealing the portal quickly upon having entered. The environment does not warm inside, though I find that it is tolerable, and so I bear my surroundings. ' Par.'s 2-7 full.

I could go on with this, but This should provide an example. Without using even the full content of one paragraph, I've written six, which adds a GREAT deal of depth to this piece and would, inevitably, make the excellent concept feel more ominous and impressive upon a Reader coming to finish it. Detail is often considered a "bad word," but it's the foundation, the cornerstone and the build entire of a strong story. It must, of course, be used in moderation as per the story, but it simply CANNOT be ignored if one wishes to make a truly-powerful piece.

The Flow, as well, is affected by this lack of detail, because there is nothing to each event and they just bleed together like some kind of haphazard tapestry. With detail, I am confident that both of these issues will be corrected.

The plot, now that we've reached this point, is good. I have very little to say that's truly "wrong" with it, but I'll go into the two major parts that harm it quite impressively. First, there is NO discernible reason for the Wanderer to do ANYTHING in this story, except on a miraculous whim or of sheer boredom. Yet, the Wanderer must have known of this woman to have visited her home so very intently, and so there is a sort of "story behind the story" going on. In this case, the plot loses value because it depends on unwritten content, and I'd recommend this be fixed swiftly.

Second of my issue with the plot is the ending. I find that there is simply NOTHING linking the whole story to the comment "All dreams are dead now," except for perhaps some vaguely-intuitive interpretation by the Wanderer that insists that HIS OWN dreams are now dead. If this is the case, then it suffers from the same problem as the above, in that the plot is depending on elements of itself which are not present or even hinted at within the story itself. My recommendation is much the same as before, in that this must be addressed (in this instance, in the attitude of the Wanderer).

I WAS intrigued by this piece, but exclusively on a visceral level. When I truly analyzed it, I found that it simply could not hold up under scrutiny, and would only manage to tell a story for an imaginative audience to fill in every (even slight) nuance for themselves.

[WEIGHWITHWORDS]

this made me think and continues to make me think. there's a lot to a statement like that when I make it. there's something else here and I need to read this a few times to capture it. Already this is great writhing...but I do sense that something else is present here....

[tomovjunior]

My stories are very strange WEIGHWITHWORDS. I could say that I write by intuition.

Best regards: A. Tomov - junior

[Delmar Cooper]

Thanks for sharing. I read the other comments. I didn't find the story mystic or particularly suspenseful. I thought it was predictable, but I still enjoyed reading it, if for no other reason than these two lines:

"I take my baggage. I set the house on fire."

[brian mclaughlin]

great write, a wonderful story. thank you

[tomovjunior]

Thanks, I appreciate! :)