Someday, It Will Rain

“John?” he whispered sadly, as if moaning only to the mellowed wind. He didn't raise his eyes from the culled dirt beneath his bare feet, too afraid of nothing to look up. Too afraid he wouldn't be there, like every time before. “Can you hear me? John?” the wind shifted and dusted off a pile of leaves beside him, kicking them up so that they could dance along the ground on their flimsy edges, waltzing precariously away down the lane leading out—to who knows where. Bella didn't, certainly didn't, 'cause if he did, then he wouldn't need John around. And where would the fun be in that? He finally let his gaze lift a little to graze over the patchwork fence that surrounded his grandfather's yard, seeing a murder of crows gliding close to the ground. His tanned, slim face creased as he thought suddenly: why's it called a murder? They seemed cruel enough as it went, seeing as how black they were. Dirty. They reminded him of the mud that once splattered through the tiny yard, back when there was rain.
Rain. “How're things, Bellamy?” a ghostly voice asked, seeming so far away. But he wasn't; not in the least. Quite, in fact, he was but steps behind from where Bella stooped, wiggling his toes. He was up on the porch, whistling. Bella could never resist his whistling, just like he couldn't resist the flowers in spring. Or the sound of that crooning brook sixteen stone throws away, or the bark of that hound dog mama kept till she croaked five summers ago. Poor mama... She never had the chance to meet John. Bellamy slowly came up from his crouch and spun, smiling wearily at sweet John.
He paused gracefully, with his feet planted definitively on the worn floor boards, loose and lanky black hair slivering slightly in the breeze. He wore that rumpled cadet's jacket from the old wars, spangled with ropy adornments on the stiff shoulders, tailored buttons down the front. Opened, so that young Bella could catch sight of the crisp, starched white shirt beneath. Not a stain on it, like always. His blanched face was calm-set and wonderful, as if he had just stepped off from a dream. That's where poet John lived—positively in dreams. He had no work to speak of, but he carried the burden of a thousands untold worlds on his back. He was brilliant, quietly brilliant. He also controlled the stars.
And the moon, if you were lucky enough to catch him. Bellamy blushed, lowering his eyes to John's scuffed up black riding boots. “Fine, John. Besides the dry air, and the twisters, we're just...dandy.” it was a bit of a lie, but could you blame the boy? He didn't want to completely alarm his only friend besides the peach tree out back. It wasn't much of a peach tree, on account of it haven't growing anything since mama died, but it was what it was. Like Bellamy, who was nothing but some scrawny little farm boy. Well, not even that. There wasn't much to farm here. He breathed out a heavy sigh and looked up once again, seeing the shining look of bravado in John's eyes.
He was grinning. “How many twisters there been, Bella?” he murmured, rolling a tiny twig between his fingers. Dead. The twig, thank god. He couldn't see John harming anything living. Bella twirled and plopped back down onto the dusty ground again. He took up his scavenging with his eyes for quenching water. He saw none, but in John's salt-watery blue eyes. He listened with taut awareness as John passed by him, down the steps, and to the back of the gate, staring indecisively out over the tar-caked road. The backside of his tight pants was covered in dirt. Bellamy thought of mentioning it, when he just laughed. Softly and full of tasteless mirth.
He didn't know what to say. “Five this past month,” he replied honestly, heaving out his small chest as he scooped up a grainy bit of ground in his hand. He blew it away with a single breath and shrugged. “Twenty this year, I'm sure, over all.” what are you? Bella thought silently as John strode by again, strutting like an angelic cock. It's not like he sees him anywhere but here—it's like he's trapped—trapped forever in this stupid yard. Bellamy could almost see the chains attached to his clicking heels, the leather collar around his neck. He could see the hunger in his iridescent eyes, the way he threw himself at the fenced in walls like this place was a prison. He was beautiful. Like one of those murderous crows. John began to twitter about a grin once more.
“Not good, Bella, not good.” he resumed his trek, the porch to the gate, the porch 'round the gate, always clicking black heels, face resigned to a happy smirk. He wasn't happy, though, was he? Bellamy kept quiet as he dug further down into the ground, looking for gold. What kind of gold? The kind that spared lives and brought miracles about. That kind. Bella had never found any, but he hoped that someday he would. Then maybe things would get better, like they used to be. “Why doesn't your old man drag you away from this horrid place?”
Bella shrugged his slight shoulders again, looking nearly distraught. “He won't leave. Said he can't abandon mama or grams. I don't really care, besides the lack of rain. Nothing grows anymore, John. It worries me more than anything else. What'll we do without it? I'd even take a bit of hail, if that's what the sky would give me. Anything...” his eyes grew sadder than the month of May without a tulip flowering above the ever incandescent green ground. His soft, boyish lips pursed, and he thought himself about to cry, when John reappeared again, beside him, sliding down so that they were completely parallel. He said nothing for awhile, having that look about him that screamed 'ponderous'. He was always thinking. That's what made Bellamy love him, no matter what. They listened as the sharp winds died down and let the weak sounds of spring leak into their ears, their minds, their hearts. It was saddening, how it all creaked like an old screen door. Bellamy's green eyes flickered from his dirty hands up to John, who was playing with the tassels on his shoulders. He was still thoughtful, worryingly thoughtful.
He began to frown. “Do you know why I'm kept here, Bella?” he asked quietly, not looking up or away, just down. Down at his white hands, down at his bare pockets, down at his crossed ankles, down at the parched ground. Bella slowly shook his head, halfway shutting his out stretched fists.
“No,” he answered promptly, smiling a bit. He stayed for him, didn't he? He could see that far off twinkle in his eye, like he might say so. But his lips told different, not smiling this way or that. They were quite tight to be perfectly honest.
“Your grandfather keeps me here,” he began easily enough, sighing as he ran a hand through his fine hair. He didn't meet his eyes as he glanced out over the horizon. His mouth hung agape as he chuckled under his breath. “You know, I've never been past that fence...”
Frightened and intrigued, Bella pressed a small hand to John's knee. “Why're you kept here, John?” he searched him for an answer, feeling slightly ill, like everything was unraveling again. “What d'you mean?” he didn't dare voice what rose up within him: are you even real?
John laughed once more. “You should know. I mean, what do I look like to you?” his nostrils flared and his raking gaze was hot. “A ghost?” Bellamy shook his head even fiercer and paled.
“No, not a ghost, John—” he mumbled fretfully, stupidly, seeing that he must have said something completely idiotic. Why else would John be glaring at him like that? What did he say? He just wanted some protection, some love, caring—where could he get that, if not from John, himself?
“Then what?” he shouted, jolting to his feet to pace up to the front porch. He fell onto the swing there and buried his face in his hands. He didn't cry, no need to. Bellamy stayed glued to the ground like a shocked mole, wanting to bury itself in the muck. Let him die, if he drove lonely John away. He heard a moan come from him and he scrambled on his knees, pushing himself so that he was closer, sprawled on the steps. John didn't take notice, looking only at the door. “I've been here sixty years, Bellamy. Sixty. No one saw me till you—you lost your mother. Sure, Gregory did, but he resented me from the start. He hates me, rightly so. I can't do anything about it, though, I...” he drifted into silence, dumb as a clam. Bella couldn't understand a word of it, crawling to curl by his feet.
“What d'you mean? Did you die or something?” he figured, having read the occasional ghost story over the years he lived. Was he a ghost? He never heard grandfather talk of anyone dying, besides the women. Oh, how he grieved for them. Took it upon himself, the blame of it, saying he drove them to their early death beds through lack of caring. He cared. Bella knew he did. Otherwise, why would they stay the length they did, if not for the sheer love of an honest man? John licked his lips and sat back, looking as pale as stone.
“Quite the opposite actually,” John replied with a bit of that smirk coming back, “I was never born.”
“What?” Bella hissed, brow knitting. The wind picked up again. “How're you...like this then?”
“Well, this: this is just make believe.” he gestured at himself and smiled bewitchingly. “You see, your great grandmother was a very lonely person. Her husband spent a lot of time on the road, selling things to make the days stretch by. So, she had Gregory to keep her company at first. But then, when he was ten, she grew anxious again. She wanted another, so I was conceived,” his smile faded and he shrugged. Bellamy crossed his eyes and chewed his bottom lip.
“What happened then?”
“Your grandfather pushed her off these steps and killed me before I even had a chance to be born.”
“Why would he do that?” John actually looked incredulous, scratching at his ear.
“Because, Bella, he didn't want any competition. He was a selfish boy, who did selfish things. I don't blame him, I could have done the same.” the boy gasped at this.
“You wouldn't,”
“Of course not. Not my nature, silly,” he rocked back and forth, seeming as content as the breeze. “But it's important to know anyone could, even you.” his voice dropped and he looked so incredibly lost. Like he wasn't fully there—he never was, Bella couldn't see why he thought so in the first place. “So, I'm stuck here. I don't know how to leave. I just appeared one day in the bean fields out back, when they were burying your grandmother. I didn't even know what I was then. Still don't fully know... Am I a ghost?” his question fell flat in the dirt, “The only thing I remember is snippets, tiny things of when Gregory was growing up and listening to her talk about what I was going to be. I was to be a soldier, actually. Got the uniform to prove it,”
Bellamy brightened at this. “Maybe your our sentry then,” he proposed gently, “You're always there when I need you. Seems perfectly correct to me,” John laughed, breaking into a wide grin.
“I don't think so, but that's a worthy cause,” he brushed his hair back and looked funny. Like he did in the moonlight, when he was parked on the far edge of the roof, whistling at the stars. He looked as if he might be dreaming. “No, I don't know what I'm supposed to do...” he perked up for a moment to wink at Bella. “But I do know that I'd miss you terribly if you left me....” A flickering smile, then Bellamy stood and stretched, leaning over the porch's peeling banister. He could feel a storm coming.
But whether it was a good one or bad, he couldn't tell. His sad green eyes took in all that was to see in the growing darkness: the trees, the road, the fence, the willowy lane. The cracked ground, his thin fingers, the freckles on his arms. And his footprints, along with his grandfather's. But not John's. Never John's. He didn't have real feet.
He thought that must be the worst thing of all, if he could even understand it. He wanted to cry, but he was afraid to waste his tears away on something as tragic as a trapped soul in his grandfather's fortress of lies, scandals. He couldn't think of a rational thing to say. What could he say? He wanted to apologize, but thought that wrong. It wasn't his fault. He knew that. He wanted to just spew thoughtless things and sob, clutching at John's starched white shirt, breathing in nothing. Because that's what he truly was: nothing. He wasn't real, was he? Was he? Bella drew in a sharp breath and gripped the banister, swaying. He could smell the electric buzz of lightning. He mumbled something urgently, before the clouds moved in. “What am I gonna do?” he whispered anxiously, turning slightly to see the mirror of fragmented torment in John's glance. “What am I gonna do, John?”
Briefly, a look of pity washed over John's cool features. Then he rose like a lark and enveloped Bella in his light-weight arms. It was like being embraced by the air. Bellamy leaned into it, burying his face in the man's non-existent shoulder. He was there; Bella could feel it. The thunder broke out as John murmured, “Someday, my Bellamy, someday... It will rain.”

Hi Horseradish I'm Jai.

HorseradishCares wrote:“John?” he whispered sadly, as if moaning only to the mellowed wind.

Hmm. Can a wind be mellow? Can a whisper be like a moan? When you look back over this in a different perspective, you've effectively said, "he said to the mellowed wind in a sad whisper that was like a moan". Reading it like that, does the first sentence really make any sense? Straight away I can tell that you've gone over this story countless times, and have edited it every single time. And every single time you've gone over it, you've added a few words to bulk it out. While that's not a bad thing to do, you have to be careful that you aren't writing sentences that don't make sense.

He didn't raise his eyes from the culled dirt beneath his bare feet, too afraid of nothing to look up.

Generally culled means killed in some way. Google says, "An organised killing of selected animals". Now, with that information in mind, does "culled dirt" make any sense? Also, while I appreciate you are trying to be deep with the "too afraid of nothing" part, it simply reads a tad silly here. A better alternative would be, "too afraid of everything to look up".

Too afraid he wouldn't be there, like every time before.

I know you're talking about someone other than the main character right now (ie John), but it doesn't read like that.

“Can you hear me? John?” the wind shifted and dusted off a pile of leaves beside him, kicking them up so that they could dance along the ground on their flimsy edges, waltzing precariously away down the lane leading out—to who knows where.

The part I've highlighted; the wind shifted is not a dialogue tag, so the "the" should be capitalized, or it should be a new paragraph. Can the wind dust off a pile of leaves? Did you perhaps mean, "the gale of wind gusted and shifted the leaves". The end part also is hard to conceptualise, as is the paragraph bellow.

Bella didn't, certainly didn't, 'cause if he did, then he wouldn't need John around.

? Who's Bella? You're doing a nice job of creating confusion over the characters. Do you need to be so cryptic?

And where would the fun be in that?

Fun in what exactly? Not having John around? Why would John dictate fun?

He finally let his gaze lift a little to graze over the patchwork fence that surrounded his grandfather's yard, seeing a murder of crows gliding close to the ground. His tanned, slim face creased as he thought suddenly: why's it called a murder? They seemed cruel enough as it went, seeing as how black they were. Dirty. They reminded him of the mud that once splattered through the tiny yard, back when there was rain.

This is by far the best paragraph so far. It was fantastically written, and I learnt something new. A murder of crows. The whole imagery here is absolutely striking.

Rain. “How're things, Bellamy?” a ghostly voice asked, seeming so far away.

Who is speaking? I gather from the upcoming sentences that your main character did, but all you're doing is confusing the reader by not saying who is speaking.

But he wasn't; not in the least.

This is what I mean. Who wasn't far away? The main character? John?

Quite, in fact, he was but steps behind from where Bella stooped, wiggling his toes.

Quite what? Bella stooped, wiggling his toes? Either Bella is making his toes move with her fingers, or Bella has wiggling toes and she is a he. You have to be careful with adding actions after mentioning a character because the reader immediately assumes that the character just mentioned is making the movement/action.

He was up on the porch, whistling.

? Who? John or the main character? Is John the main character? Are they the same person? If so, how can John be on the culled dirt and on the porch at the same time?

Bella could never resist his whistling, just like he couldn't resist the flowers in spring.

Why would you need to resist flowers? Resist picking them, resist stomping on them, resist photographing them all work, but generally a person does not resist flowers.

Or the sound of that crooning brook sixteen stone throws away, or the bark of that hound dog mama kept till she croaked five summers ago. Poor mama... She never had the chance to meet John. Bellamy slowly came up from his crouch and spun, smiling wearily at sweet John.

This paragraph is absolutely confusing. So Bellamy is male? Why mentioned his mother? Is this paragraph necessary?

He paused gracefully, with his feet planted definitively on the worn floor boards, loose and lanky black hair slivering slightly in the breeze. He wore that rumpled cadet's jacket from the old wars, spangled with ropy ropey adornments on the stiff shoulders, tailored buttons down the front.

Loved the description of what he was wearing. Now I have an image of this character, and it is a very powerful image. But how can you stand definitively? Definitive means "clearly defined or formulated".

And the moon, if you were lucky enough to catch him.

Are you saying that the moon is male? Or are you saying that John had to... be caught writing poetry about the moon?

Bellamy blushed, lowering his eyes to John's scuffed up black riding boots.

A boy blushing? I have to admit that this story is really hard for me to read because Bella is a girl's name. If you had said Bellamy from the beginning, there would have been less confusion.

“Fine, John. Besides the dry air, and the twisters, we're just...dandy.” it was a bit of a lie, but could you blame the boy? He didn't want to completely alarm his only friend besides the peach tree out back. It wasn't much of a peach tree, on account of it haven't growing anything since mama died, but it was what it was. Like Bellamy, who was nothing but some scrawny little farm boy. Well, not even that. There wasn't much to farm here. He breathed out a heavy sigh and looked up once again, seeing the shining look of bravado in John's eyes.

I think you can remove all reference to "mama", as it's just plain disturbing and it really doesn't add to the story besides making it even weirder.

He was grinning. “How many twisters there been, Bella?” he murmured, rolling a tiny twig between his fingers. Dead. The twig, thank god. He couldn't see John harming anything living. Bella twirled and plopped back down onto the dusty ground again. He took up his scavenging with his eyes for quenching water. He saw none, but in John's salt-watery blue eyes.

I really believe you have to make one of the characters female. If for nothing else than to make it clear who is rolling a twig, who is thinking that a twig is dead, who is looking for water.

Also the highlighted line; I could make no sense out of it at all.

Bellamy thought of mentioning it, when but he just laughed. Softly and full of tasteless mirth.

He didn't know what to say. “Five this past month,” he replied honestly, heaving out his small chest as he scooped up a grainy bit of ground in his hand.

I had already forgotten the question asked.

what are you? Bella thought silently as John strode by again, strutting like an angelic cock.

Thought should be in italics, and "what" should be capitalized. "Angelic cock" also seems like a bit of a oxymoron (if you have a dirty mind), and if not, how can a rooster be like an angel?

It's not like he sees him anywhere but here—it's like he's trapped—trapped forever in this stupid yard.

Who sees who?

Bellamy could almost see the chains attached to his clicking heels, the leather collar around his neck. He could see the hunger in his iridescent eyes, the way he threw himself at the fenced in walls like this place was a prison. He was beautiful. Like one of those murderous crows.

Here it sounds like Bellamy is talking about himself.

John began to twitter about a grin once more.

?

Bellamy brightened at this. “Maybe your you're our sentry then,” he proposed gently, “You're always there when I need you. Seems perfectly correct to me,” John laughed, breaking into a wide grin.

So. Once I got over the strangeness of the beginning, I was sucked straight into the story. The beginning is the most confusing part. I honestly thought that your main character was John, and he had multiple personalities, so he was asking himself if he was real. And Bellamy was the third personality.

Which is why none of the beginning made any sense at all. I think you might have to rewrite the beginning to make it clear that John, the main character who had no name to me, and Bellamy are not the same person. You could quickly eradicate any confusion by saying, "Bellamy whispered sadly, "John?". Immediately the reader knows a few things:

a) the main character is Bellamy, and the point of view will be from him
b) John is someone Bellamy is looking for
c) Bellamy is sad about something

Because the two main characters were male, it was really hard to distinguish who was doing what when things were explained, which is why I thought all the people being mentioned was the same person. If that makes sense.

I liked this story, but it was too hard to read in terms of everything being confusing. And the ending was a sudden revelation of what was going on. I would have liked to have read about John having no foot-prints prior to finding out that he didn't exist. I would have liked to have read that John was insubstantial before I found out that his older brother effectively murdered him.

Just small things that if changed, would make this story far more readable.

Reply to this thread with any questions or comments

- Jai

Hello Horseradish!

“John?” he whispered sadly, as if moaning only to the mellowed wind. He didn't raise his eyes from the culled dirt beneath his bare feet, too afraid of nothing to look up.

I didn't find this first sentence terribly gripping. "As if moaning only to the mellowed wind" sounds like you're trying too hard, without giving us any real insight, character development, hook, or setting description. I'd suggest you rework it to tell us more about this John character. And "too afraid of nothing"? What exactly does that mean?

Also: "culled" isn't an adjective and doesn't make sense in this context. "To cull" can mean to either to select or to reduce the numbers of, like culling sick members of a cow herd. But I'm not sure what you mean by "culled dirt". Be careful of word selection-- some other odd choices include "patchwork fence", "hair slivering slightly in the breeze", "twitter about a grin", etc. Watch your word choice-- you always want to be sure that you're saying what you mean to say!

Bella shrugged his slight shoulders again, looking nearly distraught.

Shrugging is generally an expression used for nonchalance, when you really can't be bothered enough to answer directly. "Distraught", however, is a word of very strong emotion, and its pairing with "nearly" makes the whole sentence a mismatched construction of ideas. Is he distraught or not?

Frightened and intrigued, Bella pressed a small hand to John's knee. “Why're you kept here, John?” he searched him for an answer, feeling slightly ill, like everything was unraveling again. “What d'you mean?” he didn't dare voice what rose up within him: are you even real?

I understand "intrigued", but why is he frightened? Bella mentioned earlier that he considered John chained to the farm-- he shouldn't be surprised that he's never been past the fence, and you'd think that would shock or disturb him, not frighten him.

Also, both the words "He" here need to be capitalized. They aren't direct dialogue tags, such as "he said" or "he responded"-- they're the beginnings of new, complete sentences, and thus need to be capitalized.

“Because, Bella, he didn't want any competition. He was a selfish boy, who did selfish things. I don't blame him, I could have done the same.” the boy gasped at this.

“You wouldn't,”

“Of course not. Not my nature, silly,” he rocked back and forth, seeming as content as the breeze. “But it's important to know anyone could, even you.” his voice dropped and he looked so incredibly lost.

Same things here, with the underlined words. They're beginning of sentences that aren't supplementing the dialogue, just complimenting it. If that makes any sense? xD They need to be capitalized because they're full sentences that stand alone.

Overall

This was interesting! Well written, too, except for the fact that I found it awfully long-winded. Skim over your story. It all looks the same, doesn't it, barring a few lined in the middle? It's comprised of big paragraphs with clunky description and a line of dialogue or two. Break up some of those paragraphs-- cut out some of Bella's moping introspection and make the action a bit more crisp. Right now, there are giant paragraphs and long, almost haughty, sentences ("his eyes grew sadder than the month of May without a tulip flowering above the ever incandescent green ground" is such a mouthful that its hard to take seriously, actually). This makes your story move at the speed of someone wading through Jell-O, unfortunately. Cut out some of the thoughts and reflection! Trim up the dialogue! Give your characters more action and direction-- John walks around a bit, but it's hard to process that when it's drowning in all these words. Read over this-- if there's a line of narration that doesn't add much to the scene, then you can probably afford to cut it.

As far as actual content goes, I found their relationship very well-played; there was a certain adoration there that came across perfectly. It felt lacking a bit in conflict, however-- there seem to be no stakes here, nothing for either of them to lose. Bella wants John to be real, but why? What's the pressing factor that John needs Bella for, and Bella needs John for? To escape the insanity of his grandfather? To escape the farm? Is John in danger of disappearing, fading? What's the problem here-- what's the driving conflict?

Besides that, my only suggestions are to watch for capitalization and word choice. Oh, and maybe you could slip in some mention of John's age? I thought of him like a childhood friend, maybe a couple of years older than Bella, but by the end I felt maybe he was an adult after all. You might want to hint to that to give readers a clearer picture. And Jai is right about there being a lot of confusion over who's saying/doing/thinking what, since both characters are referred to as "he". Don't be afraid to use their names to clarify.

Anyway, keep writing, good job, and PM me for anything!

~Evi