[Silversun]

Nice fic Black Lake! [img]smilies/thumbs_up.gif[/img] It's got a well-practiced, mature tone to it. Can I ask how old you are?

[Black Lake]

Thanks! I'm 16...lol, I read a lot.

[FeLiNe Th0uGhTs]

Hi. I write fictional stories all the time.
I just.. never think they're any good so I end up redoing them. I realize I don't have a story yet to post here, but I will work on one.. and hopefully you guys will like it.

[Silversun]

This thread could use some sprucing up - we'd love to see anything from you FeLiNe Th0uGhTs. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

This one's a bit over the posting word limit, which is hardly leading by example... so I apologise in advance. [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img] It's sort of a 'chapter' in the novel I was developing, but it can also be read as a short story as well.

Pick Scrape

I pace up and down the uneven floorboards, listening to the wood panels protest under my feet, absently inhaling the familiar smell I’ve long associated with J’s room. It’s a mixture of nail polish remover, cigarette smoke and an almost indiscernible whiff of rust, something that conjures up images of sweaty fingers tugging at dirty guitar strings.

“Guess what my mum said today.” My tone is half indignant, half incredulous.

J looks up, wafting his hands in the air to help the polish dry faster. In the dim light of the shuttered room, he seems like a shadowed, genderless ballet dancer from some dysfunctional ensemble. “What?”

I pause for effect. “Bisexual people can’t fall in love.”

He arches one dark, carefully plucked eyebrow, blows gently on his nails, and begins to apply another coat of polish.

I stare at him. “Well?”

He shrugs. No other indication that he’d heard.

“Aren’t you…” I pause. Pissed off? Angry? Feeling misunderstood? He’s just sitting there, concentrating on those ten shiny little rectangles of polish. Smooth and perfect they are, waiting to be scraped away during his fervid strumming in one of the band’s more arduous moments, giving him the chance to repaint, to do up these nails over all again.

“... what?” He doesn’t bother to wait out my silence. Dipping the brush back into the bottle, he looks up again, “You want me to scoff at her laughable middle-age misconceptions? Want me to bitch with you about how homophobic this world really is, despite its desperation for everything to appear clean and fair and PC?”

I frown. “Well, yeah. That’s what we do.”

He picks up the brush again, carefully wiping away the excess on the neck of the bottle. “What’s the point?”

“The point?” I repeat. “The point is she’s wrong and you don’t seem to care.”

He finishes the little fingernail on his left hand and holds it up to the light, scrutinising the impeccably shiny blackness. “Nobody’s wrong about these things, Kris. People just see it differently.”

“But...” I stutter, “but you were so bitter about it a while ago. Militant.” Accusatorily, I point to the Queer As Folk inspired poster on his wall, the one that reads in bright red letters Smash the Heterosexual Orthodoxy.

“Things change.” He said simply, lighting up a cigarette and swearing when he realised that the nail polish wasn’t as dry as he’d thought, and that he had smudged a good deal of his careful handiwork.

“What changed?”

He watches the smoke haze up the air, faintly blue in the light that filters through the shutters. “Your mum thinks bi people can’t fall in love because they are all ****s, right? They’ll sleep with anybody and everybody and there’s no love in that. There can never be love in something she thinks is completely carnal.”

“That’s what she thinks, yeah. That’s how a lot of people seem to be interpreting it. Being bi to them is even worse than being gay, try making sense out of that.”

“When the truth is you can’t help who you fall in love with.” He gets up and hunts around the room for an ashtray.

“Yeah.” I nod enthusiastically, “That’s what I try to tell her.”

He gives up looking within seconds and tap flaking ash into a half-empty beer bottle instead. He looks back at me and pushes stringy hair out of his eyes. “Do you honestly believe that? The fact that you just can’t help it?”

“Well...” I falter at his tone, “Yes. Isn’t that what you believe?”

Isn’t that what you are forced to live with every day? You always said no one chooses to be what they are, and I believe you because you are the one person who should know.

“Okay, tell me then, O open-minded one,” his eyes are very wide, as though in some over-exaggerated imitation of a child, “Where do you draw the line between open-mindedness and absurdity? Gay people? Inter-racial relationships? A relationship between a 50 year old woman and a 20 year old man? What about necrophilia? Incest?”

I open my mouth to protest.

“Wait before you say anything...” his voice suddenly drops. Quiet and conspiratory, he adds one more condition that changes perhaps everything and perhaps nothing. “What if they are all honestly, completely and truly in love? Yes, don’t just assume it’s not possible.”

He blinks, pushes strands of hair out of his face once more, “Why is it impossible to fall in love with a dead person? Why is it impossible to fall in love with someone a third of your age?” He shrugs and smirks, “Maybe it happens so rarely we think it will never happen, and most likely it’s never going to happen to us. But I think someone can – somewhere out there. There are a lot of people in this world.”

My mouth is still open but he had taken something out of my objection. It wasn’t as if I have nothing to say, because I have things to say... I’m just not sure if they are relevant enough.

Yes, what if? I could say things. I could conjure theories. I could bring out here ‘evidence’ of some quirk of evolution that may render it never possible for siblings to truly fall in love with each other, but then... that’s all just speculation, isn’t it? I don’t know. I’ll never really know.

I suddenly recall my mother, standing inside the bright, sunny kitchen at home, a worn dishtowel in one hand. “Bisexual people can’t fall in love,” she said, full of conviction.

“Is it a sin for a man to love a man?” J has begun to repaint the nails that he had smudged, “Of course not. Then it can’t, logically, be any more of a sin for a man to love his own flesh-and-blood brother. Not just to love; to be in love with. Where is the distinction? Why is that morally wrong while the other case isn’t? Well,” he rephrases, "to some people."

There has to be some flaw in this reasoning, but to my frustration I’m drawing a blank. “I don’t know.” I sigh.

“The problem with everything,” experimentally, he flicks the tip of his tongue over the nail that is not quite yet dry. I watch him and can almost taste the polish too, tangy and bitter, with an overwhelmingly metallic aftertaste.

“... Is that we don’t know where to draw the boundaries.” He continues, “Maybe there are boundaries as set out by nature, by physical laws.” Here he gives a funny little laugh, “even by god, maybe... but we can’t determine what they are. Because in setting out any sort of boundary to enclose people within, you always end up excluding others. To be one hundred percent accepting and understanding means that you can’t have boundaries, and I don’t think we’re capable of doing that.”

I stare at his hands. Long, white and bony, they seem as girly as they are masculine. Like the rest of him, I suppose. Or at any rate they appear like he wants himself to be perceived. Smash the Heterosexual Orthodoxy.

“Everything we touch is finite,” he clasps his hands together like a prayer, carefully avoiding touching the nails, “and the notion of infinity is beyond our grasp – we can’t abide by things that do not have boundaries.”

“What are you getting at, J?”

He looks up once more, turquoise eyes sultry in the demi-darkness.

“Think about it, Kris. There’s no such thing as true open-mindedness. It’s not compatible with this world.”

[ 02-13-2004: Message edited Silversun ]

[Chiqa]

Some of my original fiction is here some original


My fictional online journal Femi's Diary

[Chiqa]

This is the shortest story I have, I don't think it's my best but it's the shortest. It also happens to be my only happy story... seems like most of my work is tragic [img]smilies/frown.gif[/img]

--------

"You're making that up! There's no way that happened!" I was cackling like a hyena.

"It sure did," he said animatedly.

I sipped wine as he shared the details of his latest anecdote.

Anyone watching us at the restaurant would never have guessed we were on a first date.

Last Saturday, I dragged my two best friends, Laura and Julia, to an African Students Association event. Thirty minutes into it, as we were devising a plan to discreetly leave, Julia spotted him. He was about 6’3, light skinned, toned like a male model and owned a smile that could melt the North Pole. After twenty minutes of intense staring, a few arguments, followed by a few rounds of 'rock, paper, scissors,' Julia won the opportunity to approach him.

So you can imagine my surprise when shortly after, a frowning Julia returned with him in tow and introduced him to us. Ten minutes later, Moke and I separated ourselves from the group and spent the rest of the evening together.

For a week, I’d wondered why he’d picked me over my friend, so I asked.

“You don’t like that I came to talk to you instead?”

“No. That’s not it. It’s just that she’s so beautiful. All the guys always go for her. I’m just wondering why you didn’t. ”

He was nodding his head. “Yes, she is beautiful, but so are you. In fact I find you more attractive.”

I blushed. “Really?”

He looked at me like I was crazy. “Of course, don’t you see that?”

“I guess so.” I really didn’t know how to respond. “So you came to talk to me because you thought I was more beautiful?” I figured I'd milk it because compliments were always nice to hear.

“Yes... no... I don’t know. I just had a feeling about you. Like I knew you or something. Actually, more like you were someone I should know. So I went with that. And I’m glad I did. Aren’t you?”

“What do you think?”

We spent the rest of the evening talking and flirting shamelessly and if the restaurant didn’t have to close, we would have stayed there till daybreak because neither of us paid any attention to the time.

On the ride home I couldn’t help but be tickled by the entire situation. All my life I’d dealt with useless, unsupportive, uncaring, selfish leeches and like a dream, he walked into my life.

As we walked to the entrance door of my dormitory, I looked at him and said, “So...”

“So, did you have a great time?” He asked expectantly.

“Of course I did. Can’t you tell?” I was quite giddy.

“Would I be jumping into conclusions by assuming that means you’d like to do this again?”

“Well, that depends… did you have a good time? And would you like to do this again?” I said teasingly as I looked into his eyes.

He looked back into mine and before I knew it, I was putting my hands on the back of his neck and pulling his face dangerously close to mine.

“What do you think?” He asked sexily as his hands slipped to the small of my back and he pulled my body to his. Before I could respond, I felt his soft lips imploring mine. Slowly and surely my brains turned into mush. He expertly and passionately kissed me in a teasing and very romantic fashion that I found myself matching his every move. We spent about 5 minutes stuck like glue before we heard the church bells ring 12 times. I broke away from him as I was jolted back into reality. However, I noticed that my actions confused him.

“Remember, I have my church thing tomorrow?” I explained.

“I would suggest you ditch, but I don’t want to find myself mysteriously struck by lightning on the way home.”

“No, that wouldn’t be good.” We laughed.

“So,” he said, clapping his hands, “we’ve not actually solidified any plans. What should we do next? I would say a dinner and a movie but look was happened today.” We had planned to see a movie after our dinner.

I thought about it. “Well, there’s a movie I really wanna see so maybe we see the movie first next time?” We were both grinning like fools. “How about next Friday?”

He softly caressed by face, “ But Friday seems so far away.”

“That’s why telephones were invented. You can always call me.”

He groaned, “Yeah, but I want to see you before then.”

“How about after my meeting tomorrow? We are usually done by noon. So what about lunch at about… one?” His alluring eyes were working wonders on my psyche.

He pulled my face close to his as he kissed my lips. “It’s a date.”

I turned to leave but changed my mind. A nagging question had been on my mind for the past week so I chose to satisfy my curiosity.

"Moke, can I ask you a question?” I asked sheepishly.

“Sure, what?”

“Well… it’s your name. It’s rather unique. Where did you get it from?”

“It’s Nigerian – it’s short for Emamoke.” I groaned.

He looked concerned and touched my arm. “Are you okay?”

I smiled wearily. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just that that name brings back awful memories. I’m glad I don’t have to call you by it. ”

His interest was piqued. “Aww, but how could my full name bring back such awful memories? I don’t get that.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Just this idiot I met summer of ’87 on holiday visiting my grandma in Nigeria. I mean --”

“I didn’t know you were from Africa,” he interjected.

“Well, my parents are.” He kept staring. “Anyway, this boy called Emamoke Umukoro –I shall never forget that name – tormented my life the whole stay. He called me names, chased after me, threw things and just made my stay rather memorable –and not in a good way.”

I couldn’t understand what happened but suddenly he could barely keep himself from laughing.

“Go on,” he implored.

I giggled nervously. “That’s pretty much it. I swore that if I every saw him again I would punch his lights out -stupid ninny.”

He leaned toward me then put his hands behind his back. “Alright then, take your best shot.”

Confused and suspicious I asked, “Excuse me?”

He laughed and stretched out his hand. “I think I need to re-introduce myself to you.” With an exaggerated bow he said, “I am your tormentor –Mr. Emamoke Umukoro.”

I was really confused. “No... no...” I couldn’t believe it, “It can’t be.”

He kept nodding his head, “I’m afraid it is.”

“But… but… but your name is Moke Michael.”

“Yes, it is. But my Father changed it in ’88, after we moved to the States,” he said with dancing eyes.

With a frown I stared at him for about a minute. As if on cue, we both burst into a fit of hysterics.

[Silversun]

NaijaChiqa - that's a very cute story! [img]smilies/thumbs_up.gif[/img]

[Chiqa]

Originally posted by Silversun: <STRONG>NaijaChiqa - that's a very cute story! [img]smilies/thumbs_up.gif[/img]</STRONG>

Thanx [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

Your stuff is great.

[Chiqa]

I just wanted to share an entry from my fictional online journal here... it'll probably not make too much sense... and there's a little profanity [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]

-----
Week twenty-four, year 2. What da hell is up with my face! And why da hell is it peppered with zits? Not little zits, you know the ones you could slap some paint on and hide, no… there are the zits so huge you expect a maggot to pop out of it. And Diary, don’t eeeww me, cos the **** that comes out is a lot, plus I have heard of maggots coming out of people’s boils. Anyway, I changed my pillow case and hopefully that’s going to work. Oh, one more thing, BBC America, bring EastEnders back! And yeah, those people are pretty unattractive and chubby but whatever, their drama is interesting.
Now my week - it’s been pretty boring and there’s hardly anything to talk about so I guess I’ll just give you updates. Mom and Dad are fine. My brother and his girlfriend are fine and all excited about their wedding next year… and about that, can’t you see how smart they are? Granted, they’d scheduled it for this year but then moved it to next June, but it‘s the latter decision that’s most important. This of course, gives them plenty of time to get to know each other better in a committed relationship without having to run into the kind of bull**** my darling Amber is facing with that sperm bank she’s married to.
Oh, did I tell you? Tommy the bastard’s bitch just sold a movie script of hers! Whoo hooo.. yeah I am soooo happy for her. Whatever. Apparently, some stupid shortsighted big movie studio bought it from her for something in the high six figures. So this bitch became successful overnight and what da **** is Tommy doing? Who knows? Whatever it is, it’s certainly not going to be as great as what she’s accomplished. And Tommy is such a waste of human flesh that he’ll probably be able to live off her for the rest of his life with not ambition of his own. But I’m guessing that that chick is smart and after a while, she’ll resent him and they’ll break up and become another Hollywood statistic… at least that’s what I’m hoping for.
Well, Trace called me this week to get an update. I guess that’s what we usually do, we call each other two or three times a month to get ‘updates.’ I figure this is how we convince ourselves that we are still tight and all that great stuff, but the conversations rarely last long but whatever. I’ll always love that girl even if our relationship can never be like it used to. And to think a man caused this… oh well.
O.K who watches the O.C.? So it’s practically a night time soap and frankly speaking I cannot even find one guy there I am attracted to - they all look so plastic, but like EastEnders, their drama is fun and frankly speaking, if I wanted something deep I’d be watching the Discovery channel.
So where was I? Yeah, I was watching the O.C when Trace called. Of course, girlfriend wouldn’t call when she’s watching one of her boring shows like ‘The West Wing’ but she had to call while I was enjoying my show.
“Yo girl, what’s up?” I answered cheerfully. Thank God for VCRs.
“Nothing really, just wanted to see how everything was.”
“Everything is cool. What’s going on over there?”
“Heard about Janelle?”
“What about Janelle?”
She hesitated, “Erm, she didn’t tell you?”
“About the baby?” I asked, letting her off the hook. She obviously thought she’d put her foot in her mouth. Come on, how won’t I know?
“Yeah, isn’t it wonderful? With all that protection, one could still swin through.”
Yeah, protection. “Well, nothing is 100%,” I said playing along.
“Girl, it’s God’s will, when He wants something to happen no human barrier can interfere.” Yep. Especially when there’s NO human barrier.
“How’s Donald taking it?” I asked.
“He was concerned at first. But right now, I think he’s actually looking forward to it,” she said with so much delight. Considering how happy she was, one would think she was the Grandma or something. Girl, calm down, your biological clock cannot be ticking that hard.
“Can you imagine? We are going to have a baby in our midst. We are all going to be aunties,” she continued. Yeah, whatever. As we all know, when YOUR FRIEND becomes a mother, she ceases to be your friend… nope, now she’s a MOTHER and all the time not spent running after some screaming brat will be spent with all the new mother friends she’s going to acquire in the process. So frankly speaking darling Trace, you are rarely going to see that oh so beautiful bundle of joy. But of course, I didn’t relay all this to the enthusiastic aunt - lessons are best learned experienced.
“So what else is new with you?” She asked.
At the moment, I heard a beeping sound on my phone and had to change over. When I got back she asked who it was. Trace was always so nosy but I decided that it didn’t hurt to tell her.
“Well, it was Michael.”
He seemed a little surprised. “You’ve started seeing him again?”
“Nope, not at all. I haven’t seen him in a long time.”
“So why was he calling?”
“We talk from time to time - we are friends you know.”
“I know that,” she said, “but how often?” She asked probingly.
“Like 4 or 5 times.”
“A day?” She screamed out.
I laughed, “Hell no, a week.”
She paused. “Girl, that’s too much. What are you guys talking about?”
“Things… I guess.”
“Are you sure this is the right thing to do?” She asked.
“Weren’t y’all the ones telling me about how dependable he is? You can really count on him - just like Ke… just like someone you’d want to be with,” I corrected myself.
“ But come on girl, I know you are not trying to go down that route,” she cautioned.
I sighed. “Y’all should make up your minds. You keep saying that I might have misunderstood things, talking about how great he is and all that, but when I talk to him, you hate it. Make up your minds.”
“No girl, you have to make up your own mind. You cannot live your life for anyone but yourself,” she finished.

O.K, so ever since that train incident, Dimple man had been all over my mind. Diary, relax, not how you think. I just felt really bad about what I’d said to him and I felt that an apology was in order… plus, I kind of had a dream about him, and all I’d say is, I was soft and wet and he was the opposite… well, until the end when he got a little wet himself.
Now where was I? I remembered that he usually stayed home on Saturday afternoons so I called him up.
“Hey, what’s up?” I asked when he answered the phone.
“Who’s this?”
“You don’t recognize the number? It’s Femi.”
“No, I didn’t. What can I do for you?”
Formal are we? “Is she there?”
“Who?”
“Camille!” This boy was getting on my nerves.
“No?”
“Alright then, relax.”
He sighed, “Femi, what do you want?”
“Relax o.k? I was just calling to apologize for what I said to you a few weeks ago.”
“Femi, trust me, I do not lose sleep over things you say - I have learned to ignore you,” he said dismissively.
Damn, I’ve gotta admit that those words stung. I didn’t even know what else to say so I tried to laugh it off - I just hope that he couldn’t hear the fakeness in my voice.
“In that case,” I said sweetly, “I’d better le…”
“Wait, wait, I want to ask you something,” he interrupted.
“What?”
“I hear you and whatshisface aren’t together anymore.”
“And?”
“Why didn’t you tell me the other day?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Nothing, I was just wondering.”
“Alright then, it’s none of your business. Not like were are friends or anything, right?”
“Femi, I don’t ne…”
“Yeah, whatever. Good bye.” I said hanging up.
Two minutes after that I called Michael back. Diary, I really do not know what da hell I am doing because I am so ****ing confused but I hope it somehow adds to my happiness.
Femi, 12:05pm, Sunday, November 9, 2003.

[Silversun]

NaijaChiqa, what is the online journal about? I liked the first part - very vitriolic! I've always loved a good bit of scorn. [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]

Here's another short story 'chapter' from my novel-in-progress (if "haven't been written in for two years" can still be called "progress" [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img] ). It's a bit pretentiously philosophical in nature because that was what I was obsessed with at the time. [img]smilies/embarrassment.gif[/img]

Haunted

I feel calmer now that I am alone. That sudden nausea has passed, together with the overwhelming urge to burst into tears out there in the hall.

Now that I am alone, I could cry if I wanted to. But I cannot. Tears are often constrained to a time, and if I do not cry at those moments I find later, as I do now, that there are no more tears to cry.

The bathroom is cold and fluorescent and tiled with shiny white porcelain. I’m trying to remember where I have seen it before, it all seems very familiar somehow. One of the walls is lined with mirrors. I walk closer, fascinated by the way it reflects the rest of the bathroom and creates the illusion of more space behind these walls.

I look into the mirror and my reflection looks back.

I reach out and touch it, my fingertips are cold but the glass is colder still. The person in the mirror smiles a small wistful smile, and her eyes betray things I cannot quite discern. A significant amount of time will lapse before I come to the eventual and somewhat shocking realisation that the person in the mirror is me, or at least a representation.

How am I ever linked to that person in the mirror? Those eyes I see in the mirror, are they my eyes? From them I see them; from myself I see myself. Where am I? Where is my self? Where do I end and my reflection begin?

Is there even a me to speak of in this way? The person in the eyes of this person, the soul in the reflection, the unchanging, the transcendental and the eternal.

I look into the mirror and my reflection looks back.

I would prefer that a part of me is eternal. I wish I had a soul or something along these lines. Anything to ensure that some part of me continues on when this mortal coil is cast off. Whether or not I actually do is another question altogether. Wishful thinking only takes me so far, the rest relies on the factual state of affairs and not merely what I believe, or try to believe in.

If I do have an eternal soul, at what point in my life does it become eternal? The lessons learned and the lives that touched my own – they are a part of me now. The lessons I will learn and the lives that will touch mine – it is just as true now as it will be true in the future that they will become a part of me. So, at what point do I take this temporal snapshot of me to be my eternal soul?

Theory is that large differences in ‘destiny’ become sorted through time so that destiny remains, well, destined. To put it in pragmatic terms, it means that although the occurrence (conversely the absence) of any event serves to make a world of difference at its inception or lack thereof, this tremendous difference will, given a significant passage of time, slowly re-regulate itself to the predestined state of affairs.

So, if by some chance I did not end up in your class this year and you left before I even knew a person like you had existed, there’s a good chance that given enough time and enough space, we would meet anyway. Years from now, in some crowded urban café halfway across the world, perhaps. And you and I will be the people we were always going to become. Given enough time.

But I wonder about the validity of that. Do things really go the way they are destined to go? Is there really one set of outcomes possible? And what if new deviations happen before the old ones had time to right themselves? We could lose our way along so much happenstance, I may never find you in this lifetime.

I think of the people who have changed my life.

J, despondent, beautiful, black nail polish and blood-red guitar.

Bree, the terrifying boredom that she embodied, this world-weary loneliness.

And you.

So many others too, touch my life in smaller ways. But the three of you make up a large part of me, and now, as I stare into this mirror, I cannot conceive of myself without the three of you. My soul... it would be a strange thing indeed. It would be foreign to what I see now in these eyes. Perhaps I wouldn’t even be looking into the mirror and thinking these thoughts.

I am haunted by the faces of the people whose lives, in colliding with mine, altered both into something so different that they could never be restored as they once were. There is nothing eternal in me, my self having been bestowed – created, inspired, taught – by countless other voices.

I’m always going to keep this image of you in my head. The vision of you walking toward me, in that grey-black bomber jacket, those dark jeans and worn sneakers, your backpack slung over one shoulder. The way you walk, careless but measured. And it won't matter what happens later, I’ll always keep that image and therefore that moment.

So, in many ways, in many moments and in many places, I can always simply close my eyes and transport me back to those long months ago when you entered into my life. I close my eyes and the world just might disappear. I close my eyes and there you are, always walking toward me with a semi-surprised smile on your face. Like you once did, like you are now, until the end of time as I know of it.

[ 03-05-2004: Message edited Silversun ]

[Chiqa]

Silversun, I like that piece [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img]

The online journal is just the goings-on in the life of a twenty-something girl. It mainly focuses on her love life but it talks about her family etc...


I just started it as a way to make myself write something every week. I've definitely grown as a writer because as one reads it, you can actually track the growth. [img]smilies/biggrin.gif[/img]

[ 03-08-2004: Message edited NaijaChiqa ]

[Mr. Impatient]

A little feedback:

Silversun:

I read "Glass and Bone". It is a very powerful story. I love the imagery that you used. You are a very good writer.

"Fragment" is a very interesting piece. I like the style in which it is written. It also has a disticnt "feel" to it that makes it appealing.

"In Time" is actually slightly disturbing. Don't get me wrong, you have done a wonderful job writing it. It isn't the writing or the imagery that is disturbing... It is how well I can relate to it. As I read it, I thought about how well it sums up my "relationship" with more than one person.

Cold-Blooded Piece of Toast:

Your funeral piece is rather interesting. Not what one would normally think of as the proceedings for a funeral, but interesting nonetheless.

Your piece about the girl with the eating disorder is really good, as well. It is easy to "connect" with the girl. And, I like the way you ended it as well. Very well done!

JennPerry:

I really like your story. Death is something that is often seen as something that separates people, and the way you used it to bring people together like that was really good.

Candy*4eva:

Interesting story. At first, I was confused by the fact that it had more than one part, when the first part ended the way it did. I am glad that I kept reading, though. I hope that you continue to update this.

silvercrystal:

Wow! What a hauntingly beautiful story! I really like the way things seemed to fade in and out for the main character. You did an amazing job with this story!

Black Lake:

"In My Life" is really great! You are indeed a talented writer! The story seems to just pull you in and make you want to know more.

Well, that is all I have time for right now. I will try to get through more of this thread soon.

Thanks to everyone for sharing, and i hope to read more from all of you in the future!

[Silversun]

Thank you very much for your nice comments Rob, it really means a lot to me. [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img] I'm glad In Time struck a chord with you... it's always really nice to have somebody else identify with what you write about.

Do you have any original fiction you'd like to share? [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]

[ 03-26-2004: Message edited Silversun ]

[Mr. Impatient]

Originally posted by Silversun: <STRONG>Do you have any original fiction you'd like to share? [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img] </STRONG>

Well, since you asked... I guess I could share one or two...

Okay, this is one of the shortest things I have ever written:

Rendez-vous

He just sat there, staring at her. He was amazed by how beautiful she was. Her blonde hair, shining like silk, seemed to dance with even the slightest movement. Her green-blue eyes were like pools of water, in which he would be content to float for the rest of eternity. When she smiled at him, the room seemed to brighten.

He continued to stare in wonder. The last time he had seen her, she’d been in the process of moving, again. He certainly never expected to see her again. At least, not here, and not now. She moved closer; close enough to touch. He reached out his hand, but hesitated. He felt that just touching her might somehow ruin her beauty.

Suddenly, she spoke his name. It had been so long since he had heard her voice. He felt as if he might die from joy. She sat on the bed next to him, and they began to talk. They talked about the things that had happened to each of them since they had last seen each other. He felt as if there was nothing that could ever make him happier. Then, when she touched him, he realized that he was wrong.

He closed his eyes, praying against all hope that this moment might last forever. He felt his body slowly begin to relax. As he sat there with his eyes closed, he felt her lips brush against his. He opened his eyes again and started to speak, but she was gone. Now she was no more than a memory, like she had been since her death, many years before.

[Silversun]

Oh, that's so sad Rob - I really liked it. Was it based on a personal experience of some sort?