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literature
Not Like This
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Literature Text
Thunder pounded through the clouds; fading echoes lingered beyond the initial clap. The skies opened, and rain poured, drenching everything. A reprieve was far from sight; the greyness was here to stay, much to the disdain of many.
A long figure made its way, unseen, down a single pathway. His hat sat crooked on grey hairs while water rushed steadily off its brim. The coat draped over his shoulders, was not a safe haven from the wetness to which it had succumbed. No one was around to observe the sad and lonely man, something he was glad for at this moment.
He shuffled along, bent and broken with sorrow. His heart, fallen from his chest, was heavy on his feet. Thoughts weighed on his mind; emotions, of the emotions he could feel, swirled in a chaotic knot of unfathomable pain. A day did not pass without the feeling of utter loss; the pain of a depression so deep, no light could be seen from its depths.
Death stones loomed about him as he passed them one by one. The rain shrouded his sight, but his memory moved him along as this trip had been made too many times. Every week, the same path would feel his feet upon its gravel stretch. Every week, his stride became shorter and slower than before.
Those who have seen him make this journey in the past could not comprehend his agony. He was a lost man, not searching or wishing to be found. He wanted all of this to end. But, until his last breath escaped his lunges, the trip had to be taken as it had for years.
Flowers, he remembered he had been carrying red and white roses. With a quick glance, he discovered a handful of water saturated plants. He shrugged. There was nothing he could do about them now with the unplanned downpour joining him in his weekly cemetery visit.
At long last, he paused and longer than a moment. Not looking up, he dropped to his knees. Water splashed as he fell into a puddle, but it did little to deter him from his mission. Empty eyes stared at a shiny black stone through the foggy rain. A shaking hand reached out and touched the inky gleam of granite. His hand pulled back as if he had been burned, landing on his chest while he panted in painful gasps.
"Oh, Mary. Why?" He cried out in agony.
He knew there would be no answer in return, and the tears that fell went unnoticed by the inability to know of their existence. He did not care. They could fall, and whether he noticed them at all was not what concerned him. She was gone; everything in his life that had any meaning was gone. There was no reason for him to keep on going the way he was, but he did...for her.
"I can't keep going, Mary," he whispered. "Not like this."
Not like this.
A long figure made its way, unseen, down a single pathway. His hat sat crooked on grey hairs while water rushed steadily off its brim. The coat draped over his shoulders, was not a safe haven from the wetness to which it had succumbed. No one was around to observe the sad and lonely man, something he was glad for at this moment.
He shuffled along, bent and broken with sorrow. His heart, fallen from his chest, was heavy on his feet. Thoughts weighed on his mind; emotions, of the emotions he could feel, swirled in a chaotic knot of unfathomable pain. A day did not pass without the feeling of utter loss; the pain of a depression so deep, no light could be seen from its depths.
Death stones loomed about him as he passed them one by one. The rain shrouded his sight, but his memory moved him along as this trip had been made too many times. Every week, the same path would feel his feet upon its gravel stretch. Every week, his stride became shorter and slower than before.
Those who have seen him make this journey in the past could not comprehend his agony. He was a lost man, not searching or wishing to be found. He wanted all of this to end. But, until his last breath escaped his lunges, the trip had to be taken as it had for years.
Flowers, he remembered he had been carrying red and white roses. With a quick glance, he discovered a handful of water saturated plants. He shrugged. There was nothing he could do about them now with the unplanned downpour joining him in his weekly cemetery visit.
At long last, he paused and longer than a moment. Not looking up, he dropped to his knees. Water splashed as he fell into a puddle, but it did little to deter him from his mission. Empty eyes stared at a shiny black stone through the foggy rain. A shaking hand reached out and touched the inky gleam of granite. His hand pulled back as if he had been burned, landing on his chest while he panted in painful gasps.
"Oh, Mary. Why?" He cried out in agony.
He knew there would be no answer in return, and the tears that fell went unnoticed by the inability to know of their existence. He did not care. They could fall, and whether he noticed them at all was not what concerned him. She was gone; everything in his life that had any meaning was gone. There was no reason for him to keep on going the way he was, but he did...for her.
"I can't keep going, Mary," he whispered. "Not like this."
Not like this.
My part of the entry for Understood-Accepted's "Feelings" contest. Something completely different than what I have been writing. 
The journal for the contest details is
And! My partner's portion not like this
The journal for the contest details is
Contest - Submission Time - ONLY 3 DAYS LEFT!!Our "Creed"
Hello, you've reached a quiet place, a place where you can bare your heart or simply share your soul. We are all like you - problems and pain haunt and hurt us as they do you. We don't all have the same things that consume us, but still we understand your ghosts and the trouble you face daily hurt you deeply, as ours do to us. We know pain. We try help you face it. If you remember one thing about this place, remember this: No matter what you are living or have lived through, you are accepted.
YOU. ARE. ACCEPTED
Welcome to Understood-Accepted's
The conce
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And! My partner's portion not like this
© 2015 - 2024 PennedinWhite
Comments32
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Overall Vision Originality Technique ImpactFirst things first: this is a great piece! This definitely captures emotion, but the trick is getting the reader to feel emotion without telling them what to feel. About half of this piece can go, and still provide a stronger punch in the end. A good exercise in getting more out of less is to try and finish a story in 100 words or less and fulfill certain parameters. For example: during a university course, my professor (who happens to be on Oprah's list) instructed us to write a 100 word story with the following parameters (all thrown out by the class as ideas): Lydia is a prostitute who wants to escape her pimp, Derrick. She has rallied the homeless to help her.
---
The yellow glow from the streetlight gave no comfort from the chilly New-York mist, nor the sidewalk and brick of the abandoned building against Lydia’s twenty-year-old skin. Derrick approached from the shadows: Italian leather shoes and a tweed flat cap. His screechy Irish accent gave worse chills than the air, “I got your letter. You can’t quit, bitch.” He grabbed her arm and his hand was posed snake, “You’re mine.”
A beast of a man in ragged clothes snatched his wrist, “We are hidden and we are many. Leave… forever.”
Lydia smiled, kissed the giant, and walked into the night.
---
Note how we do not tell that Derrick is a pimp and she is a prostitute, nor that the giant is homeless. These details are easily gleaned by the reader - space that is better used to involve the reader.
Here's some changes I made to your story. You don't need to keep them, nor should you - its your story. I simply did this as an example of what could be done. I simply read through your piece and thought to myself, what would the professor and class have said about this?
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Thunder pounded through the clouds; fading echoes lingered after the peal. The skies opened and released their torrent. A long figure shuffled along - bent and broken - down a pathway. His hat sat crooked on grey hairs while water rushed steadily off its brim. The coat draped over his shoulders, was not a safe haven from the deluge to which it had succumbed. Death stones loomed about him as he passed them one by one. The rain shrouded his sight, but his memory moved him along as this trip had been made too many times. Every week, the same path would feel his feet upon its gravel stretch. Every week, his stride became shorter and slower than before. He remembered he had been carrying red and white roses. With a quick glance, he discovered a handful of water saturated plants. He shrugged.
At long last, he paused, then dropped to his knees, splashing water which had collected into a puddle. His empty eyes stared at a shiny black stone through the foggy rain. His hand shook as he reached out to touch the inky gleam of granite. He pulled back as though he were burned, and clutched his chest - he panted in painful gasps. "Oh, Mary. Why?" He cried out in agony. Tears for her, but she was gone; everything in his life that had any meaning was gone. There was no reason for him to keep on going the way he was, but he did - for her. "I can't keep going, Mary," he whispered. "Not like this."
Not like this.