Sentient

Song: Burton Cunnings --Break it to Them Gently
Word: Exodus

...




Fifteen

He had been a boy, naïve, enthralled by everything that lay in the outside world. Restless. With each set of the sun, dreams of life beyond the horizon become more vivid, growing slowly like cancer, taking over him until all he could do was dream them and desire. Beyond the mountains, beyond the vast empty prairies where his village was a mere dot. Beyond it all was a thriving metropolis, where horses were raced, where ships were set to sail, riding the waves, exploring corners of the world, bringing strange spices and lush hides aboard them. They were beautiful ships, white satin ballooning out as the wind caught it, sailing out and beyond on the mass of the blue ocean.

Each time the breeze blew from the north, it whispered in his ears of all the extraordinary things that lay beyond, just waiting for him, calling out to him to come closer.

Fifteen--it had been the time he met the whistling storyteller, with his burly shoulders and twinkling eyes, his hearty laugh which left a pleasant aftertaste, even as the fire burned out and they all returned home, their minds having explored something so exciting that sleep would not come for hours, instead stars danced under their eyelids, imaginations racing. He always sat by the fire those evenings, rapt with the storyteller’s accountings of the land beyond. There they did not ride on wagons, no sir; they had carriages led by proud looking horses, the storyteller told them.

His father owned only a donkey. And it was the waggon the boy sat on, if ever. But the storyteller had a horse, an immense creature with a soft, but taut, brown hide, and a lofty head. The storyteller even named the horse; the boy had been much fascinated to find out. The storyteller called it Gerald. He referred to him like a human. Gerald. The boy laughed; people did not give animals people names. That wasn’t right; it just wasn’t how things were.

The storyteller told him that in the Sopta they did. Animals even had a constitution written for them. A constitution? What was that, he asked. The storyteller patted him on the back and laughed. You’ll see the constitution played out at Sopta. Why do you not come with me? The storyteller asked him.

Go away with him? What a delicious idea, his heart started to flutter. For a moment the boy imagined himself, riding away to the north, toward Sopta. He imagined himself upon a ship sailing out to sea, his air blowing in the air. What did the sea look like? Reality brought him to the ground harshly and he blinked away the pictures his imagination had created. He looked back at the small farmhouse, a warm orange glow evading from the windows, his family sitting inside, probably waiting for him to come have his supper. The boy sighed. I can’t.

The storyteller laughed and patted his back. The storyteller seemed to do a lot of that, laughing and patting people on the back. Maybe people of the north tended to adopt this queer habit. Maybe later, boy, the storyteller said.

The storyteller left the next morning, sweeping the villagers a last goodbye with his hat as he thundered away on Gerald toward the mountains and what lay beyond it. The boy stayed put when the others drifted back. He sat there for along time, watching as the stranger disappeared down the prairie, his form shrinking away till it was nothing on the rippling greenery of the plains.


Twenty-five

He had been a young man, caught amidst the possibility of a future of being part of the quickly changing world, and the possibility of a family. There were two crossroads before him, each heavy and demanding. An adventurous future or a family? He took to sitting by the fading farm house, looking towards the towering mountains that concealed what his heart desired most to see, Sopta.

His fiancée was a shy girl, pretty and young; still a child of the world, innocent and unsuspecting of trials life could hurl at her. He wondered if after their nuptial she’d steal away with him to Sopta, to find a new home, a future.

A future among the scholars, the sailors, the merchants, and the busy bodies who skilled their crafts and had something to offer the world. They were all an essential ingredient of a wonderful, bustling, thriving metropolis, each doing their part to greaten the heights of mankind. And there he sat, among the shadows of a fading farm house, living just for the sake of being alive.

He asked her one day, if she’d ever heard of Sopta. She denied, covering her red mouth to suppress her giggles. He looked towards the purple mountains and described to her all that lay beyond them, all that the story teller had told him years ago. Her eyes widened, fascinated that there were things possible such as those he related to her. But it was all a thrilling story for her. Nothing else. Not an enticing and possible reality.

Each time he rested his head on the pillow, he tried his hardest to clear his mind, to hush the whisperings of his yearning heart. And each rising of the day, when he milked the cow, he’d tell himself that his art lay in milking the cow, it was his calling. He tried his best to train himself to look forward to the daily ordeals of the life he led, trying his best to walk in the footsteps of his father. But his footprints desired to make their own route.

His father and mother had sought her out of all the girls in the village. Like all obedient sons, he bowed his head and slipped on the betrothal band. He’d taken to turning it, feeling it’s coldness against his lips, smoothness of it against his cheeks, struggling to like the feel of pressure it had around his ring finger, striving to look forward to what it represented.

But he felt as if he was trying to fit an odd piece in a puzzle, a piece that did not belong to the puzzle, a piece no matter how much forced into the puzzle would never fit perfectly and smoothly, simply because it didn’t belong there.

He left early dawn, long before the village had woken; sleep yawning in his mouth and a strange hunger tugging at his stomach. The whispering prairie lay gaping before him, and he hurried his donkey. He’d named Gorj after learning that animals were named in Sopta. Gorj was their only donkey, and a forbearing guiltiness, like a heavy stone sat in his stomach as he watched Gorj’s grey neck nodding ahead as they lumbered forward. But, he couldn’t walk barefoot all the way to Sopta, he knew that much.

What would his father say when he woke up, and found him gone, and then also the donkey missing? Who would milk the cow, who would carry the bales of hay, herd the lambs, feed the animals now that he was leaving? His father would be quite alone. His father was on the brink of old age, how would he cope without the aid of his youthful son? What would his mother do? She’d wail and cry most likely, the way she’d done when the old shoemaker had passed away silently one night. What would his fiancée think? Would her smiling mouth for once turn into a frown, would difficulty finally thrust itself on her shoulders, forcing out the woman in her?

He looked ahead of him. This freedom was not thrilling like he'd supposed, it was burdensome.
They would cry for him, like he was dead or worst. But he wasn’t dead, he was still living, just not a part of their lives anymore.



Part Two coming up soon.

Hiya Mizz! Here as requested.

You said to tear this to shreds. I shall comply.

Hidden among the corner and crevices of shadows, death licked his lips and hunched forward, waiting.

I'm wondering where/when this ties into the actual story. It acts as a good hook, and ties into some mentions after, but there doesn't seem to be anything relating to this. I'm probably wrong, but this line is puzzling me. (Note- It's a wonderful line, a beautiful hook, but it doesn't tie into much this part)

beyond the vast empty prairies where his village was but a dot,

"Was but a dot" implies that there are more villages, while your whole monologue after this implies that there is only one.

Fifteen, it had been the time he met the whistling story teller,

I'm not sure about the italasized "fifteen" here. It would be okay without italics (and maybe the comma replaced with a dash, as well), but the italisization makes it stand out unnesesarily. ^_^

But stars danced under their eyelids, imaginations racing.

This line seems to connect with something, but I can't really place it. Perhaps it's the line before, but that's hard to tell.

He always sat by the fire those evenings, rapt with this stranger’s accountings of the land beyond.

~ Before you called this man "the story teller" and now he's "the stranger." Pick one for consistency. ^_^

~ With your description above, about what your MC thought about far-off lands, and now the mention of the story teller, there is some confusion. Did he know about the outside world before the story teller, or was it only have hearing these tales that he became enthralled?

Proud horses pulled at the carriages and they would sit behind them in the boxed carriage with their heads held high.

"Their" here (bolded) is confusing. Are you talking about horses holding their heads high, or people?

His father owned only a donkey. And it was the waggon he sat on, if ever.

Here is where calling your MC "he" gets a bit confusing. In the last few lines, you have talked about other things, such as the stranger and the people outside of the village.

What I'd suggest is coming up with a tag of some sort for you MC, or capitalizing He every time you're talking about the MC.

But the stranger had a horse, an immense creature with a soft, but taut brown hide, and a lofty head.

~ Add a comma after "taut."

~ Hmm, I'm not sure how important this is, but your use of "but" is a bit repetitive here. Although I don't really mind, it can be seen by some as repetitive.

The stranger had even named the horse; the boy has been much fascinated to find out.

Comma instead of a semicolon.

He referred to him like a human. Gerald. The boy had laughed; people did not give animals people names. That wasn’t right; it just wasn’t how things were.

The stranger had told him that in the Sopta they did. Animals even had a constitution written for them. A constitution? What was that, he had asked. The stranger had patted him on the back and laughed. You’ll see the constitution played out at Sopta. Why do you not come with me, the stranger had asked him.

~ Your tenses here are a bit off. A lot of this is "had _____" (Past perfect), while the rest of the first part is simply past tense. Nix all the "had"s in here to make it flow better.

~ Before, we simply know the outside world as just that, the outside world. I'd name that place a bit earlier, or explain a bit more about this place called "Stopa." Because before, we could imagine a whole world where all these things were, but now, there seems to be only one metropolis.

~ The comma after "me" (at the end of the italics) should be a question mark. You'd still keep "the" uncapitalized, however.

What a delicious idea, his heart started to flutter, but a small pebble like feeling which was reality, hurt him, ached him.

~ This sentence is a bit long. I'd replace the comma after "flutter" with a period.

~ I have a hard time seeing a pebble "hurting" per say. Stinging, maybe, but with the word "small" in front of "pebble" it's hard to imagine. Maybe replace the pebble metaphor with "stone"?

The stranger had laughed and patted his back. The stranger seemed to do a lot of that, laughing and patting people on the back. Maybe people of the north tended to adopt this queer habit. Maybe later, boy; the stranger had said.

~ Another paragraph where past-perfect is evidant.

~ The semicolon after "boy" should be a comma. ^_^

sweeping them a last goodbye

I'd replace "them" here with "the village" or "the villagers" because at the moment, "them" seems to be referring to your MC's family.

The boy had stayed put when the villagers drifted back.

To add on to my nit-pick above, you'd replace "the villagers" here with "the others" so things aren't repetitive.

There were two crossroads before him, each heavy and demanding.

I'd like to know what those two crossroads are, since his thoughts about which path to take seem to make up this whole section.

She was a shy girl, pretty and young;

This is a very sharp change from the paragraph above. Reason I wanted some explanation as to what those crossroads were.

He wondered if after their nuptial she’d steal away with him to Sopta, to find a new home, a future.

You haven't mention betrothal yet, and you're talking about weddings first. The order of events is a bit off because of that. ^_^

And there he sat, among the shadows of a fading farm house, bartering his family’s eggs and dairy to full their stomachs.

I'm having a hard time picturing any good bartering getting done in the shadows of his house. I'd think he'd barter the eggs in the market place.

Also, something about him being able to sell stuff feels a bit... odd. It seems this town is pretty small, not really enough for anybody not to have a farm. I figured everybody had cows, chickens, ect.

He asked her one day, if she’d ever heard of Sopta. She had denied

"Had" should be in the first sentence, not the second. ^_^

He’d looked towards the purple mountains and described to her all that lay beyond them.

Since it was implied that the story teller told him all this, I'd like a mention of him hearing about these things. Right now it's like he's traveled there, since he seems to have seen thing all firsthand.

he’d tell himself that his art lay in milking the cow,

Because "heart" is in the line right before, and "art" rhymes with it, things can get slightly jerky to read.

But either that his footsteps were bewitched,

How are his footsteps "bewitched"?

His father and mother had sought her out, out of all the girls in the village.

~ Out" is mentioned twice in two words here. (Around the comma)

He’d taken to turning it, feeling it’s coldness against his lips, smoothness of it against his cheeks,

This description feels a bit weird, since you only mention turning it. Not rubbing his hand against his face.

struggling to like the feel of the pressure it had around his ring finger,

"The" is repetitive here, and makes the sentence hard to read. I'd delete the one before "pressure."

But he felt as if he was trying to fit an odd piece in a puzzle, a piece that did not belong to the puzzle, a piece no matter how much forced into the puzzle would never fit perfectly and smoothly, simply because it didn’t belong there.

Beautiful description. It makes a smooth transition between him trying to convince himself to stay and him actually leaving.

and he hurried his donkey, which he’d named Gorj.

This sentence feels unfinished. That comma feels like an interupter comma ( a comma that goes around extra bits of information), so I expect something after "Gork" to finish this sentence.

Gorj was their only donkey, and a forbearing guiltiness, like a heavy stone sat in his stomach as he watched Gorj’s grey neck nodding ahead as they lumbered forward.

Hm, I'd like a mention of why He took the donkey.

What would his father say when he woke up, and found him gone, and then also the donkey missing?

"And" is a bit repetitive here.

She’d wail and cry most likely, the way she’d done when Old Ron had passed away silently one night. What would Sophie think?

After this whole piece of no names, you give us two in one paragraph. Keep things nameless or give everybody names. I'd like to see everything nameless, unless that's about to change in part two. Then start throwing in names sooner in part 1.

Alright Mizz, normally I'd get to the overall part of a review now, but it is 9:45 and I must stop your review. I will be back tomorrow for the overall part!

But, in the meantime, if you have any questions about my nit-picks, ask!

~Rosey

Rosey, you are absolutely awesome. I'm going edit this story by tonight, according to your suggestions.

Thank you so, so , so much! Can't wait for the overall part!

And, I'm here to finish!

Tense: The switch between past and past-perfect was a bit confusing here. Usually, you'd only mention it's past-perfect (ie- a flashback) once, and then move on to simply past-tense. It clears up confusion.

Setting: It was a bit hard to place your setting here. The description of the village could lead to it being the only village around, or part of a small country.

Sopta, also, could be described two ways. One as a whole country, one as a city. Until you add more into the description (of both places) it's hard to picture the structure of town.

Something that's just struck me is how isolated this place is. IT seems there have been a lot of tales about Sopta circulated by story tellers and merchants, but only one is mentioned. Something to clear up (in this and future parts) would be explaining why this village hasn't been more well-traveled by people who could tell of Sopta, and why only the boy is interested in them.

Characters: The only thing detracting from using "he" as the name for you MC is the slight confusion it could cause. Other then that, once I got into the flow of the story I found the use of "he" was enjoyable.

The characters are very well described, and you do an amazing job of getting into your character's head. His descriptions of other lands was my favourite part of the story.

Overall: I found this enjoyable, but slightly confusing. It's a good concept with strong themes, but I feel they could be explored a bit more. You spend a lot of time explaining the pull of leaving, but there isn't much time spent on what he'd leave behind or what's been stopping him from leaving in the past.

Questions? PM me.

~Rosey

O.o I hate reviewing after Rosey. I mean, talk about covering all the mistakes! Anywayz, there are some things that she didn't mention (**le gasp**), which I shall cover in a moment. Sorry for the slowness of this review and thanks for using my thread.
**SQUEEEEEEEE** Hundredth review!!!
...Sorry I had to do that...

Hey! I'm sorry about the wait. My e-mail didn't notify me that I had a new request on my board. >_< Sorry about the wait, then, but hopefully this still comes in time to edit for the contest.

I. Little Things

With each set of the sun, dreams of life beyond the horizon become more vivid, growing slowly like cancer, taking over him until all he could do was dream them and desire.

I think 'setting of the sun' would work better than 'set'. Also, you change tenses in the middle when you say 'become'. I think you meant 'became'. Furthermore, when you finally get back to talking about the dreams, when you say 'dream them', I got rather confused because I'd already forgotten you were talking about dreams. xD Maybe try to shorten the sentence, or put the main parts closer to each other. =]

Beyond the mountains, beyond the vast empty prairies where his village was a mere dot. Beyond it all was a thriving metropolis, where horses were raced, where ships were set to sail, riding the waves, exploring corners of the world, bringing strange spices and lush hides aboard them.

Beyond begins both of these sentences, not to mention that the first is a fragment, and if you really want to keep that for stylistic purposes, you should connect it to the third beyond with a comma and not separate it. Also, maybe just say 'transporting strange spices and lush hides' because 'aboard them' is really awkward phrasing.

They were beautiful ships, white satin ballooning out as the wind caught it, sailing out and beyond on the mass of the blue ocean.

I don't know if you did this just to produce an image, but I don't think anyone would make sails of satin. xD Wouldn't that rip too easily? They might have seemed to be satin, but really they'd be canvas, right? Maybe clarify that.

Fifteen--it had been the time he met the whistling storyteller, with his burly shoulders and twinkling eyes, his hearty laugh which left a pleasant aftertaste, even as the fire burned out and they all returned home, their minds having explored something so exciting that sleep would not come for hours, instead stars danced under their eyelids, imaginations racing.

This is all one sentence that really needs to be broken up. =]

Why do you not come with me? The storyteller asked him.

If you don't use the contraction here, it sounds more like a 'really, what's holding you back' instead of a 'come with me'. It's okay. Just use 'don't'. xD

What a delicious idea, his heart started to flutter.

This is a comma splice -- connecting two complete sentences with only a comma. You have a few other sprinkled in here, actually, so try to weed them out. Fix them by using a period/semi-colon instead of a comma, adding a contraction, or making one of the sentences into a dependent clause. =]

And each rising of the day, when he milked the cow, he’d tell himself that his art lay in milking the cow, it was his calling.

See? Here again is a comma splice at the end. 'It was his calling' should probably be a separate sentence.

They would cry for him, like he was dead or worst. But he wasn’t dead, he was still living, just not a part of their lives anymore.

I think you should just take this whole part out. It adds nothing to the story and the realization about his freedom is a far better ending to this part.

II. Overall

Overall, I noticed that a lot of this is telling. This is like telling the story before a real story gets started, but why not tell the story NOW? There is obviously enough material to tell this story, which you're relating as sort of a back story. It makes it kind of drag on and makes the reader wonder when the real story will happen.

Also, try making the narrator more personable in his relationships with his family and fiancee. You don't really describe these relationships and just leave the reader to assume they are whatever the reader thinks is a normal relationship, when really there would be a specific sort of dynamic that you haven't even touched on.

Consider these suggestions and PM me if you have any questions or want anything else reviewed! =D

-Hannah-