Wind

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In one breathless motion, she maneuvered herself around the boy. She caressed his dark curls of hair as he fumbled through the puzzles he was playing on the rock. Soft rushes of cool water splashed against the hard stone. She tried to gain his attention but he wouldn’t face her.

Desperately, she placed herself next to him and whispered slow, mesmerizing lullabies that she had once sang to him but he wouldn’t look up. Instead, he continued to play with his puzzles.

The sun was fading slowly. Hues of magenta and auburn blended in the sky. For a while, the boy paused in his play and stared in awe at the scene before him. He glanced longingly at the flock of seagulls heading south. But soon, his eyes wandered back to his puzzle where he hummed a tune to himself.

A tear lingered within the corner of her left eye. She reached out for him but withdrew for she was afraid of his response. There must be a way he would know.

Swooping around him, she tugged his shirt but he only saw it as a mere breeze and shook her off. She blew into his face but he showed annoyance in his expression and turned away from her. Heart-broken, she sat once again on the rock and sighed.

“Why can’t you see me?” she murmured.

At this, the boy looked up with his pitch-black eyes. At first, he thought he heard a sound; something like a whisper. She eagerly sat straight up.

“Maybe he does hear me”, she thought.

But then, he was back amusing himself with his stupid puzzle. She cried out in fury.

The boy’s name was heard. A young man with fair blonde hair called out to the boy. Quickly, he plopped the puzzle pieces inside the tin box and hurried towards the house. She trailed behind his steps and soon found herself in the house she loved. The lavender fragrance filled her nose. A fire crackled in the hearth next to her.

Soft satin curtains draped lazily over the windows. It was already night. Candles illuminated the kitchen that stood before her. She drew in one breath and followed the boy as he skipped along the flight of stairs.

Cautiously, she tip-toed her way to the youngster’s room. Opening the door ever so slightly, a field of stars greeted her from the boy’s ceiling. He was fast-asleep.

Kneeling beside him, she gazed at his smooth face. It was a beautiful sight to behold. She ran her fingertips against his forehead. He swarmed.

“Don’t”, he whispered.

She backed away, surprised.

“Can you hear me?” she questioned.

“Yes.” His eyes were still closed.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Yes. You are my mother.” A small smile tugged the corners of his small mouth.

“Then why did you ignore me today?”

There was a pause. She nervously waited.

“Because I can’t see you. You’re dead, Mother.”

His response was alarming. She stared at her little son. Her face was pale in the luminescence of the moon.

“I only feel you as a wind”, he continued.

His lips stopped as he drifted onto sleep, his dreams waiting to take him away. But she wasn’t ready for that. Feverishly, she tugged and shook him. She wanted to know more. But it was already too late. And then, something inside her felt strange. Her son’s room became blurry in vision and then a bright spark of light struck her. She felt like being hit by a tornado. Pain ripped through her body. Heat scorched her eyes. But then, tremendous joy filled inside, overcoming the pain, and no longer was she kneeling by her boy.

Rays of warm sunlight seeped through the curtains of the room. The dark curly-haired lad awoke and smelled the aroma of fried bacon and eggs. He smiled greedily and plopped out of bed.


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I like the descriptions at the beginning of this piece and how you eased us into the idea of her not actually being there. At first I thought that he was just ignoring her and then it came as an intriguing shock when you said:
"Swooping around him, she tugged his shirt but he only saw it as a mere breeze and shook her off."
It made me want to know what she really was. Good job.

The description of the house seemed a little lacking to me. There was nothing to connect the pieces. All I got was a kitchen a flight of stairs the smell of lavendar and a fire. There was nothing to tell me the order of them or how they were put together.

“Then why did you ignore me today?”


This line seemed a bit flat to me. She should be more pleading or confused. Does she know at this point why he can't hear her? Doesn't it bother her to not be able to get his attention?

The end is more abrubt than I'd like and I have to admit I don't understand what you were going for. What was the sudden heat? Why was she suddenly without pain? And the fried bacon just broke the mood entirely.
The robbed that smiles, steals something from the thief. ~William Shakespeare, Othello
Boo. SPEW is watching.




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Yeah I think what Dusky said summs it up, really. It was very good, and well written, but what was the pain at the end? And here:

The boy’s name was heard. A young man with fair blonde hair called out to the boy. Quickly, he plopped the puzzle pieces inside the tin box and hurried towards the house. She trailed behind his steps and soon found herself in the house she loved. The lavender fragrance filled her nose. A fire crackled in the hearth next to her.

Soft satin curtains draped lazily over the windows. It was already night. Candles illuminated the kitchen that stood before her. She drew in one breath and followed the boy as he skipped along the flight of stairs.

Cautiously, she tip-toed her way to the youngster’s room. Opening the door ever so slightly, a field of stars greeted her from the boy’s ceiling. He was fast-asleep.

Kneeling beside him, she gazed at his smooth face. It was a beautiful sight to behold. She ran her fingertips against his forehead. He swarmed.


This bit needs a bit of tweaking. First, from the first to third paragraph, I got lost. One minute the boy's skipping ahead of her, the next he's in bed and asleep. And "swarmed"? Squirmed, do you mean?

Sometimes, your commas came after your ending quote marks, when they need to come before. And sometimes there just doesn't seem to be enough emotion shown by the woman. See here:

Heart-broken, she sat once again on the rock and sighed.


If you're heartbroken, I think you'd do more than just sigh.

Apart from that, this was very good, and easy to read. :D
Hope this helped!

-Twit
"TV makes sense. It has logic, structure, rules, and likeable leading men. In life, we have this. We have you." -Abed Nadir




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Hey, mai4ever!

Ah, what a cool story! Definitely original- and the twist was excellent. Very well written, as well. There were only two things that I have to rant about:

- The ending. I laughed. That is really not a good thing when you're trying for a tearjerker piece- you want to end with a bang, but not with a boom-tish. Catch my drift?

How to fix it: while you're editing the piece, really think about how you could sum the story up and end with a bang. You need a single line that's really going to hit home, and bring with it whatever you meant to get across with the story in the first place. (I wrote a very long critique for a friend's english essay about last lines...I can find it for you, if you wish for some extra inspiration. :wink:)

- I'm not exactly the best source for this, because my family is kind of spiritual/new agey/weird- my mom gets raki treatments and my dad has his chakras balanced everyonce in awhile. Ergo, I'm not the best judge about "normal", but I've heard through the grapevine that normal people are usually afraid of ghosts, right?

That's something your story needs to reflect. Even if it is the boy's mom and he likes her, it's going to make it so much more meaningful after he avoids her if he's just the teensiest bit apprehensive. It'll add conflict, too- you don't want a story that follows only one conflict. That's usually pretty dull, so you want to look for ways to put as much as you can in. It packs a lot of excitment into a very little space.

__

Great piece, mai4ever! Quite a fun read, actually, even if it is sad- your plot, again, was really well done. PM me if you've got any questions or want me to take a look at something else. :D
Graffiti is the most passionate form of literature there is.

- Demetri Martin




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This was sweet. I didn't expect what happened in the end. I thought the woman was just the wind.



Writing is the geometry of the soul.
— Plato