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| Sounds and Pictures; Triptych III | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 4 2009, 07:30 PM (658 Views) | |
| jsg | Dec 4 2009, 07:30 PM Post #1 |
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Title: Sounds and Pictures Rating: PG Just a very brief one-shot for my first fanfic here. I'm taking quite a different line to most of the stories I have read so far, and I'm sure this will get quite a lot of negative feedback. If I do, then at least I know I have gotten an emotional reaction. Constructive comments and criticism welcome. Tick. The beat of the clock is the only sound in a house suddenly empty, too empty, after many years of noise and clamour. The curtains, barely opened in the past week, are holding back the sun which seemed inappropriately loud now; loud and grating. Tock. Wandering from room to room, idly fretting with ornaments and trinkets and photographs; the detritus of a life once lived, now fled. The gloom softens the edges of the world, making it easier to bear. The shadows let him imagine that he was still here just around the corner. He keeps catching himself imagining footsteps in the next room, the sound of breathing and of life. He moves softly, not wishing to disturb the ghosts that lurk and make the house suffocating and cloying, terrible and irresistible. Tick. Picking up a book, barely read yet dear to him, flicking through the pages but not seeing the words. Seeing him. Seeing his smile, seeing his laugh, seeing his eyes dancing with merriment at a joke half-said, but fully understood by both of them. But more than sight, the sound of his voice and the memory of the chills it sends, no, sent, up his spine. The feel of his skin against him, passions risen. The smell of him, imprinted in memory, indelibly, forever. The private jokes are gone now; their humour dry as dust and bones and the air in this room. Tock. Time passes unremittingly onwards. Ever onwards, carrying him away. He knows that every memory is becoming more fragile with every slice that the clock shaves off his life. He knows that he will fade in detail, gradually becoming unmade like rain eroding a statue. Even memories die. Tick. A knock on the door — quiet and tentative — barely draws his attention. Why should he move? Why should he care? It repeats, louder and more insistent this time. Begrudgingly and resentfully he stands to move and answer it. It is time. Time to stand in the cold winter sun and seem to say goodbye. That was for others though; for him no goodbye could be enough. Glancing at the mantelpiece, he sees a photo and his breath catches in his throat. Two men, young and naive and just beginning their life with no idea of what lies in store. Two men with their arms casually placed on each other's shoulders. Two men, who are now just one man alone in a silent house full of clarion remembrance. The photo is faded now, framed plainly as the emotions were ostentatious enough to require no further decoration. He cannot suffer it, and cannot relinquish it. Tock. Another rat-a-tat-tat of well-meaning knocking and, sighing, he gently returns the photograph to its place. Suddenly, without consideration, he picks it up again, quickly removes the picture from its frame and returns it to his wallet. Such a simple token, but suddenly fortified he opens the door and steps into the clear light of a Christmas morning. Edited by jsg, Dec 5 2009, 02:30 PM.
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| appleridge | Dec 4 2009, 07:39 PM Post #2 |
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numb |
| TimeToFly | Dec 4 2009, 07:55 PM Post #3 |
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James
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woah.... That's emotional man.... Got me all worked up.... so sad.... |
| jsg | Dec 4 2009, 08:01 PM Post #4 |
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I wanted to explore the core of their attachment in as minimal a way as possible. I felt it should be possible to express how much they mean to each other without use of dialogue, or even their names. When you know someone for that long, when they become that involved with you, names become irrelevant. I know it won't strike many as a happy-ever-after ending, but to me it is. Well, as near to one as it is possible to get in this world bound by entropy. Yes one of them died before the other, but that was always the most probably outcome. At least they were together until death parted them. At least they had many years together. That's the most that we can hope for, and I feel happy with granting them that. |
| TimeToFly | Dec 4 2009, 08:09 PM Post #5 |
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James
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I see... I like that, it is good that they got many happy years, and your writing style definitely portrays what you wanted it to. It's bittersweet. Sad to be a story about death, but happy to know that they had had that time together. I definitely think this was a fantastic story, and it definitely got an emotional response out of me. Great job! |
| rhombus | Dec 4 2009, 08:10 PM Post #6 |
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Let us frankly discuss the mad hot sex we're about to have.
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One doesn't need a "happy" ending to make a beautiful story, that's for sure. And this was quite beautiful in its spareness, in its raw emotion. I enjoyed reading it.
Edited by rhombus, Dec 4 2009, 08:11 PM.
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| jsg | Dec 4 2009, 08:17 PM Post #7 |
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Thank you, to both of you. It means a lot to me that you enjoyed it. Not sure whether or not to write another one. This one wrote itself in my head before I sat down at the computer. If I find inspiration again, I will. Vignettes mostly I imagine. |
| smuchshypush | Dec 4 2009, 08:23 PM Post #8 |
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jsg, that was lovely, lovely, lovely. What a great choice not to reveal whose head we're peeking into. I felt every line of this. Well done.
I finished watching "Up" about ten minutes ago, and it had a very similar feeling. And the movie and your story both made me cry :) Please keep writing! Edited by smuchshypush, Dec 4 2009, 08:25 PM.
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| AzureHorizon | Dec 4 2009, 08:34 PM Post #9 |
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Kish Fic Laureate
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I enjoyed the sort of apathetic feel to the story, in that Kyle (or is it Oliver? I feel the story can be read both ways) looks at the world with a sort of carelessness now that his lover is dead. |
| lovemnr | Dec 4 2009, 09:11 PM Post #10 |
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I don't know why but while I was reading it, I pictured Kyle the one remembering! That was really great j. I got a little teary eyed. |
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2:48 AM Jul 11